#your correct assumption offends me /joking

[aardvaark]

anyone else been involuntarily assigned "person who knows oddly specific information about random topics" by your friends and family? my best friend will be like "wait, why do people think the moon landing was fake?" as if that’s a normal question that id obviously know the answer to off the top of my head. i mean i do know the answer but its the principle

[byrdtrollsunoreversearchive]

Three Things Rollyn Firlyn Does Not Remember

(teehee, if you want to read the drabble preceding this one, it is here)

Two months into their relationship, Rollyn Firlyn and Sunset Blinks are on a video call in Rollyn’s seemingly endless closet. She holds up a dress so he can see in the camera. 

“Yay or nay” She says. 

“Hmm” He thinks. “Maybe if you swap back to the other bodysuit with it?” He says. 

“It’s coldddd” She complains. “I’m not wearing that.” 

“Not the sleeveless one” he corrects. “The one with the sequins.” 

“Oh” She says, going back to look for the offending bodysuit, and accidentally knocking over her phone. 

“Ow- dammit” She curses, picking it up. 

“Did you drop me?” Sunset jokes. “I broke all my bones.” 

“Sunset, why can’t you just BE here” She voices, gesturing frustratedly. 

“I have work,” he says. 

“This party is kind of important to me” She sighs. 

“So is my work” He replies. 

“Yeah yeah, I know.” She complains. “But we’re doing something important here, the fundraisers for a really good cause” 

“I know” he sighs, “And I am so proud of you, and I wish I could be there, but I can’t. I told you, I would-” 

“Yeah, I heard your whole stupid monologue” She complains. “‘I will compromise with you on every single front but one’” She quotes her lover, in a mockery of Sunset’s voice. Sunset is silent for a long moment, and the quiet goes on so long even the video call cannot disguise the hurt in his eyes. 

“Don’t look like a kicked puppy” She pleads. “Our second date, you told me you were always going to put your mafia bullshit above all else '' She says, stepping out of the view to change her clothes. “Do you not hear how you sound?” She says, dejected. “You’re difficult to understand, Sunset. You are so loving and reasonable so much of the time, but. So obsessed with whatever stupid highblood criminal powergrab that constantly occupies your waking mind. You walk and talk like you’re so much better than that. And I wish you could be.” She rambles, hurt. She is well used to being disappointed by highbloods, and she does not think him any different. 

“That’s- not what’s happening here” He says, finally. “I’m not looking for power.” He says. 

“Are you?” She retorts. “Or do you just have a more convenient excuse than other clowns?” 

“Rollyn,” He pleads. 

“Prove me wrong,” She says. “Prove me wrong, Sunset, I beg of you. You’re better than this.” 

She is once again answered by silence. 

“Well?” She insists. 

“I can’t tell you why,” He says. “But you have deeply misunderstood the situation.” 

“Why can’t you tell me!” She snaps. “I tell you everything Sunset! I’m an open book! I put so much trust in you! You won’t put any in me?” She says, frustrated, pulling on her dress. 

“Rollyn, I…” He starts but can’t finish. 

“I took a leap of faith,” She says. “I took the leap of faith, as a mutant, into the arms of a rich highblood in a gang. I hoped so much you would prove my assumptions wrong.” 

“Can we wait?” He says, “To have this conversation in person?” 

“No,” She says. 

“On another night?” he tries. 

“No.” She retorts. 

“In a few hours?” He says quietly.

“It can’t wait” She huffs. 

“If I told you” He says carefully. “You’d understand.” 

“Then TELL ME!” She says, holding the phone close. 

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. 

“You can always wipe my memory if it goes wrong” She jokes, bitterly. 

“I would never do that to you unless you asked,” He says. “I promise.” 

“What are you afraid of?” She says. 

“A lot of things” he says, trying to dig up the words to explain, trying to drag a well kept secret out of an iron box. He had buried this so deep for his safety. It’s easy to say. It should be easy to say. Throw a couple words in a sentence, Sunset, you can do it. 

“I…” He starts. “You know my tattoos, on my chest?” He says. 

“The lines, and the arms?” She says, confused. 

“I got them to cover up surgical scars.” He admits. “I- was born a mutant. I had an extra pair of arms and pectorals, until a sweep ago, when I got them removed” He says. “So I could infiltrate the mafia, and take it down from the inside. I wiped the memory of how I used to be from everyone's mind. I- was not treated well… growing up on the streets, as a mutant. I was in a circus. I had a lot of hard jobs. It’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. It’s not just, stupid power bullshit, I promise. When I say ‘I get it’ I mean it, I really mean it Rollyn I do. But if I let my guard down about this Mafia thing for a second- if I missed a single spot in erasing everything I could of my past- I could be in real danger.” 

And now it is Rollyns turn to stand there in stunned silence, trying to process what she’s just heard. 

“You’re serious?” She says, running her hand through her hair.

“Yes, and I have proof if you need it- but also Rollyn- you just did that” He says, as she messes up the hair she had just spent a while styling. “Don’t touch it, you have the party, remember? I’m sorry. This was probably a bad time for this conversation. But in my defense, I tried to tell you that.” 

Rollyn’s wings droop a little, shamefully. 

“I’m sorry-” She says. “I didn’t think- I. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” He says. “I would have done the same in your situation.” 

“Shit” The supermodel says, her wings fluttering nervously as she tries to fix her hair. “Go to work! If you have to. Hang up. Stay safe. I love you.” She stutters. “I’m sorry” 

“I love you too,” He says. “It’s okay- I’m gonna be okay.” He reassures. “Look at me Rollyn. You’re gonna nail it” He says. 

“Yeah?” She replies. 

“Yeah. Goodbye” He says. “I love you” He repeats, and hangs up the phone. 

.

.

.

.

.

“Really” She says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No fancy restaurant?” 

“Aren’t you drowning in suitors who would treat you to fancy restaurants?” He teases. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m tired of it” She says, squeezing his hand, glancing down the street they’re walking down with trepidation. It feels so civilian, so exposed. Fears for her own safety turn restlessly in her pan, the mutant’s wings held close to their body.

He seems to pick up on the tension in her stance, giving Rollyn’s hand a squeeze. 

“You’re safe” he says, leaning over to kiss the woman’s forehead. “I promise.” And its a mark of the trust that had continued to grow between them since his confession, that Rollyn believes him. 

“I don’t think I’ve walked” She says, “More than like, a couple blocks, in ages” 

“Aren’t you glad I made you change out of those heels?” He jokes, and she shoulder checks him. 

“You have Rollyn Firlyn on your doorstep” She says. “I came all the way across town to see you- trolls would kill to take your place- and you took me grocery shopping?”

“I told you” He grins. “I have errands today. You can come over but we’re not doing anything fancy” He says, stepping into the laundromat.

“Sunset,” She says. “Aren't we both rich?” She continues. “I appreciate your down to alternia attitude but you can’t expect me to believe you can’t pay someone to do your laundry.” 

“You are just as beautiful to me in a laundromat,” He says. “As you are on the red carpet.” 

She crosses her arms. 

“This is just starting to feel like some kind of strange performance art” They say, “To domesticate me. Or prove I’m stuck up. Which is rich coming from you.” 

“I would be here” he says, “Whether you came over or not. I said I have errands tonight, and I meant it.” 

“You own over ten casinos” She says, Sunsets power in the mafia having grown exponentially since that fateful night Nycisn entrusted him with the pier. “And none of them have a laundry machine?” 

“That hard to believe I just like doing laundry?”He says, the tiniest bit of his tongue sticking out as it was prone to do. “You know- recreationally.”

“Who does laundry recreationally?” She teases. “That’s like taking aspirin for the thrill. Yes, darling, I find that hard to believe.” 

The man behind the laundromat counter is glancing at the couple in disbelief, as if he cannot believe a supermodel is just standing in his dime a dozen shop as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

“‘’xcuse me, m’am,” he says, “Are you the lady from that skincare commercial?” 

She turns, flashing him a smile, maybe relishing a bit in his surprise. 

“The one and only” She says. 

“Gosh” He says, sheepishly. “You’d think you’d have maids doing your laundry.” 

The woman lets out a loud bark of a laugh. 

“Ha! You’d think” She says, making eyes at her kismesis. 

“I brought her here” Sunset replies, rolling his eyes in answer, the ghost of a smile on his face. 

“Hey,” Says Rasley, the laundromat operator. “Are you famous too? You look familiar.” He says. 

“Only in some circles,” Sunset replies, looking away, rubbing his arm. 

“Don’t be so ominous,” Rollyn says, glancing between the two of them, trying to figure out what’s happening here. The machine finishes, and Sunset pulls his clothes from it. 

“Dunno what that’s s’pposed to mean” Rasley shrugs. “But I swear I’ve seen you before.” 

“I’ve come here before,” Sunset admits. “Sans Rollyn. To do laundry.” 

“Yeah, he’s a real laundry head,” Rollyn jokes. “Laundries recreationally.” 

“Never heard of somebody doin’ that before” Rasley says, fascinated. 

“I invented it” Sunset says, taking Rollyn’s hand in the one not currently holding his bag. “See you around” He promises, flashing a smile, before turning to exit. 

“Wait,” Rasley says, “I never got your name” He mutters, but the purpleblood does not answer. 

Rollyn walks in silence for a moment, before turning back to him. 

“So what was all that?” She says. 

“Hmm?” he replies, swinging the hand she’s holding. 

“You and the laundromat guy! What’s the deal” She teases. 

“There is no deal,” Sunset says. 

“You have a crush on him” She guesses, grinning, thinking she has it all figured out. “That’s why you do your laundry there!” 

Sunset's hand goes to his face. 

“AH!” Rollyn squeals girlishly, believing she’s hit the money. “Are you flustered? That’s so cute,"she says, charmed. 

“I do not,” Sunset says. 

“Yeah right” Rollyn grins, glancing back at the shop. “Big old country guy. He is cute, "she teases. “Want me to play wingwan???? I’m very good at it, "she says, flapping her wings jokingly. 

.

.

.

.

.

Three months later, Rollyn lovingly dabs a small, stitched up wound on her kismesis’s shoulder. 

“Should we change the bandage color to match the dress” Sunset jokes. 

“Sunset!” Rollyn chides. 

“What! I want you to look good” He smiles, sticking out his tongue. 

“I don’t think they make medical gauze in different colors.” She dismisses. 

“They should,” He says. “For the stylishly injured” He jokes, wincing as she wraps the wound. 

“I just-” She sighs. “Sometimes disturbs me how flippant you are about this sort of thing.” 

“Babe,” he says. “It’s a couple inch wound. Barely five stitches.” 

“You got stabbed,” She says. 

“On the arm” he retorts. 

“I worry about you” She says, her brows furrowed as she seals the wrapping with medical tape. 

“I’m fine,” He says. “Sometimes you’ve got to lose a little to win a little,” He says. 

“Oh, so getting stabbed was part of the plan? That’s not better, "she sighs. 

“Gimme a month, I’ll be good as new” He says. “I’m sure no one at the premiere will even notice.” 

Rollyn looks over her work once, twice, and then sighs. 

“What is the plan, Sunset?” They say. 

“For… the premiere?” He says. “I dunno, I figured we’d smooze around enough for the press to get photos, and then dip and go get sushi or something.” 

“Not for the premiere,” She says. “I mean. The plan plan. The mother of all plans. The, I’m going to infiltrate the mafia and take it down from the inside plan," she says. 

“You’re really good at asking easy questions,” He says. “Right before parties.” 

“Sorry,” She says. “I know it’s- sensitive information. And can’t go into the wrong hands. And all I ever get to hear about it is vague asides and talk about Kokoro faking his death and Midas’s mirror demon and all the nonsense. But, can you just tell me one thing?” She says. 

He is silent for a moment. 

“Depends what thing” he says. 

“You know I love you, Sunset?” She says. “You mean the universe to me. I could live a thousand lifetimes and I’d want to fall in love with you everytime.” She says. “Can you promise me one thing?” 

“No fair” He jokes, his left arm gently touching his left arm in trepidation. “You can’t lead with that. What thing?” 

“Promise me,” She says. “You don’t lose more than you win on this one. Promise me- at the end of all of this- When, if, Midas dies- you’ll be okay.” She says. “Can you promise me you’ll be fine?” 

He does not meet her gaze. 

“There are a lot of variables at play here” He says, an answer that sounds as weak and pedantic in his mouth as it did in his head. 

“It’s your plan.” She says, reaching over and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Can’t you pick where it ends?” 

“There is always an element of risk,” He sighs. “That is out of my control.” 

“Promise me,” She says. “That sacrificing yourself somehow is not part of the plan.” 

“I…” he trails off. “There's no way to do this without risk.” He repeats himself, lamely. 

“Promise me” She pleads. “You got stabbed, Sunset! You were lucky to get away with five stitches and you’re laughing like it's nothing!” They say, their voice cracking. “It hurts,” She says. “To see you care about yourself so little. Do you have any idea, how many sleepless days I’ve had, wondering if you’re out there getting shot or killed or discovered- promise me there's a light at the end of it all, promise me you’ll be okay” She pleads, covering her face. 

Sunset is silent for a moment, before sitting down, staring at the wall, and then back at her, and then back at the wall. 

“I can’t promise you that” He says. 

Rollyn struggles to ease her breathing. 

“You are in” She says. “Over your head.” 

“No, I’m not.” He says. “I know what I’m-” 

“It’s not too late to back out, Sunset!” She pleads. “Whatever he did to you. It’s not too late to change your mind and run”

He stares at her, unable to answer. 

“It is too late,” Sunset says, finally. 

“We could go to Gihyun,” Rollyn says. “We could ask her for help” 

“Rollyn,” He pleads. 

“We could run away together” She begs. “Take the biggest pile of mafia money they have- and run. Find a new city. Find a new life.” 

“I can't,” he says. 

“Why not!” 

“Tes Roven is my home,” He says. “I promised someone. I would see this through to the end. I would go down fighting.” 

“I don’t want to lose you” Rollyn chokes. Finally losing her battle to not cry. “This isn't fair.” She says. “You can’t make me care about you so much, and then care about yourself so little.” She sobs, “I know you have a friend who died” She says. 

Sunset freezes, suddenly, like a deer in the headlights, never having deliberately shared that information with her. 

She sighs. “That night you sent me your old private instagram post, to make fun of how you used to do your hair” She says, wiping her face. “I looked at the other photos on it. It’s full of photos of you and a girl. And then she just stops showing up in the photos. I noticed it was the same girl you have a picture of in your wallet. You’re not the only one who can play detective” She says. 

He is still staring at the wall, as if barely hearing what she’s saying at all. 

“Whoever she was. Is this really what she would have wanted?” She pleads. 

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about” He warns, softly, gently. 

“You’re alive,” Rollyn says. “I’m alive. Can’t we both just be alive and in love and be fine, Sunset. I know you’re hurt. I’m sure she meant the world to you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I can’t keep watching you put yourself in danger.” 

He does not answer. 

“We could run,” She says, taking his hand. “We could both run.” 

“I can't,” he says. She knew he would say it. She keeps asking questions she already knows the answers too. She wanted so badly to believe she was wrong. 

“I can’t watch you get yourself killed” She says. 

“Then don’t” He says, and flinches as he hears the bitterness in his own voice. “I love you” he corrects. “But I said on our second date, and I meant it. I will compromise on every front. Every front. But one.” 

Rollyn stands up, wiping her face again, getting makeup on her hands. She fishes through a drawer in her closet for a cigarette, and lights it, like a woman about to dig her own grave. 

“You shouldn’t” Sunset says softly to his asthmatic kismesis. 

“Fuck you” she says, and inhales shakily. “You remember that first fight we had? Three months ago? On a phone call in this closet?” She says, sitting down in front of him. 

“Yeah?” He says, carefully. 

“When you told me you were a mutant for the first time” She says, wiping at her ruined mascara. She looks him dead in the eyes. 

“Wipe my memory of you” She orders. “Back to then” 

“What?” He stutters. 

“You said you wouldn’t do it unless I asked. Well I’m asking.” She says. 

“Rollyn,” he pleads. 

“I could not stand,” She says, her voice trembling. “To love you, and then lose you, Sunset Blinks.” She says, her voice layered over with rage and care and hurt and despair. “So make it so I never loved you at all. Back when you were an ordinary purpleblood, and this was a silly fling. Give us some silly reason to break up.” 

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. His shoulders sinking. 

“Okay” he says gently, taking her hands in his. “Are you sure there's nothing you want to keep?” He says. And she exhales, closing her eyes. 

“Remember that day we went to the aquarium?” She says, the ghost of a smile on her face. 

“Yeah?” He says, trying to keep steady. 

“And they had the wading pool with the stingrays, and-” She makes a noise half sob, half laugh. “And you walked right up to the edge- and one of them splashed you? Soaked your whole outfit.” She grins, and then it fades. She could list more things. She could list a thousand things. But she must not start now or she won't be able to stop. Or she’ll want to keep it all. 

He touches a hand to cup the side of her face, looking at Rollyn like he always does. Like she were a waterfall, or an open sky, or a range of mountains turning blue and purple as it fades into the horizon- like she is unfathomably beautiful and just out of reach. 

“I guess I could keep that” She sighs, leaning into his touch. 

“Okay” He says, his gaze lighting up a gentle, purple glow. “Open your eyes” 

She pauses, just a second.

“I love you,” She says, opening them.

“I love you too,” He says, “And I’m sorry”

[miraculousfrenchculture]

Hello again!

I will understand if you do not answer the question. But if you can / want, tell me, please: to immerse yourself in the world of characters, I studied on the Internet how people in France address strangers. Like "ladies and gentlemen" and found information that in France it would be a "Monsieur" for a boy. But for a girl there are options for "Milady" and "Madam", depending on age and marriage. In the same article, it was written that in France women oppose such a division and demand to use one word "madam" for everyone without exception. This is true? Wouldn't it really look silly if you refer to all girls and women, for example, in the comic "Madame"? I'm a little confused as the series is set these days, but the students are referred to as "Milady." I create fan art and would be happy to support women, not offend them because of an incorrectly written article on the Internet.

I hope my question is not too stupid or inappropriate. Thank you again for your blog!

P.s. Even Google translated the phrase "madam, lady and monsieur" as "madame, madame et monsieur."

Heya!

Your question isn't stupid and is most definitely not inappropriate at all, don't worry! 😄

So basically this is how it is:

Sir: Monsieur

Madam: Madame

Miss: Mademoiselle

A lady: une dame / Lady: Madame

The thing is, "Mademoiselle" is reserved to non-married women or young women. There isn't an equivalent for non-married men.

Before, on administrative papers, there used to be the three options (Monsieur/Madame/Mademoiselle). But since 2012, "mademoiselle" has disappeared from them (through a circular encouraging administrations to prioritise "Madame" and avoid "Mademoiselle"). The problem with it was that it's making assumptions or asking informations on the marital statue of women, while men don't have that.

Now administrative papers aside and at speaking, it's not forbidden per se to call a girl "mademoiselle". Most of young girls won't mind, because "madame" sounds kind of older especially since it's a pretty recent change, and will even find being called "madame" weird. Some will prefer "madame" though because of what "mademoiselle" implies or how it's uneven with men and will correct the person, though most of the times if you want to call a young boy you don't know you'll say "jeune homme" (young man) instead of "monsieur".

Usually, girls older than 30 or even 20 would automatically be called "madame" no matter their marital status, while a girl younger than 20 will very likely be called "mademoiselle". It does happen though that some older women will ask to still be called "mademoiselle" if they aren't married, but it's uncommon.

Small anecdote too: a recurring joke is for people to call old women as "mademoiselle" to make them smile as it's obvious they're not supposed to be referred that way, just like people will call old men "jeune homme" as well!

In the show, you have "Miss Bustier" that the class call "Mademoiselle Bustier" lots of times for instance, but we don't know enough of the character to know why they refer to her like that but we can assume she introduced herself as such at the start of the school year!

Hope it was clear! 😊

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

[youwontlikethisblog]

Picasso's Night

The previous post Adriana Arboleda brings you up to date with the analysis if you would like to go read it before you start reading this one :)

Now this day has been a pretty eventful one. For one: We witnessed Armando show contentment that morning when he saw Betty for the first time that day. Totally absorbed by her existence until Mario cleared his throat.

Armando screwed up big time when he made it seem and acted like spending some alone time with AA was a lot more important than Betty or the company. He yelled at her and said she got on his last nerve and since then Betty has been on a bad mood with Armando, who after Mario told him that Betty was jealous had a moment of realization and has been feeling pretty awful since then.

Interestingly enough as the night progressed and Betty was invited to the exhibition of Picasso's collection, Mario kept insisting that Armando go and speak with Betty since he was leaving to Miami the next day.

Though this time, unlike the last time he traveled, before Panama, Armando was a bit more hesitant to leave. It wasn't merely because of the new collection they were going to launch and it wasn't because of the state of company. Armando looked at Betty to see if he had any reason to stay, looking at his best friend for any excuse to stay.

After Marcela tells Betty to reserve two rooms at the same hotel they stayed last time and Mario agrees to them traveling he then starts to insist that Armando go speak to Betty and apologize for his behavior that day.

The one thing that Betty did begin to screw up on(aside from starting an affair with her hawt boss) is that now emotions begin to play a huge role, not in the personal part of her life but the professional.

Betty has always been good at maintaining a good separation of what is professional and what is personal(although most of the times when she didn't she was following Armando's lead or example) . At the start of their affair, the day after Armando kissed her for the first time, Betty stayed professional. Even afterwards, Betty stayed professional. When it has come to company time Betty has stayed professional except this time she didn't.

Her jealousy, her feelings took control of her, foretelling things to come, less than 24 hours away.

This also pushes Mario with this idea that Betty must be catered to by Armando in order to keep her under control, though Armando knows best and he knows Betty won't betray him, Mario keeps pushing this narrative and when Betty doesn't agree to it or deny she'll do it Mario understands this as her holding it over Armando's head because of what he did that day.

Writing this now has made me realize that that's the reason he wrote the letter to Armando, not as some stupid mistake or for Betty to find it, though that's a pretty good theory, is that he did it for Armando's sake. Here me out!

For one he truthfully believed that Armando would be stupid enough to screw up giving Betty her gifts and that it would ruin the relationship but the cruelty of this letter exceeded even his jokes behind closed doors, that Armando didn't find amusing anymore, even before he slept with Betty the first time. I'll explain this in the post regarding that fateful letter and from the point of view as a writer and why even that sequences of scenes was a bit choppy and had it's mistakes in execution.

Now here when Armando asks her if she will embellish the balance for him for the big board meeting she allows her anger and resentment to come above her labor obligations and she doesn't give him an answer, better yet she finds a way to ignore the subject. Yes you can argue that Betty was always motivated by her secret crush and her secret feelings for Armando to do all the things she did it in the past, like the first time she embellished the balance and while yes that is true. I have pointed out how Betty showed her love for Armando through her work. He had upset her as well in the past and she'd still do it because in the thick of it she couldn't see him fail when she had the "solution" in her hands but this time her feelings-though extremely valid since he did end up hurting her feelings not as his employee but as his girlfriend- come above everything because this time her ego, the one he was helping to build up, was crushed by the man himself and that is a mistake. Especially when it comes to something that doesn't only directly affect Armando but an entire enterprise where her friends happen to work in. This again foreshadows events to occur in less than 24 hours.

Later when he goes into her office to talk to her she tells him that she doesn't do that, but he interrupts her and tells her that he doesn't want to talk about that but that he wants to talk about Adriana and what happened in his office.

Again though Armando contradicts himself a lot when he is with Mario when we see him with Betty we know where the true nature of his worry or concern lies and it isn't the company but their relationship. The evidence in this is how he behaves when Mario brings up the company compared to his relationship with Betty.

After Betty leaves Mario explains why Betty was hurt and that he can't leave with Betty being hurt, angry, and resentful because she's got the company in her hands. Armando looks angry when Mario is explaining what his mistake translated to Betty. He's angry at himself, while Mario talks about the company Armando has his back to him, peaking outside of the blinds and then turns to him.

"What you're doing is throwing away all that work [we] put in the days before. You're practically telling her that the relationship is just a game. That for you the ninety sixties are a lot more important to you." Armando quickly looks at Mario when he says this, again he is maintaining himself composed and controlled with his emotions as his face doesn't give much of a reaction but the quick jerking of his eye sight allows us to know that this part, from all of what he has said, is a lot more important to him than the company, again because he trust Betty with it, and that he is more worried about the way he has offended Betty. "that this is made of paper and let me tell you something; an ugly wounded woman is more worse than a wounded tiger and that wound doesn't heal with pats on the back, no Sir."

This conversations motivates Armando, not to go talk with Betty since he already wanted to do that but to go searching for her so he could fix his mistake and clarify just how important she is to him.

At the exhibition Betty points out his needs with the models to which Armando tells her that she makes him feel like if he were some seggsually deprived man, which is true. This does make the assumption that Armando's conquests or what not where meant to be written as a borderline seggsual addiction behavior type of thing since she doesn't say "your infatuation, your affairs." she clearly says "your needs with the models".

The conversation here is important because it begins to open a can of warms. She tells him that he'd look good with her, that Adriana Arboleda and him would make a good pair. That their attractiveness complements each other.

"I understand asking for privacy for one thing only." We then see a frame of Armando(lol the painting behind him has to be comedic gold!) who glances away from her, lips with a slight frown but not tight or pursed, showing that he isn't mad or frustrated rather he is upset with himself. "You wanted to be alone with her. Besides I'm not asking for you to give me any explanations. At the end of it you are the president and I'm your assistant. Besides this all happened during work hours and since I've worked for you I perfectly know your needs with the models." She glances around and leaves as people get closer to them. Armando then goes after her.

Right now I'm going to admit that I was wrong, well somewhat. I wrote a post once saying that Betty was calling Armando Don instead of Sir as the relationship progressed but I was wrong. Betty uses the title of Sir as a term of respect for Armando. Even here when they've slept together and she's seen and felt the change of Armando towards her and their relationship she still calls him Sir or Don Armando, that doesn't change. However the somewhat mentioned does change when it comes to Armando. So I was wrong but towards who the theory fell upon. @el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle was right and there isn't much of an importance when it comes to Betty and what she calls Armando. HOWEVER let me preference this that the person I was pointing this theory towards was my bad however the theory of changing names or titles is correct.

If you've read my untitled post regarding my OC and her relationship and how that helped me realize how I wasn't sympathizing with Marcela and that not only was A+M relationship toxic but as well as dependent than I gave you some glimpse into my original writing and how that process helped me be able to understand this part of their relationship and now that this is out of the way, let me tell you why these last two paragraphs are here.

My OC has a habit of never remembering peoples names on purpose, she does it as a power move. As if saying "You're not that important for me to remember your name." she does it especially to annoy people. Also because she's distracted half the time judging a person when they're first introducing themselves. Armando does something similar with Betty on her first days or weeks at Eco Moda.

Men tend to ignore women who they aren't attracted to. Armando did this to Betty. On a professional level he didn't ignore her but as a woman he did. We knows this because it was clearly presented this way at the start of the novela. However I really made my self take notice of this when I re-watched the first half of the novela(I haven't seen the ending bc I tend to avoid things that I cannot control or expect).

My OC is introduced to a guy who she can't stand and at first she calls him all sorts of names starting with the letter 'C' until she managed to remember his last name and calls him that for the remaining of the beginning of the story until they become friends, she switches between Caleb and Anderson, often times calling him by his name when they are having friendly conversation. When they become good friends and establish their friendship he no longer is just Anderson to her but Caleb, someone worth remembering. This is a small detail that I thought would allow the reader to determine the change of tonality between these two characters and their relationships and honestly one of my favorite details to write so when I first noticed this, I got too excited and projected it onto Betty when in reality it was Armando.

Now that I've spoiled my own writing(that I'll most likely never publish) let me explain why I bring this up, finally.

Armando called Betty at the start of the novela "Emperatriz". Once they became more familiar and Betty corrected him and told him he could call her Betty, he finally remembered her name. It's important to note this small detail because just like I intended to write it, so did Fernando Gaitan(I'm assuming lol). He did know her name but he didn't care to register it. Marcela called her Beatriz in front of him, Mario called her by her name, everyone did except for him, and she[Marcela] got upset at him when she heard him call her Betty because in her[Morch] eyes that was a cute nick name to have for an employee, especially for an "ugly" secretary. Now the switch between Betty and Beatriz did happen before the affair started, however the switch was a little bit more noticeable as Armando began to blur the lines of personal and impersonal.

In this scene though and the scenes before this, whenever emotions were heavily involved, especially when it was regarding their relationship Armando calls Betty, Beatriz, in fact even when she wasn't present in the room and he'd talk to Mario about his feelings and why he felt guilty(before he'd shut off this part of him bc Mario would start making jokes) Armando referred to Betty as Beatriz and not Betty but when it came to talking about her as an employee and not a woman he'd refer to her as Betty, it happens this day as well. When he gets upset that she won't let him spend alone time with AA and he yells at her and calls her Betty.

Why am I bringing up this small detail in this post? In this scene and the scene in Mario's apartment this is very evident and signifies the growth of his feelings and his conscious commitment to Betty as a woman.

Finally, after a bit of arguing inside the museum they leave together, of course, after sneaking out because Marcela went to the museum trying to catch him.

It's also important to note that when they found out Morch was in the museum that Betty asked Armando if he had anything to drink. It's pretty standard for him to be drinking, tipsy, or even drunk when he goes out with Betty. The one time I can remember him being completely sober was when he had to confess his feelings for her, soberly, the day after he kissed her for the first time. I broke that down in another post :)

Other times while he hasn't been drunk or tipsy he has had a few drinks at the office, however again it's pretty standard for him to drink and she knows this but why is it something that is brought up here?

Betty attributes Armando's behavior, especially when he is this...stubborn in doing things that could expose their relationship when he has been drinking. Not only that but also because the night they first hooked up they both had been heavily drinking, especially Armando and it is important as the continuation of the night leads us to Mario's apartment.

Outside, in his car, Armando finally gets to clarify his actions as he apologizes and tells her that he only wants her to know that she's more important to him than any other woman and he isn't shy to name the woman as he says: "than Adriana Arboleda, than Marcela or any other woman." This sounds a bit rehearsed but not like the previous times where we can even notice in his tone of voice and his micro expressions that he does so for manipulation. A great scene to use as a contrast to this attitude of his in this scene is the one where he makes out with Betty, the night he fights Roman and Co(wrote a post about it too). This lets us know that he really did think about how to apologize to her. While here his tone is rehearsed his micro expressions aren't a show, in reality his behavior is natural and goes along with what he is saying.

Now Betty in a teasing tone replies to him saying "That's not true." (also because she doesn't believe him)and Armando in a very serious tone and even a seductive tone, gazing his eyes down her body and back to her lips tells her that of course it's true and leans in, placing his hand on her face and they start to kiss.

This shows us that Armando once again isn't only feeling his emotional attraction to Betty, which is what moved his physical attraction forward in the past but now he can tell the difference between these two and he is okay with them! This is a huge step for Armando because he no longer is denying these things from himself. In fact he encourages himself and Betty to have these desires for one another and that as the days progress since their first sinful night his desire for Betty only continues to increase.

When they pull away his phone starts to ring, Betty asks if it's Marcela and Armando's facial expression and tone tells us it is as he looks annoyed and pissed that she's calling him.

This reaction is also standard for him because it's the exact same expression he pulls every time Marcela calls him. Especially when he's with Betty. However this small detail we've been given through the past episodes and this night also hold much significance in future episodes when his reaction to her call no longer is standard behavior from him.

While at the start of this phone call his tone is very forced in "lovingly" speaking to Marcela, his micro expressions again show us that he is just pretending. This tone is one we've heard a bunch of times before and it's one that is solely reserved for Marcela. Even on her part she tries to speak "politely" and just as if she were simply calling because she was curious but as this conversation goes both their dances of trying to keep things peaceful and civil subside and they basically start a mosh pit where they become more hostile until Armando implodes on her.

Marcela in a her standard of questionnaire routine asks Armando who he's with, hesitant he admits he's with Betty.

Her reaction to this however isn't standard of just guilt, taking into consideration the events of the day and that even Armando has told her that Marcela stops nagging him when she knows he's with her and because she's also eavesdropped and heard Armando say that Marcela doesn't consider her as a femininely threat, much less a woman, she once again gets hurt.

One could assume Armando did this to cover his tracks in case anyone told Marcela that they saw them leave together. It's also not hard to believe that Armando is stupid and says things without thinking them through in the heat of the moment however what is more obvious is that he probably wanted to take Marcela off his back so he tells her that he's with Betty. The small pause he takes before he says this helps me determine this. It could also be that he did so in case anyone did tell Marcela he left with Betty.

As Armando implodes on Marcela for insinuating that he lied to her i.e that he's going to go off with his mistress, Betty shifts in her seat and then she looks uncomfortable, returning to her guilt.

In this scene Betty experiences first hand this toxic side of Armando, one she has seen as a boss to employee scenario but not as a significant other. She has heard and even been in the middle of their fights in the past and while even then she behaved professionally, and also guilty this time she shows a lot more emotions raging from being uncomfortable to even being upset with Armando. This however is a small taste to what she will experience first hand not as the bystander of this side of his but as the target of his toxic behavior.

Later in the car, as he drives, Betty, with a broken heart tells Armando she believes that he should go on his trip and try to reconcile his relationship with Marcela and reconnect while they're away.

Armando, nervous and scared asks her if that's what she really wants and the hurt that it might be, he asks(really demands) for her to look him in the eyes and tell him this. Which Betty doesn't. In this moment his phone rings.

Why do these small details play such a huge role?

Less than 24 hours away, Betty finds the letter which plays the exact rhythm in which Armando and Mario planned her downfall.

For one: While in the past Betty agreed to embellish the balance for the meeting, this night she did not and because of this Armando went out to look for her at the exhibit and then took her to his best friends bach pad and slept with her all so she would embellish that balance which would keep the board members at peace allowing Armando to continue as the president of Eco Moda.

Two: That Mario called him this night, while they were together, and while Armando "played" it off that Mario wasn't aware of their affair, when she later questioned him about it and he denied it, these conversations begin to makes sense to her.

We know that's not the case. While Mario spoke about the company Armando didn't seem that concerned or even motivated to go searching for her but it wasn't until Mario mentioned how sever it was what that he implied to Betty that AA was more important to him than her[Betty] and what that meant for their relationship and how she was suffering because of it that he was motivated to search for her as he said, a terrible fear was settling in him because of it. While yes, Mario suggested that they hook up so she could be happy again and forgive him and that way the company would still be in their hands and not Nicolas, Armando didn't need any motivation for that.

In fact he hasn't needed any inspiration or motivation sober or drunk to desire Betty, often not being able to stop himself from kissing her and more. Was this based on Mario telling him to do this?

No.

It wasn't because Mario suggested it(At the office). Unlike their first night where Armando kept calling Mario and kept asking for help and advice, this time Armando gets annoyed at Mario for calling him. Even his behavior is different. While before when Mario kept insisting that he slept with Betty to get it over with, Armando showed disgust or being repugnant to doing an atrocity of that magnitude towards Betty, this time his face was poker. He showed no real disgust towards the idea of seducing Betty as in he'd sleep with her, more that Mario yet again was using something he knew was important and special to the both of them[B+A] as a weapon for the "good" of the company.

When he hangs up his phone Betty points out that the direction he's driving isn't towards her house, to which Armando tells her if she really wants to go home.

"I think it's for the best." He turns to stare at her and then pulls to the side of the road.

"That you want me to take you home?" He asks in disbelief. Betty swallows hard, the corner of her mouth look a bit downward and she looks scared. "Damnit!" He hits his steering wheel and though he is angry, his tone is completely different to that of his tone when he is angry at Marcela. "Damnit, Beatriz, all I want is to be with you tonight, I leave tomorrow, remember? I went to the museum, exclusively, to pick you up, to see you, to feel you next to me, to be with you. When we bumped into Marcela I risked my life and I am still risking it to this moment. Everything I've done is to tell you that I adore you, that you're above Adriana Arboleda, that you're above Marcela, of-of all of them!" We can determine he is honest here as he stares at her, exclusively even when she doesn't stare back at him, she looks pained and confused herself. "and the only thing you can tell me is that you want me to go to Palm Beach(I LOVE the way he says Palm Beach it's just ugh so nice) and have a marvelous honeymoon with her so that we can grow closer." He looks down, away from her and then ahead of him. His voice was no longer harsh at the end more so becoming almost a whisper. "That's what you want? Okay! Right now I'll drive you to your house because it's what you're asking from me. I don't deserve this." (BAWHAHAHA ARMANI YES YOU DO, MY BOY).

Now in a non-contextual way one could simply asume that he is doing this all under the bias of manipulation towards Betty, especially that final line of "I don't deserve this." but when you take all the context clues and you look at the bigger picture there's more that plays in here and I'm not saying that Armando isn't manipulating Betty in this exact scene, he is very much doing so, however it isn't like in the past. This time he does so to get what he wants, which is to spend the night with Betty so he guilts her with this final part of "I don't deserve this- because I've risked so much to spend this night with you."

However taking aside that guilt trip manipulation, why does Armando stumble once in his words showing he isn't rehashing this previous speech? and why does he take a breather before he tells Betty that he'll drop her off at her house like she asked?

While the first apology was what he rehearsed with himself, this second time around it took him by surprise to admit that she was above all the other women because this apology wasn't based on a "lets just make up right now." it was an apology based in heart and the self-realization of how true that statement was for him that while yes Betty was above Adriana Arboleda in her significance to him and even Marcela who he's engaged to, she is now also above all women.

How true is this statement?

Well we see a change of behavior of his with women in the future episodes which proves, yet again, that this confession of his wasn't just an apology so Betty could forgive him, but an apology that was sincere and heart felt.

Betty finally gives in and tells him to wait. With tears coating her lashes she stares at him "Sir, forgive me." She speaks solemnly. Armando's entire body relaxes just a bit as he sits back on his seat. "Sir, forgive me. I want you to understand that-that this hasn't been easy for me. [The situation] with Adriana Arboleda and now the conflict with Ms. Marcela; it's killing me, Sir." His anger and hurt begins to simmer down. "I don't know what to do, how to behave. I-I think I'm acting very bad." She looks away from him, touches the side of her face in a worried and embarrassed manor while Armando stares at her and timidly(in his nature) asks her what truly worry's him.

"But do you want to be with me?"

"Yes, of course, of course. It's what I want most." She caresses the side of his face, he leans towards her hand "in the world." and now he looks like he's come back to life. Staring at her with a soft glow and when she pulls her hand down he looks at it and follows it until he stares back at her, feeling the absences of her touch and missing it. "But you leave tomorrow." They both look away from each other but Armando only does so for a micro second before he stares back at her. "and I won't be complete without you, Sir." Again we get a frame of Armando's reaction to this. "Not being by your side will not be any easier for me." As she speaks her tone is soft, timid however not wavering showing that while she is nervous to confess this to him, she isn't scared of doing so.

"Betty." He says so adoringly towards her. "Betty" he whispers and touches her face and honestly I believe his favorite part of Betty's face is the side of her face, by her earlobe cause he's always touching her there. "Nobody said this would be easy. We knew this road was going to be a difficult one but you know what? I am going to be missing you so much. I'm going to miss you a lot."

Again the words here are lost in translation he tells her "Usted me va a hacer muchísima falta." which roughly is saying that there will be a huge lack of her in him, causing him to yarn for her a lot and feeling that absences of hers will make him miss her in a very profound way because he needs her. This separation they're both fearful of is what brings the forgiveness to shore.

Now the post for that specific scene will need an entire post dedicated to it because there's so much! Just so much.

For this episode I had to watch it on the NBC app so maybe there was some scenes missing.

I don't know if anyone noticed how important the story of Picasso and his lovers was for this and how they showed the similarities to Armando and his lovers, specifically how toxic Picasso was(all though if we're being honest that dood sounds more abusive than just toxic bc we all got a lil toxicity in our system but that foo was straight up kidnapping his lovers and locking them up while he had other's on the side? Nah man call a hotline.) towards his lovers. Though I am not saying that Armando is a saint, I don't think he is as bad as Picasso, that dood needed a restraining order against him so he could just stay away from all women.

In all seriousness though the similarity was that though Picasso had lovers he cared for each of them especially his last two lovers, i.e Betty and Marcela and it foreshadowed just how jealous and pathetic Armando would become in the future.

I mean I love Armando, I had to learn to love him bc at first I didn't, but the behavior he displays in the future episodes while yeah one could explain them are not justifiable and I will get into detail on that in the future posts and the post I am still writing regarding his abusive/toxic tendencies.

Overall this episode, which on NBC is episode 68, was pretty straightforward with a lot of small details to look at and not really for the leading on of the scenes in Mario's apartment but overall where the story continues to get pushed.

In this episode, the episode when Armando fights Roman and Co. and her birthday night celebration and the previous night of this episode are nights that Betty goes back to prove that what she reads in that letter are true, especially this night, before they got to the apartment and just how much Armando "risked" to spend that night with her.

While she tries to believe that it's all a joke because she's certain that Armando was honest and heartfelt with her through his actions and not words, she doesn't trust him. I'll explain that a lot more further in that post.

Pushing forward the plot of the story though we see just how these two have truthfully grown close together and not just as friends but as lovers who are exploring their feelings a lot more now and while Betty is learning to open herself up again, Armando is learning to love for the first time.

I say that Betty is learning to open herself up again because it's true. While in the past she asked Armando why he was interested in her, she shared poetic talk about how the moon inspired poets and how guilty she felt when she saw Marcela, she hadn't opened herself up, not until the night at the hotel and that wasn't much, she barely opened up when Armando was asking her about her first time. This night she was a lot more open. She called out Armando's behavior point blank and period, no hesitation, she spoke about her opinion and then she spoke about how she felt, not regarding her insecurity but regarding their relationship and the absences she'd feel from Armando not being there. While before she'd just say "I need you." or "You mean a lot to me." this time she goes on to further explain her feelings to Armando instead of just saying the words, this time she elaborates.

Armando is learning to love for the first time, being humble in realizing his mistakes, his limits and also understanding just how his actions affect others but the most important thing is that he is learning to be at peace with his feelings for Betty. We saw it that morning when he first saw Betty, later in the office when Betty caught him making out with the AA picture and just how guilty and embarrassed he felt because Betty saw him. Unlike with Marcela where he was scared that she'd cause a while scene, this time the problem for him was that Betty wouldn't cause a scene but be hurt and dump him for it, which would be a big deal for him. We saw it later when Betty forgave him after the letter and gift and when he realized the huge mistake he made with AA in the way he treated Betty. All of these behaviors has shown an Armando who has accepted that he cares for Betty, not love, but cares for her deeply and that she is important to him.

Thank you for being patient with me and sorry that I haven't been as active. These past days have been pretty busy and they'll continue being so. I'll probably only be able to post once a week but I hope that the post become better quality that way as well since I'll have more time to really break down the episodes.

Well 'til next time! :)

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 2

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Brief description of suicide

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 2 - Problem-Solving by Elimination

Scholar-Tyrant Song sat in the examination room, his mind blank.

The types of questions at the Banquet of Beauties were more terrifying than Goldbach’s conjecture. At least he would not panic if being questioned by his professor on Goldbach's conjecture.

The Langgan Terrace of the Golden Pheonix Manor was extremely luxurious and beautiful. There are countless cultivators and beautiful women flying in the depths of the clouds. Every guest was more beautiful than the last, and carefree laughter and obscene words were thrown around.

Song Qingshi silently recited his lectures on the human body structure, physiological hygiene, mouse breeding and other courses twice in his heart, finally recovering the calmness of a high-ranking medical student. Thinking about the lab mice he had bred for three years dying off, the scene in front of him no longer meant much.

There are two kinds of divine fires in the original person's body. The first was the Red Lotus Fire used for refining his alchemy, and the other was the Underworld Ghost Fire used for killing people.

Song Qingshi's expression became one that could repel others from thousands of miles away. He released the Underworld Ghost Fire from the palms of his hands, causing the flames to continuously jump at his fingertips and change into different shapes.

Fen Shen and He Ti ancestors are the treasures of all the cultivation sects. They did not usually involve themselves with the mortal world. The Nascent Soul cultivators are all big shots walking carefree in the immortal world. Not to mention the danger of the cutivating path; no one could guarantee that they wouldn't need to ask a doctor for help. Neither righteous cultivators or demonic cultivators were not willing to offend the Medicine Master Xianzun easily, let alone mock his perverse character.

When the cultivators saw the Underworld Ghost Fire, they knew that he was in a bad mood and kept their distance.

Song Qingshi was able to keep a clear area around him. He cut off the cultivators who approached him to make friendships. Then he released the powerful spiritual thoughts of a Nascent Soul cultivator and quickly took in all the beauties at the banquet. He looked carefully and tried to find the protagonist in the crowd.

However, Yang Yuhuan was thicker, and Zhao Feiyan was slender. Everyone had different standards of beauty. Song Qingshi was of the kind of person that was not very reliable. His eyes were quickly dazzled, only able to think that all of them were beautiful during the dinner. Even the maid who poured the water was graceful and beautiful. She was more beautiful than the stars on TV. He couldn't tell who was better looking.

But this stubborn scholar will never admit defeat!

Song Qingshi tried to use the process of elimination to solve the problem. First, he determined that the protagonist was a man, excluded all the maidens during the banquet. Then he needed to make a list of key observations, verifying claims, making careful assumptions, and removing the beauties that did not meet the standards one by one.

The twin brothers brought by the Sect Master of the Blood Demon Sect were extremely beautiful. Jade-like skin, fragrant, and passionately devoted, just like two identical lotus flowers on one stalk.

There can't be two protagonists, cross it out.

The young man brought by the immortal master Longhu Sect is also super cute. He is so childish and adorable, holding his immortal master in his arms and acting like a baby. The immortal master loved him very much, doted on him, and he even hand-fed this junior immortal his food during the banquet. He kept calling him "baby".

The protagonist is supposed to suffer a miserable fate. Cross it out.

The foreign monk from Beizhou used a mysterious iron chain to lead along a handsome man covered in wounds. He stumbled and followed the foreign monk obediently. But underneath, his body revealed a rebellious aura, like being an eagle with his wings tied but still wanting to break free and fly away.

The protagonist is a beauty, so he wouldn't be so heartless, cross him out.

. . .

Into the depth of the night, the whistful music of the Banquet of Beauties had long been replaced by debauchery. Many people took the beauties away from the tables, and the scene became more and more unbearable.

Song Qingshi did not want to peep into other people's private affairs, for fear of seeing something provocative and getting an eye stye. He kept his thoughts away from extra events and kept it focused during the dinner. Then he heard the foreign monk show off the man he had brought with him to the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect: "He was even a famous general in the human world. After he was defeated and captured, he was sold to me. He's an arrogant person, who resists even under the threat of death. He is very exciting to play with."

The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect introduced a soft and coquettish young man, and smiled: "A proud person has the taste of being proud, but there is also the taste of being well-behaved. Let's switch and try it out?"

The foreign monk hesitated. The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect cast a wink at the slave.

The charming young man immediately snuggled up on the monk’s chest and begged coquettishly: "I truly like majestic bodies of strong masters, please love this slave well."

Fan Seng was ignited by the tender words of this young man, and he readily threw the chain in his hand to the Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect, and took the young man to the side hall. The Young Master dragged the chain fiercely, and forced the gray-faced man toward the secluded part of the garden.

There were many scenes like this during the dinner, and no one had pity for these tragic beauties.

. . .

Song Qingshi had already learned from the memory of the original body that the spiritual energy of the human world was thin. The lifespan of mortals was short, and the spiritual roots were occasionally weak. Just having a base foundation was like reaching the heavens. Some kind-hearted cultivators will accept mortals as disciples and give them the opportunity to ascend to immortals. Ten thousand years ago, there was a mortal named Mo Yuan who was extremely talented. He just relied on swordsmanship to become a Nascent Soul cultivator. His techniques rivaled the Fen Shen ancestors, and was thus called the Sword Sovereign.

However, the road to immortality was to fight for one's life with the heavens. It had difficult steps and repeated failure was common. Killing someone for their treasures occured from time to time. It was difficult to restrain their behavior with morality.

Weakness is the original sin. Mortals were like ants.

Even if it was the Sword Master Mo Yuan who took care of him, he could only lay down the rules among the elites of the immortal world. He ensured that the mortals who successfully built a foundation base were treated as cultivators and no longer playthings and slaves. But demonic sects and cultivators never cared about the rules. Not even just the mortal cultivators, the immortal monks also suffered in their hands. Their evil deeds were too numerous to count.

Golden Phoenix Manor was regarded as a famous sect in the immortal world, and all the cultivation furnaces in the Manor are of made and purchased in the mortal world.

So even if Song Qingshi couldn't tolerate what happened here, he couldn't interfere. He was slightly grateful that the identity that the system arranged for him was not a mortal, otherwise he would never survive two chapters, let alone save the protagonist.

Fortunately, it was just a virtual world. . .

Novels were all evil works; textbooks were the righteous materials in the world! The professor was correct in confiscating the novels of all the girls in class! If he had the opportunity to become a professor, he will not allow students to read novels! Help them to avoid their Three Views being poisoned!

Song Qingshi sighed silently.

Suddenly, a curse came from the garden. It was the Young Master of Hidden Moon Sect who dragged the stubborn man's corpse and returned with a disappointed face. The man's shirt was torn open, revealing his bruised body. His body was riddled with scars. He had taken a stolen silver chopstick, pierced his throat deeply and killed himself.

The silver chopsticks were very blunt, and it would be extremely difficult to kill yourself with one of them. You couldn't stab yourself with one without exhausting all your energy, which shows his determination.

Seeing this, everyone in the banquet joked. They laughed that the Young Master couldn't even take care of a mortal.

Hearing the disturbance, the monk left the charming young man and hurried back out of the side hall. He saw that the person he had brought was dead. His brows furrowed and his face was full of anger. The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect was even more angry than him. He turned the dead man over, revealing his back covered with lashes, and questioned the monk: "Why didn't you mark this little slave of yours with an Acacia Seal? How could you let him die?"

The foreign monk was stunned by his question: "What is the Acacia Seal? Some new thing from the Central continent?"

Seeing his ignorance, the cultivators couldn't help but mumble that Beizhou must really be a barren land considering that they didn't even know that an Acacia Seal is a well-known thing in the world. The monk was lost during this whole conversation and the Young Master was discouraged. He pulled the monk, hating iron for not making seal, explained the beauty of the Acacia Seal: "The Acacia Seal is a method created by Huanxi Xianzun. The owner can print it on the back of the furnace, and the body and soul of the furnace transfer into the hands of the owner. No orders are needed and it cannot die without permission."

Song Qingshi had found important information. He swiftly concentrated on this discussion and listened carefully.

Hidden Moon Sect's Young Master took out a red bead from his space bag. An idea sparked in his mind. He turned the bead in his hand. The charming young man who was standing next to the monk immediately knelt down and started to bark.

The monk waved his hand, disgusted and said: "It's so obedient, even if you try something new once in a while. If I raise them like this, I would get tired after playing with it for a few days."

"There are a lot of usages in it. You would know if you had used them yourself. This Young Master isn't going to list them all for you." The Young Master withdrew from spiritual mind he had put into the bead, and the young man crouching on the ground stood up. He was used to being humiliated in front of a crowd and blushed. After a while, he faded from his shame and stood behind his master with his head down.

Seeing that the monk still didn’t understand, the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect still educates patiently: “The most important thing is that unless you let the cultivation furnace die, the cultivation furnace will never die against your will. If you brand this little slave with the Acacia Seal, wouldn't it be more fun to make him unable to kill himself and then slowly break down his pride?"

The foreign monk had an epiphany. He nodded and agreed.

The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect erased the spiritual mind of the cultivation furnace's bead in his hand. He threw it to the monk, and said graciously: "Since the young master killed your beauty, I will will compensate you for it. You can take it and study the beauty of the Acacia Seal. Once you start, you won't be able to start."

The monk was overjoyed, and even boasted: "The Central continent people are really bold, this Black Vulture has made you a friend!"

The charming young man's face instantly turned pale. He looked at the original master desperately, looking like he had something to say, as if he wanted to beg, but in the end he didn't say anything, and went with the monk in tears.

The jewels were corrupted and it was like broken jade.

This extravagant feast had finally reached its climax.

The disciples of Golden Phoenix Manor concealed the radiance of the luminous beads above the temple, and let the darkness envelop the entire Langgan Terrace.

The guests raised their heads in amazement. They saw fireworks from several spells across the darkness, blooming in the air into a radiant golden phoenix, dancing lightly, announcing that the performances of the feast were about to begin. Jin FeiRen raised his wine glass and invited guests to share in the festivities again.

Song Qingshi marveled at the beauty of the Phoenix Dance, and admired it for a long while. Then he discovered that a young man in white clothes appeared next to Jin FeiRen. The young man had very clean and beautiful features, like green bamboo in the mountains, a bright moon in the sky. A layer of cold frost covered in his low eyebrows, his hair falling like a waterfall around his face. It was tied back with a ribbon. There were no other notable features on his whole body, but he still easily retained everyone's lingering gazes.

The tall and handsome owner was smiling and gently scratching the young man's palm with his fingers, praising his treasure in a gentle and soft voice, trying to get him to smile.

The young man turned his head away, despite the teasing. He didn't even want to spare him a glance.

Jin FeiRen twisted his head forcefully, and forced his hands behind his back with only one hand. He held him close in an embrace and kissed his forehead and the bridge of his nose carefully. Then he bit his lips hard, as if to he wanted to swallow him whole. The teenager struggled with pain, Jin FeiRen smiled and released him, leaning close to the youth's ear, and asked softly: "Do you want to learn the rules again?"

The young man froze for a moment. He stopped struggling, and sat obediently into Jin FeiRen's arms.

Was this the protagonist?

Song Qingshi secretly watched for a long time. He finally suppressed his social anxiety, ready to speak, and then LingBao Xianzun who had a good relationship with Jin FeiRen walked over and asked with a smile: "This is the new treasure of the Manor Lord? Is he pure? Does he have a good Yin constitution, a single spirit root of the water system? How about giving him to me to taste tonight?

Jin FeiRen glanced at the embarrassed and angry expression of the youth in his arms, gave him a squeeze, and refused with a smile: "Although he is just a toy, he suits my heart and it would be inconvenient to give him to you. Later, I will give my friends some top-quality products, all of them newly branded with excellent physiques and very clean."

LingBao Xianzun carefully looked at him. "Is your furnace still a virgin?"

Jin FeiRen said: "I don't want to treat him like an ordinary furnace."

Song Qingshi had already heard more obscene words tonight than he had in his lifetime. He understood everything that should be understood or even things that shouldn't be understood. He also understood clearly what a furnace was.

He watched as Jin FeiRen was pouring wine for the young man during the banquet, and he was a little unsure whether this was the protagonist. Although the white-clothed boy seemed to be more attractive than the other beauties present, the system had explained that the protagonist needs to be rescued from his miserable fate. Now Jin FeiRen was quite fond of the boy, and every beauty in the Banquet of Beauties was many times worse off than him. . .

Song Qingshi was anxious pondering these questions. . .

At this time, the phoenix finished its dance in the air, and fell into the crowd with a stream of light.

The light faded away, and a huge golden, carved bird appeared on the Langgan Terrace. On this bird frame was a beauty beautiful enough to destroy a city.

The gold fetters inlaid with jewels encircled his pure white ankles, and were tied to both sides of the bird frame with long thin golden chains. His upper body was caged with almost transparent thin fabric, and he could vaguely see the magnificent scenery decorated with gold jewels and jade underneath. On his lower body was a long dress in the shape of phoenix tail feathers made of gold and red feathers. His hair was adorned with pearls resembling mermaid's tears, the enchanting Acacia Seal on his back hidden by his long hair, flowing in the breeze. It was as beautiful as a phoenix with rich colors, the human peony in the world.

He held a jade flute in his hand, his thin lips slightly open, his beauty almost unnatural. The dark golden phoenix eyes seemed to be smiling but held no emotion, and he greeted the audience. Song Qingshi sat up straight. He recognized that this was the beauty in red that he had seen by the river bank.

When the red beauty glanced over at Song Qingshi, his eyes stayed for a while, then slid over as if he didn't recognize him.

Song Qingshi looked at the young man in white clothes on the left, who looked like a bright moon, and the beauty in red clothes on the right, who looked like peony in his prime. He was panicking; he couldn't tell who was more beautiful and more like the main character!

The exam questions of the system teacher were too difficult. . .　

Is Scholar-Tyrant Song going to fail his course?

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 42

of the wwx emperor au that’s back to being called Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41

The summons come while the sky is still dark.

WangJi had woken with a tight sense of foreboding lodged in his chest, alert and on guard the moment his eyes had opened in the pre-dawn gloom. The events of the day before had certainly disturbed his equilibrium to such an extent that the anxiety and the trepidation do not seem out of the ordinary. The air is heavy in the Imperial guest chambers, weighed down with uncle’s disappointment and XiChen’s silent misery; in such an environment, it is difficult to trust one’s own instincts.

WangJi does not try. He moves though his morning routine as unobtrusively as possible, refraining from any unsolicited observations.

XiChen had not slept. If uncle had managed to sleep, no such thing can be garnered from the deep shadows under his eyes.

The small flame of joy in WangJi’s chest, so bright and unrestrained the day before, is now layered with bitter guilt. He has always experienced all of his happiness and misery with XiChen. They have always shared their burdens equally. It feels a betrayal, that this is a burden WangJi cannot make lighter for his brother, that he is powerless over the way their paths have diverged.

It is almost a relief, to have the heavy silence interrupted, to have something else to focus on for the time being.

The Imperial summons are for WangJi alone. Wei Ying is unpredictable in this respect; it is difficult to tell if he intends to sneak out of the Immortal Mountain again, propose for the second time, or if he simply wishes to have company with his morning tea. Nie ZongHui does not offer a reason for the summons, and WangJi does not ask. Still, the moment he steps out into the hall, his sense of foreboding increases.

The Imperial guest chambers have been heavily guarded from the moment the Lan Sect had taken up residence. However, the number of the guards had increased throughout the night, unnoticed by those within. Now, dozens of them stand shoulder to shoulder, forming an impenetrable wall outside the receiving hall.

Even more alarming is the fact that WangJi’s escort consists of thirty men, a mix of Nie Sect members and Imperial guards, all personally headed by the Lieutenant General of the Emperor’s army. The Emperor himself is rarely ever seen with such an excessive escort, especially within his own palace halls. It is slightly absurd, being surrounded by so many armed men, that they can barely fit through the palace halls without tangling in each other’s scabbards. The size of such an escort would suggest that their destination is some distance away, but hardly any time passes at all before he finds himself back in front of the doors to the Emperor’s personal study.

Immediately, he is both concerned and frustrated. If Wei Ying has summoned him before sunrise, with such an obnoxious escort, only to propose again, after he had promised to give WangJi time--

“Lan Zhan!”

The exasperation bleeds away in a hurry. Although it is difficult to pay attention to anything with Wei Ying’s bright smile turned his way, there are other people present in the Emperor’s personal study, each one a sharp reminder of WangJi’s current ambiguity of position.  

He is not yet betrothed. Even if he were, the level of familiarity he has displayed when alone with the Emperor will certainly not be seen as appropriate. He knows that kneeling will make Wei Ying unhappy, so he settles for a compromise; a bow, and a polite greeting.

“Your Majesty.”

He does not quite manage to complete the bow before Wei Ying has his forearms in a tight grip, and is tugging him forward.

“Do not address me so Lan Zhan, everyone present is family. You have met my uncle XingChen and Song Lan.”

Being pulled into the circle of people he hardly knows is more than a little discomforting. Song Lan is coldly polite, but the Rogue Prince, the person WangJi had actually offended, smiles in a warm greeting, for the first time displaying some physical resemblance to his nephew.  

“I know you have met Jiang Cheng and my Royal Companion as well.”

Jiang WanYin looks distinctly unhappy to see him.

Nie HuaiSang does not. He looks... half-asleep, and at best, disinterested in WangJi’s presence.

“I do not believe you have officially met Wen Qing.”

The day they were supposed to meet, the day WangJi had come upon Wei Ying covered in dirt, with a child on his hip, seems to have occurred decades ago.

WangJi bows, “Lady Wen.”

It is difficult to tell from her expression whether she approves or disapproves of him being present among the people Wei Ying had claimed as family, but WangJi has a clear impression that her approval is not something which can be easily obtained.

“Shijie should be here,” Wei Ying says, “but she had pressing business to attend to in the dungeons.”

Jiang WanYin snorts at that, but no one bothers to elaborate on the subject.

“Can we get on with this?” Nie HuaiSang says, “I would like to nap before the Gifting Ceremony.”

“You mean, you would like an opportunity to riffle through all the gifts before they are presented,” Jiang WanYin says.

He sounds irritable and cross. There is something defensive about his posture, the folded arms, the tightness around his mouth. WangJi does not know Jiang WanYin well, and cannot discern if this defensiveness is an ordinary occurrence, or a specific response to his own presence.

“I have already done so, yesterday,” Nie HuaiSang says, “so the joke is on you. By the way,” he turns to Wei Ying, “the set of jade hair ornaments from the LaoLing Qin are mine. They would look terrible with your complexion.”

Wen Qing and Jiang WanYin both roll their eyes at the same time. They do not seem aware that they have done so, as they appear to be taking particular care not to look in each other’s direction.

“We have the same complexion,” Wei Ying says.

Nie HuaiSang snorts, “Not even on your best day.”

“I have work to do today,” Wen Qing snaps, “can we focus on why we are here?”

A silence falls, one in which WangJi feels uncomfortably out of place. He is the only person who does not know why they are all gathered in the Emperor’s personal study, and he cannot help but wonder if he will ever feel a sense of belonging among the people Wei Ying considers his family. It is discouraging to think that he may always remain an unwelcome stranger, even once the marriage takes place.

“Second Young Master,” the Rogue Prince finally says, “You were perfectly correct in your assumption two days ago, and more than justified in your reproof. The man we are hunting is in the Immortal Mountain, and likely has been, all along.”

WangJi is not surprised. The thirty guards provided as an escort, just so WangJi could cross the length of the Jade Sword Palace, already implied the existence of some imminent threat.

It is somewhat of a relief, however, to have a rational explanation for his lingering sense of foreboding.

“The two servants connected with your attempted poisoning were killed by the same man,” Song Lan adds, “and it is possible that the attempt on the Emperor’s life, two days later, was also his work.”

“You are certain it is a man,” WangJi asks.

“We think it is a Jin Sect disciple,” Nie HuaiSang says, “Specifically one of these three Jin Sect disciples.”

The small piece of paper he passes to WangJi looks to have been folded up tightly, numerous times, by numerous hands. The three names appear unfamiliar at the first glance. Two carry the Jin name, but the third does not.

“Jin ZiXun,” he says, “is the Jin disciple who accused my brother of poisoning the Fan Sect Leader.”

“Jin ZiXun is not the one we want,” Nie HuaiSang says dismissively.

“You cannot be sure of that,” Jiang WanYin says, his tone quarrelsome.

“Jin ZiXun is clearly too stupid to commit mass murder, and not be caught in the process,” Nie HuaiSang counters.

“He must be an accomplice, at the very least.”

“He is too stupid to be an accomplice.”

“Okay!” Wei Ying says, “You have both had this argument three times now. Let us just-- move on.”

“We do not think that the Emperor is his target,” Song Lan says, as if Nie HuaiSang and Jiang WanYin had not spoken, “We believe that he is at the Immortal Mountain specifically because it provides him an easy access to a Sect that is fully removed from the public presence at all other times of the year.”

This does come as a surprise.

It had not been so difficult to believe that a hired assassin, or a random cultivator with a grudge, may be targeting the Lan Sect. But to be a target of a person who has collected the resentful energy from more than three hundred corpses seems preposterous in both theory, and in practice. WangJi cannot begin to guess what would motivate such a man to specifically attack the Lan Sect over any other.

“What none of them are brave enough to ask,” Wen Qing says impatiently, “is the Lan Sect’s history when it comes to the use of resentful energy.”

WangJi feels himself stiffen at the implication. Perhaps she did not mean to sound accusing, but it is difficult to hear the words in any other context.

Before he can respond, Wei Ying’s fingers are wrapping around his wrist, his body shifting slightly so his shoulder is in front of WangJi’s own. It is a small movement, barely half of a step. And yet, the intention is clear, and the result indisputable.

Wei Ying is shielding him. From those he had, only moments ago, referred to as his family.

The defensive armor that WangJi dons so easily, as familiar as his own skin, melts away at the gesture. It leaves behind a hot, dry lump in his throat, one he cannot seem to properly breathe around.

“We have had this argument three times as well,” Wei Ying says, his voice hard, “The Lan Sect is clearly a victim.”

“Yes, but why,” Nie HuaiSang says, seemingly unbothered by Wei Ying’s gesture and tone, “Why focus on the Lan Sect?”

“A madman does not need a reason,” Jiang WanYin says.

WangJi wonders if Jiang WanYin would resort to explicitly defending the Lan Sect for no other reason than to be as contrary as possible.

“I do not believe that we can assume him to be a madman,” XingChen says gently, “His actions so far, the way his victims are chosen, his behavior here at the Immortal Mountain, it all points to a highly organized individual, one who carefully plans each step before execution.”

“A madman cannot be organized?” Wei Ying says, and Nie HuaiSang shoots him a look which seems to imply that Wei Ying is being intentionally dense.

“The point is,” Nie HuaiSang says slowly, “he has not chosen the Lan Sect on a whim. There is a purpose in his focus.”

“A member of the Lan Sect murdered the rightful ruler of the Shan Empire, and her Consort, all because her distant relative, long dead, had used resentful energy,” Jiang WanYin says impatiently, “I would think, out of all the Sects, they would be the least likely to meddle in this type of cultivation.”

He may be right, but his defense somehow sounds both like censure and an accusation.

In the next moment, Nie HuaiSang’s fan meets Jiang WanYin’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

“Do not be crass,” the boy says coldly, “Frustration is no excuse for incivility.”

“The Lan Sect is particularly skilled in dispelling resentful energy,” the Rogue Prince says, “I suppose it is possible that this individual sees them as a threat to his plans.”

“The Lan Sect also has a few hundred cultivators and disciples, all in possession of this particular skill,” Wen Qing counters, “Killing three of them would hardly make a difference.”

“But it is unlikely that any three together could equal the power and skill of the current Sect Leader and his two top disciples,” Song Lan says.

All eyes now turn on WangJi, as if expecting him to deny or confirm the assertion.

Still reeling from the fact that Jiang WanYin, of all people, had felt the need to come to his defense, WangJi needs a few moments to consider the question.

“I am less skilled than my uncle or my brother,” he finally says, “Among the rest, only my father, two of the Sect Elders, and Lan HanLi have an equal, or greater ability. None of those we brought to the Immortal Mountain can be considered particularly proficient or powerful.”

Everyone seems to consider this in silence, forming their own conclusions.

Wei Ying’s hand is still wrapped around WangJi’s wrist. The gesture should be awkward in front of so many witnesses, but instead, it is a soothing, grounding contact that WangJi does not want to relinquish.

He wonders at the power of Wei Ying’s touch, to instill in him a sense of comfort even among strangers.

“I still do not see why we cannot simply arrest all three of them, stuff them into the dungeon, and get a confession through torture,” Jiang WanYin says irritably.

“Because two of them could be completely innocent,” Wen Qing retorts, sounding equally as irritable.

“Is anyone really innocent?” Nie HuaiSang says.

“Certainly not you,” Wei Ying quips.

“You were never innocent,” Wen Qing says.

Nie HuaiSang’s smile, hidden behind the fan, is only evident by a slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

Song Lan sighs, rubbing his forehead, “XingChen and I believe that this individual’s last attempt to eliminate the Lan Sect must be tonight. The sects and clans are all due to depart tomorrow, and despite the recent... development,” his eyes slide off WangJi, “there has been no indication that the Lan Sect plans to remain at the Immortal Mountain. The seventh day banquet is traditionally a much more... unrestrained event than any of the others, likely to result in drunken fights and unseemly indiscretions. We think the individual will try and use the revelry as a cover.”

“We want you to be the bait,” Jiang WanYin cuts in bluntly.

“No,” Wei Ying says, his voice hard, “We have discussed this already, and the answer is no.”

“It is not up to you,” XingChen says kindly, “This person has repeatedly attacked the Lan Sect. Whether they have a hand in his capture is entirely their choice.”

Wei Ying does not seem to realize that his hand around WangJi’s wrist has tightened to the point of pain.  

“Wei Ying,” he says, fighting the urge to pull his hand back, “I am willing.”

“I will not put your family at risk again.”

“We will not be at risk. You will protect us.”

Wei Ying flinches, whirling to face WangJi, his eyes wide and lost, “How can you say that? I have done a terrible job protecting you.”

It is absurd, that he can be so sweetly endearing, and at the same time, so utterly maddening. WangJi is not sure if he would like to kiss him, or kick him. Perhaps both.

“All three of us are alive and unharmed. You have done nothing but protect us from the moment we had arrived at the Immortal Mountain. I trust you.”

Wonder of all wonders, he seems to have found a combination of words that will render Wei Ying speechless. His mouth is still moving, because he is Wei Ying, and apparently incapable of being speechless with his mouth shut, but no sounds are forthcoming.

Everyone else, however, is beginning to look noticeably uncomfortable in their presence.

Jiang WanYin, his expression sour, is the first to break the silence, “Ugh. Are we done?”

Nie HuaiSang smacks him on the shoulder again, “Why do you have to ruin the moment?”

“I do not want to see any moments. I want to finish this discussion, then leave.”

“I second that,” Wen Qing says.

“I will be the bait,” WangJi says firmly, ignoring the fact that his face feels uncomfortably hot, “Along with my uncle and brother.”

“Excellent,” Song Lan says, “We will meet again after the Gifting Ceremony to discuss the particulars.”

Apparently, he is in a hurry to leave as well, because he does not waste time tugging the Rogue Prince towards the exit. Jiang WanYin practically tramples Song Lan’s heels, and Wen Qing is only a step behind him. 

Nie HuaiSang is the only one who feels the need to take his time, and although his grin is wide and knowing, WangJi feels little resentment.

He does not know how to erase this silly, speechless expression from Wei Ying’s face, but he will start his attempt with kissing, and decide the rest depending on the progress he makes.

[ratsoh-writes]

Hello! I saw your post and would love to give it a try for a match up! Hope you don't mind my english. Not a native speaker.

- I'm a student basically so I don't go out too much unless I had to so, an introvert? I'm basically a pretty basic person. Average at best on grades, mediocre at drawing (basically my only decent skill that I have). Oh and I can make pretty good cup of tea or coffee. (I religiously put those in my system everyday.) I can be awkward and weird when people don't engage in the conversation and letting me continue without any exchange. Yet I'm happy if they are actively exchange the questions or words and having a continuous conversation especially something that we can connect or even their passion. Just talking to me would make me feel less forgotten at least. I respect a person who can understand at least and work out the disagreement between both parties rather than the person keeps blaming on me or other reasons. A good heart to heart discussion is what I love to go about. I hate a person who has a big ego and manipulative as hell to the point that they need to win in the situation when it comes to their fault. I have quite a pride but a person who knows how talks decently or at least point out my fault for me to correct them, being honest about it gets my respect more. I can be lenient and patient at time and would love to understand the situation better before making assumption because I can be oblivious at times when making jokes or being sarcastic about something. I don't want to incidentally hurt someone's feeling.

I hope these are not too much! Thank you in advance and sorry for any inconveniences!

I believe I have a great guy here for you

Let’s match you with…………GREEN! (Gastertale papyrus)

Green is a perfect gentleman. He’s very sweet and considerate of his SOs and their feelings and will do his best to express this in his words and actions. It makes it easier for you to feel seen and appreciated.

Green is also a very humble down to earth guy. He probably has the smallest ego of all the “active” personalities. He’s one of those people who knows how to provide criticism without offending others. It’s a special skill of his

I’ll admit, I pretty much jumped for green the second I heard you make really good tea. That’s this Mans addiction lol. He even has this super pretty tea set handed down to him from his gaster (parent).

Having G as his brother means that green is basically immune to sarcasm. You don’t really have to worry about offending him with your sense of humor.

Out of all the guys, green was the one that fit best I think

[s0ym1lk]

One of the things I think about a lot as a bisexual trans man is how the things I’m ‘allowed’ to say map directly to how people read me as a person. 

Pre-transition, I experienced a lot of misogyny due to my life and career choices. I’ve been sexually assaulted twice and was stalked by a supervisor at a previous job. As a passing trans man, people do not assume that I’ve had these experiences (and I don’t blame them for not expecting it - how could they know?). That occasionally puts me in a strange position. For example, I once took a diversity training where the instructor asked a series of questions about different experiences and asked anyone that had had those experiences to stand up. It is VERY uncomfortable to be the only man standing when the question ‘Have you ever been harassed due to your gender at work?’ is asked. (I would like to caveat that the instructor told us standing up was voluntary, that we should only do so if we felt comfortable.) 

The experience brought up a lot of different thoughts for me - that my identity is not fundamentally captured in our binary understanding of gender and gendered experiences, that assumptions about gendered experiences leave me isolated from everyone around me, that such attempts at diversity training without space to share your actual experience leads to misunderstanding. It also made me question how much explanation I ‘owe’ to someone when I speak out about my experiences. Speaking superficially, the answer is of course that I don’t owe anyone anything. Speaking more realistically...should I have clarified that my experience should fall into the ‘female’ bucket, because the people harassing me assumed I was female? The instructor’s point was to highlight that women face an issue men largely do not, and by standing but not speaking out, I muddied that point when I could have just explained. 

Assuming I’m cool with explaining (which is sometimes true and sometimes not, in that case I had the spoons to stand but not to explain), even that is complicated. Knowledge around trans people and trans issues is not widespread. If I bring up my transness in a discussion, the discussion has to be sidetracked to bring everyone up to speed about what exactly that means. Even if people are familiar, they generally respond as if that’s something that needs to be discussed or something I need to be reassured about, which leads the whole discussion off on a tangent. I remember I was once having a conversation with two people at a party, one man and one woman, and the woman was sharing a pretty personal memory of sexual harassment. I wanted to commiserate because I’ve had the same experience. But commiserating meant sharing my status as transgender, which would have pulled the focus away from her and onto me to explain all that, and she was in the middle of being really vulnerable so of course I didn’t want to do that. That meant that for all intents and purposes, I was isolated from connecting with someone via shared experiences due to my status as transgender and due to other people’s perceptions of my experience. That...sucked. 

Professionally, I’ve been involved in many conversations around gendered issues. It is definitely the case that as a man, I can talk about these issues (and be listened to seriously) in a way that women can’t. But to be more clear, that means talking about them as if I’m a cisgender man. Because the value here doesn’t come from me saying ‘I’m a man and yet was sexually assaulted while being perceived as female’, it comes from me pretending to be a cis man and saying, ‘but I still believe women when they talk about the seriousness of sexual assault!’ In fact, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told my own stories of harassment and misogyny and pretended that it was something that happened to ‘a friend of mine’ instead. Again, I don’t owe it to anyone to pretend to be cisgender in these conversations. I also don’t owe it to anyone to come out as transgender so people have the right context. AND YET, I do feel I have an obligation to say something. So in the end, I still have to choose one of those options. If I don’t, the people around me seeing me stay silent in the face of misogyny are not going to magically know that my silence is due to the complicated nature of my gender history. They are going to see me as a cisgender man allowing misogyny to happen. I want anyone seeing what they think is a cisgender man failing to stand up to misogyny to call that person out. Equally, I do not want to be called out because someone’s perception of me is not correct. 

Joking has also become vastly more complicated. I never realized how much joking I did that relied specifically on someone being able to see me and make assumptions about my identity in order to understand the joke (which, to be fair, isn’t just a gender or sexuality issue....the other day, a coworker I’d only ever chatted with online sent me the message ‘thanks you in Asian’, which had me preparing for a very serious conversation until I saw him in person and realized he was literally referring to himself as an Asian guy). I could very easily make a sarcastic joke now intending to call out misogyny that would come off as me being sexist towards women. 

Same deal for sexuality. I made a joke today at work that might have seemed homophobic if it were coming from a straight person. I am not a straight person. My coworkers don’t know this. The guy I said the joke to, to the best of my knowledge, is a straight guy. If someone overhears that joke and feels offended because they are LGBT or on behalf of LGBT people, does that mean I did something wrong? And yet...am I required to censor the way I talk about my own sexuality in order to not seem like I’m being homophobic? Do I have to come out in order to not be perceived as telling homophobic jokes? It becomes a situation where I either censor the way I talk about my own identity to reduce harm, I commit to being true to my identity and perpetuate harm, or I out myself in an attempt to give context but therefore open myself up to discrimination.  

The whole subject is complicated. And mind you, I’m not advocating in any way that call-out culture is toxic or flawed with this post. I can and do want people to feel comfortable calling out others for what they perceive to be discriminatory or bigoted behavior, even if that means I end up in the crosshairs. I’m just trying to share some thoughts about how being part of a community in a way that’s not visible can be complex and frustrating to navigate. This is a subject I navigate daily, sometimes multiple times in a day, and it never gets easier. 

[mxvladdy]

Shake On It

This is an older original work I wrote for a writing prompt given to me on a writing discord I’m on. I really liked it!

Ironically it also pertains to the Christian mythos and such, but is in no way affiliated with Obey Me lmao 

Prompt:  traveling bible salesman, death of a family member and bouns round- a time machine.

Hope y’all like! I might add to this later on. I got a lot of fanfics and original projects I’m working on as it lol.

Down on your luck? At the end of your rope? Sister's funeral not going as planned?

We've all been there.

Perhaps I can offer you a hand? Promise it's worth it.

Thin smiles and fake condolences. It was all really one could expect under the circumstances, really. You and your sister hadn’t-well- weren’t the most well-received individuals on your family tree. But she deserved better than this, some stale flowers and a note. You had stormed from the viewing room near tears, the only two relatives who had shown looking after you. They had been less than tactful in saying that no one else was coming. Not even your parents were there. So, instead of watching over your twin’s ashes, you sat crying next to the funeral home's rusty dumpster.

How fitting.

Did no one care that familial blood had been spilt? A cold body and no leads and they just shrug it off? You sniff, lips trembling around an unlit cigarette, numb and lost as to what to do next.

“Need a light?” Reedy fingers flick out beneath your nose and pluck the stick from your slack lips.

You jerk your chin up in shock, more surprised that you hadn’t heard them approaching. “Oi!” Your eyes squint as they snap up toward the setting sun. Your uninvited visitor is perfectly shadowed by the low light. They tisk, ignoring you in favor of sniffing your cheap smoke before flicking it to the ground as if it had personally offended them.

“I swear,” they scoff, fumbling in their pockets. Their soft accent is unrecognizable to your ear. “On a day like this. You deserve better, no?” Their hand stops at their chest with a soft gasp. “Ah! Here we are, here we are!” The stranger’s silhouette produces something from an unseen pocket with a grant flourish, offering it out to you.

“A lolli?” You take it from them in a daze, twirling the bright yellow candy between your fingers. You eye them quizzically.  It seemed like an odd practice for a funeral home to do. You knew they hadn’t been at the wake. Their form was taller and lankier than the few guests or staff that had been milling about. Did they work in the back with the bodies, perhaps? Out on their 15? You eye their scuffed oxfords and old mud clinging to their khaki pants.

The stranger chuckles, an oddly deep one for their stature. “But of course! Better for you in the long run. Believe you me, lungs full of ash are quite unpleasant.” You stare blankly up at them. What? “Might I join you for a tick? You look like you could use some company.” They continue nodding their head toward the empty space beside you.

“Can’t stop you.” You sigh popping the sickly yellow lolli into your mouth. The flavor catches you off guard. Hands flying up flap uselessly at your burning cheeks. You gag, only swallowing down your initial shock. Chili and lemon? Who the hell…

“Shock to the system huh?” They laugh at your teary-eyed glare. “I find a bit of contrast clears the mind.”

“I guess.” You cough as you thump your chest hard. Wiping at your teary eyes, you get a better look at them. You were correct in your assumption that you had never seen this person till now.

They smile at you patiently, knowing exactly what you were doing. They seemed normal enough. Unkempt hair and thick glasses. Gangly knees draw close to their chest. A rumpled white button-up tent like on their frame. Sleeves pushed up to show off their knobby elbows. Their tawny skin was spattered with freckles, crossing from high cheekbone to high cheekbone. The freckles were interrupted in their smooth transition across their face by a jagged edge on the wide bridge of their nose. From a distance, the crook of their nose wouldn’t have been noticeable. But this close, you recognize the look of a break long since healed. Its off-centered placement only emphasizes their lopsided grin. Their teeth, though, are surprisingly flawless. Their canines flash predatorily off of the security lights as the sun finally sets.

“My condolences.” They cut through your musing, popping a candy in their mouth as well. “I assume you are part of the party inside?” You follow their pointed finger to the door.

“Yes.” You nod and readjust your posture, mind back on your sorrows. They hum noncommittally, finger tapping their nose deep in thought. “It’s my sister- was- my sister.” You explain. “Her landlord found her last week in her bathroom. Coroner says the wounds were self-inflicted.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“Not in a million years.” You scowl. You were gonna make it big together, if for no other reason than to thumb your noses at the family that threw you aside. Didn’t know how yet, but you thought you had all the time in the world to figure it out. “We had a plan. Leaving all our work unfinished? It isn’t like her.” They nod, letting the silence draw out between you. The cicadas filling the emptiness.

“What are you planning now?” they ask. The words tickle in your ear, temping thoughts you had long since buried. You knew what you wanted. You wanted revenge, to find and destroy whoever took her away from you. To take your family to task and prove to them that you both had been worth a damn.

“Therapy and a potted plant.” You lie easily, resting your back on the chain link fence. They laugh loudly head thrown back from the power of it. It grates at you.

“Oh, my dear~” They wipe at their eyes, chortling. “I haven’t had a laugh like that in a millennium.” They clear their throat after a bit, brushing at some imaginary dust on their arm. “No need to lie to me. Such peace is not in human nature.” You bristle, wanting to argue, but something holds your tongue. “Perhaps I might have what you seek?” They pull an old briefcase out from behind them. You gape, brows threatening to disappear into your hairline.

It all clicks, as sudden as a blown light bulb. The clothes and glasses. The aversion to smoking. The pushiness. Unbelievable. “You aren’t-no. No!” It was your turn to laugh, the sound bouncing around the back alley. “A freakin’ Bible salesman!?”   You lose it, slapping their knee while clutching your stomach and gasping in the sour air. “Oh my God! What, did you get lost on your way to a 60’s convention?”

“Yes, yes. It is quite out of vogue in these times, isn’t it? We had to take a more hands-on approach in recent years. The old lore just doesn’t hold up like it used to.” Their chuckle patting the case, thumbs popping the locks. “But I assure you my book is just what you need.” You stop laughing. A little nagging feeling in the back of your head finally starting to take over.

“Listen- with all due respect."

“Please,” they snap, their tone turning sharp and businesslike. “Lying just insults both of us here.” They hand you the case, nodding at you to open it. “Give it a look. I know you want to.” They lean close then, placing a hand on top of yours. The shadows of the overhead light elongate the digits. Candy sweet breath tickles the fine hairs on your face. “And if the book doesn’t entice you, perhaps a deal might?”

You pop the lid.

The sole occupant of the case lounges on an ornate cushion. The rich blue velvet is inlaid with silver thread and beads, the ornate geometric stitching painstakingly done by some poor sod years ago. Frankly, it looked like a lot of flash and theatrics for a rather ugly book. The leather bound cover is bereft of any discernible writing or art. Despite its apparent age, the paper within is crisp. It's bone white color contrasts harshly with the gold ink used on it.

“I can’t read this.” You look up confused by the random string of symbols and letters. The Bible salesman shrugs, picking at a cuticle.

“You sure? Try again.” Their nonchalant demeanor befuddles you.

“Yes, I’m sure. What kind of mor-'' You glance down at the book again, the leather warming in your palm despite the cool night air. The symbols are the same but it all seems so familiar to you now. Book of The Dawnstar.

“Is this a joke?” You already know the answer. The unnatural warmth and pulsing from the book bring the nerves in your stomach to a sickening curl, tipping you off. But, you don't want to say the word. Magic was a stupid fairy tale made for the big screen.

“Does it feel like a joke?” They ask, lips curling.

“What do you want?” You shut the book with a snap, placing it back in its case. You weren't liking where this was going, but were intrigued all the same.

“Well~ I thought it was self-explanatory.” They take the book back out, fingers going over the front’s cover in odd swirls and dips. Your eyes follow the trail left by their fingers. “Striking deals used to be so much easier, I swear.” They point at you, then at themselves. “I can feel the rage. It called me here. You want answers; more importantly to me, you want revenge. I can help. All you need to do is make a deal with me. You know the saying.”

“For-for real?” You can hardly believe it. This is a prank-or a fever dream. It’s the only explanation. No demon or devils, or stupid magic bullshit. Someone would find you soon, passed out from the stress back here.

“Dream or not, what would it hurt to try?”

“What would it hurt!” you laugh in disbelief. “You know in Bible school they say not to make deals with devils.”

“Pfft.” They wave off the comment. “I’m wounded! Half those fools get the language twisted anyway. Devil, Satan, and my name are not interchangeable . I’m not some low level sprite begging for souls.”

“Why come to me then?” you ask. They shrug, fingers slowing to a stop over their book. “Wouldn’t some--I don’t know--Christian soul be tastier or something?” You begin to panic. The look of exasperation you get in return stops you from losing it completely.

“Is that what they teach these days? Heh, Gabriel must be ringing his halo. But if those stupid little superstitions are whats stopping you from what we both know you desire, let me rectify that.” They rise to their feet, far more elegantly then their appearance would lead you to believe was possible. A haze covers them, the shadows around you seemingly clinging to their body as they turn. “A formal introduction then. Dawnstar, Lucifer. The light bringer, rebel, and protector of those under my eyes.” They bow, baggy clothes replaced with elegant robes of navy. All gangly awkwardness gone in the wake of sheer power. “And you are exactly the entertainment I’m looking for.”

“Entertainment?” You sputter, sinking back as far as you can into the fence behind you. You were sure if you should be insulted or not by the notion. “So you don’t want my soul?”  

Lucifer rolls two of their many eyes. “I have bigger, quite frankly purer souls, for that. But they are all rather boring to follow around till they croak. Besides, despite what sweet old pastor Dale says, I am empathetic--to a certain degree. You are right in your assumption that your twin did not take her own life. So I’m offering you a chance to meddle.”

You ponder over the words, mind racing as your spirit soars. This was impossible. “So I can-- what, like wish her back? A soul for a soul?” You rise to your feet, knees shaking as the heavy gaze of the fallen angel bares into you.

“Ugh. Figured you’d say something like that,” Lucifer groans, rolling their neck. “And the answer is no.”

“What? Why!” you snap, heart seizing. You jab a finger at their chest. The cold radiating off of them stops you from getting any closer. “You said you would help!”

They step back, smirking as you rub at your frostbitten finger. “Live and learn, I guess?” Lucifer turns, looking up into the bug-infested sky. “You humans always try that martyr shtick. ‘Oh, trade me for them, please!’. Turns into a never ending headache I’m contractually obligated to help with. Plus, it’s rather boring.”

You sputter. “Excuse me?” Lucifer looks at you, blinking coyly.

“When you’ve been around as long as I have, such clichés get grating every couple of centuries. You, my girl, just have the misfortune of being in one of those centuries. Try something more creative. Make me work for it.”

“Seriously?” You throw your hands up exasperatedly.

“As serious as your great aunt's coming heart attack.” They reply deadpan.

“Fine!” You purse your lips, not evening wanting to think about that last statement. “Help me prevent it.” You fume, all the little thoughts and wishes since the day you got the call boiling over. “I wanna look that fucker in the eyes before they can get to her. I want them to pay for even thinking they could take her from me!”

Lucifer grins, cold dead eyes warming over like coals on an open flame. “Oh yes, now that I will do. Time distortion is such a pain to undo. By the time they catch on, Michael will be up to their necks in timelines to untangle to get to you.” They unfurl a long clawed hand from beneath their robes. You see a symbol glowing, hot and white, on the skeletal palm. “Is that what you truly want?”

“Yes.” You nod, your throat clicking dryly as you approach them again. You hand inches from theirs before stopping. “Can you do that?”

Their smile is all teeth. “With ease. I look forward to watching the mess you make.”

[buddiewho]

Is this unpopular opinion? I understand where Taylor is coming from. Does it feel mean to be called needy? OH, yes, yes it does. No one wants to be called that. If I were in Buck's shoes I'd feel absolutely taken aback, absolutely offended and downtrodden, but...there's some truth to what Taylor is saying. Apparently, Buck did't tell her about the double date scenario. He only said, "It's Buck, what are you doing Thursday night?"

She assumes she's coming over to Buck's place and that they'd be alone. Somehow, probably because she hoped to salvage the night she walks into the mess? Well, it's scripted, but still I'm thinking would you come in after you saw the fiasco? Or would you be like I'm out? Then you leave Buck to stew and talk about it later if he or you continue to call one another. Honestly. However, due to a script, Taylor goes through with it. I think there's a difference between how unnecessarily mean Veronica is being to what Taylor does after she storms out. Or what she says during. "Buck can't stop talking about it." (ie the disaster date that he had with Veronica and her being a neighbor sleeping with Albert his roommate). Not so sure about her offhanded "Buck's intimidated by strong women comment." Funny enough, that sounds like an ego stroke for Veronica; you see it's hard to defend someone who was UNNECESSARILY mean (also let's face it this is a room full of FOUR people who enjoy ego strokes, no joke).

Taylor however has a reason to be angry?

Sure, Buck had no idea of her feelings. He cannot be held accountable for that, but his actions made her angry. The point is, Buck did invite her over to keep up appearances. To show off the fact that hey yeah, I'm cool with this Veronica and Albert thing. We're good. I'm still trying to date, but coincidentally that date just goes and says, "Buck can't stop talking about it." Even if this wasn't done intentionally, because I don't think Buck sought out to do that; it happened that way and Taylor felt that way. He might've figured Taylor would be all right with it; turns out she's not. And I think there's an underlying thing there when she said "I could've really used a friend..." It's where she might be at in life; most likely due to the pandemic making her feel lonely and I think she's might've worked on some stories that put things into perspective. Speaking of which, I do think you can grow as a journalist? Correct? Perhaps it's always about being fame hungry, but it looks as if Taylor is trying to be a changed ethical journalist, who now knows that what she almost did to the Bobby and the 118 would've been disastrous (why tell Buck who you haven’t seen in a year maybe, “I see the people you work with. You have a lot of meaningful relationships there...” well there could be double meaning in that, but I do think it was way to show her having changed or realized that she was being emotionally manipulative and ‘immorally reprehensible’ to get her foot on the map. When the dust settled, she realized the documentary on the 118, was still her shoe in, even without the footage of Bobby- also this is me giving her HC backstory or MAKING ASSUMPTIONS)

 Coincidentally the very reason her and Buck went separate ways is because she was so adamant on using that footage. She was a different person trying to push forward her dream career. Like I said, the documentary still put her on the map though and now she’s a well known reporter/journalist: Taylor Kelly seen on TV and not just a voice in the sky, because hell she’s never getting in a helicopter anytime soon...

Things change. Opinions change, people grow and I think during this pandemic there's been enough heartbreaking stories for Taylor to realize I don't have to tell these stories in manipulative ways [ie calling Buck for a miracle during her recent story, her relying on that station who was her shoe in?] I don't know there seems to be something underlying to explain that Taylor is making that change, but while insinuating she's feeling kind of lonely just like Buck. However, Buck really goes about this the wrong way whether it was intentional or not? Have you ever put someone in an awkward situation? I'll be honest, I'm about as awkward as Buck and will think of an awkward situation for weeks, until someone calls out my awkwardness...do I feel like poop when someone calls me out? Always.

Taylor and Buck also have this past connection, whether it be based upon physical attraction, whether it is based upon the fact that there was manipulation on Taylor's part in the beginning (the mean part, but it can be forgiven much like Eddie screaming at Ana for the skateboard thing?), they have enough of an established connection for Taylor to call him out on bullshit. So what is she supposed to say suck it up and say what? It's my fault. I should've known this wasn't about actually dating me. This wasn't about a possible hook up, perhaps with something more, because hell the SIX HOUR call with the possible jumper/robber, wasn't a date? Anyway, that call, it was the most Buck and Taylor ever [emotionally] communicated and I think Taylor liked that change so it'd be why she said yes to coming over for dinner. Also, for Taylor and Buck it could be easy to fall back into, but they might have to still ease into it...

Maybe I'm on Taylor's side because I've been in a relationship where I was directly told I was the problem. I did the breaking up, three times (we were on and off) and it was me who would call the off, because frankly I was a little baby bisexual who was extremely afraid and probably still internally in the closet and I was also trying to be polyamorous. That's a whole load of shit. I needed to learn. I needed to educate myself and as my ex said, "you need to work on yourself." Which feels reminiscent of Taylor's, "if this is how you treat your friends then maybe Albert isn't the problem..." Does it sting when called out like that? Yes, it does, but in my case, let's say about 4-5 years later, I did a lot of work on accepting myself, educating myself and basically staying single and wondering if dating is worth it, or if I even want that right now...

It's crap, but what I want to say is I think I understand Taylor Kelly in this moment. Just all right, come at me, in a nice way if you can explain to me that Buck didn't make a mistake? That Buck isn't on some pedestal in which he can't make subconscious or conscious mistakes. You're thinking, wait! Don't you love Buck? Yes, I do (not so much in season 1). I was like wait it's going to be like this all the time with this character, I don't want it. Then we grow. Then we change. Then we adapt...hmm, maybe I'm in love with this ADHD bisexual bouncing golden retriever. Okay, cool. However, I think we're easily shifting blame to Taylor all because of the one mistake she nearly made when her character first appeared.

[erensnubs]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

Colt Grice x F! Reader Dystopian AU

Chapter 3

Word Count: 1.3k

"Uh hey? You seem lost in thought. "

You shook your head to focus your gaze to the man in front of you. Sandy blonde hair, tall, strong build, and murky green eyes. Considering his body type you assumed he worked somewhere on the Garrison Regiment or one of those cowards, correction, Military Police. 

"Yeah, uh do I know you?" 

Strangers always approach you when you go out in public. You like to joke how it's because of your adoring looks and alluring aura, but in truth it's just because, 

1. You lived with Levi (the ladies are crazy for him)

2. People gossip about you, Hange, Levi, Erwin and Moblit thinking all of you are in some sort of love pentagon

3. You were in the news when you gave Public Health Service Announcements from the government

4. This usually applied to men, some women but not only did you have a wealthy salary, you had a reputation and apparently people like that

"No, I just wanted to talk to someone. It gets tiring to talk to the rich folks," he said sheepishly. 

You looked at him inquisitively. The man didn't know who you were.

"Why does it tire you?" 

He sighed and walked over next to you and leaned himself on the wall, "They push the same agendas all the time and they talk about trivial, stupid things. It's the same thing over and over again." 

He gestured by raising his pointer finger and circling it around in the area, "It gets tedious and they act like it's so important and hilarious every time." 

Then he turned to look at you, "But you out of all the people I've seen. You didn't really talk that much only to yourself. What are you thinking about?" 

His questions startled you as your eyes squinted and tried to analyze this man. He saw what you were doing and his green eyes followed yours, like you were playing a game of cat and mouse. If that's how it's going to go, you thought. I guess I'll play. 

"Why do you ask? Did my mutterings seem incoherent to you?" You countered. 

He smiled, "No, it's just you seemed so at peace by yourself, I had to ask what you were thinking about for a person as busy as yourself to be so calm."

Ah so he did know you. So much for having a normal conversation. Not that it was normal in the beginning. 

He looked at your disinterested expression and started to apologize profusely, " Oh shit, I didn't mean to offend you. You were just walking around and talking to lots of people… you looked busy and important that's what I'm attempting to say." 

Your mouth parted slightly then you slowly closed it. Who was this man? Why was he so straightforward?  

Good job probably fucking up your chances with talking to her. 

Colt POV Fuck. 

She didn't answer and I could feel blood pumping through my head and my face heating up. 

Was she disinterested in me? Tired or bothered? Even worse did I come off to her as a "nice" guy that was just trying to get into her pants? 

The silence between us was tangible, I felt like I could grab it and wring it out to try and continue this conversation. 

I didn't even know this woman's name and yet she still captivated me. 

Maybe it was the way she walked up the stairs of the Opera House, her head up high and unfazed. Maybe it was when I locked eyes with her for a split second, before her attention was turned to someone else. Maybe it was the way she smiled so fakely at these people that I wanted to laugh out loud, at her and the fact they couldn't tell it was fake. 

Maybe it was the contagious laugh she had, the way her passive personality changed when surrounded by friends. Or the way she flirted with people. 

I could tell I sounded like a creep but I've seen her before moving to "Paradis". She was on the news, vigorously explaining concepts, ideas things I never would've thought of in million years. The way she spoke with such passion and feeling about these people's lives, which up until a year ago, I couldn't care less about. 

This woman standing next to me, who was probably bored out of her fucking mind, inspired me to find a job in the government, specifically the research and weapons development department. I was still interning at various places before I actually started, but I'm making progress… I'm getting there. 

It wasn't her intelligence, or her passion that captivated me. It was her passiveness… her "wallflower" persona if you will, that she puts on to mask, to observe. Why would someone as powerful in wealth and government act that way? How did her personality change from laid-back to bright? Her flexibility confused me and I wanted to find out more. She had the ability to make me be passionate about something other than pleasing my parents…. Why was she so reserved?

Maybe I thought,I  shouldn't make assumptions. Yes she was my inspiration, but I didn't even know who she was, what her name was. Living in Marley, we didn't have information on the government officials like the people here so their names were always:

Commander of the Survey Corps

Military Commandant of the Military Police 

Or hers: 

Head of Research and Data Department 

I only knew a title, and a face to match but now I'm looking at her in the flesh. Her presence was underwhelming, but there was a weight to it that I couldn't understand. Was it melancholy? Or was she just a complete mystery to me? 

And voila, here I was invited by my manager at the research center for the Science Museum taking me as his plus one, to this formal event. 

And here she was, my BIGGEST inspiration, my literal REASON why I wanted to work for the government and I can't even say shit to her? 

"I was thinking about possibilities and outcomes for a certain person if I told them to do something," she says finally. 

The silence broke, and she looked at me, leaning her head against the wall tilting her face in an alluring expression. Her eyes looked glazed, from the glowing light and I couldn't help but stare at that calm expression. The golden lights of the chandelier reflected on her eyes and they seemed to dance, so softly. 

Her lips were slightly parted, chapped on the top, smooth on the bottom as expected of a busy woman, but I have never in my life wanted to touch something more in my life. 

I snapped out of my trance and looked at her wide-eyed. So she was thinking about certain possibilities of a hypothetical situation? How far does this woman prepare? 

But this was the hard part, I think. How to tell her that "Oh by the way I basically switched careers because I saw you give a speech a year and a half ago and I was inspired" without making it feel weird. 

Don't think Colt, just do. 

I quickly shook my head and without even thinking I reached out to grab her skirt.

My thumb grazed her fingers slightly, but I still held onto the hem of her dress. She still didn't pull away. 

Her eyes locked onto mine in a "what the" expression but I steadied myself, even when the blood rushing through my head was pounding, the sound so loud the only thing I could hook onto was her eyes. 

And her dress of course. What the fuck Colt, are you falling in love or something? 

 I remained calm as I looked at her very, VERY surprised expression. Her body was pulling away from mine, I could feel it but her dress stayed between my fingers. 

"Can you tell me about it? While we dance together?" 

Prev/next

[shy-magpie]

RQG 158

liveblog under the cut

pre episode nonsense:

Roman Rogues was a delightful palate cleanser, but I am ready for the main campaign again. Hopes for this ep:

Bring on the Kobolds! (and Hamid figuring out how to behave ethically in a relationship with unsought but unavoidable power imbalance)

Azu please talk to someone about what you are feeling, not just take on everyone else's pain

is it too early for more on Dwarves since we're headed to Svalbard?

Cel's village pls, and everything we can get about how they fit in and how they feel about leaving. Yes we got a lot with "the Fete of Cel's village" but I want more. Also if it turns out Jasper actually ends up with a Kobold assistant like I've been joking about since the little guy we left in the onion room, I will laugh for a week.

Zolf: Zolf & mental health; Zolf & Wilde; Zolf & the guys who acted as his party during the 18 months; Zolf learning to see S4 Hamid instead of S1 Hamid with new spells; Zolf & Kobolds; and did I say Zolf?

_______________________________

Now on with the show:

Ah poor Alex sounds so down about the audio quality, its the first time doing something unusual without a lot of warning. I hope he knows we're happy to trade the risk of sound issues for knowing they didn't risk people and went remote before mandatory. I do love the intros. Oh nervous Alex, really we're not going to bite. Alex fishing for praise for not destroying Cel's village is a nice transition back to more normal energy, namely fear of GM!Alex. As a person he seems lovely, and with things like keeping the company going under lock-down safely I am happy trusting him with the cast's lives, as a GM? He has killed before, will kill again, and the worst part is it will be well crafted. Azu is putting everyone else before herself again. I know helping others is part of how she copes (seeking agency is valid) but I am serious about wanting her to lean on someone from time to time. Oh bless RQ they really do hold their quality up to the highest standards, is this the audio Alex was apologizing for? Oh Hamid, he really is trying to do the right thing by these poor traumatized Kobolds. "you do no damage". Eee! Tailor!Hamid!!! Tailor!Hamid! Tailor! Hamid!!! Over the armor hooded parka for Azu, using all his materials. Such a sweet kid. Zolf is "being outside & alone", he is so valid. Cel time! Cel won a cuddly toy red panda, Alex makes them roll for it. Cel has a night at home. Wilde calls meeting for party, sans Cel who is not summoned from their village. Hopefully that means this isn't terrible & actionable news, and not that Wilde doesn't see Cel as a party member. Earhart? Please Alex we've been ever so good! Einstein is off grid, might be intentional Earhart's ship was damaged, she was injured. They need to go to her. Wilde asks if Cel will be continuing with the party, everyone volunteering at once to get them is reassuring of their place in the party. I suppose I should also give credit to Wilde for not making assumptions about how Cel would make a major life decision. Aw goodbye Inn! Oh Barnes and Carter could go either way. Sounds fancy. Zolf still has that instinctual knack for leadership, decreeing he will do the necessary but less fun bit of packing, while Hamid does the people bit of fetching Cel. I missed whether Azu was going with Hamid, but we'll find out in a minute. Helen calls out Alex. Oh Hamid, Azu, and all seven Kobolds are going. Are they staying or not? Bless the kid, Hamid is telling Skraak the itinerary as information rather than leverage to make the decision he wants. Whether the other Kobolds come with or stay in the village, informed consent is important. Also by telling Skraak first they can figure out how to tell the others along with info on the plan rather than leave them scrambling to figure out what Hamid wants to hear. I love this village. Cel set up a sound system for the village band to do their spring cleaning montage to. Azu & Hamid are charmed. Oh Jasper made the sound system! Hamid praises Jasper for that and taking care of the village. God I love that Alex isn't doing that thing where the stutter goes away as Jasper's character arc progresses. Yes stress can make stuttering worse, but it isn't a flaw that means you won't progress until you fix it.* Hamid introduces the Kobolds as his friends. Is Alex going to let the names pass from WOG to canon? Nope fair enough, as soon as we get names he'll have to use them and we'll soon need character traits and its a whole "if you give a mouse a cookie" thing. Jasper resorts to giving them tea as a universal. Cel enlists the Kobolds in improving the sound system. "Burrow through the center of the Earth?" I love Cel's suggestions. Oh please can Cel help repair Earhart's ship please? Speaking of ships, a half dozen authors just opened a new doc. Hamid is so careful not to pressure Cel while still being welcoming. Roar, Alex!?! What enormous roar!?! Oh he would break there. He is getting entirely too much mileage from being out of throwing range of the cast.

~break~

Thwarted Hamid Cel hug? Oh its the Kobolds! Bless em maybe they'll relax when Hamid doesn't turn on them for messing up. Name! Names! Thank you Alex! Yes I was just resigning myself to it being reasonable for us not to get them as individual characters, thank you! Thank you! Meerk likes loud noises, canon! Cel invites the Kobolds to stay, Skraak suggests they bring in Kobolds from the island instead of Hamid's 7. Hamid sounds a bit frantic as replies, like he thinks he offended Skraak & the others. It was a good suggestion for more reasons than just shaking the new kids, no one thinks you were just dumping them. A runner is sent to the island. Skraak wants to them to stick with Hamid. Perception check on the morning of departure. They roll ridiculously well. Oh Wilde is still wearing his antimagic cuffs on his ankles. Bell bottoms to disguise them. Oh Wilde, what happened to our peacock? They walk to the fishing vessel where Barnes and Carter are waiting. Oh Azu helps the little ones wade. Hamid flies. Zolf punts. Cel turns into a dolphin. The Kobolds are either ferried by Hamid air or swim. So Azu doesn't get to help after all. Zolf is not a happy sailor "Like going back to the place your ex works". Helen says Aphrodite would fight Poseidon for Zolf. Yes Alex you trained them well. Aw Azu and Cel play while Cel is a dolphin. I love Alex's world building Yes Lydia! The Soggy X is a favored call back. Mood Cel I have to work to remember how long ago I've been somewhere. Aw Alex gives them a wonderful meal. Hamid loves Sushi! Hamid overpays, good lad. Horse riding time Japan is historically a gnome heavy area and caters towards smaller races. Alex's world building is great. Oh Alex is learning to give them proper down time. Hamid gives Azu the parka he made. He is so sweet. Zolf tells him that he already has cold gear. Poor kid takes it as a rejection. I honestly think Zolf was trying to get him to relax about not having made him one too. Its well made for a coat that goes over armor. He will make one for Cel. Azu picks Hamid up to hug him. Cel praises it. Oh Carter asks for one, Hamid perks up a bit. Hamid put pockets in Azu's. Zolf turns Hamid down again. Azu offers to share and Zolf remains a great conversationalist. Oh the Kobolds need coats. That should keep Hamid busy until they get to Svalbard. No one trusts the low stakes episode. *yes I still resent all the time I spent out of class with speech therapy, and I resent more people who knew it was hard for me to speak properly, knew what I meant well enough to correct me, and still interrupted me mid sentence as if an extra/wrong syllable was more important than the rest of the sentence combined.

[thequietuptown]

As a guy, how can I effectively call out other men's shitty behavior when I see it?

Hello friend,

This is such a great question, and thank you for adopting a great ally mindset. I've written about calling out racism and bigotry before, and I'll include that response below, because I think a lot of the same practices apply.

A lot of men have bought into some of the narratives supplied by a toxic view of masculinity, and it can be really frustrating and disappointing to see your close friends kind of go on auto-pilot and promote those harmful beliefs/behaviors without ever stopping to think about it. We hear our friends make inappropriate comments, or ply people with alcohol well after they've tried to establish boundaries. We see our brothers pester people into dates, unable to take no for an answer. We see men that we love compartmentalize and shut down because they think being strong means not showing any emotions, when we know true strength means acting with integrity in the face of adversity. In any of those cases, unchallenged assumptions are at play, and those men deserve better than to be told that's how they should act.

Whenever you see or hear something that you feel needs to be stopped, there are four things to keep in mind. First, try not to hesitate. This doesn't mean you should put him on the spot in a way that makes him feel like you think he's a bad person (even if you do think that) because that could just lead to him getting defensive and doubling down on his actions, or it could make the other people around feel ashamed or embarrassed. Rather, it means calling attention to the problematic behavior as close to its occurrence as is possible to do so in a safe manner, and to be able to pinpoint what exactly you found problematic. If you can't have that conversation right then and there, call attention to it by saying something along the lines of "Hey now..." or "Ouch," anything that will stick out in his mind as a response to his actions/comments.

Second, tell him his behavior isn't okay with you. A lot of the time we fall into the trap of saying things like "she's somebody's sister/daughter," and, while that may be well-intentioned, it also erases the fact that she's a person and the acceptability of the behavior in question isn't based on her perceived gender. Also, the creation of a hypothetical woman generally won't stop the behavior if he just doesn't respect women. Take ownership of the fact that his actions made you uncomfortable, so that he can't just write it off.

Third, make sure the confrontation isn't an attack. Regardless of whether or not we think it might be deserved, punishment generally isn't a great way to correct behavior. Be vulnerable with him when having the conversation, and take the time to calmly educate him on why his behavior was troubling.

Finally, if other people are around and you can't pull him aside to have that conversation in a safe way, ask questions that will get him to think about his actions or words. My go to questions in these situations are "Why do you say that?" or "Did you mean to do that?" This goes back to the unchallenged assumptions I mentioned earlier. A lot of us act or speak without thinking, especially when we're relying on those toxic narratives. These questions give him an opportunity to immediately reflect on what he just said/did, and with any self-awareness, he might correct himself in the moment. It gives him an opportunity to save face without aggressively putting him on the spot.

It's difficult to challenge other men's behavior on your own, but it is so important to have a familiar voice be that driving force for change. I wish you the best in establishing these boundaries around you.

With love, friend.

Below is the aforementioned post confronting bigoted remarks:

It seems these days that bigoted remarks are becoming more and more commonplace. With the current political climate and figureheads in power, it seems we cannot go one day without hearing something awful slip from someone’s mouth around us. It can be hard to speak up, and, let’s face it, it can be dangerous. It can invite a world of problems into our lives simply because we are trying to do the right thing. But you know who has it worse? The people that are the targets of such remarks.

I’m not saying to put your neck on the line. In any given situation, your safety and security, both physical and emotional, should come first, but there are things that you can do. The Southern Poverty Law Center has a great guide to Responding to Everyday Bigotry. They break it down into categories about how to deal with co-workers, neighbors, family members, you name it. So I would invite you to take a look at that, if you have the time and you are serious about speaking up.

But, as with any conflict, preparedness is key. You know it’s going to happen again so think about what you’re going to say in advance. Don’t stoop to their level and resort to name calling. Even try to avoid using words like racist or sexist, even though their words may very well be those things. This will put up walls and may open you up to some backlash. Asking open-ended questions is a good way to start a conversation to see if they can put the pieces together themselves. My go to question is “Why do you say that?” because it makes the person stop and actually think about the words they have said, which might be something they are not used to doing. I had a friend in high school who would say “Get your life together” any time he heard a homophobic remark. That’s a little bit more aggressive than what I would be comfortable with, but find something that works for you.

Another thing you can do is try to create a safe space around you. If this is something happening in your work environment, put up a poster or flier that says that your personal space if a safe space. If you notice recurring behaviors, set limits. Tell them, “Please don’t tell those jokes/make those remarks. At the very least don’t make them around me.” Most importantly find and be an ally. There’s safety in numbers, and it is easier to confront someone on their casual bigotry when you know someone has your back.

I know it’s scary, but remember: you’re doing the right thing. If you are getting offended when it’s not aimed at you, it’s taking its toll. Don’t let it. Remaining silent is surrendering a part of yourself and letting those attitudes continue unchecked. If you need that ally, I am here for you.

With love, friend.

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter 4: proxime

check the notes for links to other chapters and ao3!

(also would like to note a general cw for alcohol and child abuse in this chapter - see ao3/message me for more detail and please be safe and avoid if necessary)

Adam kind of wanted to go back and slap his former self before he could announce anything was “perfect.”

It was only once the turkeys were deposited in his room by blank-faced handlers that he began to regret his decision. The turkeys stared ominously at him, eerily silent for all of five seconds before they started to move and gobble.

And they didn’t stop.

SOS, he texted Ronan simply, receiving a lone question mark in reply. 

  iMessage chat to HRH shitty bird boy

Resumed 28 November, 2019, 12:36 am

  It’s the turkeys. I saved taxpayers needless expense and now they’re going to peck me to death. 

  told you to stop playing the hero, Parrish. 

  NOW IS NOT THE TIME

CORNBREAD IS EYEING ME

Some support would be appreciated here

  i’m going to assume that cornbread is one of the turkeys and not a sentient loaf of cornmeal?

  No, Your Highness, I’ve been performing a complicated experiment involving a snack to see if it can gain intelligence. The crocheted eyes appear to be working.

No shit, Sherlock, good assumption. 

And excuse you, in the South, we make cornbread with real corn. 

  if you’re going to jest don’t include hobbies that seem plausible

  The science experiment or the crocheting?

  both. 

  When would I do either of those?

  fuck if i know, that’s your business. 

  Oh shit oh shit oh shit

Meatloaf is gobbling again.

Is gobbling a precursor to attack? 

Would google it but I’m too afraid to take my eyes off of the dinos.

  gobbling is widely known as a war declaration amongst turkeys 

i’m surprised a smartarse like you wouldn’t know this.

  Oh, fuck it, Adam thought, and before he could talk himself out of it and resign himself to a night of gobbling, the dial icon had been tapped and the glass of his phone felt cool against his hearing ear. 

“Have you ever shared close quarters with a turkey?”

Adam could feel Ronan’s unimpressed silence through the phone. “No, I have not. Why the hell would I?”

“Privileged,” Adam muttered. “You don’t know how sadistic these turkeys are.” 

Cornbread chose that moment to gobble rather loudly and antagonistically. Adam’s eyes snapped to the bird, his muscles freezing in pure fear. “Sorry,” he whispered. 

“Christ,” Ronan said, and his tone had softened somewhat. “Did a turkey make that noise?”

“Yep,” Adam breathed. 

“That is not natural,” he insisted. “What the fuck?”

“I told you!”

A squawk sounded on Ronan’s end, and when Ronan spoke his voice was a great deal gentler than it had been. “Good baby, your noises aren’t demonic…”

“I’ll assume you’re not speaking to me.”

“Fuck no. Every word out of your mouth comes straight from hell.” There was a muffled rustling nose, something that was probably feathers against skin. 

“Your bird?”

“Raven. Keep up, please.”

“Ravens are birds,” Adam said, but it was probably futile. “What’s its name again?”

There was a brief pause on Ronan’s end. “Her name is Chainsaw.”

Adam’s voice fell flat in response. “Chainsaw.”

He heard a kerah. “Something wrong with that?” Ronan said, his accent drawing out the o in ‘wrong’ like it was already a guilty verdict .

“It just doesn’t seem very...royal. Or bird-like.”

“It’s a good cry better than cornbread and stuffing.”

“I didn’t name them,” Adam defended. “Blame the American people.”

“But I already blame them for so much.”

“Add it to the laundry list.” Adam flinched back as the other turkey squawked deafeningly. 

It was the first time he and Ronan had spoken on the phone, and until then, he hadn’t even realized it. All it took was Cornbread’s evil gaze to snap him into reality. 

Silence settled between them for a moment. Adam barely dared to breathe between the awkwardness of his conversation with Ronan and his clearly impending doom at the hands of something only distantly related to dinosaurs. 

“If you get mauled by those turkeys, may I give the eulogy at your funeral?”

Adam snorted, drawn back to the feeling of the phone clenched in his hand. “Ignoring the fact that I’m the son of the President and you’re the Prince of England, absolutely.” 

“Good. I’m already drafting turkey-related jokes.”

“Don’t you dare dishonor me by bringing up the cause of my demise.”

“It’s a good thing Cornbread will have clawed your esophagus out and you’ve no possible way to object.”

“Jesus.” Adam shivered. “Now I have a third part to my nightmare.”

“I would trade you Chainsaw, but she goes for the eyes and I have the feeling you’d rather keep those.”

“Your feeling is correct.”

“Also, I would fucking die for her.”

“...Strong feelings, apparently, for a bird that doesn’t seem royal-approved.”

“That’s half the reason I love her,” Ronan admitted. “Most definitely not approved.”

“Just like your tattoo?”

The line went quiet for a moment. “Yes,” Ronan finally said. “Just like my tattoo.”

That line was back, and Adam inched ever-closer to touching it with his toes.

“No trade, then. I’ll just slowly perish alone in my room. If this causes a fiasco in the press be sure to make fun of me properly.”

“Of course,” Ronan said, just as Stuffing let out a deafening gobble. “Can’t you get Sargent to intimidate them into silence? Or, wait, is it charming them into liking her? I can’t figure her out from your description.”

“Knowing Blue it could be either,” Adam admitted. “And she’s...busy.”

“Busy how?”

“Back in Virginia busy.” Adam stretched out his shoulder, keeping a wary eye on the turkeys. 

“Virginia? With family?”

“Most of her family is Maura, and she’s still here,” Adam hedged, weighing the little he knew about the Sargent family with what he could say to Ronan. “But yeah, of a sort. Thanksgiving’s a rough time of year. She’s trying to help out, even though it’s not technically where she’s from. Raising money, ensuring shelter, I think she’s even got a protest planned.”

“Different shade of Sargent, then.”

“Same shade,” Adam corrected. “Different circumstances.”

Ronan hummed on the other end of the line. Adam scrambled for words, trying to lighten up the air. Stuffing squawked as though to mock his tied tongue.

“She’s been busy for the last few weeks, anyway.”

“What type of busy would this busy be?”

"Just start a new sentence. You sound ridiculous." Ronan stayed silent to his jab, clearly electing to ignore him. “...Date busy.”

“Good for her,” Ronan said, but he must have heard something else in Adam’s silence because he continued. “Wait. No. No fucking way. Not with Gansey?”

“Yes with Gansey.”

“Wow, third wheeling’s gotta be even more fucking awkward, huh?”

“God, I hope not.”

“The way you described them I thought they’d never wake up to it.”

“Me too,” Adam said. “And I’m thrilled for them, but I’m also very offended that their feelings are getting in the way of saving me. Gansey went with her.”

“Oh, you drama queen. Just sleep in Gansey’s room if the gobbling is that bad.”

“They can escape, Ronan, I swear to you. They’re like the raptors-”

“They’re named after fatty foods. You’ll be alright. Go the fuck to sleep.”

“...Yeah, alright. But you need to sleep too.”

“Wouldn't dream of letting you sleep alone,” Roman replied, his tone dry. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

As Adam let his phone fall onto his pillow, Stuffing chose to bash her wings against the cage. After almost falling out of his bed in fright, Adam quickly decided that Ronan might have been onto something about sleeping in Gansey’s room. 

If he made it through the night, he owed Ronan a thank you.

  ***

Christmas rolled around with a mighty fervor.

It felt like one moment, Adam was sitting back down in class after Thanksgiving to crack down on some new essays, and the next he was watching evergreens and pine decorations get thrown up along White House walls in perfect synchrony. 

The normal White House Christmas was an ordeal, one that did its best to stress family but mostly stressed political strategy. Nothing changed that year to make it different, but they did have a smaller affair in addition to all the festivities. Christmas Eve was, in many ways, the eye of the storm. An extreme amount of chaos was behind them, and a deluge to follow come Christmas morning, but Christmas Eve dinner was dependable, private, and blessedly relaxed. Adam, somehow, found himself looking forward to it. 

He sat on one of the staircases - it really didn’t matter which one, as they all blent together, only distinguishable by where they could take him - with the decorations hanging around him and a book in his lap. For once, there wasn’t any work, and even the most work-centered version of himself was forced to concede and enjoy a few hours of pleasure reading. He had grabbed the first book he could find off of his shelf and set off. Apparently, his hand had gravitated towards Fahrenheit 451. Not exactly light enough to match the twinkling reds and golds he spotted in his periphery no matter how he turned, but a personal choice all the same. 

“If you keep sitting on staircases, someone is going to walk into you,” came Gansey’s voice from behind him. 

“It’s their fault for not watching their way,” said Adam. “I’m sitting with my back to them. How am I expected to know?”

“By not sitting on staircases,” Gansey repeated. The air rustled as Gansey lowered to sit on the step next to Adam. “Some nice, light reading?”

“Yes. Everything okay?”

“Grand. Mostly just avoiding Helen unpacking and my parents stressing over napkin rings.”

“Gansey Christmas sounds wonderful,” Adam said dryly. “I assume they’ll all be here tonight?”

“Of course. They’d never miss it.”

“Helen is well?”

“Fantastic, apparently. Primed to get engaged soon, she says, and the helicopter’s got a new paint job.”

Adam could almost forget how much the Ganseys looked like a new Kennedy-like dynasty, but their swarming every year always reminded him. Their Christmas photos, too - always at DC landmarks, bleached teeth and ghost-pale skin and all-American born and bred grins. And the occasional snap stories from Helen of her mid-piloting a flying vessel didn’t help. 

“Glad to hear it,” he said, not surprised to find the words genuine. 

He got to see the Gansey family anxiety for himself only a few hours later, donned in an ugly Christmas sweater Blue had insisted on. Mr. Gansey cast a discerning eye around the room while Mrs. Gansey smiled tightly at his side, dressed pristinely. Helen chatted idly with Blue, though Blue looked prepared to bolt at a moment's notice. 

“Ho-ho-horseshit?” Maura questioned, snapping him away from his reverie and gazing around like a caged animal. Her eyes traced over the pattern on his shirt. 

“Blue’s homemade gift,” he said by way of response, to which Maura only sighed heavily. Her sudden appearance reminded him he had a task to perform, the small handled bag digging into his palm suddenly given a purpose. He held the bag out to Maura with a small grimace, watching one of her eyebrows quirk. “I was told to give you this.”

Maura withdrew an identical sweater from the bag. “Sending you to do her dirty work, hm?”

“I suppose so.”

“Hm,” was all Maura replied, until she lifted her analytical gaze to him. “Thanks, Adam,” she said, and in one of the greatest surprises of the night, slid her arm over his shoulders and drew him into a quick hug. “Now sit down. We’ve gotta start wrangling dinner if we want this to end before midnight.”

Adam took his place next to Gansey at the smaller table, unfolding a napkin and laying it across his lap. The gals at the table slowly began to fill in as Gansey chatted about the recent tabloid conjectures. 

“The youngest is back in the tabloids, you know, trying to get him on drug use again.”

“Oh, really?” Adam muttered, eyes scanning idly over the periphery of the room. His eyes snagged on the Christmas decorations, simpler than the majority of the White House decor. A few string lights here and there, hanging baubles, the occasional pile of fake snow. His finger tapped at the stem of his empty wine glass. 

“Last time he disappeared for public for a while. Heaven knows if that’ll happen again.”

He felt an itch inside his deaf ear, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach. “Disappeared?” 

“Yeah, just...gone, no public appearances…”

It was a vague memory, or perhaps a memory of a memory.  Just a snatch of something that made the hairs in the back of his neck stand up. He tried to focus on Gansey’s words, but all at once they started sliding around, unclear and blending with the too-loud noises of dinner being served. A cacophony of clacks and laughs and voices. His head burned. 

Gansey’s voice lowered. “Are you alright, Adam?”

He scooted his chair backward quickly, muttering something like “back in a minute” to Gansey before rushing away. He felt eyes on the back of his head, but he didn’t pause or slow until the door to his bedroom shut firmly behind him and he leaned against it, completely alone. 

“Parrish?” Ronan’s voice said in his ear, low and urgent, and oh. Adam hadn’t even realized his phone was in his hand, much less that he’d managed to press Ronan’s contact or raise it to his ear. He did briefly remember the ringing, but then words were falling out of his mouth and he didn’t waste any more brainpower on how he reached that position.

“I don’t want to…to bother you,” Adam said, and only someone who had known him for a long time would know how much it took Adam to say those words despite the fact that it was a mantra in his head repeating infinitely. Blue, who had known him since the age of five, had heard him say it only a handful of times. Gansey had heard it perhaps a handful more, though that was mostly because Adam felt strangely indebted to Gansey no matter how much he tried to change it. Ronan should not have known, but Adam had a feeling he would anyway. “You hate phones and it’s Christmas Eve and-”

“Adam,” Ronan said abruptly, and the use of his first name stopped him short. “It’s two in the morning. I’m just with Matthew. Talk.”

“Hi, Adam,” came a cheerful voice, somehow sounding like an even better picture-perfect British monarchy member than Ronan or Declan. “Ronan’s told me everything about how he-”

Adam missed Ronan’s ensuing muttered comment, something that most likely resembled a threat, but soon the voice that Adam assumed to be Mathew let out a trailing laugh, the sound growing fainter as he likely moved away from the phone.

“And fuck you!” Ronan called, with his mouth moved away from the receiver, before his attention returned to Adam. “He’s gone now.”

“It’s okay,” Adam said. “I didn’t mind.”

“I know,” Ronan said simply. “But I thought it might be easier. Now go.”

“I-I just,” Adam fumbled with his words for a moment, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh. He felt, strangely, like he was back in Aglionby PE class trying to participate in a football scrimmage. He’d always come just short of catching the ball. He’d known what he was supposed to do, where his hands were supposed to go, the sequence of events following the initial contact, even the proper footwork. But whenever the ball reached him, he felt the disconcerting motion of closing his arms around nothing, always a second too early or too late, leather slipping from his arms like butter in a hot pan. “Couldn’t be at that dinner any longer.”

“Why?” Ronan asked, and it was a good question, a good question that Adam had avoided so many times over he barely knew how to respond. He almost deflected like he always did, but Ronan asked the question differently than everyone else. There was no expectation in the question, no real drive to know the answer other than making Adam feel better, no guarantee of hearing the full truth or any version of the truth at all. Why. Why respond now?

“I was little,” he said, and fuck why did he go down this road at all? “And everything was overwhelming when I was little, and everything is overwhelming now, but it’s even more overwhelming at Christmas.” Ronan didn’t say it again, but still, it traveled across an ocean to hover over Adam uncertainly. Why?

“I don’t remember a lot about it. I don’t know if that’s because of...how it was, or just because I was so small. Younger than three, I think.”

“I barely remember anything from then,” Ronan said, the closest thing to reassurance Adam had received from him.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “Yeah. I guess. But I remember...I remember the double-wide. The great American double-wide in the great American trailer park with the great American alcohol and the great, raging American father.”

Ronan’s breath shifted ever so slightly.

Adan screwed his eyes shut. “I don’t...my mother wasn’t there. But she was the one who put the Christmas lights up. I couldn’t stop staring at them. I can still remember...they made the tan wall look almost golden. Just where the lights touched it, of course.” His voice trailed off, realizing how tangential it sounded. Softly, he added “I don’t know why I remember those lights.”

“Our minds remember random things,” Ronan said, perhaps to bring Adam back to the story.

“Yeah,” Adam agreed, blinking quickly. “Yeah. He didn’t...he didn’t like that. Me looking at them, I mean. So he...he took them down.”

The silence pressed in at his ears, threatening to close in on him just like walls. 

“I see,” Ronan said. 

“And he…” Adam swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple scratch tightly against his neck. He pressed his free hand to his deaf ear. “I don’t remember a lot after that, either. But the bulbs were...hot. It was freezing inside, so they should have been, too, but they were lightbulbs, I guess, and so they were hot. At some point, I fell into a railing. It burst my left eardrum.” At that moment, he could feel that second in startling clarity - pinpricks and needles and blood vessels dancing on his skin, sharp, pointed, wild attacks, and the loudest noise he’s ever heard in his life, making him collapse to the ground and forget everything else. Pain, bright and white and flashing and throbbing in time with his heartbeat until he wanted to melt into the floor. Adam was the better part of two decades removed from it, and still, the thought of that moment made his stomach turn over and over.

Adam knew he didn’t imagine Ronan’s intake of breath then.

“And my mother got home, and when she saw we left and never came back.”

The walls pressed closer to him until Ronan said “Well, shit. Fuck. Jesus.”

Adam brought his hand to his mouth, pressing it until the pressure began to ease up in his gut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, muffled against his fingers.

“No, shit, Parrish. Don’t you dare apologize.” There was a quick exhale, something that sounded like leather sliding down a headboard. “That’s what you remember of Christmas?’

“Yeah. I don’t - I don’t remember a whole lot.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

Not even Blue and Gansey knew that story. They knew the vague details, of course, how his smiles turned tight around the White House decorations and he preferred to slip into his room early on holidays. And that Robert was the reason for his being deaf in one ear. He could just never get the entire story out around them.

Telling Ronan about it was easy, though, in a way that it shouldn’t have been. He was supposed to hate Ronan, even if it became more clear with every passing day that he was far from hatred. 

“I guess I should. It’s not like I’ve done any of that in a long time.”

“You don’t have to.” A slight pause. “I can.”

Adam tried to keep the doubt out of his voice. “You can?”

For a brief moment, Adam thought Ronan might hang up on him. But then he said, “Can I tell you a secret, Parrish?”

After everything I just put on you, you could tell me a thousand secrets. You know I’ll keep every single one. I’m trusting you with a story that no one else knows, that no one else will ever know. I could do nothing less than keep your secret. 

All he said was “Of course.”

“You know my Irish father? My Irish storytelling father? My Irish-Catholic father?”

“Right.”

“He passed down more to me than just his Irish stories.”

It took Adam’s brain a moment to catch up. “I...see.”

“All three of us...well, behind closed doors, that’s what we practice. Believe. Whatever shit you want.”

“Right. So no… C of E.”

“On the record, of course. Off the record...no. None at all.”

Adam hummed in response. He couldn’t think of what else to say. 

“So...I will. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Of course.” A knock sounded on the door, sounding suspiciously like Gansey’s familiar tapping. He rose slowly, crossing to fall onto his bed. “I should probably let you go. Don’t want you to have too prolonged contact with any screens.”

“Disgusting,” Ronan said. A beat passed. “Are you a bit better?”

Adam shut his eyes, feeling the tension coiled in his chest ease up slightly. The line between the two of them materialized at his feet, on the backs of his lids, and he could nearly touch it with the toe of his shoes. “Yes,” he admitted. “Thank you.” And of all the words for Adam to say, they were the easiest and hardest to accomplish.

“Thank you,” Ronan said, and if Adam didn’t know any better he would think the words sounded harder to say for Ronan than Adam. But the line clicked and fell dead before Adam could say anything. He stared at the phone for a moment until the screen switched off from disuse, leaving him in the dark. Only then did he stand and cross the room to perch on the edge of his bed.

Gansey’s head poked through his doorway. He hesitated as though asking for permission, and Adam nodded. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything."

“It’s fine,” Adam hedged. “We were wrapping up.”

Gansey fell heavily into Adam’s desk chair just as he always did. “Everything alright?”

“Now it is, yeah.”

He seemed to be trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. “That wasn’t Noah, was it?”

“No, of course not.”

Gansey nodded once. “So it was Ronan.”

“What?” Adam sat up a little too quickly, blood rushing to his head. “Why would you say - how do you-?”

“You don’t exactly have a wide circle of friends. Guessing is easy.”

“I hate your knowledge of my loneliness.” He swallowed roughly. “And we’re not... friends.” 

Gansey cocked one eyebrow. His thumb raised to run over his lower lip. “Really?” He challenged.

And, well. No. Not really. Adam thought of their strings of messages, the trade of information between them so easy and simple. He couldn’t pretend that they were enemies anymore, or that their general feelings weren’t positive.

“Really,” He said, launching himself up off of his bed. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his pants, he glanced back over to his friend. Gansey was studying him with a distantly memorable expression, as though trying to discern a difficult Latin translation but determined not to ask for help. 

“Well,” Gansey said, blinking once, twice. He stood abruptly, noting Adam moving towards the door. “Let’s off, then.” “You’re not British, Gansey, don’t say that.”

“Mm, you’d know all about their phrases, wouldn’t you?”

“Do not.”

Before Adam reached the door, Gasney stopped him, saying his name so lowly Adam almost missed it. He turned and waited for Gansey to speak.

“Are you sure you can go back?” Adam mustered a smile. No, he thought, but Ronan’s voice echoed in his head. Don’t apologize. Maybe he could make it through after all, have a slightly better memory of Christmas. “Yeah, I am.” And he turned the doorknob to let them spill out into the hallway.

  ***

iMessage chat to HRH shitty bird boy

Resumed 29 December, 2019, 5:17 pm

  Look. I’m just saying.

Ignoring the fact that bearer bonds haven’t been legally in use since 1982

That henchman says that they’re valued at $100,000 USD

(£75,700 for your British ass)

and then Alan Rickman says they earn 20%

When the interest rate on corporate bonds was 9% when Die Hard came out??

And also there’s never been a US bond worth more than $10,000??

  stop letting sargent force you to watch die hard

for the love of god stop

it’s a MOVIE

  It’s not Blue, actually.

It’s your best friend.

  henry??? how??

  Netflix party

He got my number (thanks for that)

And wouldn’t stop texting insisting we watch it

Or he (as threatened) will “release the bees??”

I’m not sure what he meant but here I am. 

Accidentally desecrating Alan Rickman’s legacy.

Blue’s here too but it’s not her fault, at least.

  that asshole

how dare i not be included in everything he does

  “Why the hell is Ronan on the guest list?” Adam demanded, casting his eyes over their virtual list for what felt like the hundredth time. Planning for their New Year’s Eve fundraising event/PR dream/blowout party had been well underway since before Christmas, but crucial developments always occurred in the weeklong stretch between Christmas and New Year’s. Like the inclusion of the Prince of England on their exclusive invitation list of all the most famous and powerful twenty-somethings from around the planet.

Blue, seated sideways in an armchair and eating a container of strawberry yogurt at a glacial pace, said “I thought you added him?” 

Adam wouldn’t put it past her to add him and feign innocence - she had some hidden agenda with him and Ronan, anyway, one he wasn’t quite sure of - but her ignorance seemed genuine. At once, they both turned to Gansey. He kept his face blank.

“Good question, Adam,” he said, refusing to back down under their stares. “But the real question is why didn’t you invite him?”

Adam, too, did his best to look passive. “Why would I?”

“He’s your only friend that’s not currently in this room?”

“Plus he’s great for the press,” Blue chimed in.

Adam just looked between them, and Gansey sighed.

“Look, Adam, it’s - it’s great that you actually get along with him. Like him.”

“Do not,” Adam retorted automatically. His phone buzzed, and he felt his cheeks darken a little with the knowledge that it was probably Ronan. Gansey and Blue were probably staring at each other and having one of their silent conversations, but he didn’t trust himself to look at them without giving anything away. Not that there was anything to give away. “You invited Cheng too, right? Ronan won’t come if he doesn’t.” “Thought you didn’t care?” Blue asked, and he shrugged.

“They’ve both RSVP’d yes, Adam, so I’m sure your best friend will be there.”

“Lovely,” Adam muttered, ushering them along the rest of their planning.

Just before eight PM on the thirty-first of December, Adam curled into his desk chair with a textbook perched on his bent knees. Blue, already dressed and made up while laying spread-eagle on his bed, fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She’d managed to convince PR that a self-designed outfit would make a splash, and Adam had to agree with her - she really did have a knack for design and upcycling. 

Technically, they should have been heading down to play host to all types of young, influential people, buttering them up for cash and future favors. But much as the media loved their wild parties, none of the White House Trio were particularly fond of them. They preferred a quieter scene, but quiet didn’t raise money and make headlines. 

That didn’t mean they couldn’t hole up and enjoy the peace and quiet before then.

Gansey, who by far had the greatest social battery, was therefore left to field early attendants and the press on the lawn. He’d come and drag them out of Adam’s room soon enough, of course, but before that time came there was relative peace.

“I guess we’ll get one more of these,” Blue said. “At least.”

Adam lifted his eyes from the book and looked at her. “Yes,” he said softly. “I think I’ll miss them?”

She laughed, a deep laugh that eased a bit of the pre-party anxiety in his chest. “I won’t. I hate this party.”

“But don’t you like flirting with all the daughters of Oscar-winning actresses?”

Blue hummed. “That is fun. They’re never ready for it.”

“They never are.”

“I’ll be doing less of that this year, though.”

“And hopefully forever?” Adam teased. The sudden air of wistfulness descending around Blue gave him a hint of pause. She took a moment to respond.

”Maybe,” she muttered. “Shut up.”

Adam let it go for then, sensing genuine distress in Blue’s stiffened shoulders.

“They wouldn’t be so bad if everyone didn’t get so blacked out.”

“Well, we have liability waivers now. And I think you mean it would be worse.”

Adam sighed. “I guess no one would show up without the promise of alcohol.”

“Exactly.”

Contrary to how Blue and Gansey made him live, Adam really didn’t enjoy drinking that much. When he did, he preferred to do so quietly - sitting in the music room with the rest of the trio, celebrating a good grade with his family, breaking out something to make a night-in a little more exciting. Events like the Royal Wedding were a one-off, where he needed distraction and alcohol presented itself. 

He didn’t want to think about the need for distraction just then, with Ronan and Henry Cheng most likely en route to the White House.

A few quick, precise knocks came at the door. Gansey. He popped his head in.

“You two need to show up soon or it’s going to look suspicious,” he greeted. Blue made a tiny noise of discontent and made to turn her face into Adam’s pillow, but must have remembered her makeup and decided otherwise.

Adam heaved a sigh and stood, smoothing one hand over his hair. He’d straightened and smoothed it down for the event, knowing the cameras preferred him in all of his polished glory. He glanced between Blue and Gansey, but their gazes didn’t flicker from each other. Something about the hunger in their eyes made Adam ache, a tight knot settled in his chest. Gansey moved into the room and Adam out of it. He cast a glance through the doorway over his shoulder, trying to gauge if he should wait for them. By the low, urgent whispers carrying between them and Gansey’s hands rested on Blue’s elbows as they stood nearly flush, his presence was no longer necessary. 

Adam trailed down the hallowed halls until he reached the mingling mass of people in the East Room. He turned on his smile, trying his best to become invisible. It didn’t work. At every turn, another person grabbed his shoulder to catch up, another drink pressed into his hand, another question hurled his way. At some point, he started to feel a bit numb in the fingers, tiredness and giddiness from the schmoozing seeping into his bones.

Blue appeared at his side. Her smile had dampened somewhat, but he could tell she was enjoying herself from the set of her brows. Something, however, was off at just that moment. She inclined her head behind her, and that was all the explanation Adam needed. 

Ronan often had that upsetting effect on people. 

Adam took a moment to observe the scene. Ronan and Henry Cheng stood several feet away, engaged in conversation with Gansey, who walked backwards tidily through the crowd as though herding them towards Adam. Ronan’s face remained passive, clad in his black-leather best. Adam’s skin felt hot and itchy under his shirt, and he looked instead to Cheng. In his Madonna t-shirt, Cheng drew attention to himself in waves. Between his eccentric origin story and absently friendly expression, not to mention the excited manner in which he partook in whatever Gansey was saying, Cheng would surely be the hot commodity of the party. 

“Making friends?” Adam asked Blue, pulling a face at the same time she did. 

“He’s your best friend,” she replied just as Gansey reached them. Blue reached out a hand to stop him from colliding with them, stretching her arm so that it was almost straight, and he caught her hand easily with a squeeze.

From what Adam could tell, their conversation centered around some vague school memory from Eton, but it dissolved as soon as Blue and Adam broke their circle. The brief silence was broken quickly by Henry Cheng, who announced, “Well, if it isn’t the man with the worst opinions about Die Hard.” 

Against his will, Adam felt the corners of his lips twitch. “And the man who cried over Alan Rickman dying in Die Hard.”

Henry shrugged. “I wear my emotions proudly.”

“We fucking know,” Ronan said, breaking his silence. Adam hated how nicely the tight leather jacket accented his pale skin and high cheekbones, looking almost regal in his rebellion. “You monologued about the unbridled joy in your heart over the Madonna song playing when we first arrived.”

Henry grinned. “I will not apologize for being stable in my masculinity, Ronan, unlike all you repressed British types.”

“I need a drink,” Ronan declared loudly, plucking one from the closest tray and downing it in one graceful motion as one might serve a tennis ball. Henry did not appear phased by the sudden dramatics. 

“Now, let’s see if I get everyone.” He turned his head to Gansey, moving around the circle. “We’ve got King Ganseyman, of course. Adam Parrish, the least valid person I can think of for purely petty reasons. And of course our dear Periwinkle.”

Adam cocked a brow and subtly shifted his eyes to look at Blue. She looked fit to claw out someone’s eye even though her own eye scars were obscured in makeup; her hand had tightened significantly around Gansey’s, and he gave no indication of pain from the movement beyond the barest twitch of his mouth. 

“Clever,” she said at last, sparing him a tight, sarcastic smile. “I’ve also read the labels on nail polish to pick up a few new words. It’s nice to know you can read.”

“Yes, well, you have to start your journey to literacy somewhere,” Henry said grandly. “I appreciate your support, of course.”

Adam caught a flicker of amusement pass of Blue’s face. He had a sinking suspicion that maybe Blue wasn’t as averse to Cheng as she put on a show of. 

“Are you literate enough to read off a drink order?” she said. 

Henry grinned, white teeth lining in rows in his mouth. “I suppose I can string a few words together.”

Without letting go of Gansey, Blue surged forward, looping her other arm in Henry’s. The three of them trailed off towards the drinks, Blue and Henry moving determinedly and Gansey, bemused and grinning at their sudden acquaintanceship, lagging a step or so behind. Adam gazed after them for a moment, but Ronan took a step closer to be heard over the music and he turned his head to look at him. 

“She’s gonna have them wrapped up all night.”

Adam raised a brow. “You can read her that well?”

Ronan gave his head the tiniest, nearly imperceptible shake. “No. I know Cheng and Gansey.”

The heat of the room was starting to cling to Adam’s skin; he rolled one shoulder uncomfortably. “Of course. Eton gang’s reunited.”

“For better or worse,” Ronan agreed lowly. 

Adam meant to ask what he meant by that, but he never received the chance. A hand tapped Ronan firmly on the shoulder, and Adam watched as he turned automatically. His face broke into an uncharacteristic grin at the sight of the person behind him. Adam felt his forehead crease as the figure wrapped their arms around Ronan’s shoulders and he hugged them back almost as enthusiastically. For a moment, the only sight was the overlapping of pale and dark skin, the stranger’s feather-pink jacket contrasting with the black leather Ronan wore. 

Then the two separated, and between the black bralette, exuberant eyeshadow, and tight-coiled hair shining under the strobe lighting, Adam recognized Hennessy - up-and-coming London artist, an occasional nuisance. and precisely the type of person that thrived at these parties. 

“You bastard,” she said to Ronan. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

“Henry was live-tweeting the whole flight.” 

She scoffed lightly, rubbing at an invisible spot of dirt on Ronan’s cheek. “I've had him muted since uni.”

“Don’t let him hear that you haven’t been keeping up on his page.”

“Aww, it’s sweet you worry for me, little fox, but I can take that pissant any day of the week.”

Ronan pulled back slightly. “Of course you could, but Henry goes more for psychological violence.”

“Yes, well, I can get him in that too.” Neither acknowledged Adam standing nearby. Hennessy shook her head, curls bouncing with the movement and picking up all kinds of strobe lighting. “Where is he, that shadow of yours?”

“Cheng could never be anyone’s shadow. He’s too out there.”

“And you’re the one he chooses not to abandon, hm? How sweet.” When she smiled, she looked very much like a painting, striking and set and venomous enough to burn at the slightest brush. Ronan appeared impervious.

“He’s making friends.”

“Hm. How boring.”

Ronan’s voice lowered, but Adam thought he could hear him say “Jordan’s not here?” 

Hennessy’s lips, the same vibrant shade as her lids, pulled a little tighter. “Nah,” she replied, casual enough. “Working on some deadlines, poor thing.” Her eyes flitted away from Ronan’s face for the first time, landing squarely on Adam instead. Her grin widened. “Well, there’s our treasured host. Late to your own party?”

“I have learned a few things from you over the years, Hennessy,” Adam replied, slipping a hand into his pocket in an attempt to appear more casual than he felt. 

“Fuck, I guess you have,” she admitted. Compared to Ronan’s accent, her voice sounded slipperier and rounder, sliding through the air until it reached his ears. She lifted a hand to land one last pat to Ronan’s cheek before gliding on to land a similar one to Adam. She paused briefly in front of him, lowering her hand. 

“You look happy,” she noted. Waggling her fingers in a wave, she turned back so both Adam and Ronan could see her. “I need a drink to get through all these boring political types. Ta, darlings,” she said, before disappearing back into the crowd as quickly as she had arrived. 

Adam exchanged a look with Ronan. “So you know Hennessy?”

“I’d hope so, yeah,” Ronan said, but he didn’t elaborate. “You?”

“We've met a few times.” 

“Pity,” Ronan said, standing like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. 

Adam rolled a few words around on his tongue - questions, mostly, infused with the sudden jealousy he felt simmering low in his gut - but instead all he said, so out of character, was “Do you want a drink?”

His shoulders seemed to soften slightly. “Can’t let Sargent have all the good ideas, I guess.”

“I’ll tell her you thought it was a good idea.”

“Fuck off.”

Ronan appeared a little more at ease with a drink in hand, and eventually, Adam lost him to the crowd. He stood stranded for the briefest of moments before Henry Cheng appeared, for the second time that night, at his side.

“Adam Parrish,” he said, handing off a drink that looked clear and deadly. It took his fingers a moment to remember to grab it rather than letting it splash to the ground. 

“Cheng,” Adam said, letting the déja vû wash over himself. “Thought we already had our introductions.”

“Of course,” Henry replied, tone too even and pleasant for the chaos around them. “Just wanted a chat with the movie critic, is all.”

Adam cast a skeptical eye around the room. “You’re sure this is the best place?”

“No time like the present, my friend.” Henry threw an arm around his shoulders, guiding Adam towards the dance floor and obscuring his own voice further. “How about you down that there drink and enjoy yourself? You look positively coiled and ready to strike.”

“I’d really rather not. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, if you’re so connected to sobriety, so be it,” Henry said, stealing the drink back. He nodded over Adam’s shoulder as he lowered his head back down from the drink, and when Adam glanced he saw a flash of Ronan’s leather among the crowd. “Our Ronan is looking fit, no? I’m proud of him for getting out of the house.”

“Some house,” Adam muttered, not expecting Henry to hear. All the same, his companion let out a startled laugh.

“Could say the same to you. But yes,” he said, leaning closer, “between you and me, the palace is always quite disarming.” Straightening and throwing a wave over his shoulder, Henry added, “Perhaps you have more reason to get used to it than I do, however.”

“More reason?”

Henry smiled, then, and somehow it appeared as menacing as Hennessy’s had earlier. Maybe he’d learned from her. “Friends of the royals make quite frequent trips, I’m afraid.”

“What, you’re not approved enough?”

“‘Fraid not. Heir to a fortune is not the same as First Son, Parrish, and I believe you’ve a wonderful slip of parchment ensuring just how approved you are.”

“I can’t find it in myself to be surprised you know.”

“Well, imagine being me if I didn’t!” Henry exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few popular influencers as he splashed a drink in their direction with his aggressive gesturing. “I was only on the receiving end of the HRH’s rants for three bloody years before you wrestled each other in frosting at the greatest wedding of the decade-”

“We didn’t wrestle-”

“And then you turn up a week later, acting all buddy-buddy for every camera you find - well, it would look suspicious had I not known!”

“Mhm,” Adam drawled, cutting his eyes back to Henry. “I bet Ronan can’t keep a secret from you.”

Henry grinned again, baring his teeth. “You’ve read him so well, McClane.” He sighed theatrically barely a moment later. “And debunked my argument succinctly.”

“That’s the price to pay for knowing all of Ronan’s thoughts, I suppose, Gruber.”

“Among many others. I’d expect his Niamh to know that well enough, though.”

Adam felt himself freeze as Henry’s hand came in contact with his shoulder, a friendly pat. His Niamh. As if that meant anything, as if those words fit together in any logical pattern. His Niamh, and his mother’s voice - almost golden. 

“Or you will soon enough, mate,” Henry said. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And Henry Cheng disappeared into the crowd, popping up laughing with Blue a few feet away.

Adam surrendered gaining any grip on this night right then.

At some point, Hennessy found him, pressing a drink into his palm - what was with all his friends and acquaintances plying him with alcohol? - and said, “Well, I’d think you were avoiding me as you have at the last two of these parties.”

“Never avoiding,” Adam defended, mustering a smile as he lifted the drink to his lips without thinking. “Just generally indisposed at events.”

“You’re making some good choices, then.”

“What’s done must be done.”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Rather defeatist of you, Golden Boy. Don’t remember that from your time on the campaign trail.”

Adam grinned. “I’m a fully realized creation. I have the capacity to change.” “There he is, bringing out the philosophy at parties.” She nodded to something that might have been Ronan if Adam focused his eyes and squinted enough. “Don’t remember him, either.”

“Have I mentioned you look fantastic?”

“I know, darling, and I note your deflection.”

“My point stands.”

“And it’s valued.” She slid an arm over his shoulders, uncomfortably warm, to lean closer to his ear. “But we’re gonna have a conversation when you’re not overwhelmed at a party you don’t want to throw. I’m serious about the ignoring.”

“I know you are.”

“Mhm. And if I were you, I’d go check on your boy. But I’m not you, so I’m going to enjoy myself.”

As quickly as she’d appeared, she slid off into the crowd, joining the numbers of people Adam had completely lost to the mob. Everyone seemed able to navigate it but him.

As the clock neared midnight and another drink disappeared from Adam’s hand, leaving his blood buzzing pleasantly through his veins, he slipped out one of the ornate double doors. He breathed in fresh air like a man coming across water in the desert, the haze around his mind clearing with every breath. He ambled to a free bench, his legs still stiff and straight from overuse. The stone bit into his long fingers as he curled his hand around the bench seat, but he welcomed the feeling because it was so far from the thriving mass of bodies indoors.

At some point, he opened his eyes again. His eyes had briefly registered another figure outdoors by the statue when he first exited. Only once his eyes were open and scanning did he recognize the figure, a silhouette of black leather cut harshly from the ethereal white exterior of the Residence.

“Everything okay?” He called to Ronan.

“Yeah,” Ronan replied without turning to face him. “Just...getting some air.”

It was easier to associate this Ronan with the one he heard on the phone - so far from that royal persona projected everywhere, a voice in a face with no expectations on it. Ronan could have been anyone, his accent lax and his posture eerily straight in a contrast that made Adam feel a bit winded. 

“It’s loud in there,” he admitted.

Ronan didn’t respond, but Adam’s statement wasn’t one that required response. 

“I thought this would be more your scene,” Adam finally said, challenge creeping into his voice. He wasn’t sure if it was a genuine challenge or if he was just falling back on old habits instead of saying something he might regret.

“And I didn’t think it would be yours.”

“Fair enough, since it’s not.”

Ronan threw him a glance over one shoulder at that. “Makes perfect sense to throw this function, then.”

“Well, the media doesn’t exactly eat up overpriced textbooks and econ calculations, so I do what I can.”

“Mm,” Ronan hummed in something that sounded like agreement. “They do love the sex, drugs, and rock and roll, even in places it’s not happening.”

Adam stood, placing his hands on his knees like he had bad joints. “Unless if you actually went to 239 parties last year, I’d guess you know all about that exaggeration.”

“Do you stalk my tabloids, Parrish? The fuck?”

“No, Gansey does. With everybody. He just reads all his findings to me.”

“Terrifying,” Ronan muttered. “If I die of mysterious circumstances, you’ll both be on the shortlist of suspects.” “What?” Adam challenged. “You’ll keep it in the breast pocket of your blazer?”

“Sure,” Ronan replied. “I have to keep it folded up close to my heart, of course. Keep your lovers close but enemies closer.”

Ronan tilted his head in the direction of the statue, silently beckoning Adam to stand by him. It felt a bit like a confession, like his permission implied passing some silent test.

Briefly, in his buzzing brain, he wondered what side of that spectrum he fell on. 

“Did you get sick of watching Blue and Gansey?”

Adam shrugged, pulling to a stop just next to Ronan. He kicked absently at the ground with his toe. “A bit.”

“That has to have been a weird development to get used to.”

“A bit,” Adam repeated.

“Still, it hasn’t been too long.”

“I think they’ve been a thing for longer,” Adam admitted.

Ronan turned his head, and suddenly Adam felt the icy cool of his eyes trained on Adam’s face. “Why?”

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems obvious, looking back. They’ve clearly been together for a while. August, at least.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the December-January chill suddenly settling over him. “I think they were...protecting me.”

Ronan snorted, the gesture not a bit princely. “Protecting you?”

Adam fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt.

“I’m damaged goods, Highness,” he said at length. “I’m fragile.”

Even though Adam didn’t turn to him, he felt Ronan’s eyes probe deeper as though imploring Adam to look back to him. “That’s a fucking lie,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Adam snorted, but Ronan was not deterred.

“You’re not fragile,” he repeated. “If you’re fragile, the world is being held up by - by dental floss and craft glue. No, a weak person couldn’t do what you do. Bullshit for the cameras at least once a week, keep up your grades, work on policy with Czerny, keep up your ratings so that they never dip - that’s too much for someone who is fragile.”

“Oh, then you must be superhuman, with all the bullshitting you do.”

“Of course I am, Parrish,” Ronan said, turning his eyes up and away from Adam.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, elbows rested on the cold metal fence guarding the statue. The night sky hung above them, pale in all of the light pollution of the city, but if Adam strained he could see the faint points carving themselves into the sky and drawing themselves into pictures and promises. Ronan’s heat radiated next to him, leather almost snagging on cotton. The fact that this was their first time seeing each other in person since the hospital photo-op did not escape Adam’s notice, but neither did the easy way in which they managed to coexist despite the time and distance removing them from that point.

When the moment grew too heavy, he said, “Did you look at my Wikipedia page?”

“No.”

Adam arched an eyebrow.

“...Matthew may have done some light Googling.”

Adam laughed. It wasn’t his carefree camera laugh, the ones that kept up his ratings, but it was a laugh nonetheless, one that dispersed through the air as though worried it could be stolen away at any moment. Ronan’s face shuttered abruptly. His expression became inscrutable, and Adam didn’t realize he’d looked happy until he no longer did.

All at once, Adam remembered the line separating them, and he felt certain they were touching it with their feet almost overlapping, face to face and chest to chest.

“You didn’t have to come,” Adam said softly, his normal voice suddenly feeling far too loud for the little bubble forming around them, devoid of anyone else. “Not if you didn’t want to.”

Ronan didn’t speak for a moment, by choice or to gather his words, Adam didn’t know. “I did.”

Adam just shook his head, choosing to stand in comfortable silence. A star winked in the sky.

“Non est ad astra mollis e terris via,” Ronan whispered, his lips barely movin g. There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

“Itaque imus ad astra, per aspera,” Adam replied, barely thinking about it. So we go through hardships to the stars.

Ronan visibly started at his use of Latin. Adam smirked as if you say you’re not the only one with a posh education.

“Shooting for the stars, Highness?”

Rona turned his eyes back to the sole bright star. “I might as well be.”

“I’d doubt whatever it is that’s bothering you is as hopeless as that.”

Adam couldn’t take his eyes off of Ronan, noting the way his lips thinned. “Oh, but it is. In my position. In my life.”

“Non ergo qui in vobis sunt terminum tibi.”

Ronan turned his head toward Adam again, and Adam felt a spark of fear over what he might do if he turned his head to meet Ronan’s eyes, blue as a never-ending lake stretching on and on until he drowned against the sand.

He turned his head anyway. The stars suspended above them, the leaves ceasing to rustle and shuffle, the party inside fading away until everyone disappeared into nothingness. Ronan lifted one hand from the railing and slid it along Adam’s cheek, his skin heating and jolting at the touch like Ronan himself was made of electricity and stardust, like the galaxies that Adam had once been were meeting their long lost particles in Ronan’s hand. In Ronan’s eyes, he could have sworn he heard words turning over and over.

Adam heard him whisper, then, the words that must have been bouncing in his head. “Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death,” he muttered, the tail-end of something Adam couldn’t quite place. He parted his lips to speak just before Ronan kissed him.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, he didn’t worry that he was kissing someone - kissing Ronan . For once in his life, he forgot about everything else. He didn’t worry about anyone inside or what anyone might think. That would come later.

Ronan’s lips pressed to his, and he tried to string a coherent thought together but was instead met with abstract, overjoyed ideas floating aimlessly in his brain instead. 

The press of Ronan against him was hard, sharp lines and corners poking into his chest and his hips and his legs, but his lips were soft and Adam tasted whiskey and powdered sugar on Ronan’s tongue and Ronan’s teeth flashed against his lip and he thought he might die, that the feeling may kill him if he did that again.

He didn’t have a chance to test that hypothesis, because Ronan pulled back and stepped away so quickly Adam almost fell forward onto his face. And then he hurried away, leaving Adam standing like an idiot outside of the White House ballroom at a party he was supposed to be hosting after just kissing a male member of the monarchy.

His only thought was, absently, if they’d kissed at midnight.

[landomuppet]

Hello stranger from the Internet, I read your post about Lando and I have to let you know I feel the same. I would say to you that however you feel is valid and if you wish to continue to stan that's your choice (I will be continuing to stan). Basically I watched the stream live and it wasn't even a case of "boys will be boys" it was just some friends talking about relationships. I am a woman and I have said WAY more intimate things with my friends in jest about people we are seeing. I've said worse to my MUM than what the lads were saying the other night. I'm honestly completely baffled by the fallout created by this conversation. It feels like perhaps a lot of the peeps offended by this conversation might be on the younger side and perhaps havent had intimate relationships themselves and therefore don't necessarily know the language people use when talking with their friends about those relationships, it also feels like people in a certain type of social media bubble assuming everyone has had the same social justice education they have had. Also I've seen blatant lies, assumptions and misinformation spread about the conversation the lads had. I've seen comparisons to mazepin and more. It was just a silly chat between friends, fair enough it absolutely should not have been on stream in front of the 400 or so peeps who were watching at that time of night, but it's nothing like the thousands of viewers I've seen quoted on here. Anyway I guess I just wanted to say that you are 100% correct, everyone says stupid stuff, everyone makes jokes with their friends they regret, we hold these guys to impossible standards (particularly Lando) and theyre just humans, like the rest of us. So don't feel bad and don't delete your blog because of this!!!!

Hello anon from the internet! I wish I could go check out your blog.. but I respect your privacy and choice to remain anonymous. Although I don’t want to speak for other fans, their experiences, or why they have chosen to "cancel”/”stop supporting” Lando based on his comments, I agree that the comments show primarily poor judgement (in my opinion) versus genuine disrespect/hate for women. 

I do acknowledge that comments made in poor judgement still have an impact and contribute to the continuation of misogynistic culture but I also think that we have to give people an opportunity to learn from mistakes. As long as those mistakes aren’t literal crimes...  But regardless, thank you for giving me an extra little boost of support & as of right now I don’t plan on deleting the blog!