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malum-forev · 11 months

Note

For your bingo, can I please request Fight (verbal)? Maybe it could be Bucky & reader’s first fight and it happens because she does something that makes Bucky mad or upset and she tries to apologise but he’s so butthurt that she starts thinking that maybe she fucked up so bad that they will break up but then there’s a happy ending. 🥲

Hiii I switched this up a liiiittle tiny bit because I love a slutty bucky! Hope that's okay! and hope you like it! <3

Everyone had advised you against it. A workplace relationship never worked. You never thought you would even be in this position, until you saw those blue eyes. Shining like beacons calling you to shore.

Bucky didn’t mean to start a relationship either, he thought he wasn’t qualified to have one. He was you superior, it was wrong in every single way except it was also good. Very good. He thought back to the first time the line blurred.

Bucky never wanted a team, he was happy tagging alongside Sam. Somehow, he’d been convinced and now Bucky was stuck filing paperwork late at night. He heard you before he saw you, some rustling down the hallway in the locker rooms. Bucky turned the corner quietly, thinking someone had sneaked in. It was way past the appropriate hours but there you were, zipping up your tactical suit. He caught a glimpse of how your chest looked pressed against the metallic zipper and the tight fabric, a breath got caught in his throat.

You turned around with a yelp. “I-I’m sorry, I thought no one was here anymore.”

Maybe it was the way your squeal made his dick twitch or maybe it was because he caught you gawking at him once or twice while he sparred but whatever it was, made him do the most irresponsible thing he’d done in years- decades maybe.

Your back was against the wall and your leg was hiked up to his waist. Your hands roamed his hair, pulling at whatever you could. Trying to get some relief.

“This is wrong.” Bucky’s chest heaved, his eyes glued to the zipper on your chest. With one simple tug, he could get what he’s wanted for months. “I’m your boss.”

You pushed your chest closer to him. “Does it turn you on?”

The past couple of months had been filled with secret escapades. You’d sneak into his room late at night and leave before morning or he would stop by your room after everyone had left for the weekend. There had even been a couple of quickies in the quinjet.

But something happened two weeks ago, it started when he asked you to stay the night.

“What if someone sees me leaving here tomorrow morning?” You asked quietly, debating whether you should start looking for your underwear he’d roughly discarded or not.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders casually. “I’ll go out first, make sure the coast is clear.”

Then there was that time he’d asked you to dinner, just the two of you. Followed by the movie night he’d organized in his room. Bucky even bought you your favorite candy and changed his sheets- quite a big deal for him.

But something changed, Bucky pulled you into his room as you passed the hallway. You hissed at the way he threw you onto the bed.

“I know you like it rough but can I at least get a warning?” You laughed but once your eyes met his, it died down.

Bucky paced his room with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we were supposed to meet tomorrow, not today.” You tried to lighten the mood.

“You think this is funny?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “We agreed this thing- this stupid thing that wasn’t even supposed to happen- would stay between the two of us.”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen?” You repeated his words back to him.

“You, me, this.” Bucky pointed between the two of you. “Meaningless sex. No one was supposed to find out. And you go and mess it all up by telling someone, someone on the team!”

His words hurt you. “Meaningless sex, huh? Then what the fuck has been going on? Because last time I checked, you don’t buy someone you don’t care about flowers.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You were sick, what else was I supposed to do.”

“I thought I was talking to a friend,” You explained. “But I guess not. I’m sorry for trying to get help understanding you and this huge mess you made.”

“The one that made things messy was you.” His words like knives. “You got your heart involved when I specifically told you to not read into things.”

“How the hell was I not supposed to think there was more happening when you asked me to stay the night!” You threw your hands up.

“Don’t get it twisted,” Bucky came closer to you. “I only asked you to stay for my peace of mind. I didn’t want to feel like an asshole by letting you leave.”

“You wouldn’t feel like an asshole if it was just sex.” You spat back.

“Well for me, it was just sex.” Bucky’s jaw tightened. “A stupid mistake I made when my dick was hard. A mistake that now has me explaining the situation to Sam.”

The way Bucky kept repeating the word mistake made you feel foolish and small. Like you were back in grade school, professing your love to a crush who’d never look your way.

You pushed past him, he would not have the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

A month after your fight, and the last time you had spoken to Bucky outside of what was absolutely necessary, you found yourself working late. You’d been assigned the task of forming a new team for Bucky to take to missions.

You were working on showing them a presentation when the usual tired chatter suddenly stopped. You looked up from the computer to meet with the pair of eyes you never expected to see. Your eyes trialed down to the bouquet of flowers in his left hand.

“I wanted to see if you had a minute.” Bucky cleared his throat. “But I can see your busy.”

“Guys, we can continue tomorrow. Go get some rest.” You dismissed the agents.

You’d never seen them leave a room so quickly. All of their heads hung low as they passed by Bucky.

“I came here to apologize.” Bucky brought the flowers closer to you. “I acted like a jackass and I was scared that I had feelings for you- have, have feelings for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m going to need you to try harder.”

“I let my insecurities get ahold of my emotions and I drove you away when I clearly wanted more. I asked you to stay that night because I hate the feeling I’m left with when you leave. I want to hold you and kiss you and become something more- if you’ll have me.” Bucky’s eyes softened but you still weren’t convinced.

Bucky placed the flowers on the table and brought you close. Taking you by the waist and setting you on the table.

Bucky dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let me show you how truly, deeply, sorry I am.”

Heat rushed from your face to your core, the sight of this man prepared to express his sorrow was enough to make you come undone.

“Buck- what if there’s someone around?” You whispered, looking around the empty building.

“Then they’ll get the show of a lifetime because I don’t care, I want everyone to see you’re mine.” He said with a devious smile.

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour

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theskyexists · 4 months

Text

There are many reasons to not go in for nuclear power and some reasons to go in for it after all.

Against:

1. It takes so many damn years to build. We'll be 20 years on and far past our carbon budget. That HUGE (they are insanely expensive) amount of money could have been spent on something more scalable. Nuclear is not scalable. Wind and solar are extremely scalable (and cheaper every day). One reason is that renewable plants (e.g a mill) are small and a repeated construction. Expertise for constructing renewables is widely available, nuclear plant construction expertise is in short supply. Counter (a bit weak): even if it takes ages to build, still, we're not on schedule for non-fossil fuel use anyway, so it will probably unfortunately still be relevant in twenty years.

2. A nuclear plant is a national security risk. One: in times of war. 2: in times of natural disaster. No counter to that except: surely war won't be THAT bad and the failsafes will always be enough.

3. Sourcing the concrete, steel and uranium that goes into such a plant isn't good for the environment. Nor is uranium renewable. Current stocks and use would provide us with 130 years of energy production. Build more plants, that number goes down. Counter: producing any power plant requires mining and transport - coal plants and renewables do too, for example.

4. Nuclear waste is a non-negligible problem. There are (war) incentives NOT to reduce waste. Even when waste is minimised, waste remains. Highly dangerous waste can kill people for longer than any society on earth has ever survived. 500.000 years... So no society can reasonably take responsibility for it. When nuclear waste is stored and then spills (as has happened in Germany) the state must pay billions in taxes to clean it up. Storage is difficult. There are NO permanent storage sites ready in all of Europe. There's about 180 plants now that have ran for decades. No permanent storage. If a company is made responsible for a nuclear plant, they tend to pay out to their shareholders one year and claim not to be able to take care of the waste for fear of bankruptcy the next - or they've already declared bankruptcy. Literally happened here. There are no incentives to deal responsibly with the waste for companies. Germany is projected to have to pay hundreds of billions of euros for permanently storing all the waste they've still got lying around at interim sites. Once again, money which might have been spent on scalable renewable production. 500.000 years... this a storage solution must last for 500.000 years. Ever seen concrete last so long... ?

5. We're seeing nuclear crowd out renewables RIGHT NOW IN REAL TIME in politics in the Netherlands and the UK. The money (and project managemeny time) really cannot be spent twice.

For:

6. Fossil fuels have done way more damage to the environment so far. Nuclear is preferable. In fact, 20% of European electricity and 10% of total energy is provided by nuclear power plants. 180. Plants. All renewables combined provide 17%. No real counter to that: they really do produce a lot of electricity without emitting greenhouse gases! Importantly: they don't need a lot of space. (Nuclear on the whole causes about as many greenhouse gases as wind energy equivalent and even slightly less than solar. Forty times less than coal.)

7. Nuclear is a proven way to produce a LOT of power. Weak counter: this makes it a liability in the electricity grid and incentivises less maintenance to minimise downtime (if no other plants can take over - generally not if they're too big. This makes them unreliable, just like renewables). Counter to that counter: much smaller (scalable) plants are being developed. Counter to that counter: they're experimental. The thorium reactors thay produce shorter lived waste are also experimental. I.e. it will take decades before we can build operational versions. (BUT! there's an ENORMOUS amount of thorium on earth, which is extremely important. Waste is much less problematic and meltdown impossible)

8. Nuclear plants that are not traditional baseload only plants and have load following capabilities can play a role in managing the ups and downs of renewables on the grid. Counter: even when built for this purpose, it's impossible to make enough money to pay for the construction and management and deconstruction and waste management by only running these plants as buffer. This is a problem because companies are asked to construct the plants, not the state. Counter 2: in a hybrid system with renewables the grid operator actually has to PAY OFF (millions) the nuclear plant to stop it producing so much. It's a liability in a hybrid system with renewables.

Final conclusion:

CURRENT nuclear power plant construction does not play well with the transition to renewables because there is no way in this financial system to use its production as a buffer, the state cannot produce the plants because there is a lack of expertise, companies cannot afford to run the plant as buffer and cannot be trusted and ideologically and politically nuclear power is proposed as an alternative to renewables instead of a complement which cuts into the much-needed financial resources necessary for renewable expansion. It is slow to build and badly scalable. We need speed and scalability considering our climate deadline. There is no permanent solution for waste and takes billions of euros to store right now already. Uranium is a scarce and non-renewable resource. Existing plants impede the transition to renewables (there is no need). They form a liability for continued production when it comes to short term production for the grid when needing maintenance and long term liability for energy production when they need to be decommissioned (France is dependent for 3/4ths on many plants that must be decommissioned at the same time). Nonetheless, existing plants are preventing a large amount of carbon emissions. Nuclear can be a useful element to the energy mix, and requires a lot less space than renewables. If innovations in scalable, smaller plants with increasingly better business cases, faster build times and ability to offload production to each other, there may be serious synergy with renewables. Still, these will be useful for 50-100 years until uranium runs out. Problematic, not just because it leaves us with expertise and infrastructure that will have no fuel, but also because we need to transition FAST and it's uncertain in how many years this technology will be operational. Thorium would be a solution to a lot of problems, but that is also decades away from operation. Putting money into research and test reactors is a priority. Decommissioning existing plants early would be stupid even if it would remove their contributions to transition intertia and the as of yet unsolved and increasing waste storage problem.

#my stuff #my thoughts #just thinking....#nuclear power

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aroacemisha · 2 years

Text

Little Secret

A Retired Leaders AU fic. It’s technically a rewrite of an older fic called ‘How A Scout Met A Prince’, because it covers the same event, but it’s significantly different.

This is how Steven and Hunter met.

---

It was a typical afternoon in the Emperor’s castle. Every member of the coven was busy with something, be it receiving orders, going out on missions, or any other assignment.

Steven was on guard duty that day, watching over a hallway around the corner from the monarch’s own personal chambers.

The Emperor has increased security around his quarters over the last three or four years, and he has been spending a lot more time inside, but he never gave an explanation for it, leaving his coven with nothing but speculation.

The most common belief was that his health might have been deteriorating, be it merely a result of old age or a worsening of the scars that wild magic left on him decades ago. Whatever the reason was, all that was known for sure was that the area surrounding his room was more heavily guarded than before.

Though, strangely, none of the guards were ever stationed in the hallway his room was located in - they were always at a distance, standing in adjacent corridors. Perhaps he simply didn’t want them to see the inside of his room whenever he opened the door, but it has happened before, and he seemed unbothered by it.

All those questions and unexplained oddities have crossed Steven’s mind, while he leaned against the wall with arms folded, pondering. He has gotten this assignment before, but it never brought him any closer to the truth, despite his proximity to the Emperor.

He had occasionally stared in the direction where the Emperor’s chambers lie, but knew that - no matter how curious he was - he couldn’t go there without either permission or direct orders to do so, both out of respect for the monarch’s privacy and out of fear of potential consequences.

Given how little activity took place in that part of the castle, the scout’s shift was uneventful and quite lonely. Once or twice he opened Penstagram and scrolled through the feed to pass time.

One post caught his eye - his brother had posted a picture with his spouse, announcing that they were having a kid.

Steven’s pointed ears drooped. He was happy for Jasper, but he couldn’t help but feel a light sting of jealousy. He quickly commented “Congrats!”, before putting away the scroll.

He crossed his arms again, staring down at the floor. Now that he has recently hit 40, being reminded of his own lack of a partner or children was beginning to bug him. He enjoyed being in the Emperor’s Coven, but he was starting to - ever so slightly - regret joining it, since it made achieving his other dream harder.

His musings were interrupted by a faint noise coming from the adjacent hallway, in which the Emperor’s quarters were located. His left ear twitched, and he glanced in that direction for a moment, but, seeing no change from before, he looked away once more. Perhaps the monarch dropped something, or maybe another scout did.

A quiet pause followed. But it didn’t last long.

Repeated quiet noises resembling steps came from the same place, slowly getting louder.

And then Steven heard something staggering.

“Hello?” - a child’s voice called.

The scout’s eyes shot wide open beneath his mask. In utter disbelief, he turned towards the adjacent hallway again.

Right by the corner stood a little blonde kid, four or five years of age, in a midnight blue dress, white leggings and black ballerina flats, curiously staring back at him.

Steven’s jaw dropped. Who in the world brought their child here?

“Uh.. Hey, little guy” - he raised his hand in a greeting.

“What’s your name?” - the kid quickly approached him. His eyes were dark magenta, quite an unusual color.

“I’m Steven” - the scout got down on one knee and smiled, lifting his mask. - “And what’s yours?”

“Hunter!”

“So.. how did you get here, Hunter?”

“I came from over there” - the boy gestured towards the adjacent hallway, where the Emperor’s chambers were located. - “That’s where my room is”

“Your room?” - Steven blinked in confusion.

“Yeah! I live in a biiig room with a big bed” - Hunter spread his arms, - “and uncle Belos lives there too!”

Steven quietly gasped. The Emperor has a kid? That explains so much...

“Do you know uncle Belos?” - Hunter placed his hands on Steven’s knee.

“Y-yes, I know him. I live here too!” - the scout smiled.

“Really? Where?”

“My room is in a different part of the castle”

“Can we go there?”

“Well.. Not right now. Your uncle gave me a very important task: to stay here and watch over this hallway” - Steven raised his finger. - “I can’t leave until my shift is over and another scout takes my place”

“But I wanna gooo” - Hunter frowned, tightly grasping Steven’s pants.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go there someday. Just not now”

“But I wanna go now”

“We can’t go anywhere without your uncle’s permission” - Steven shook his head.

Hunter’s ears drooped, and his eyes began to glisten.

The scout bit his lower lip and knit his brows, as he briefly averted his gaze. Then his expression became more relaxed again, and he gently placed a hand on Hunter’s cheek.

“Hey. I’m sorry we can’t go” - he said softly. - “But if you want, maybe we could do something here” - he smiled. - “Got any ideas?”

The boy’s face quickly brightened up.

“I wanna be held!” - he exclaimed.

“Okay” - Steven carefully picked him up. - “I just hope your uncle won’t mind” - one corner of his lips perked up in a slightly nervous way, and he knit his brows.

Hunter eagerly cuddled up to him, grasping his cloak.

The scout couldn’t help but smile, seeing how happy the little prince was in his arms. His eyelids drooped, and his worries subsided. He gently stroked the boy’s back, to which Hunter responded by tightening his grip.

But then the scout froze still, his smile gone and eyes widened, as he saw the Emperor himself quickly approaching them.

“Hunter!” - the man exclaimed in a hushed voice, clearly displeased.

Steven drew his brows together, raised his chin and saluted the monarch, whose 7 foot frame was now towering over him, but he was ignored.

“What in Titan’s name are you doing here?” - the Emperor continued, still quiet, likely to avoid attracting attention.

“I found a new friend!” - Hunter pulled on Steven’s cloak.

The masked man let out an irritated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you for catching him” - he said to the scout. - “While I was asleep, the little rascal took my staff and opened the door with it”

“Smart kid, huh?” - Steven smiled nervously.

“Yeah! I’m a genius!” - Hunter proudly placed a clenched fist on his waist.

The Emperor reached for his nephew.

“Hand him over to me, uh.. what’s your name, again? Steven?” - he lifted a finger.

“Yes, sir” - the scout carefully gave him the kid. He was somewhat surprised that the monarch knew his name.

“Follow me” - the Emperor made a corresponding gesture with his hand. - “I’d like to talk to you”

As the two made their way to the royal quarters, Hunter peeked out over his uncle’s shoulder to smile at his new acquaintance. Steven did the same in response, but his focus quickly shifted back to the Emperor, when they were about to enter the room.

Having never been inside before, he hesitated for a brief moment, before finally going in. Once he was there, the monarch set his nephew down on the large canopy bed and magically closed the door from a distance.

“Can you put Hunter to sleep?” - he asked the scout. - “Assuming you know how to do that”

Steven nodded.

“But I don’t wanna sleep!” - the little prince protested.

The Emperor raised a finger.

“Shush!” - he asserted softly.

Meanwhile, Steven drew a spell circle in the air to summon his gui-scar. He walked up to the bed, and, as he played a short tune, the strings emitted a soft blue mist. Once Hunter breathed it in, his eyes slowly closed. The Emperor broke his fall with magic, and he curled up on the bed, peacefully asleep.

The scout drew another spell circle, and his instrument vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“You know..” - he mumbled, his gaze still focused on the resting child. - “If I hadn’t met Hunter, I would’ve never guessed you had a kid.. I didn’t even realize he was yours until he said so” - he paused. - “..Does anyone else know?”

“Only a very small number of people” - replied the Emperor.

The two men stood in silence for some time, watching Hunter sleep, endeared by the sight.

Then the Emperor snapped his fingers, and a pair of memory tweezers materialized in his hand.

“I appreciate your assistance” - he turned to the scout, - “but, unfortunately, I can’t let you keep your memories. This incident shall be forgotten in its entirety”

“But why?” - Steven looked up at him. - “..If you don’t mind me asking, sir” - he squeezed one hand in the other, rubbing its back with his thumb.

“The fewer people know about him, the fewer chances there are of someone.. undesirable finding out, whether intentionally or by accident” - explained the Emperor. - “I’m just trying to keep him safe”

“I understand” - said Steven. Then he knit his brows and glanced at the sleeping child. - “Wait- Are you going to erase his memories too?”

The monarch hesitated to reply.

“I.. haven’t decided yet. Why are you asking?”

“Well.. On one hand, if you don’t do it, he’ll probably try to sneak out and look for me again, which could lead to more people finding out about him. But on the other hand..” - Steven’s pointed ears drooped, - “erasing a child’s memories and doing it without their knowledge feels.. wrong”

The Emperor stood still for a moment. Then he bowed his head, placing a hand upon his mask.

“You’re right... This is more complicated than I thought..” - he sighed. - “Ah, what am I to do?”

The memory tweezers disappeared, and he turned to the side, staring down at the floor as he pondered the question.

Steven rubbed his chin.

“If you just need to make sure this stays secret, I can take an everlasting oath” - he suggested.

As the Emperor turned his gaze back, the scout’s hand was already extended through a spell circle, waiting for him to take it. The monarch was about to do just that, but once his hand was mere inches away from Steven’s, he pulled it back and curled his fingers.

“Mm.. I believe going to such an extreme is unnecessary” - the Emperor motioned his hand dismissively.

“Really?” - Steven raised his brows, and his spell circle disappeared.

“Your eagerness to take the oath is reassuring in and of itself. Besides, you are a friend of Lilith’s, so I’d like to believe you are trustworthy. A simple promise should suffice”

“Then I promise to keep Hunter’s existence secret for as long as you wish, my liege”

“Hm..”

A brief pause followed.

Then the Emperor gently took Steven by the chin, with his thumb and index finger placed on either side, and raised his head, staring intently into his wide open eyes, seemingly studying him. The scout’s heartbeat quickened, and a light blush appeared on his cheeks.

“Hm. I like you” - the Emperor said in an intrigued voice. - “Perhaps you could be quite useful”

The way he spoke gave Steven goosebumps, the kind one gets when listening to great music. He had always liked the mysterious ruler’s sweet, soothing voice, but never before has it been so alluring. He nervously gulped.

The monarch slowly pulled back his hand, and the scout turned his stare towards the floor.

“Do you have any experience in babysitting?” - the Emperor asked.

Steven touched his chin.

“N-not really. But I know how to handle children” - he looked up at the taller man.

“Hm..” - the Emperor folded his arms. - “Well, then. Your shift is over in 12 minutes. Return to me when it’s done, the door will be unlocked. You will babysit Hunter for two hours, and, if I like the results, it might become your regular assignment”

The scout’s widened eyes sparkled. He glanced at the sleeping kid, and his lips perked up in a smile.

He bowed to the monarch, lowered his mask and headed out of the room, excited for the task ahead of him.

---

Please reblog my work, reblogs are what helps artists reach a wider audience.

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jacensolodjo · 2 years

Text

“It’s called a war of attrition, sweaty [sic] look it up :))”

War of attrition is literally defined as the wearing down of military personnel and materiel. We agreed decades ago that attacking civilians and medical personnel is a war crime. And who have been hit the most? Civilians/Medical personnel. Seriously, it’s more dangerous being a doctor/nurse/civvie than it is to be a soldier right now. And we agreed a long time ago that isn’t right.

There is a line separating attrition from war crime. I know the news has been calling the invasion a war of attrition but it really, really isn’t. You can keep trying to bend definitions as much as you like so it says what you want it to that doesn’t mean it’s true.

The key phrasing in the definition of war of attrition is ‘military’. MILITARY. Read it. Read it again. MIL-I-TAR-Y. It does not say nurse. It does not say doctor. It does not say civilian. It says MILITARY.

Wikipedia defines war of attrition (actually Attrition Warfare) as: a military strategy consisting of belligerent attempts to win a war by wearing down the enemy to the point of collapse through continuous losses in personnel and materiel.

‘No but see, PERSONNEL’. No, dear. Personnel as in military personnel. You don’t call civilians ‘personnel’ during a war.

Also if we really wanna be a little shit about it, it’s actually in the other direction. Ukraine is wearing down Russia, stealing its materiel (not material but materiel), destroying planes, trains, and automobiles (almost rather literally).

Russia is heading towards a point where even if they do win, it’d be a pyhrric victory the likes of which has not been seen in centuries. (Note this is such a remote possibility as to be something I wouldn’t ever bet on because every time they say it’ll be over by ____ it doesn’t happen.) Or, of course, it may end as the Vietnam War (or iraq/afghanistan) did, with no real winner in any way that matters. This is the second to last preference.

The Soviet Union had a fun little combination pyhrric and war of attrition against Germany back in ww2. Because, as you’ll remember, the Soviets lost MILLIONS in the war. Which was in addition to losing millions in the years leading up to it. Though in the latter case when I say lose I mean murdered. In addition to Ukrainians/Cossacks/Jews/Chechens/etc., the Soviet Union murdered dozens (hundreds???) of top military leaders in a number of purges. They could’ve avoided the death toll so many times and chose not to. But, oddly, when I say war of attrition I mean against Germany. It’s what made them turn tail is that they were losing so much on the ‘Eastern Front’(to the point where it became a kind of trope in ww2 movies and such that for a German soldier to be sent to the Eastern Front was considered punishment far exceeding anything else they could do to the German in question). So even if the Soviets had a higher body count, they still managed to chip away so much of Germany they gave up.

Like. St*lin himself said that people can’t quite grasp the idea of millions dead. (A broken clock is right twice a day.) One is a tragedy, but a million is a statistic. And one you don’t really think much on later. But the Soviet Union hemorrhaged people like nobody’s business.

Millions that never had to die. And yes, for once I don’t just mean the Ukrainian/Cossack/Jewish/Chechen/etc., casualties pre-war.

But, history repeats. There have been numerous high ranking Russians that have mysteriously died. (One guy taking a tumble off a skyscraper in such a way that it really doesn’t look like he did it to himself.) And some not so mysteriously (commanding officer gets flattened by tank for giving bad orders). And they aren’t isolated incidents. More than a dozen high ranking officers have had shit happen to them in a timeline that does not give credit to mere bad luck or chance. Does it make sense? No. But Russians have never made much sense to begin with about who they get rid of. Some of these ‘assassinations’ (I only use scare quotes cause it’s not y’know confirmed and shit) may not come from on high. But at this point, they hardly need to. And no, they don’t get points for the tank-frag because of ‘bad orders’. They still wanted to fight the war. He was just doing it badly.

Anyways thanks for coming to my lecture on wars of attrition.

#текст #I have so many rants lmaoo #suicide mention kinda #war in ukraine

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nickgerlich · 1 year

Text

Jet Set

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”  

It’s an oft spoken phrase, and essentially it means that we should learn from our mistakes, hopefully never to repeat them. While we can also argue that we should learn from our successes—a topic broached by my podcast guest on 17th April—the broader point must be taken: We must always be in learning mode.

And with this the final episode of the Daily Blog for the Spring 2023 semester—can I get a hallelujah?— it is only fitting that I focus on just that. By now, you have long grown accustomed to my style. I write 700-900 words every morning, and whenever possible, try to wrap it up in a story. You know how you trick your dog to take its meds by wrapping those pills in cheese? Yeah. That’s my MO. The cheese is just the story. Inside is the stuff you need to take in.

For my parting shot, I choose to use an example that was actually suggested by one of my MBA students this term. It’s a good one, and even though it predates much of the digital era as we know it, the lessons are huge and just as applicable. It even spawned a four-part Netflix limited series late last year.

For now, put yourselves back in 1996. Coca-Cola and Pepsi have been locked in the Cola Wars for decades, a battle that intensified in the 1970s with the Pepsi Challenge and blind taste-testing taking center stage. Pepsi, long mired in second place, learned that in tests like those, consumers actually preferred the taste of that product instead of Coke. Yet those same shoppers were undeterred by reality: they kept buying Coke anyway, and the rankings never changed, even when Coca-Cola blinked in 1985 and killed “Old Coke,” replacing it with “New Coke,” and then having to backstroke by (re-)introducing Coca-Cola Classic.  

That’s another story for a different day. In 1996, though, Pepsi decided it was time for a sweepstakes that encouraged brand loyalty and frequent consumption. Collect Pepsi Points from cans and bottles, and redeem them for merch. It is a campaign that many marketers have used through the years.

But wait, there’s more. Pepsi listed one especially interesting prize: a $23 million fighter jet. Who would possibly take Pepsi seriously when they said you could redeem seven million points for the jet? Well, a 20-year-old college student named John Leonard did, and he set out to claim his jet. The problem, though, was that Pepsi had also made it possible for people to acquire needed points pretty cheap—10 cents apiece.  

Mr. Leonard thought on this. He could buy seven million points for $700,000. Being a college student, he did not have that kind of money around, but he convinced millionaire Todd Hoffman to front the money. Bingo. Todd had the points needed to get his $23 million fighter jet, a bargain considering he could do it for $700,000.

The only problem is that Pepsi wasn’t buying it. JK, they said. Surely no one would take them seriously, right?

But Mr. Leonard did, and took them to trial. He claimed it was an offer, and that he had complied. Fortunately for Pepsi, though, the court ruled that an advertising claim does not constitute a unilateral offer. “Whew,” said the folks at Pepsi HQ. That was a close one. Never mind the hoops and hurdles of—you know—actually delivering a military-grade fighter jet to a private citizen. The story is so legendary that Netflix released it as “Pepsi, Where’s My Jet?” It’s a great watch, something I did last winter shortly after it was released.

Even though Pepsi prevailed, it had massive amounts of egg on its face. How stupid could a company be to promote something it had no intention whatsoever of following through on? The message is clear for any marketer staging similar promotions: If you are kidding, then you need to make that abundantly clear. It costs money to defend yourself, even if you win. And the black eye it suffered was not worth any value it received from the rest of the folks redeeming points for far more mundane things.

Now skip forward—notice how we no longer say fast-forward like in the days of VHS—to the digital era. Imagine how this would have played out on social media. It would have been far bigger, and millions more people would have known. Class action lawsuits would have been filed. Major media coverage would have ensued. I suspect there would have been boycotts, because…why not?

This is a sad story for Pepsi, but they are lucky it happened in 1996 instead of 2023. I really didn’t even need to wrap cheese around this one, because it is tasty on its own. I mean, unless you work for Pepsi. I can only imagine folks in the C-suite at Coca-Cola giddy with laughter.

Complicating matters is that, as we have discussed just this week, sometimes companies do things for shock value because they think or know it will all work out in the end anyway. Ask the folks at AB InBev about that. Or, listen to the latest podcast episode tomorrow in which I feature the Mayor of Uranus. Yeah. Shock. Insert every double entendre you can imagine. He wins; Pepsi lost.

It has been my pleasure to serve as your guide this term. It is customary that I leave you with a benediction. It will feel strange tomorrow morning knowing that I don’t need to write a blog until the 5th of June for summer term. It will be great that I have more time to work on a couple of book projects I put on the back burner.

Now may you all go forward with the realization that you must be information sponges in order to be an informed businessperson. May you keep your eyes, ears, and—most importantly—your minds open to the changes around you. And may you act responsibly, ethically, and professionally in all that you do. Good health, and shalom, y’all.

Dr “Stay In Touch—I Mean it“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #Pepsi #fighterjet #sweepstakes

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xtruss · 1 year

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Potting Soil, used to start seeds and fill urban gardeners' beds, contains a whopping carbon footprint in its main ingredients. Photograph By Nival Anne-Sophie, Hans Lucas/Redux

Potting Soil Has a Dirty Secret

The soil used to grow potted plants and fill raised beds seems perfect. But it hides some disturbing problems for the environment and our health.

— By Cait Etherton | Published November 3, 2022 | Sunday April 30th, 2023

Almost every tomato plant, pansy, or succulent you’ve ever purchased first sprouted in something called potting soil, a concoction that often contains neither soil nor compost. Instead, all those bags at the nearest nursery are dirt-less sterile blends of exotic mosses, fibers, and minerals, ingredients that hide lung disease, water waste, and a whopping carbon footprint.

So why use it at all? Demand for potting soil in the United States has exploded; the number of urban gardeners has risen 30 percent in the last 30 years, and nurseries and greenhouses are the two fastest growing agricultural industries. Some lucky gardeners can grow directly in the ground, but dirt is too heavy and becomes too compacted for raised beds and seed trays.

That rapidly growing demand has increased the need for potting soil’s key ingredients: vermiculite, sphagnum peat moss, and coconut coir, all three of which are risky for environmental and human health, though greater awareness of those risks is encouraging more sustainable solutions.

“Growing plants isn’t quick and easy,” says Linda Chalker-Scott, a professor at Washington State University who writes the blog, Horticulturalist Myths. “If you want to have a sustainable system you’ve got to do it the right way.”

These are The Top Three Most Problematic Ingredients in Potting Soil.

1. Vermiculite

Valued in horticulture for its popcorn-like texture, the mineral vermiculite is mined and then baked at over 1000 degrees Fahrenheit into the light crumbs we see in potting soil. But the deep, open pits, heavy machinery, and propane-reliant production plants wreak havoc on the environment, as can asbestos-contaminated vermiculite on human health.

The largest U.S. vermiculite mine, in Libby, Montana, was contaminated with asbestos. Shut down in 1990 because of asbestos poisoning in the community after 70 years of continuous operation, Libby’s mine once produced 80 percent of the world’s vermiculite. Its distribution contaminated hundreds of potting mixes, landscaping products, brake pads, chlorine filtration systems, popcorn ceilings, and the insulation of 35 million U.S. homes. Asbestos-contaminated mines still operate in Virginia, South Carolina, and South Africa.

Fortunately, not all vermiculite contains asbestos. “The fact that we don’t see more cases of mesothelioma in gardeners and farmers is a testament to the low percentage of contamination,” says Michelle Whitmer, an asbestos expert at The Mesothelioma Center, “but repeat exposure, to even a low amount, makes it dangerous.”

Consumer safety regulations are nonexistent for most horticultural materials sold in the United States. And a complete Environmental Protection Agency ban on asbestos is still in the proposal stage, 22 years after asbestos-containing vermiculite was discovered in gardening and lawncare products from almost 20 different retail brands.

2. Peat

Made from spongy, waterlogged layers of slowly decomposing plant matter, peat is the primary ingredient for the world’s largest potting mix manufacturers. Organic, plentiful, sterile, lightweight, and nontoxic, it can hold 20 times its weight in water.

But peatlands are also the world’s largest terrestrial storer of carbon, even more than forests. Though they cover only 3 percent of land and forests cover 30 percent, peatlands store twice as much carbon.

Wetlands, in which peatlands are included, are already in decline—35 percent since 1970. The current system of harvesting peat can remove one thousand years’ worth of sphagnum peat moss within just one or two decades. In North America alone, 3-5 million metric tons of Canadian peat head south into the U.S. horticultural market every year. That does not include the environmental footprint of processing, packaging, and transportation, says Justin Freiberg of the Yale Carbon Containment Lab.

In Europe, peat has been harvested for centuries, largely for fuel, but commercial peat harvesting is now banned in Ireland; the U.K. will ban all peat-based potting mix by 2024. Canada and the U.S. (where peat is mined in 11 different states) have no bans.

3. Coconut Coir

Today’s most popular alternative to peat is coconut coir, made from the fibrous shell left behind after harvesting a coconut’s milk and meat. Pure coir is neutral, absorptive, and renewable. Valued as a fiber product for over a century, 90 percent of the world’s coir is shipped from Sri Lanka and India where, despite a historic water crisis, it must be repeatedly soaked and rinsed during processing. Once the dehydrated coir bricks arrive at their destination, they again require large amounts of water for rehydration.

Beyond water waste, the coir industry is infamous for low wages, child labor, and dangerous work conditions: A recent study of Sri Lankan coir factories revealed a rate of 1,063 injuries per 1,000 workers per year.

Alternatives

We are moving into the “third paradigm of potting mix,” says soil scientist Charles Bethke, from heavy steam-sterilized garden soils to peat to the model of “recycled lignose cellulosic fiber.” Which of those fibers is the most promising? According to Brian Jackson, a professor and the current director of the North Carolina State Horticultural Substrates Lab, “wood fiber and wood products are believed by every professional organization in Europe and North America to be the highest-potential material to continue to fill the void left behind as peat is being used less.”

But wood is not the only option. From corn stalks to peanut hulls, nettles to yucca, beach grass to recycled cardboard, there are many things that can be recycled into growing media. This diversity of inputs also makes it easier to shift from long-distance shipping to local production hubs.

Chalker-Scott encourages focusing on remediating the soil beneath our feet. “One hundred years ago we didn’t have potting mix,” she says. “Plants have done just fine without it.”

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lifeisdivinee · 2 years

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Self Concept Success Stories 💅🏾

Self Concept work is THAT bitch y'all! I manifested so quickly and easily at the end of last year.

I manifested the exact phone I wanted within two weeks after 2.5 years of wanting a new phone.

I manifested a business class upgrade within a week, after wanting to fly business for over a decade.

They both manifested quickly despite my depression and anxiety trying to tell me it couldn't happen. I didn't have to manipulate reality or pay anything for any of these. They both manifested "naturally".

How did I do it?

- Every morning, I'd play to moza morph's blockbuster subliminal for 10 mins and affirm "I am the Goddess of my dreams living the life of my dreams. I already have everything I want. Today is the perfect day. Thank you subconscious"

- I decided to just think from my desires. Whenever I'd look at my crusty Iphone 8 or think how I'd get a new phone, I'd think to myself like this: "I really am THAT BITCH! How did I manifest the exact phone I wanted? Of course I have a blue iphone 13 pro DUH it is normal for me to have the very best phone. Thank you subconscious. How did you get me the perfect phone so easily and quickly?". I did the same for business class.

- I used the lullaby method and would replay the scene of seeing my uncle after I landed and him asking me "So, how was business class?" I have aphantasia but I just assumed what I was doing would work. I focused more on what I could physically feel and hear.

- I saw @sexyandhedonistic's post about intrusive thoughts and started to affirm I didn't have any intrusive thoughts like they did. The doubts and fears started to slip away mostly but I felt hella anxious twice so I listened to some luck affirmations to remind myself that anything is possible. I fell asleep whilst listening once. I love this channel and I constantly listen to them when I'm doing something that doesn't need much attention to soothe my mental health woes. They have a video for EVERYTHING.

- At the time, I didn't believe that I would get these things nor in the affirmations. But when I decided what I wanted, I finally understood that all I needed to do was persist so I thought, why not? I kept repeating them and they started to become more and more believable.

What happened?

8 days after I started my self concept affs, I was upgraded to business class as a surprise. I gently encouraged my mum to check if she could upgrade our seats. She thought it wouldn't be possible but she wanted to upgrade too. (She started talking about wanting to upgrade before our flight and after I started affirming. I didn't tell her I was manifesting it though.). My mum checked and said there weren't any seats available in business class for our flight but she got us premium economy. I didn't give up on the assumption. I just assumed it would happen on our way back or something. My mum has so many air miles so we always sit in the lounge when travelling. Premium economy + lounge was fine for me anyways. I got on the flight and was pointed to sit in business class. I was so happy and realised I created this.

After that I realised I could do anything and my anxieties started to disappear. It became easier to persist and live in the end with my phone. On Christmas Day. I was gifted an iPhone 13 Pro in Silver by mum. I was so happy! She surprised me again! But y'all remember I wanted the blue one right? 5 mins later, I casually mentioned in convo about how the blue was my favourite and my mum just so happened to buy the blue one for herself and swapped with me because she didn't care about colour. "Coincidentally" the shop she went to only had blue and silver in stock. She said if they had gold she would have bought me gold because I used to love that iPhones in that colour. I was fine with 128GB but yesterday I found they're both 256GB. Look at the blessings!!

Bonus Story - SELF CONCEPT WORK CREATES MIRACLES

I lost my lucky bracelet whilst going through a prior airport security check before the flight. It's just a 3-crystal bracelet that I bought when I was a spiritual/astrology gal. It wasn't on me, in my bags or ANYTHING. I looked around with staff. I started getting frustrated so my mum gave me the spare one I gave her. (I lost it before so bought another one, when I found it I gave her the new one). We had to go check in. I told myself I'll get it and forgot about it because of the check in/COVID-19 check procedures.

When I was in business class, I was so excited and started thanking my subconscious and affirming for my self concept in my head. I remember saying things 'I manifest easily perfectly and instantly every time, I have everything I want, I'm lucky and blessed' etc I wasn't even trying to manifest, I was just excited because this was something I'd be fantasising about for YEARS. An hour later, I was tipsy living my best life and watching a movie and y'all a bracelet fell on my lap from the side. I checked my wrist and I was already wearing my mums. I literally shifted to a reality where I had everything I want so the bracelet showed up. I sobered up a little because I was so shocked. This bracelet was not in my bag, pockets, clothes. It disappeared mysteriously and appeared in the same way. When that happened, I knew I was getting my phone and it showed up 6 days later.

Stop sleeping on your self concept! Nothing is beyond your reach so long as you persist. Whatever you want to achieve whether it is entering the void or manifesting money or an SP, take them all off the pedestal. YOUR ASSUMPTIONS CREATE NO MATTER WHAT THEY ARE. Work on your self concept and LIVE IN THE END. You got this! Love you all! I'm so inactive these days because I'm focused on healing and creating my best life. But when I come on here, I wanna read more of our success stories all 2022 because success is the only experience we deserve.

#manifestation #self concept #neville goddard #limiting beliefs #spirituality #success story #affirmations #law of assumption #affirm #law of attraction #manifesting with depression/anxiety #manifest your reality #manifest instantly

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critrolesideblog · 3 years

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Caleb Widogast pushed his hair out of his face for the ei--nineteenth time in about as many minutes. Caleb and Essek were reading for pleasure this evening, with the aid of Comprehend Languages: Caleb the collected poems of Erdan Niemi, a famous Drow bard, and Essek, Die Waldhexe und andere Zemnische Volksmärchen. They were seated at opposite ends of one of the sofas in the tower salon, their legs in the middle not quite touching. But some time into Essek's reading, the repeated scrape of sweater against paper edge and rustle of hand in hair became too much for him to ignore.

It was a long time coming really. Essek recalled that it had been Veth who had braided back Caleb's hair for him, when they were in Aeor last. Since there was no Veth to braid it this time around, Caleb had fallen into the habit of roughly tying it back in a ponytail or bun, with varying degrees of success, depending on the amount of effort he put into it, which, lately, was middling, and tonight, none at all. There were times when the mess was charming: when Caleb shuffled into the dining room in the morning, stray locks framing his face; when he ran his hand through his hair in excitement at a new discovery; when some friendly wind caused wayward strands to brush just so against his lips. At the moment, though... Essek took a large sip of his wine and set the glass gently back on the table. "Caleb?"

"Hmm?"

Despite the response, Essek knew better than to continue right away. Caleb's head tilted up toward him slowly, but his eyes lingered on the page a moment longer. When blue finally met lilac, Essek took a deep breath breath. "May I... braid your hair for you?"

Caleb blinked once, twice, three times, before his eyebrow and lips quirked up with a humor that was a little too insightful. "Well, if it’s bothering you..."

Essek gave a huff of laughter at being caught, before pressing his hands together in front of his lips, arranging his features into a semblance of solemnity. "It is driving me insane." Caleb laughed, as Essek hoped he would.

"I apologize if I have driven you to distraction," he replied, in a voice that sounded not remotely contrite. Essek averted his eyes and took another small sip of wine to provide an alibi for the warmth in his cheeks. "Please, by all means." Caleb pulled free the tie holding his hair in place, and with a small shake of his head, the copper strands fell down around his face and shoulders.

Essek gathered his composure, clearing his throat slightly. "Excellent -- ah, Liesl?" He said quickly, turning to the tortoiseshell cat relaxing in front of the fireplace. She opened one amber eye in response.

Liesl was Essek's right-hand cat. She had been standoffish at first, it was true, but it seemed Essek's years in politics were not wasted in the ruins of Aeor. "Liesl, would you please have Jaakko fetch me some additional hair ties and a comb?" Liesl, without raising her head from her paws, turned her gaze to the cat in question, all black and slender, whose interpretation of cleaning apparently included batting a piece of crumpled paper around the legs of a desk with incredible enthusiasm. At some unseen signal, he turned his attention to Liesl, and after a series of tail twitches, trotted off into a nearby cat door. She turned her gaze back to Essek. "Thank you, Liesl. That will be all." She chirped at him in response and returned to her nap.

Caleb's eyes were back on his book now, but Essek did not recall anything in Niemi's works amusing enough to justify the grin on Caleb's face, which Essek now had an excuse to give due consideration. He did not think the braids that Verin favored in their youth would suite him particularly well, and they were a bit elaborate for a night in, besides. Perhaps just a variation on the Gwardanian-style braid Veth employed.

Jaakko returned in no time, the items required laid out neatly on a tray held aloft by his long tail, and, with one last small sip of wine, Essek rose from the sofa and moved to stand behind Caleb. He took a deep breath as he picked up the amber comb from the tray. There was no cause, he told himself sternly, for his heart to be racing as it was, which was, of course, a lie. He raised the comb above the copper strands. "I am going to begin now?"

"Ja, danke."

Whether the thanks was for the impending braid or the warning, Essek was not sure, but he drew the edge of the comb gently back along the scalp, carefully delineating a section of hair at the top of Caleb's head. He tied the sides and back out of the way, and if his face warmed at the brush of fingertips on neck, there was no one able to see it. He gathered up the hair closest to Caleb's face and divided it in thirds, before weaving the right third over the center and then left over center. He repeated the process, carefully gathering more strands in on the sides as he went. He was about halfway through with the braid, when Caleb leaned to the left without warning, nearly pulling the locks from his grasp.

"Pysy paikallasi!" Essek hissed, decades-old habit causing the words to spill from his lips in Undercommon, but it did not matter. Comprehend Languages was still in effect. "Mitä sinä teet?"

"I want some wine," Caleb explained, extending his arm to the side to demonstrate that the glass was just out reach.

"Did Veth allow you to move around when she braided your hair?"

"She never complained."

"Then she spoiled you terribly."

"Will you hand me the wine?"

"No," he replied sternly, gathering the strands into one hand, careful not to mix them up, and then leaning over and passing the goblet to its owner.

"You are a riot, Herr Thelyss," Caleb said dryly, but Essek caught a glimpse of a grin as he straightened.

"I am glad you think so. I have been thinking of taking my comedy show on the road when we are done here."

"You should ask Veth if she has any material you can use. Will there be a Mighty Nein discount on tickets?"

"Please, if anything, I should charge you all extra for the honor of heckling me."

Caleb gave a mock gasp. "The Nein? Heckle you? We would never."

"Ha! Tell me another one!"

Caleb's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Essek stopped gathering new hair into the top braid, braiding the remaining length of the locks together, and tying them off. He then shifted to the left and began the process again with a section starting at Caleb's left temple. From this vantage point, he could spy the gilded edges and precise black script of the book in Caleb hands (and what hands they were! Capable, as he knew, of both great destruction and healing. And, perhaps, from this vantage, he could also glimpse the stately sweep of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose, the strength of his jaw, but who was to say.).

"How are you enjoying the poetry so far?" He asked, affixing his eyes firmly to the task in front of him. He had not known whether Caleb enjoyed poetry, when he gifted it to him. He had doubted, though, that Caleb had much opportunity to avail himself of Kryn literature during his time in Rosohna, and Caleb had seemed delighted, even touched, by the gift. He did not seem to be making quick progress through the text, however.

"Very much so," Caleb replied after taking a sip of wine. "I imagine I am sometimes missing some nuance or cultural context -- Comprehend Languages is a bit of a blunt instrument -- but I am enjoying it even more than I thought I would. You almost made it sound dry in your description, when you gave it to me."

"Ah, no, not dry. Only, all young Drow are forced to read his works as part of our schooling, and it colors our enjoyment of it somewhat."

"I see."

"Do you have a favorite passage so far?"

Caleb did not respond right away. "Yes..." He admitted, at last, and added, "It is from the Courtship of Lael."

Essek nearly lost his grip on the braid as he fumbled the strands mid-crossing. He had forgotten the Courtship was so early in the text. "Oh?" He asked, hoping it came across as polite interest.

"Would you like to hear it?" Caleb's voice had a softer, deeper hue than usual.

"If you like."

There was quiet for a moment.

Caleb did not turn to the page -- he did not need to. He merely cleared his throat lightly, and began:

"My lover's skin is a field of stars. What bliss to wander among the heavens! Let me approach as a pilgrim from the dark. Let me worship on my knees before the holy light. Let no beacon go without a prayer from my lips."

Every opalescent freckle on Essek's skin was now a flame. He swallowed hard. "That--that was, ah ... evocative."

"Ja, I thought so too." Caleb chuckled.

Essek tied off the left braid and moved around to the opposite side. They passed the time in quiet, as Essek's dexterous hands, having found their rhythm, made quick work on the braid on the right. And if he had a new awareness of the freckles that made fiery constellations along the slope of Caleb's neck, he gave no indication.

"You know it is a good thing you are braiding my hair up, with us going deeper into the Genesis Ward tomorrow." Caleb said at last, as Essek gathered the braids and the loose strands left over in the back up into a neat ponytail, tying it off with Caleb's original tie. There was more than a little mischief in his voice. "I should hate for Devexian to see me for the first time in months with my hair a mess."

"You are a riot, Caleb Widogast," Essek drawled.

"I'm glad you think so."

----

Notes: Pysy paikallasi! Mitä sinä teet? - Stay still! What are you doing?

#some fluff for your Sunday evening #this was originally going to involve more reflections on Essek's childhood #but Caleb had other ideas #Caleb: I'm gonna read him my actual favorite passage from this book. Me: you don't have to. Caleb: No I'm gonna #Shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #shoutout to neverlain for fixing my Finnish!#my writing tag

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urimaginespimp · 3 years

Text

How You Get The Girl (This Love Final Part)

Bucky x Reader (elemental witch)

Set on TFATWS last episode

Note: Thank you to everyone that's tuned in, gave feedbacks, and liked/reblogged. I had to so much fun writing these! After this I’ll be working on oneshots completely unrelated to this story of several prompts.

We got a new Cap!

Previous Part: Untouchable

Marvel Masterlist

--------

“I’m serious, Shuri. I am over him.” you groaned as Shuri won’t wipe off the smug, disbelieving look on her face.

“Sure, Jan.” She replied getting up to continue on what’s she’s working on.

“Hey, I know that reference!”

“I’m just saying... Seven years of pinning over the guy – which five of it was when he was practically dead, by the way – and you’re telling me it took one confrontation for you to get over him.” She shrugged.

Some of the Dora Milaje were also in the lab, and you haven’t been vocal about it, but you didn’t miss the knowing looks they’ve been exchanging every time Bucky was brought in the conversation.

“Well, it would really be nice if you’re being supportive right now.” you sulked in your seat. Yeah, who were you kidding. Maybe you’re not completely, completely over him, but now you’re sorting to the fake it ‘til you make it method and so far, you’re doing well.

“Okay, fine. Want me to set you up with someone? My brother has some contacts around the world and I think with some buttering up he’d consider setting you up to bachelor royalties.” She wiggled her brows at you.

“May I suggest the Prince of Brunei? The internet says he’s looking for a wife.” One of the ladies snickered, making the others hum in approval.

“T’Challa knows him?” this piqued your interest. “He’s pretty hot.”

“Well make up your mind. It’ll take me a few business days of persuading my brother.” She raised her brows at you.

“It wouldn’t hurt to start dating. I’ll think about it first.” you muttered, missing how Shuri winked at the other ladies in the room. Ayo had told her in private about Bucky’s little confession to Zemo, and the princess has a few tricks up her sleeve to speed up the matchmaking process.

“I’m only staying for a few days more. It’s been a few weeks and Val’s been complaining from lack of sleep.” She’s been taking over your nightly escapades, and it’s starting to irritate her to be surrounded with so much booze but not being able to indulge.

Just then, Okoye enters the lab. “Check the news. There’s a live coverage of a hostage in New York. Sam and White Wolf are on it.”

--------

Bucky was looking over proudly as Sam was talking to the Senator.

Seeing Sam now walking over to him, he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I uh was texting and all I heard was um a black guy in stars and stripes.”

They both chuckled, now walking side by side. “Nice job, Cap.”

“Thanks.”

--------

He’s done it. He told Yori the truth. Though now that might have been the end of their friendship, he knew the old man deserves the closure for his son.

Now back in his apartment, he took the notebook Steve once owned from his pocket, and opened it to the page where his list is. Looking over it, he saw that the only name left uncrossed is yours.

Just then, his phone pinged twice. One message was from Sam, and the other one from Shuri.

Sam’s read:

I wasn’t kidding when I told you

back on the boat that I’d get the

younger ones here to give you a

crash course on romance.

Check your email.

He rolled his eyes and opened the one from Shuri.

Y/N’s explained everything to us.

We saw you save those people,

White Wolf. Wakand is proud of you.

Brother says you’re welcome to

visit anytime. Take care!

p.s.

It’s good to know Y/N and you are

are on good terms. It finally allowed me

to set her up with one of the princes

mother’s been pestering me about. One less

off of mother’s list for me.

“Damn it, Shuri.” he groaned, reading the last part over and over again. He had to move fast. Heading over to his email, he opened the one from Sam.

The subject says:

21st century romance for reformed dummies.

There was an attached 60-second video. Clicking on it, he chuckled when Sam’s voice started booming behind the camera, where it showed two young girls and one boy, all around below 10 years of age.

“Okay, I gathered you here today because a cyborg friend of mine is need of help. I already filled you in the details necessary earlier, and all you have to do now is give him quick tips. Remember, talk slow.”

The boy on the middle spoke up. “Is she an avenger?”

“Not important, but yes. It’s the one with similar powers to an avatar.” Sam answered, followed by the two girls saying they know which one, and the boy to mutter ‘damn it I always had a crush on her...’

“Okay the first step would obviously be to say sorry.” the girl on the right said directly to the camera.

“Oh! Extra points if you do it standing like a ghost outside her door and it’s about to rain.” the other girl from the left perked up.

“I said he’s a cyborg, not a weatherman.” Sam commented, still behind the camera.

“Say you were afraid to tell her what you want.” the first girl spoke again.

“Six months is a long time to be afraid, man.” the boy in the middle spoke up this time.

“Try years.” Sam muttered.

“Then you say you want her for worse or for better!” The cheery girl exclaimed once again.

“You’ve been playing too many fake weddings, but yes, that could work.” Sam told her, making her beam, showing a missing tooth.

“Tell her you could wait forever and ever.” the boy added.

“I mean he’s already old enough to be your great grandpa but go on I guess.” Sam was snickering, causing the camera to slightly shake.

“Remind her of how it used to be. That is if he was good to her.” the more mature girl was pointing out. “Saying you’ll put her heart back together could also work.” she smiled, and the other one fake swooned on where she was standing.

“She’s right!” she exclaimed, while boy nods and says “that’s how it works.” at the same time.

Now turning the camera, Sam was now in frame.

“And that’s how you get the girl, Barnes. Straight from the local’s experts. Don’t fuck it up.”

And three voices scolded him for saying a bad word as the clip ends.

--------

It didn’t take long for him to take a flight straight to Norway where New Asgard was. This time without the aid of Zemo’s jet, he had to find the means to travel from the airport, while trying to calm his nerves.

As if the universe was on his side, a couple claiming to be heading back to Asgard allowed him to hitch a ride with them.

Now on the backseat, he tried to make small talk.

“So, uh, how are you guys settling in the planet?” he asked.

The lady on the passenger seat turned to face him with a smile. “It wasn’t easy, really. But the princess went out of her way to educate us about life here on Midgard. She’s so good at it, you’d forget she hasn’t even been living here a decade.”

He smiled. They claim you as their princess despite only being adopted by Thor. He recalls how you once rambled about being scared that they’d be indifferent towards you once Thor brings you to Asgard, one of the reasons you’ve been making up excuses to go with him.

“Why, would you look at that. We’re just in time before it starts raining.” The man driving commented.

Peeking through the window, sure enough, the sky was getting darker.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” he muttered. He might just take the little girl’s advice after all.

After getting out of the couple’s car, he ran straight to where he remembers your home was, just in time when Val just got out of your house.

“Hi. I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Bucky.” He greeted extending his ahand to her which she took. A skeptical look on her face.

“Call me Val. I’m sorry what are you doing here?”

“I need to speak to Y/N, please.” He answered truthfully.

“Well it’s about night time so she’s getting dolled up.” She answered

“I know, I know, it’s for her date. But that’s why I’m here.”

Val raised a brow, confused about what date he was getting all bummed about when you were only getting ready to go back to looking out for people out and about at night. But then it dawned to her that maybe this was some of your friend’s doing.

“Y-yes... the date.” She decided to play along, holding back a smirk. Just then, rain started slowly pouring, along with thunder. “Well shit, I have to help some folks get their kids back inside their homes now. You’re free to knock on her door.” She excused herself.

His own clothes were starting to get drenched when he finally knocked on your door.

No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Now footsteps were heard coming to the door, and the knob turned as you opened it.

“Damn it, Val, the door’s not even lo-” You stopped talking, surprised at the figure that greeted you.

“Bucky... are you insane? Don’t just stand there, come in it’s raining hard.” he urged him to get in and closed the door behind you.

Facing each other, he was taking you in. Val wasn’t lying when she said you were getting ready for your date. He can’t believe he was already getting jealous of a faceless punk.

“So uh... what brings you here?” You decided to break the ice, fidgeting where you stood, still barefoot as it looked like you were gonna have to stay at home if it was going to rain this hard all night.

“Don’t go on the date.” he pleaded, confusing you.

“What?”

“Please don’t go on the date.” He repeated, now walking towards you.

There is no date, but now you were wondering why he’s telling you not to.

“Why?”

“I love you.” he answered without missing a beat, now stepping closer to you. Instead of the reaction he was hoping for, you scoffed and took a step back.

“Don’t pull a Laurie on me.” you replied, a frown etched on your face. He was confused.

“A Laurie?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen enough adaptations of Little Women to know that you’re pulling a Laurie on me.” You spat as a matter of fact. “You’re being really mean, stop it.” you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“What? I- I haven’t even thought of that reference!” he defends himself, cheeks reddening from embarrassment. “Amy was gonna get married, Y/N.”

“Oh then by all means, feel free to come back just after he proposes.”

“W- We’re getting sidetracked here, doll. I came here hoping there still an ounce of you that loves me. Please don’t tell me you’ve completely moved on from me.”

“What, like it’s hard?” you replied. It surprised you when his brows shot up from recognition of that line.

“Now you’re pulling an Elle Woods on me!” he pointed at you in an accusatory manner.

“Don’t point that finger at me, Barnes. How was I even supposed to know you’ve seen that movie?” you rolled your eyes, walking past him.

“I watched all the movies you told me about back in Wakanda.” he spoke up, making you stop in your tracks to face him again.

“Yeah, that’s right. I watched every movie, I listened to every song, read every book you recommended, and visited every internet site you once said I might like. I was always listening even when I made it seem like I wasn’t.”

You stared at him for a second looking for any indication that he was lying. Recovering from the mild shock, you pursed your lips. “I hope you know the Porn site was a joke. Sam did it to Steve once and I just thought it was hilarious.”

His mouth twitched. Walking over to you once more he stopped when he was only a step away, not breaking eye contact.

“I’m really sorry, Doll. I know it’s bold of me to even ask you, but please give me the chance to make it up to you. And I don’t care if it’s me that has to wait for you this time. Take all the time you need, just please don’t go on that date.”

“Bucky, there was never a date. I have no idea what date you were referring this entire time.” you confessed, making him bring his hands to his face and groan, muttering Damn it, Shuri.

Hearing Shuri’s name, you put two and two together. “Is this about Shuri trying to set me up with a prince?” he nodded as answer. “Well, I did tell her I was gonna think about it.”

He removed his hands away from his face. “Please say no.” He whispered. “I’d tell you what the kids told me what to say if I have to.”

“What kids?”

“Sam got a bunch of kids on video to teach me how to win you back. I’ve already stood under the rain outside your door just like what one of the girls suggested.” Judging from the grin on your face, he was now regretting even mentioning them.

“Well go on, then.” you urged. “Let me see how much you’ve learned.”

“The first time I saw you at the airport, I got so distracted looking at you just casually sitting on top if the ramps while we were preparing to fight. That wink you sent me that day is still engraved in my mind by the way. Then I was so taken back when you bluntly told me you��re attracted to me. I-”

“I don’t think the kids taught you to remind me of my attempts to flirt with you.” You cut him off, embarrassed at the memory. He chuckled at your expression.

“Okay, okay.” he took a deep breath.

“I think I started catching feelings for you the moment they woke me up from my cryosleep and you were there to be the first one to welcome me back. I didn’t think you were still gonna be there like you told me. But you were there, beaming at me like a ray of sunshine. All my years under HYDRA, every time I was woken up, I was only ever treated as an asset. But you welcomed me like I was a friend.” his eyes were starting to get glassy with tears, as he tried not to choke up.

“And then every time you were near, or even when I’d get a whiff of your perfume, I’d start feeling all warm inside and my entire body would be at ease, knowing you were an arm's reach from me. You were the last one I saw as I disintegrated from the blip, and you were the first one I sought out the moment we came back.” he was surprised when you reached forward to wipe away a tear he didn’t even realize had run down his cheek.

“I lied when I said I made a mistake kissing you. It was the first thing I wanted to do the moment I saw you again. But something inside me was always telling me that all I could ever be is someone grateful for your kindness. That it was impossible for the universe to even grant me someone like you after everything I’ve done." He let out a breath before continuing.

"But it was also you, Steve, Sam, and heck – even Zemo– that made me realize that I am worthy of a chance. And I’m sorry it had to take you telling me you were moving on, to have the courage to accept and take the chance that has been long offered to me by the world." He took your hand and gave the back of it a small kiss.

"I love you, Y/N.” Now it was him that had to wipe away your tears away. “Please don’t cry, doll. That wasn’t-”

“Just fucking kiss me already, James.” you laughed, in between sniffles.

He grinned down before you. “You’re my angel with a potty mouth, and I love you.” he whispered, leaning down.

“I love you too."

---------

You and Bucky were out with the Wilsons on their community's afternoon barbeque.

Sarah and you got along with ease, and she was telling you all about their old family business when Bucky hugged you from behind.

"Sorry to interrup, ladies, but I have to show you something Y/N." he said, kissing your cheek.

"Ew, man. I still can't believe your old ass has a girlfriend." Sam commented beside Sarah who was laughing

"You do know I'm older than him, right?" you chuckled.

"I know, but you don't look it." he replied, causing Bucky to flip him off.

Excusing yourself, both of you walked by the docs.

"What's up, old man?" you grinned at him.

"You know what, doll. Most couples would have endearing nicknames for each other."

"I'll call you something sweet once you tell me what that thing you call me when we're alone means."

"What, мое солнце?"

"Yeah, that one! Tell me or else I'll keep calling you ridiculous ones." you threatened, trying not to smile.

"Anyway, мое солнце, I just wanted to show you a text I got from Shuri."

I am yet to have any news that you

manned up and told Y/N you love her,

White Wolf. I was joking before, but now

I really might set her up on a date.

You both chuckled at Shuri's threat.

"I got this." you pulled your phone out of your pocket and dialled her number. You placed it on loud speaker once she picked up.

"Y/N! So nice of you to call."

"Hey, Shuri! Listen..." you feigned seriousness in your voice before releasing a deep breath. "I'm finally over Mr. Smokey eye. I think I'm ready to go on that date now." Bucky was playfully glaring at you for the nickname.

There was dead silence from the other side of the line for a second. "Oh! About that... uh turns out he already has a girlfriend. Planning to propose soon, I heard. Oops!"

"Well that's a bummer. How about the other bachelor royalties your family's friends with? I recently found an article with a list. I can send you one right now. Preferably ones that don't look much like blue-eyed grandpa." you grinned at him as he rolled his eyes. He knows what you were trying to get him to do.

"Uh... turns out my brother isn't that friendly after all." She let out an awkward laugh. "Hasn't Barnes contact you at all?" you could hear the frustration in her voice.

"Oh, that discount prophet, I haven-"

"It means my sun." He finally caved, rolling his eyes.

"What?" you asked him, immidiately forgetting that Shuri was still on.

"WHAT?" she screamed through the phone after a second.

"мое солнце means my sun." he grinned at you.

"Is that Barnes with you?! Hellooo?!!!"

"Talk to you later, princess." you turned off the call when she was about to protest. Facing him again, you stepped closer and put your arms around his shoulders, both of you sharing a grin.

"I love you, мое солнце."

"I love you too, minn stjarna."

"You gonna tell me what that means?"

"You wish."

fin.

--------

@eternalharry @iheartsebandchris @lizzarooni @the-ayo-lit @tanyaherondale @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @eliwinchester-barnes @ebxny27 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @fadingdreamersportsmaker @drama-queen-aa

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maeve-writes · 3 years

Text

Beautiful Hell

Inspired by: Beautiful Hell by ADNA

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (tfatws) x Reader (experiment/mutant!Reader) Rating: 18+, Minors DNI Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk. Summary: Your past shows up in an unexpected way thanks to Bucky Barnes. You just wanted to be... normal, not caught up in the life of a hero or worse, and yet you’re drawn to him, addicted to him even. You thought that part of your life was over, but your relationship opens up a whole new chapter that you’re not sure you’re ready for. a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. I have not written anything that wasn’t work related in about three years, so I’m a little rusty. This is just a dip of my toe back into the water. I’d like to continue this if there is any interest! Thanks for reading!

There’s very little that makes you upset these days. You have a great job, a cozy apartment, and wonderful friends. It’s taken a long time for you to find stability and even longer for you to accept that it was okay to have it. Most of that struggle was on your own, but you eventually found others like you that were dealing with the same inner turmoil and you’ve grown.

The group still meets twice a month, but now you run it. You see the same pain and anger in the eyes of strangers that you once held, you’ve been in their shoes and you want to help start their journey of healing and self discovery. You would never turn someone away who wanted help, who sought out the chance to better themselves, but six feet of muscle and adamantium shuffles into the recreation room of the local Boy’s and Girl’s Club, and you bend the already folded aluminum chair in half.

The squeak of the metal catches his attention and his brow knits together. His eyes dance between your face, the chair, and back again. “Cheap material,” you say weakly with a lift of your shoulders. You watch as he puckers his lips in thought and his hands are shoved into his jacket.

One of your regulars, Sarah, takes the chair from you and tries to right it once more, but finds it more difficult than you played it up to be. “Set up the rest, I’ve got this,” you tell her, happy to tear your attention away from the man. You reset the bars of the chair and unfold it, placing it on the floor to see if it will act as it should. It’s a little wonky, the bend leans it too far back, but it will hold you - it’s a chair.

You sit among the circle and begin. People sip their coffee and share their stories for the week. The new people introduce themselves, including him, but everyone already knows his name. He didn’t share this time, but you could tell he wanted to from the way his jaw clenched and the uncomfortable shifts in his sheet. You were like that once, you know just how he feels.

Two hours pass and the crowd slowly trickles out. You start the clean up, the putting away of the chairs. You move around the room and do your best to ignore his eyes burning into you - into your soul. “You could at least help clean,” you tell him without looking up from the sink against the far wall where you now stand. “Chairs still need to be put away.”

It takes a few beats, but you hear his heavy footsteps fall behind you and the eventual scrap of metal as the chairs are being folded. There’s a steady rhythm to his method, a clink of his metal arm against the chair, the screech as the chair is closed and his footfalls to the corner to put it away.

You finish your last coffee pot, drying your hands and turn to see the wonky chair in his hold. “Cheap material,” he repeats, looking down at it before he bends it back and forth. You see him trying to mold it back into better shape than you had earlier as your face grows hotter by the second. When he deems it “good enough,” he brings it over to join the others. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you reply instantly.

His head snaps around, blue eyes burning, “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true,” you counter, “I’ve lied to myself for years.”

He turns to you fully and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t find your attempt at what he thinks is a joke funny. “Who are you,” he asks again, his voice becoming clipped and impatient.

You tell him your name, your full name but it does not ring any bells to him. It wouldn’t, not in a way he would realize. “You saved someone years ago, not as… you, but as,” you pause and wave the towel you used to dry your hands, “you know.” You try your best to ignore how his body tenses up and you continue, “You killed his wife and his unborn son. You changed him. Changed everything, really. Somehow, I got caught up in it all.”

His hardened stare quickly shifts into curiosity and you force yourself to look away before you crash into the stormy blue. “They pumped us full of all sorts of stuff. A lot of us didn’t make it. I can still hear the screams if I try.” You grind your teeth to make yourself stop falling into that abyss. “But my dad raised me by himself, he taught me how to survive, how to be strong. He always told me: Girl, if you’re gonna go down, go down swingin’. And I forced myself to keep going, no matter what they did, I wasn’t going to let those assholes get the best of me.”

The towel was back in both of your hands now, pulled and stretched as you tried not to think about the pain and the loneliness that followed. “But eventually I was freed, just like you freed that other guy. I got a chance to be him now… but I didn’t take it.” The terry cloth ripped in half and your arms fell by your sides.

You dared to look up at the man and you inwardly swore. His face was so painfully beautiful, full lips were in a pout and his eyes twinkled blue in their sadness, in their empathy. “They wanted us to be something and I wasn’t going to let someone else define me. I ran for years, scared and alone. I had to change my life over and over because I didn’t want them to find me, then I realized I was actually doing what they wanted… I was being someone I’m not.”

You crossed the room to the trash can nearby and not too far behind he followed. The two of you began to toss half-eaten pastries and empty disposable coffee cups. “So, I settled down here, started to go by my real name and took any threat that came my way.” You watched him sniff at an uneaten danish, “Cherry, I think.” His shoulder lifts in a ‘what-the-hell’ kind of way and he takes a bite. “It took about two decades for them to stop,” you finish, “and I was able to finally start to live my life.”

He silently offers half of the danish to you, which you decline. “And when the world went to hell in a hand-basket, you what, sat here and lived your life?” The blow was meant to sting and it did. He didn’t know if you were gone in The Blip but from your recoil, he got his answer. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you obviously have the ability to help people, you should use it.”

“I do,” you reply, offended. “This,” you wave your hands around for the second that evening, “helps people. Just because I don’t strap on leather and beat up bad guys doesn’t mean I don’t make a difference.”

Bucky stills completely, even his breathing, and he looks down into the trash can he has been pushing around for you. It looks as though he wants to toss himself in it. “You’re right,” he says with a heavy exhale, “that wasn’t fair of me. It’s just… the world is running low on heroes, they’re now relying on a guy in a bird suit.”

“I thought that guy was your friend,” you ask with a tilt of your head.

When the corner of his mouth tips up into a boyish smile, you mirror it with a toothy grin because of how infectious it is. “Yeah,” he nods, “I guess he is. But I just hate being the only muscle.”

“You’re plenty enough for this hemisphere,” you laugh and reach out to pat his shoulder, when you feel the muscle packed there, you whistle through your teeth, “and maybe the other one, too.”

He laughs and rolls the shoulder you tapped, tossing off your hand playfully. “Yeah, well it wouldn’t hurt to have more because getting hurt hurts.” You two exchange smiles and finish trash detail. He ties up the full bag and prepares to bring it out while you work on putting a new one in the can.

You lead him out back to the dumpsters and he tosses the bag in after you open the heavy metal lid. When it falls closed again with a loud, ringing bang, you pull out a pack of sanitizing wipes and offer him one which he gladly accepts. “This might not be the right time,” he begins, eyes drawn to the large, smelly trash bin next to the pair of you, “but would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Who knew you were so romantic, Sergeant Barnes,” you tease to hide your fluttering heartbeat that he can undoubtedly hear. Under the pale yellow beam of the streetlights you can see the flush forming on his face that mirrors your own. “I’m free tomorrow around seven.”

Bucky straightens to his full height and his eyes sparkle brightly when that boyish curl makes its way back to his lips. “Then it’s a date,” he nods as you both pull out your phones to exchange numbers and you give him your address.

“Don’t be late,” you warn him, tone playfully serious, “I get angry if I don’t eat before eight. Bad things happen if I don’t eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods with a low rumbling chuckle, “I don’t plan to disappoint you.”

Your face splits into a smile and you lead your way back in, “See you tomorrow, Sergeant.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, his eyes trained on your every move. “And it can’t come soon enough,” he adds under his breath.

Your day goes by in a blur. Work is stressful but rewarding. Even though you love your job, your mind was not completely on it. Just past noon you received a text: Just seeing if this works. I’m looking forward to tonight. Have a good day. BB

It is unclear if he does not really know how texts work or if it is his excuse to send you one, but either way it makes you giddier than a schoolgirl. You reread it several times, answer a few work related calls and emails before you finally answer back: It works! I’m also looking forward to tonight. My day was good, but your text made it better. Hope yours is fantastic! xx

You are hesitant to hit send, but if you are going to shoot your shot, then you might as well go all in. Your phone doesn’t even go to sleep before you get another text in return: I’m about to see the prettiest gal in town, my day will be more than fantastic. How do you feel about sushi and bowling? BB

Of all of the things to do, especially together, you would not think of Bucky Barnes to pick that as your first night out together, but you had a weakness for sushi and your competitive side could never say no to a game or two: I haven’t been bowling in years, but I’m sure I can teach you a few things. xx

Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be learning a thing or two before the night is over. BB

You aren’t sure if you guys are talking about bowling anymore and that thought lights a fire in your belly. With a shaky breath you send your last reply: I’ll be happy to learn anything as long as I get to call you Professor Barnes and I can stay after class for extra credit. ;) xx

It isn’t until two hours after your lunch that you get your last reply from him: Looking up that reference sent me to the part of the internet that I’m still not used to, but I’m glad I did. You don’t happen to have a skirt and some of those socks that go up to your knees, do you? Don’t answer that, I won’t be able to make it through dinner. See you at 7. BB

You did happen to have just what he asked for and it was tempting to wear it, but you tucked the idea into your pocket for another time. Instead, you picked something more appropriate for bowling, a pair of navy skinny fit cotton dress pants with enough stretch to not rip when you bent over to toss a ball, a curve hugging camisole that was draped by a soft, cream colored cashmere sweater.

After messing with your hair for an hour, you settled for a messy bun and just finished your makeup when your doorbell rang. You call out to him to “hold on” as you shuffle through your apartment, trying to wriggle into your loafers on the way to open the door. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” you apologize as you pull open the door.

He’s standing in the doorway dressed in a canvas jacket over a plain black shirt, dark jeans over his long, thick legs and his normal boots top it off. “You look gorgeous,” he says, forcing you away from your lingering gaze as it continues to travel up and down his body like he’s the one for dinner. “These are for you,” he presents a bouquet of flowers with an unsure smile. “They’re beautiful,” you say wistfully, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you.” He nods and stands near the door as you finish putting on your shoes. “Let me put these in water and we can go.” “Take your time,” he says and trains his eyes on you. They follow you through the apartment, to the kitchen as you look through your cabinets for a vase. When you bend over, his head tilts ever so slightly which you can see out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to try and catch him, he just smiles innocently. “Need any help?”

“I’ll manage,” you laugh and eventually find a vase. The flowers are arranged not so elegantly into the glass, but you add water and place them in the center of your kitchen island. “Now, I’m starving and getting hangry.”

“Hangry,” he repeats. “That doesn’t sound good. I guess I should feed you before that happens.” He holds out an arm and like a magnet you are drawn to him and latch to it, maybe it’s because of the metal. Nevertheless, you walk arm and arm to the sushi hole-in-the-wall two blocks away, eating in a small booth in the corner to hide away from prying eyes.

You learn about Bucky Barnes for the first time. Like everyone else, you hear things from the news, from the internet, you try to shift through the lies and mess. But here you’re learning what he likes, what he’s learned, what he wants to learn. He doesn’t give his past up as freely as you did, it’s obvious he’s still coming to terms with it, but everyone travels at their own pace.

He learns about you, too. He asks you about things none of your past dates have asked. Hell, even your past boyfriends and girlfriends weren’t interested in half of the stuff Bucky manages to squeeze out of you. And you find it so easy to talk to him, so natural. You’ve only known him for two days, but it feels like decades.

Your hand slips into his when you leave the restaurant and head to the bowling alley. He laces your fingers together two blocks into your walk and you once again wrap your free hand around his arm. It pains you to move away when you have to go in and put on the bowling shoes.

“Before we begin,” he says to you as he watches you put your names into the computer, “let’s make a bet.” You finish entering the ‘y’ of his name and lift an inquisitive brow his way. “If you win, you can have one thing you would want from me.”

You twist in your seat and narrow your eyes, “And if you win?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, you watch it disappear with a pout, “I get a kiss.”

“You could just ask for one,” you laugh and slowly lean towards him.

Bucky, too, leans in and bumps noses with you, “Yeah, but it’s more fun if I work for it.” He sits back and winks, trying not to laugh at your deflated and deepening pout. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re up first.”

You sigh heavily and pick up the bright green ball that you picked from the line waiting to be thrown. “Okay, if I win, then I get to wear that skirt and socks for you,” you say over your shoulder before you toss the ball down the lane. It rolls down the center and knocks down all ten pins as STRIKE flashes on the screen above you.

When you flop down in the chair next to him, he’s still staring at the spot where you stood moments before, gears still churning. “Hey,” you laugh, snapping your fingers in front of his face to knock him out of his daze, “are you okay?”

“Would it be wrong of me to lose on purpose,” he asks sheepishly. You roll your eyes and cross your arms and he lifts his own in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it, that’s no fun. Just know, darlin’, I don’t go down without a fight.” He steps up and takes the same ball you used and chucks it halfway down the lane before it, too, knocks down all ten pins. He turns to you, a smirk plastered on his face.

As much as you loved to have fun, you loved to win more. “Is that how it’s going to be,” you asked, getting up to pass him on the way to take your turn.

He laughs, pressing close as you both slow when you come into each other’s orbit. “That’s how it’s going to be,” he nods and rakes over his lip with his teeth. A challenge is set and you don’t back down. Strikes and spares are thrown by the both of you in between lingering touches and whispered sweet nothings.

In the hour you two have rented the lane, you managed two games and with one point over you, Bucky wins. He doesn’t claim his prize right there, it’s too public and there’s far too many people around. Instead, he offers to walk you home and you happily accept as long as you can wrap yourself around him once again, which you do.

You two try to take your time on the way back, enjoying the crisp evening air, but more so each other's company. The conversation from dinner continues as a flow of likes and dislikes between more sweet nothings. You’re lovedrunk by the time you’re at your front door and you don’t want the night to come to an end.

Reluctantly, you release him from your hold and he looks as disappointed as you feel. “Tonight has been wonder-” “I had such a great-” you both begin simultaneously and trail off together, ending in nervous laughter.

“Thank you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “for such an amazing night.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says, a hand timidly reaching out to rest on your hip. “I’ve been a little rusty at this kind of thing, but you made it easy.” His thumb traces the arc of your hip bone and you step closer to him. “But, you know, I might need some more practice.” You resisted to roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbles between the both of you. The distance closes by one of you, and you don’t care who, but you find your hands splayed across his chest, “I think I can help you out there.”

“That would be my second win of the night,” he grins down at you, his eyes trained on your lips.

“Speaking of my win,” he trails off. His flesh hand raises to your cheek and you instinctively lean into it. Your nose wrinkles at his chuckle but it doesn’t stop you from raising on your toes to close what little space there was between you.

You could sense his hesitation, the silent question of what was enough and what was too much. A small hum bubbled in your throat as you pushed your hands up his chest, nails scraping up his neck and into his hair. You could feel the shiver ripple throughout his body and his teeth came out to bite down on your bottom lip.

It was your turn to laugh now and he licked into your mouth in return, turning it into a whimpering moan. You could feel his triumphant smirk against your lips and you reward it with a tug of his hair. His hips instantly buck against you which throws you off balance, but he catches you with his metal arm winding around your back and pins you against him.

Your tongues slip and slide against one another, the taste of his sushi and beer choice mixes with your own. Your nails once again claw along his scalp and cause him to growl into your mouth. He surges forward with you in his grip and crowds you against your door, reluctantly breaking away for air, “We should say goodnight,” Bucky whispered against your kiss swollen lips.

“You can tell me good morning when you wake up next to me tomorrow,” you shoot back and roll your hips against his, causing both of you to react with a strained moan.

“Are you sure,” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush with your name on it,” you nod. You watch him debate the issue with himself before placing one last chaste kiss on your lips before losing his grip just enough to let you open the door.

You two stumble in, Bucky pulling you back to him, his mouth kissing along your jaw as you try to lock up for the night. You barely got the deadbolt turned when his teeth sank into your sink causing you to cry out. He instantly licks at apologetically and turns his attention to getting you undressed instead.

When your sweater is pulled over your head, you push off Bucky’s jacket, both falling to the floor near the door. Shoes are next to go, sloppily kicked off near each other and once again you two are drawn back together, tongues dancing. Your fingers twist into the short brown locks and his hands snaked down to your ass. He lightly cups each cheek, using them to bring you as close as possible, and even though your bodies leave very little room for air to pass through you still try to move closer.

“Bed,” he breathes into your mouth. You give him a quick nod. With a happy groan, he squeezes you by your bottom, picking you up to carry you to your room, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist.

Your small one bedroom apartment isn't anything special, but it is yours and it has the biggest, comfiest bed that you are in love with. Bucky easily guides you both there, not once breaking your kiss aside from grunting or growling from your teasing hair pulls or the rolls of your hips.

He climbs onto the mattress with you still wrapped around his upper half, crawling up to the pile of pillows near the headboard where he eventually lays you down. His weight settles above you, and normally, you would welcome it’s warmth and comfort, but at that moment, you want it to be rough and needy. “Bucky,” you whine, this time the one to break the kiss.

Flushed cheeks and blown pupils, he looks down at you, boxing you in with his arms on either side of your head. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You’re wearing too much,” you tell him as you try to pull off his shirt, it makes it up to his shoulders before it stops. His laugh shakes his entire body and yours, which makes you pout in return.

“You’re wearing the same amount, doll,” he reminds you, looking down to see your breasts sway in your camisole. “Far, far too much, in my opinion.”

You roll your eyes and playfully slap at his chest, “Then do something about it.” He mutters something about impatience and sits on his knees between your parted thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head to toss it aside.

“Your turn,” he nods to your shirt while he works on the buckle of his belt. You hastily pull the top over your head and work on your slacks, wriggling out of them just as does his own. He sits back on his hunches and looks you over, laying spread out in a matching white lace bra and underwear set. Now at he’s down to his boxer briefs, you can see how big he his, how hard he is, and when his wandering eyes rest on your covered sex, you can see it twitch with anticipation. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t think your entire body could blush from embarrassment, but Bucky just proved you could. “That’s my line,” you return, taking in every inch of his exposed skin over hard muscle. Super serum or not, Bucky Barnes was a gorgeous specimen. When you two finally lock eyes once more, you both shiver. “Are you going to touch me?”

He lets out a shaky breath and reaches out to run a hand lightly over your damp panties, slick from your want for him. “I’m afraid I’ll never stop,” he replies honestly, instantly addicted to the needy whimpers you are giving him.

“I don’t think I would want you to,” you groan. “Please?” You feel his fingertips dance over the lace, tracing over the pattern and causing you to throb with need. “Bucky!”

“You need me, don’t you,” he asks, voice dropping to a low rumble that hits you right at your core and makes your toes curl. “You need my touch. Need me to satisfy that ache?” You nod desperately trying to sit up to pull him down on top of you, but he pins you down before you could rise. “Tell me,” he purrs.

“I need you,” you respond instantly. You’re rewarded with his fingers pushing the panties aside and begin to dance along the slick folds.

“You need what,” he goads. He finds your clit and rubs it once to draw a happy mew from you but stops much to your disappointment.

“I need you, Bucky. I need you to touch me, to kiss me,” you whine with a rock of your hips, trying to get him to move again, but he doesn’t. “I need you to taste me, to lick me, to fuck me.”

Smile on his kiss bruised lips, his thumb swirls around your bud and he sinks his middle finger into you with a groan. “You’re tight,” he hisses as he sinks knuckle-deep, “and dripping. Shit, you’re going to feel like heaven.”

You can’t focus on what he’s saying too much. The feel of his fingers pumping in and out of you feels good, feels right, but it’s not enough, even when he adds two or three. He works you open, your slick starting to run down his fingers, and he palms himself over his briefs. “Bucky, please,” your voice cracks, “I need more.”

He nods, he has time to take you apart with just his fingers later, but it’s been so long since he’s been with someone like this, someone he’s felt like this with, he needs it as much as you do. When he removes his fingers from you, you whine at the loss but it cuts off into a gasp as you watch him lap and suck off your slick from his hand. Bucky freezes, eyes narrowing, and for a moment you’re wondering if you did something wrong. “What? What is it?”

“Trying to stop myself from eating you alive,” he says through clenched teeth, jaw visibly flexing with the effort. You blink up at him, confused, but he shakes his head and forces himself to remove his boxer briefs. “I’m having you for breakfast,” he decides.

“Uh huh,” you reply absently, your mouth watering as his cock bounces against his stomach when it’s free. It’s long, thick, and leaking, trying to hypnotize you and very much succeeding.

“I’ll let you return the favor, sweetheart,” he laughs. His flesh hand spreads his pre-cum down his shaft and he pumps slowly while his metal hand pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Still with me?”

Blinking free of your daze, you stare at his lustful gaze and nod. He moves closer, hooks your legs over the bends of his elbows and runs the head of his cock along your folds. Your hole twitches desperately for him, “Such a pretty little pussy, so needy.” Your hands wrap around his wrists and grip at him tightly, hard enough to make him hiss. “You’ve been a good girl, I guess I can give you what you want.”

He pushes in agonizingly slow, the head of his cock sinking in what felt like centimeter by centimeter. You clench around him, trying to draw more of him in, but Bucky takes his time to bottom out. When he is finally fully seated in you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and apparently so did he. “Fuck,” you say simultaneously.

Your legs are positioned around his waist and he once again frames your head with his forearms, which, in turn, pushes him further inside of you. “You feel so good, doll,” he whispers against the ‘o’ of your lips. “So warm, so tight, taking me so good.” Your hands find their way up his arms and into his hair. All it takes is one tug that has him growling, “And I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy so good that it’s going to feel me all week.” He rolls his hips back as slowly as he originally pushed in, “And I wanna hear you tell everyone who it belongs to while I do it.”

He snaps his hips forward driving you up the bed and further into the pillows, a cry getting caught in your throat from it. His pace is brutal, skin slaps against skin, and his mouth seeks out yours. The kiss is sloppy, but hungry, just as primal as his pistoning hips. You hold on to him the best you can as the bed rocks, headboard slamming against the wall. Your nails trail against his skin, egging him on and drawing sinful noises from love-swollen lips.

His hips shift angles and eventually find that spot that makes you see stars. “Bucky,” you cry out breathlessly, uncurling your toes and removing your nails from his shoulder blades. He buries his face in your neck and marks you with his teeth and tongue as he relentlessly fucks towards your brink. “So… f-fuck- so close.”

“Cum for me then, sweetheart,” Bucky growls against your skin, snaking a hand between your bodies to work at your clit. “Show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” His thumb rubs over your bud once, twice and a white hot punch in your gut blossoms throughout your body as you let out a strangled cry of his name.

You can feel yourself clamp around him, working him impossibly deeper, begging him to fall down into the abyss with you. And he does, hard. He chases his bliss with you, your name a mantra spilling from his lips as he spills inside of you. He doesn’t stop until you’ve both become too sensitive to handle anymore. He pulls out of you with a heavy sigh and falls next to you on the bed onto his stomach.

“Holy shit,” you finally break the silence, “that was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his head turned to look at you with tired, blissful eyes. “Goddamn, yeah it was.”

You weakly reach around to search for his hand and eventually find it, he lances his fingers with yours. You don’t break eye contact when he leans over to share a few chaste kisses before collapsing again. “You’re fantastic, Bucky, and I want you to know that was the hottest sex I have had to date.”

His post orgasm bliss is shattered and replaced with a furrowed brow, “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“...but as hot as it is feeling you drip out of me, I need to shower,” you finish. You can see the relief wash over him and he nods in understanding.

“I’ve got a good memory,” he yawns and taps at his head, “that image is stored right here.” You fight a blush and slide off of your bed to head to the bathroom when seconds later you hear him do the same. He shrugs at your questioning look, “No need to waste water, right?”

You laugh as you turn on the faucets only to be crowded against the wall and your mouth is covered with his once more. The water splashing against your bodies and the echoing sounds of your moans drown out the repeated calls to Bucky’s phone. Mission. Suit up. SW

Answer your damn phone. SW

It’s the green button. SW

Green button and slide right. SW

Dammit, if you blocked me again, I stg. SW

Man, what are you doing in Soho? Yes, I’m tracking you. OMW. SW

a/n: To be continued?

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes tfatws #bucky tfatws #bucky barnes fatws #bucky fatws #Beautiful Hell bb fic

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

It is @veraverorum ‘s birthday today! So they get a birthday fanfic, because I love them!!

(also on AO3)

It hadn’t been Nie Huaisang’s plan to visit Lan Xichen in seclusion.

But that was the issue, of course. Lan Xichen always interfered with his plans, willingly or not. That stupid man, with his too forgiving heart and his big eyes, his strong shoulders… Nie Huaisang’s entire life would have been much easier if that idiot of a man had been even just a little less handsome.

Not just because of the effect it had on him, Nie Huaisang told himself every time he became angry about it. He was not the only one who had put up with Lan Xichen longer than necessary just because he happened to be handsome when he smiled. Surely the Lans would have realised what a fool their sect leader was, if they hadn’t been blinded by his good looks and his undeserved air of wisdom. And Jin Guangyao either hadn’t been immune, or else he would have gotten rid of the man who forced him to continue pretending he was a paragon of virtue.

Lan Xichen had one great skill, and it was to be so handsome people became as stupid as he was just to get one smile from him.

It wasn’t a bad skill. It certainly was one Nie Huaisang envied on occasions. His own life would have been much easier if he’d had such a talent… but instead, that beauty had been wasted on a man who thought people were mostly good and deserving of second chances.

What a joke.

Nie Huaisang had opened a bottle of Emperor’s Smile when he’d heard that Lan Xichen had entered seclusion, and privately celebrated what he’d thought to be the man’s first wise decision in a lifetime. He’d also celebrated the fact that, now that he was safe from the effect of those kind eyes and strong shoulders, he would regain some degree of control over his traitorous desires.

Perhaps Nie Huaisang too was a fool sometimes. The effect Lan Xichen had on people couldn’t be countered by mere absence, he soon learned. And after only a few months, he found himself missing Lan Xichen’s company.

It was only because of old habits, he told himself at first. After a decade of constant contact through letters and visits, of course he’d grown used to Lan Xichen’s frequent presence, useless as that had been. It would pass with time.

Time passed indeed, but the gnawing coldness in his heart did not, and Nie Huaisang instead found himself longing for Lan Xichen with increasing frequency. Everything reminded him of that man, be it his birds (Lan Xichen had more than once complimented how well trained they were), his favourite painting brush (a present from Lan Xichen. He should have burned it and gotten another, but it was a very good brush), a set of robes (Lan Xichen owned one that matched it), or even the damn sunset (it had been a very pretty one though, and Lan Xichen had a fondness for those).

It took Nie Huaisang a while to understand why his thoughts always returned to Lan Xichen. Partly because he had little time to spare for that problem, busy as he was preparing the return of his sect’s former glory. Then, one evening, in the company of some passable wine and a frankly pathetic novel, Nie Huaisang was hit by a realisation: if he couldn’t stop thinking about Lan Xichen, it might have been because he was in love with the man.

The idea was ridiculous. Repulsive, almost.

Whatever else others might have thought of him, Nie Huaisang knew his own value. He had proven himself to be smarter and more cunning than anyone else in his generation. His appearance was also above average, even if he’d looked rather awkward before puberty worked its magic, meaning he’d been left out when that stupid list of bachelors had been created. His cultivation was on the lower side, but only compared to some of his most talented peers. In fact, Wei Wuxian in his current body had a much worse level than him, and would remain that way until Lan Wangji had fucked a golden core into him. Then, there was the matter of Nie Huaisang’s other accomplishments, which were many: he had perfect mastery of the six arts, he’d learned to be politically astute, his taste was excellent in all things.

Almost all things.

Apparently, when it came to men, his tastes were shit. After all Lan Xichen had nothing to commend himself except a pretty face, a pleasing body, and a charming smile. Certainly he had also once been a very accomplished young man, but the burden of leading Gusu Lan had not left him a lot of time to continue improving his mind, and he wasn’t quite as interesting a person to chat with as he’d been.

Lan Xichen was a man one might have taken a fancy to, a man perfectly fine to fantasise about, perhaps even to fuck once or twice for the novelty of it if he could be convinced, but that was it. Only a fool would have fallen in love with such a person, and Nie Huaisang wasn’t a fool.

He refused to be one.

So he took that unpleasant realisation and set out to destroy any unnecessary emotions. He tried, at first, to simply stop thinking about Lan Xichen. A vain effort, he soon realised: the more he wanted to avoid that topic, the more his mind lingered back onto it. Nie Huaisang thus decided another approach was necessary, and started working on a detailed list of all of Lan Xichen’s faults.

The list was lengthy enough. Lan Xichen was a fool, he was blind to the fault of others (a kind heart), lacked judgement (trusting), had horrible taste in friends (Nie Huaisang was hardly better), he was weak willed (but only on personal matters), too forgiving (and yet he had killed Jin Guangyao in the end)...

The list was a mistake. It did nothing to reduce Nie Huaisang’s feelings, and only ended up highlighting those qualities of Lan Xichen he disliked thinking about, since they ruined his comforting image of the man as a complete idiot.

Briefly, Nie Huaisang considered looking for a different lover. For a wife even, if it came to that. The idea was dismissed as quickly as it came to him. He didn’t feel ready to get married, not until his sect was back to its proper place as a great one, and he certainly felt no inclination toward the concept of having children. He’d rather pass the title of sect leader to some talented cousin or even a no-name disciple who would have proved their value, rather than some brat whose only accomplishment was to have been born and who would feel entitled to power for that reason, regardless of talent.

And as for merely taking a lover… searching for a replacement was too much of a hassle. He’d have to find someone handsome, reliable, trustworthy, capable of putting up with his personality… and at that point, it’d be easier to just seduce Lan Xichen than find another person with those exact same qualities.

Having reached that conclusion, Nie Huaisang accepted the inescapable and started planning a visit to the Cloud Recesses.

It couldn’t be good for Lan Xichen to remain isolated, anyway.

It was surprisingly easy to get into the Cloud Recesses. It helped, of course, that Nie Huaisang had timed his visit carefully, so that Lan Wangji and his too-suspicious husband were away on a Night Hunt when he happened to come by. Those two would have interfered with his plans, while Lan Qiren, even though now aware of his true personality, had some lingering affection for Nie Huaisang. He’d been the old teacher’s worst student for three years in a row after all. That sort of thing created bonds.

Besides, Wei Wuxian’s mild dislike of Nie Huaisang could only serve as a recommendation.

So Lan Qiren welcomed Nie Huaisang with all the honours due to a sect leader. They had tea together and played weiqi while discussing the different problems Nie Huaisang had invented to come there. He had, he realised, missed the Cloud Recesses. The place had an air of careful elegance, an ethereal look to it that contrasted sharply with his own home in the Unclean Realm. Luckily, he would get to enjoy it for more than that single afternoon. In spite of his and Lan Qiren’s efforts, they were not able to solve everything that Nie Huaisang had needed to discuss, so he was invited to stay the night. Nie Huaisang tried to protest, and pretended he couldn’t possibly impose himself that way, when already his visit had been unplanned, but Lan Qiren would hear none of it and had a guest room prepared for him.

Dinner was a pleasant enough affair. The food was plain, and there could be no conversation because of Lan rules, but silence was not an unpleasant thing, and Nie Huaisang had a fondness for Gusu Lan’s tasteless cooking.

After eating, Lan Qiren and him chatted some more. They talked about events of their youth, and about how promising the new generation was. They talked about mistakes they’d rather have avoided, and those they would repeat in a heartbeat. Lan Qiren had always been pleasant to chat with, and that only became more true as Nie Huaisang became older. Then, at last, Lan Qiren had to send his guest to his room, and bid him goodnight. Nie Huaisang answered in kind.

Alone in his guest room, Nie Huaisang sat on the bed and waited. He waited, first, for the bell signaling bedtime. Then for the second one which announced that the curfew had started. After this he waited a little more, just for safety, and left his room.

To make himself as silent as possible, and to give the illusion that he was merely sleeping, should someone enter the room, Nie Huaisang left his boots behind. The gravel of various paths was uncomfortable under his feet, but he’d dealt with more painful things before, and he didn’t stay very long on the path anyway. Having come to this place for so long as a youth, having returned to it so often as an adult, Nie Huaisang prided himself in knowing every shortcut to every part of the Cloud Recesses. It was easy, then, to make his way to the isolated little house where Lan Qiren had mentioned that his nephew had chosen to live for the duration of his seclusion.

There was a light inside the house, the flickering flame of a candle that weakly offered a beacon into the night. Nie Huaisang smiled at the sight, both because his plan would be easier if he didn’t have to wake Lan Xichen, and because being still up was a blatant violation of Lan rules. Having broken one rule, Lan Xichen had to be in a mindset where breaking more might be considered. Encouraged by this, Nie Huaisang knocked on the door.

For a moment there was only silence coming from inside. Then the faint sound of ruffling fabrics, of light steps on a wooden floor, and the door opened to reveal Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen looked much more put together than Nie Huaisang would have expected. It worried him briefly, as a Lan Xichen in full possession of his senses would be harder to seduce. But there was still a certain air to the other man, something in the way his robes were slightly too creased, his hair not tied quite as tight as usual… Lan Xichen wasn’t at his worst (good, Nie Huaisang had no interest in a pity party) but he wasn’t quite at his best either, and that was all that mattered.

So Nie Huaisang put on his silliest smile, and prepared himself for a little game.

“Er-ge! I was here for business and I just thought it’d be nice to say hi!’ he chirped. “I hope you don’t mind? I know you’re in seclusion, but…”

“Stop,” Lan Xichen cut him, his face turning pale.

Nie Huaisang tilted his head and blinked innocently, even going so far as allowing himself a slight pout

“Er-ge? Are you angry that I came? I just thought…”

“If you’re going to play a comedy, then leave,” Lan Xichen said. “I’ve had enough of being lied to.”

Instantly, Nie Huaisang dropped his smile. “Then if I’m honest, will you let me in?”

Lan Xichen hesitated, which once more marked him as a fool to Nie Huaisang. A clever man would have realised nothing good could come of a conversation between them. A clever man would have wondered why Nie Huaisang had felt the need to come to that house in secret at night instead of requesting a meeting through more official channels.

Lan Xichen wasn’t a clever man. He stepped aside and gestured for Nie Huaisang to come inside that little house.

The place wasn’t anything impressive. Furniture was sparse even by Lan standards, though the bed did have a few more blankets than was usual, making it looking almost obscenely comfortable by contrast. There were also many books, some of which were currently being read if bookmarks were to be trusted. No musical instruments though, and no sign of Shuoyue either.

“I can try to make some tea if you’d like,” Lan Xichen offered, inviting Nie Huaisang to sit at his little table. That was where most of the books had been left, as well as writing implements. It appeared Lan Xichen had been taking notes on something, which he now had to put away. “I hope you will forgive me for the mess. I do not get a lot of visitors, and those I do get don’t usually come in.”

“And yet you make an exception for me,” Nie Huaisang replied with a smirk. “Er-ge, how kind of you. But don’t worry about the mess, we both know I’m worse than that.”

“Do I know that?” Lan Xichen sighed as he finished cleaning the table. “I once thought I knew you, I’m not so sure anymore. How much of everything was a lie, Huaisang?”

“Enough of it. But not all. It’s difficult to always lie. Even San-ge must have been honest sometimes, I suppose, though probably not with either of us.”

At the mention of the man he’d killed, Lan Xichen startled and gave Nie Huaisang a pleading look. Pain was a good look on him, Nie Huaisang decided, though he’d probably look even better panting in pleasure.

“I’m sorry, am I not supposed to talk about him?” Nie Huaisang asked with a smile. “But he’s been such a great part of both our lives, I can’t help it.”

“Huaisang, please…”

“You must miss him so much,” Nie Huaisang remarked. “He was your very dear friend, your confidant… though what sort of a confidant, I must now wonder. People have started throwing the word around about Wangji and Wuxian, did you know? So of course it got me thinking…”

“It wasn’t like that,” Lan Xichen objected, hands clenched into fists as he finally sat down opposite his unwanted guest, forgetting all about the tea he’d offered to make. “San-di and I were only…”

“Oh, so it’s San-di now. No more A-Yao?”

Lan Xichen glared. Nie Huaisang smirked.

“Why are you here, Huaisang?” Lan Xichen asked, sounding so tired and old that Nie Huaisang’s heart, if he’d had one, would have ached for him.

“Why do you think I’m here, Er-ge?”

Lan Xichen fell silent, his gaze falling to the table between them.

“I think you want to finish your revenge,” he said at last, meeting Nie Huaisang’s eyes again. “I think you blame me for your brother’s death. I suppose I understand your line of thinking. I gave San-di the means, I pushed for Da-ge to tolerate him much longer than he ever would have… How could you not blame me for what I’ve done?”

“He’d have done it without you,” Nie Huaisang retorted with some amusement. “And if you’d tried to oppose him in any way, he’d have started hating you just as fiercely as he hated Da-ge. He might even have killed you, and wouldn’t that have been a loss? No, believe it or not, I don’t blame you.”

“How low I must have fallen in your esteem, then, if I am not even worthy of blame.”

Without thinking, Nie Huaisang nodded. Lan Xichen was nothing but a pathetic idiot, unworthy of every advantage given to him, of the goodwill the entire world insisted on extending to him, and yet…

And yet Nie Huaisang couldn’t tear his eyes away, and found himself impossibly endeared by this fool of a man who dared to think he was important enough to deserve his hatred, when he was already unworthy of his love.

“Why are you here?” Lan Xichen insisted. “If it isn’t to torture me with guilt or to kill me…”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Nie Huaisang retorted. “A more interesting question, I think, is why did you let me in if you thought I might wish to kill you?”

Distress flashed across Lan Xichen’s perfect face. Nie Huaisang was still only getting used to causing fear in others, and usually enjoyed it. To his surprise, he found Lan Xichen’s terror less pleasant.

“I’ve… missed you,” Lan Xichen confessed, averting his eyes. “Even if there was a chance you had come with ill intentions, I’ve missed talking to you and it felt worth the risk.”

Something warm and sharp exploded inside Nie Huaisang’s chest, delicious and painful all at once. He’d never thought Lan Xichen more stupid than he did in that moment. He’d never been more delighted by that stupidity, either. After everything that had come to pass, after every lie, and deception, Lan Xichen could still miss him.

How pathetic.

How wonderful.

“Er-ge, I am starting to think you have a type,” Nie Huaisang teased, just barely resisting the impulse to reach for the other man’s hair and steal a forceful kiss from him. Just a moment more, just to see how low Lan Xichen might fall before being granted what they clearly both wanted. “I do suppose I have a lot in common with San-ge, hm?”

“I miss him too,” Lan Xichen agreed. It felt like a slap to the face. Nie Huaisang would have struck him, if he hadn’t already known he’d be the more hurt of the two. But before Nie Huaisang’s anger could fester, Lan Xichen continued. “I haven’t missed the two of you in the same way, though. I… was always more fond of you than I ought to have been. I used to think you felt the same. What a fool I was.”

“Indeed you are,” Nie Huaisang said, leaning over the table without thinking. He was glad, suddenly, that Lan Xichen hadn’t gotten around to making tea, because he suddenly decided that he intended to bend that man over the table and fuck him until he begged for mercy.

Fools, after all, needed to be punished so they might learn better, and Nie Huaisang would be more than happy to dole out that punishment, to show Lan Xichen his true place in the world. And then, when Lan Xichen would be at his lowest, filthy and abused and beautiful, Nie Huaisang would show that he could be kind too, when the mood struck him.

“Er-ge, my dear Er-ge… you certainly like being lied to, don’t you?” Nie Huaisang chuckled. “I suppose I could continue lying to you, if it’d make you feel better. Is that something you’d wish for? For sweet, stupid little Huaisang to fawn over you again and get stuttery every time he meets your eyes? I could do it again, quite easily.”

“Huaisang, don’t. I’m ashamed enough to have thought it was real.”

“I’ve told you earlier: it’s impossible to constantly lie, Er-ge. Some of it had to be real.”

Lan Xichen glared at him, eyes shining as if he might cry, hurt and furious at once. Nie Huaisang only smirked at him, and watched as the other man slowly processed what he’d said, and what the context for it had been. Lan Xichen’s glare softened into a frown which shifted into fear before settling on something fragile and hopeful.

It was amazing, Nie Huaisang thought, that any person with Lan Xichen’s life experience could still so easily trust others. He almost envied it. It must have been so easy to go through life like that, refusing to accept that people, as a whole, were nothing but a bunch of selfish assholes. It also made him furious that Lan Xichen had learned so little, that he was so determined to let himself be abused again by whoever his stupid little heart would settle on.

But Nie Huaisang would reward that stupidity well, and take full advantage of a trust he knew he didn’t deserve.

That beautiful imbecile was his now, Nie Huaisang thought as he finally grabbed Lan Xichen by the collar to pull him into a kiss, and what a beautiful reward it was for every crime Nie Huaisang had committed.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

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novelconcepts · 3 years

Note

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it.

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like?

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle.

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun.

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it.

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from.

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left.

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity.

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves.

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated.

She looked real.

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available.

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it.

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours.

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach.

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good.

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself.

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system.

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night?

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons.

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit.

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough.

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?”

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively.

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now.

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart.

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on.

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette.

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips.

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says.

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane.

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight.

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #okay I liked this one way more than planned #it's sort of nice doing a modern AU under a million words long

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vanchlo · 3 years

Text

Beside

Main Masterlist / Word Count: 4.6k / Warnings: Is angst considered one? Is sadness? Excess fluff? / Song: Beside You by 5SOS, ofc

Premise: You had been his first fan, before anybody else, arguably. Perhaps, that had been what had made it hurt the worst when he had forgotten you, amongst so many other things. How could you ever tell him that, if you were given the chance?

Pairing: Harry x Reader

“He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.”

- Unknown

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that it looked any different. Sure, the addition of the few cardboard boxes and elliptical could maybe chalk up to that. But, the lie fell away before it was even really thought when a memory was sparked by every item your eyes fell on. What was different about it was how it felt, and how it felt more than different, if there was even a word for that. You were rather sure that there were never words good enough for your feelings after everything that had happened over the years.

You hadn’t even been sure if you could make it this far. That started with the drive, the worst part being driving past his. You thought that nothing could trump that until you opened the door and the multitudes of memories came flying at you. Long ago, you had taken down the pictures tacked to cork boards and shown in frames, but somehow, they had reappeared. Thanks to your mum, you thought. It felt like knives in the back of your eyes when you saw them, reminded for the hundredth time of how much things had changed. You weren’t sure if the reminders would ever stop, seeing as how they had been coming for the last nine years. Although they had dwindled over time, according to your proximity and whereabouts, they still never ceased. They never stopped hurting, or stirred up ‘what if’s inside of you.

Tears streamed angrily down your cheeks as the cotton fabric of the curtains left your hands. You had checked maybe twice now, three if you were telling yourself the truth. The thing was, you hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately, but you had needed it right in that moment as his curtains remained still. Then, there were yours, yanked to the side in a blush pink crumple. The images stared back at you, making your head hurt more than it already did. You weren’t sure how that was even a possibility.

“You rang?” a voice nearly demands. “Hullo?” you still don’t know what to do or how to say it, until you do.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reckon it took ya long enough. Now, why’re you cryin’ over Maths? Don’t think it deserves that much attention, don’t you agree?” he replies, making the pages in front of you blur all the more when your bed dips from his weight. “God, remind me again why we’re takin’ Geometry t’gether when we could’ve done somethin’ easier?”

“I dunno. I thought it was your idea,” you answer sheepishly, finding his shoulder with your head.

“Beats me. Whatever helps me avoid mo’ Maths down tha road,” he suggests, and you find yourself humming along in agreement. His fingers calloused from trying to learn guitar are felt on your forearm. “What d’ya say we take a break from this t’ bake some cookies?”

“But I want to finish it now,” you protest, meeting his eyes for the first time. They’re green as ever, and softer than you predicted after the argument you had had last night.

“Ya, and yer not gonna get anythin’ done if yer upset. I think doin’ somethin’ fun, like bakin’ fer a bit will be jus’ tha trick. C’mon,” he almost cooed, shutting the textbook and then tugging on your hand. They had ended up burnt, but the both of you ignored it when you later ate them on your bed as he explained tangents, cosines, and the like.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he answered with enough confidence in his voice that you thought maybe you’d ask for some. You thought to yourself, isn’t that what you had been doing all of this time? Regardless of how many times you had asked that question, the same answer never made you feel any better. You nodded, just like every other time, assuring him you believe him, but you didn’t. How could you?

“You really won’t forget me if you make it big on the show, Harry?”

“Truth or lie, bubs?”

“Don’t tell me,” you whisper.

“‘Course not, love. How could I forget me bestest friend in tha whole wide world, huh? ‘ve known you since we were in nappies, ya don’t f’get that kind o’ rubbish,” and then, you were laughing.

Every time you’d think of that memory, you’d chide yourself for how you’d left it at that. The way that you let him leave you, but more importantly, how he let himself leave you.

That was one of the last times things had been so normal, and the last of burning cookies in the oven. There weren’t any more food fights in your kitchen, splashing hot, sudsy water at the other, or snapping tea towels at the other’s bum. A few weeks after the burnt cookies, you’d found the last one at the bottom of the cookie jar, amazed that any were left after his greedy hands. With an emptiness in your chest, you dropped it in the trash bin hurriedly, and escaped to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time, and you hoped, somehow and in some way, it would be the last.

Without knowing it, you had started a bad habit of lying to yourself, right then and there. As you stood at the window, pinning the curtains to the side in your secret S.O.S message, you waited. It wasn’t nearly as long as a few days before when your legs had ached for being there so long, but you still waited, too long. He didn’t come or pull his curtains aside. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that he never would come to your rescue ever again.

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had came home since moving out that a visit hadn’t been marred by the memory of him. Then again, when you thought hard on it, you were sure that there had never been a time where it wasn’t. Even if it had been nine years since things had changed, your eyes still strayed to his window at every visit. Sometimes, you even thought you saw his outline behind his curtains, or in the near dark, on your bed waiting for you. He never was there waiting, and unbeknownst to him, you could never help it but be waiting. It was what you had done best, and worst, for the last near decade.

It was difficult for you to remember the last time you had been home, stretching your thoughts until you figured it was last Christmas. Another one where he left you waiting, seeming as if that was the thing he was best at himself. Leaving you waiting for a text from him, but regardless of the bittersweetness, they came. On Christmas. Your birthday. Random days. The day you graduated with all of your classmates and without him. Then, when you had graduated uni, unable to stop wishing that he had been there, just like he was supposed to at all of the big moments. Most of all, when your mums told him to text you and the other way around, which you think hurt you the worst.

The house was quiet after a busy day cooking with your mum for a Sunday lunch. It always had confused you how so much fuss and work could be made just for a meal that lasted shy of twenty minutes. Tick tocking, the clock above the tap was the only sound in the house later that night. A mild summer heat still clung in the air outside, but you had chosen to stay in. You tried not to register the traditional disappointment on your mother’s face when she had asked you to join her to go next door for dinner. After several times of obliging, sitting at his family’s table with memories splashed all around, you found it unbearable to do it ever again. Worst of all, it made you doubt yourself when you’d remember the way your eyes gravitated towards the door, wondering if he’d walk in. It happened every time, even if you knew he was on the other side of the world at the moment. You couldn’t do it again, not just that, but so many other things.

At the memory of fingerpainting on the sliding glass door, much to your mum’s horror at your mere ages of three, you retreated to your bedroom recalling how you had insisted it was his idea. You didn’t believe him when he pulled the same thing then, and certainly you didn’t now, when a Peter Pan like scene waited before your eyes.

Your blink was long and purposeful, but no matter how many times you repeated it, it failed to do its job. It was still there when you opened your eyes, leading you to have a hard time believing them. At first, you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe them. If you were going to lie to yourself, you’d tell them that you wished it was a mirage of sorts just like all of the other times. You wishfully thought that it’ll go away with a blink, but it doesn’t.

If you weren’t lying to yourself? You’d tell them that you should be a lot of things, including wanting it to be imagined, but you couldn’t change the fact that it was not. Deep inside of yourself, you knew like black and white that you wouldn’t ever want to change it. If you thought with your brain, that’d be another story. You should be mad, but you weren’t. For once, you hoped that the good feeling would outweigh all of the bad ones for just enough time so that you could have a good visit. You had wanted that, and so much more, for so many years, more than anything at all, that it could be like old times. That dream had yet to come true, and you had buried it long ago.

Swallowing against a dry throat, you decide with your hand that you’ve been ready for years for this to happen, and the light flickers to life at your fingertips.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t just leave yer window open. A burglar or someone dodgy like that may very well take advantage o’ it. ‘s quite dangerous.”

Were you lying to yourself right now? No, you weren’t, and so you saw how he had changed. His chocolate curls were longer now, but still cropped around his ears. More rings claimed his fingers, and so did the ink all over his observable body. Self consciously, you wondered if the little train in his noggin was running on the same tracks.

“Reckon it’s also dangerous to just help yourselves into a girl’s window,” your reply sounds anything but firm like your words had implied, but you don’t. It’s a tie between whose lips begin to curl first, but secretly you hope it’s his, so that it means you’re closer to seeing those trademark dimples. “Harry,” it falls before you have the chance to reel it back in. In succession, your name drops from his pair. The ones you had always dreamt of, and according to your mums whenever they got the chance, you had kissed once or twice when the two of you were little. You couldn’t blame yourself, if you were telling the truth.

“Ya didn’t use t’ mind it,” he defends. Only now, do you allow your eyes to stray from that face you weren’t sure was real. Your prior wish is nudged at when you realize that he’s sitting in the same spot he always had been when you found him like this. Whether it was after school, when the moon was high in the sky, or after you’d ripped the curtains to the side, it was always the end of your bed where he sat.

You can’t help it, and you say something that you’ve been trying to for too long.

“Hare, that was almost ten years ago.”

It catches him off guard, just like the words had done in your mind, unspoken for so very long. On your one hand, you could count the number of times you had seen him since he walked on to that stage. Each one was less personal and more unfulfilling than the last, and you hoped undyingly with every fiber of your being that this time wouldn’t be. For once, you didn’t want him to disappoint you, but you couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t. If you tried and if you didn’t lie, you could think of one long ago, you could think of so many. You wanted this time to be different, and at the same time, you didn’t want him to be. No, you wanted him to be him. Your Harry.

“What do you want, twerp? Why are you breaking into my childhood bedroom at nine o’clock at night?” your questioning lips deal. No matter the itch you have, you can’t get your feet to move in his direction.

The fact couldn’t be more of a truth when you hear what he says, “Mum told me ‘bout yer engagement.” Without you knowing, your feet wander across the room and away from him. On your vanity, sits the gold band with diamonds of all sizes set into it. It was the very reason you had come home, but if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t the only one. No, that one was sitting behind you on your bed. The biggest one of all, for so very long. “‘m sorry.”

“What could you be sorry for?” your voice is still and rather quiet, but the feelings inside of you are the least bit that.

“Loads. That I didn’t congratulate you earlier, that I didn’t know ‘til now. You should’ve told me, ‘m really happy fer you. Congratulations t’ tha both o’ you, ‘d love t’ meet tha lucky man.”

All at once, words and emotions are flying at you, and you’re unable to make sense of them. First, you want to be mad. Then, you want to be sad. Is there a middle ground or a combination?, you wonder. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, because I’m not getting married,” it had been the third time you had said a version of these words out loud. The bloke in question, of course, your mum, and now, Harry. You hadn’t thought that this was how it would be playing out.

“What?” hasty questions are riddled in his one breath. The images pass before your eyes until you tear them from the ring, but it doesn’t make them go away. Out of sight and out of mind didn’t really work for this one, you had found, or with this one over there, either. He had been in your mind more than he had ever been in your sight, you think. “Love, why not?”

“Well, Harry, marriage doesn’t really seem to be in the cards for me. I dunno why I ever thought it had,” you confess gently, as if you need to soften the blow for him, of all people. You weren’t sure if he deserved it anymore, even.

“What d’ya mean? That’s all you could jabber ‘bout when we were kids, and teenagers too. It was all ‘bout walkin’ down tha aisle and bein’ a mum . . havin’ four bloody kids, and no less. What were tha names, again? Avery, Margot, Henley, and . .”

“Jones,” your lips decide for you. “I’m surprised you could remember all of those.”

“‘s not hard when you’d already decided our kids’ names when we were only five, bubs,” he wheezes, a nostalgic happiness dripping off of his words, likened to honey. “You’d always insisted you’d marry me one day, and not let anybody else have me.”

The tears had come and went over the last few days, and once again, they had made their fateful return. Sometimes, you had wished that he could know how many multitudes you had shed because of him. For him. At others, if you thought with your heart, you knew that he shouldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“I remember it being the other way around. You said I’d be your wife one day, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“A truth or a lie, love?” the saying brings your actions to a halt, making your eyes freeze on the bottle of contact solution just within reach.

“Truth.”

“I was sad t’ hear you’d broken yer promise t’ me when Mum had told me you’d gotten engaged,” this time, you’re not sure if his words are imaginary or actual. The feelings bubbling inside of you, demanding to be felt and then spoken, feel quite like the latter.

It was never ‘my mum’ between the two of you, because growing up it was as if the both of you had had two mums and a dad, or for Harry, two. Since the day he went away, she had never stopped being your mum either, and she reminded you with every card and text checking up on you. Sometimes, you’d wished she would just stop, but you didn’t know how to do that. You feared not knowing how to accept that if she had even agreed, if asked. She had spent countless times stroking your hair when you found your way onto her sofa, another sob on your lips from missing her son.

“‘s it shitty o’ me t’ say ‘m tha least bit relieved?” his next words come, and you can hear the sheepish tone in them.

“No, join the club.”

“Did he cheat on you? ‘Cuz if he did, I swear t’ high heavens that I-,” you stop him when his words become unnecessary, but after the ‘stop’ you utter, your lips falter.

How do you tell him that he’s the reason? The very one that led you to end the engagement with a man that was everything you had wanted and more, and yet, he wasn’t. Because, he wasn’t the man who stands behind you now. The exact one who at one time in your lives would walk around your gardens in nappies with you and nothing else. The boy you took baths with as a child, took naps with fighting over who got the Mickey Mouse blankey and the next day who got the Scooby Doo one. Try as you might, you couldn’t find a way or a time to tell your fiancée any of that, in all of the years you had been together, or even just the other day when he wrapped the ring back in your hand with wet eyes.

If you were even able to tell Harry that, how could you ever bring yourself to tell him what you’ve been holding inside of you for all of these years? You had tried again and again to forgive him for what he had done, but each time it had failed sooner than the last. What was to say that even if he was there in front of you, that one more try would work? How could you tell your lifelong best friend who wasn’t really your best friend anymore, who hadn’t been almost longer than he had, that you had never stopped loving him, but never stopped hating him for leaving you?

“No, he didn’t cheat on me. He was perfect . . but not for me.”

“‘m really sorry ‘bout that, love. Mum had good things t’ say ‘bout him afta meetin’ him and I trusted her.”

“Harry, like you ever approved of my boyfriends when we were in school,” you argue with a smile, not realizing you’re facing him until well, you are. His lips are smiling at you until they’re not, and it’s the furthest thing from your own, too. “You never liked any of them, and always were mean to them.”

“I rememba. Only gave ‘em a hard time ‘cuz there wasn’t one who treated you good enough, like you’d deserved,” if he sees the wetness collecting on your cheeks, he doesn’t mention it. His lips don’t, but his eyes do all of the talking, and more.

“Why are you saying all of this now, Harry?” it had been years in the making and there was no stopping it now. You couldn’t lie to myself anymore. No, not with the tears in your voice could you mask another one fed to his ears.

“Truth . . or lie?”

“I’m done playing games with you, Harry! We’re bloody twenty five years old, we’re supposed to always tell the truth. You promised all those years ago that you wouldn’t lie to me, and you did just that, Harry! How could you?” you feel the words swell inside of you, and you’re past trying to figure out how to get them to stop. He stares back at you with a face devoid of any inkling of understanding, telling you what you had always known, despite the lies you’d told yourself. “You left me, Harry! You forgot about me! Y-You went on that tv show and I didn’t exist anymore. How could you do that to me? We were the bestest of friends, ever since we were babies! I cheered you on, Harry. I was your biggest fan before anybody else, listening to your made up songs on guitar before we even started school. We wrote our own songs and we had our own band, The Brunette Bunch, with you on guitar and me on the keyboard . . I always knew you were a rockstar, because you were my favorite person in the entire world, Hare. But, you were there one day, and then you were gone. My best friend never came back after that . . I couldn’t count the hundreds of times that I’d hate myself for wishing that you’d never went on that show.”

“You were never very good at sharing me from tha start,” his words are sugar, perhaps the spice, and everything nice. So many still wait inside of you, left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it, Hare. I couldn’t marry him, because of it.”

“Bubs, you left him ‘cuz o’ me?” his astonishment is vivid in your eyes and his, as well.

“You never did do that great in Lit, trying to make out what the books were trying to say,” your attempt is measly at a laugh, but amongst the glassiness in his eyes, you see an echo of it. “Twenty years later and I still can’t help but want nobody else to marry you.”

The dimples are home again and they make the same word resound inside of you, too. His steps are quiet but they speak volumes in your skull, and in your chest.

“Seems it was yest’day ‘d find you scribblin’ ‘Mrs. Harry Styles’ over and over in yer Comp journal, ‘stead o’ practicin’ cursive.”

“Oh, I was practicing my cursive still, just the important stuff,” this time, it’s the closest thing to a real laugh you've shared in days. It’s been years and more since the last time you’d heard one spill from his own, until now.

“Sure,” he titters. The soft padding of his Vans on the carpeted floor stops, but your heart tells you that it never will. There had been a lot of never’s that took up rent in your heart for too long now, but another one seemed to be turning to dust in front of your eyes. “Could never tell you how sorry I am fer leavin’ you behind, love. Never could, but I never fo’got you. Ev’ry time I called home I asked Mum how you were and what you were doin.’ At first, I couldn’t take the truth, and Mum didn’t want me t’ know, but I told her t.’ Y’know how she’d hug you ev’ry time you saw her? That was from me, told her t’ give you a hug from me ev’ry time I called, ‘cuz I hated that I couldn’t give you one . . I know ‘s no excuse and that it wasn’t anythin’ compared t’ yers, but it hurt too much afta awhile t’ see you when I came home. I wanted things t’ be the same again, but I couldn’t, knowin’ I was to leave again. But, y’know what, I never stopped. I asked Mum each and every call ‘bout you and made sure she told me ev’rythin.’ Saw photos o’ you graduate school without me, uni too, yer fiancée, passin’ yer driver’s test, movin’ t’ London, and at last, I got t’ send her one o’ when you came t’ that concert o’ ours a few back and saw me backstage. I never fo’got you, or stopped worryin’ ‘bout you, knowin’ how bad ‘d fucked things up. Just didn’t know tha first thing t’ do or say t’ fix ‘em.”

If you were dreaming all of this, you realized, you hoped that you wouldn’t wake up for a while still. You needed this to be real for just a bit more, maybe longer. Definitely, more.

“Truth or lie, Hare?” is all that your lips can utter at this point. You think that you made the right call when his lips sing with a laugh.

“Truth. Always, bubs.”

“Can I give you that kiss I’ve been sitting on for a good ten years, now?” it had been so long since your lips had curled with happiness because of him. Within moments, it feels like mere minutes since the days with your heads resting on each other’s shoulders with textbooks and Red Vines in your laps. Not much further, walking home with scraped knees reading Dr. Seuss to each other, either.

But, when his lips touch yours, it could feel like a million miles away, too. For the first time amongst your own lies and truths, you’re telling yourself the truth when you think that you’re glad that you’re here. Cradled against his chest and with his arm around your waist, you’re at last happy where you are, because it’s finally with him beside you again.

“Can I have a truth, bubs?”

“Sure, Hare. What is it?” you yawn, your forehead nudging against the sandpaper feel of his face. Quickly, you’d realized there were so many things you had to learn about him. You couldn’t be more excited to annoy his ears with questions.

“How set are you on that ‘never gettin’ married’ thing?”

With warmed cheeks and heart, at last, just the same, your smiling lips deal an answer you’ve held for too long.

“I’m still set on not letting anybody else marry you, if that tells you anything.”

In that moment, it had been the easiest it’d ever been to let yourself tell the truth. He’d changed and so had you, but he still smelled the same and felt the same and he was your same Harry, and your heart did too. It greeted him again as his lips did the same to your own, giggles shared underneath the covers like you’d been doing for years with him beside you.

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years

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Monet Issues

Happy COI day! Here's some no-longer-canon-compliant angst because apparently the book itself isn't going to be enough for me :)

No spoilers here, but I know not everyone is checking tags and such right now, so I'm going to tag a few people who have interacted with my fics before (lmk if you don't want to be!). Don't feel obligated to read this though, it's a little dark. @littlx-songbxrd @alastairxcarstairs @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs @archeronesta @thechangeling @styxdrawings @upsidedown-cats @fictionally-fantastic @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood

Fanfiction Masterlist

CW: mention or discussion of alcoholism, physical abuse, bullying, and toxic relationships

(title from the song Monet Issues by Chase Petra, which I may or may not have listened to on repeat while writing this)

Out of all of the people he’d ever snapped at, Alastair Carstairs had never lost his temper with his mother. Not until today.

“He’s the same. He’s the same as he was last spring, before he left, the same as he was ten years ago. He is never going to change. Not for Cordelia, not for you, not for the baby. Why are you still doing this to yourself?” he pleaded.

His mother smiled and sighed. “That’s enough, Alastair joon. Your father is flawed, but he loves us. He’s trying. You’ll understand one day, once you’ve fallen in love and started a family of your own.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Just answer one question then: if this child is a boy, will you allow him to do everything I was forced to do?”

She hardened her expression. “Joonam, that’s just what family-”

“No. Cordelia never did those things, did she? I never wanted her to. You never wanted her to.”

“That was different. She’s… Well, she has a big heart, you know. I knew that you could handle such a burden, azizam. I know that it was difficult, but look at the man that you’ve become. I’m so proud of you. These trials life brings us… they only make us stronger.”

Alastair could feel his stomach twisting as his mother spoke. “No.”

“Alastair-”

“No! I never asked for this! I never wanted this! You told me that I needed to be head of the family in his absence, but now that he’s returned, it’s as if the past six months never happened? As if the past decade never happened? He has been absent for ten years. Cordelia was allowed to simply be a child. Because she had a ‘big heart,’ you say? What about mine? Was it always small, or did you, did Father make it that way? Because I genuinely cannot remember a time before. When was I meant to just be a child? When you sent me away to school, to meet all of the boys who were allowed to simply grow up and make mistakes and learn from them while I was busy trying to keep my father alive and my family together? I didn’t need to be stronger. I was a child!” His voice cracked. “I needed to be loved and protected! I needed someone to take care of me, not the other way around! I needed to feel safe! I was a child!”

He clenched his fists at his sides, seeing white. “It didn’t make me stronger. It made me- it made me broken. It made me bitter and angry, so much so that I pushed it onto everyone else. It made me a monster. Do you know how awful school was? They taught me to hate myself. I became a bully because it was easier to hurt others than let them hurt me. I let nearly every part of me die, just trying to survive it. I knew someone who didn’t, a fourteen-year-old boy who I watched die. And yet I preferred that over the idea of returning home and dealing with Father’s illness again. Do you want to know the truth?”

He took a step closer to his mother, her expression hard and unreadable. “The truth is that the moment I met someone who I thought might actually take care of me and protect me, I ran to him. I trusted him like I’d never allowed myself to trust anyone. And I stayed with him, even as he lied to me, as he left me cold and alone night after night, as he made it clear time and time again that he would never prioritize me over his own whims and desires. I wanted so badly to feel loved that I gave him all I had, all of my time and energy and attention, knowing that he would never return any of it.”

He took a step back, finally feeling the tears that had spilled down his cheeks. “I’ve realized now that I deserve better. I deserved better. You deserve better.” He lowered his voice and looked down. He knew that his mother loved him, that Cordelia loved him, that maybe even Elias loved him, in his own way. He just wished he never had to wonder whether his life would be different if someone had cared about him. “I know… I know you love me, that you love all of us. I know that you didn’t have many choices. You were in a terrible situation. But I can’t stand here and watch you sit in your denial any longer, knowing the prices we have both paid for it.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to respond, but she did not. Alastair did the only thing he knew left to do: he turned and left. As he started towards the staircase, he stopped and spoke one last time. “You were meant to protect me, and you did not. That’s okay, because I’m learning how to be whole again. I’m finding better ways to survive. I am mending my own heart, alone, because it is my only option. But I want to make one thing clear, this is not meant to be the price of family. This did not make me strong, and you have nothing to be proud of.”

Finally satisfied, he retreated to his room without waiting for a reaction.

***

Sona returned to her room after her son stormed off. Her eyes scanned her dresser, a quiet mess of makeup, perfumes, Elias’ house key. She’d only just given it to him, but it was pointless. He always lost them. At least today, he’d forgotten them in their own home, and not at a bar or on a park bench or in some hansom cab halfway across the city. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror, at the purple spot under her eyes, at the wrinkles now set into her face, and thought of the days when she was younger. Did she always look older than her years?

Elias had been older than her, of course. Much older. Despite her young age, she’d been a widow. Not just a widow, but accused of murder. Despite all that had happened since, she could still remember clearly going before the Mortal Sword, confessing all that had happened, and watching herself acquitted and her husband’s death swept under the rug by a society that did not wish to face the reality of what she had endured.

She’d been frightened, terrified, certain that no one would ever love after what she had done. She’d always known that her life would be difficult, that it would be unlikely for her to find a respectable husband, that she would never marry for love. Theodor was supposed to be a catch. She was meant to be the luckiest girl alive. She was young and naïve and blood spilled for it over, and over, and over, until she broke. Until everyone around her could see that she was broken.

She thought that Elias would make her whole. She believed that he would take care of her, that he would love her, that he would provide. She hadn’t known how she could be so lucky, twice.

Now, she wondered if she should have taken off on that milking cart.

She’d thought about it many times, what her life could have become if she’d simply left. If she’d run away, away from the Shadow World, away from all that knew her past. She could have started over as a mundane.

She always pushed the thought aside. If she had run, she would never have had her children.

Her children.

Their lives had been much more difficult than she’d dreamed of. They were never going to be easy, not being who they are, not in this world they lived in. Some pains were unavoidable.

Some were not.

Alastair had been a happy child, once. He’d carried so much love in his heart, perhaps even more than Cordelia ever had. That is why, when he learned the truth, he agreed so readily to help. Because he loved Cordelia, and her, and Elias, so much. He did not yet know that for some, the cost of love was pain and hopelessness.

She allowed him to pay that price, the same one that she had paid, because it was easier than accepting the truth. Even as she watched him grow more and more anxious, as dark circles imprinted themselves under his eyes, as Risa shot her disapproving looks every time she asked him to look after Elias, or take care of Cordelia, or clean up some bottles, she allowed that price to be paid.

She thought that the Shadowhunter Academy could be good for him, that perhaps it would benefit him to be away from the house. She was a fool, and by the time he first returned from school, she could see that the little boy she’d once known had disappeared.

She could see him again, now, fighting to be heard. She could see that her son was finding himself again, but that it was a slow and painful process, and that he was still very far away. She wondered where her old self had gone, and if she could find her, or if she even still existed at all.

She’d always known that Alastair was similar to her. Too similar, it seemed, and now, he had made the same mistakes she had. She knew the pain he felt too well, the pain that she could see in his eyes, hear in his voice. She’d thought that was love, but it was not. She’d learned the hard way, and now Alastair had, too. She knew that it was not a coincidence.

You had the biggest heart of them all, she wanted to tell her son. It’s still yours. I’m sorry.

She did not know how.

She rested a hand on her swollen belly and thought about taking care of an infant while also taking care of her husband. She could no longer not ask anyone else to do it for her.

For this baby, still unmarred by life’s hardships, for Alastair, for Cordelia, for herself, she took a deep breath and gathered her husband’s few belongings. She threw them in a suitcase, along with a short note, and placed it on their front steps, locking the door behind her.

A/N: Thanks for reading! The Farsi words are just terms of endearment, like “my dear.” I just want to say that I don’t necessarily think everything that Alastair said or Sona thought is true (or that Alastair even believed everything he said), I was just trying to get inside their heads a bit. Forgiving (and blaming) parents is really hard and complicated, and I really wanted to explore how Alastair felt about Sona a bit more.

#fanfiction #alastair carstairs #sona carstairs #anti elias carstairs #the last hours #tlh #chain of gold #chog #cog2 #cw alcoholism #cw physical abuse #cw bullying #cw toxic relationship

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thessalian · 2 years

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Thess vs Parliament Insanity

Today was the last Prime Minister’s Questions before Parliament’s in recess again. I actually caught a bit of it on the TV in the break room at work. Holy hell, is all I can say. I remember being in the US, in high school, and one of my history teachers showed us one of these. If I’m doing my maths right, that would have been John Major, The Grey Man. Now, Parliament is quite often full of noise as backbenchers cheer on their party leader, but usually at least the PM’s making salient points. Today ... well, much like every time Johnson takes PMQs, what comes out is word salad. Really, really defensive word salad. It went a bit like:

Johnson: This is the last PMQs this session! And may I say how proud I am of myself for overseeing more than twenty acts of Parliament, including the biggest tax cut EVAR.

Reputable News Organ Aside: Except taxes are overall higher now and also messing with the National Insurance threshold, which is what you’re calling a ‘tax cut’, screws up people’s pensions, so...

Johnson: And there’s lots more to come in the Queen’s Speech on 10th May, so maybe think twice before you try to vote out your local Conservative representative in the local elections on 5th May because they’ll boot me out if we lose too much ground, probably, and you might lose out on so many lovely surprises!

More People Than He Wants To Admit: Given the last few ‘lovely surprises’ from your fucking government, that’s a risk we’re willing to take.

Conservative MP: Coastal cities need help!

Johnson: Yeah, yeah, yeah, levelling up, read the white paper, we’ll get to it.

Starmer: So, in the face of that ugliness about my deputy in the Mail on Sunday, where they claimed that Ms Rayner deliberatly pulled a Basic Instinct on you to distract you from your your ‘Oxford University debate skills’ - despite this huge table in the way - and also called her stupid and common ... do you condemn misogyny and classism?

Johnson: Oh, look, I texted your bit of fluff about all that, and obviously we should treat each other with respect in here.

Starmer: Yeah, because we’ve seen a lot of that. So why are you mismanaging the economy so badly that we’re looking at the slowest growth in the G7?

Johnson: We are not! And everybody’s having problems! And if it were up to you, we’d still be in lockdown!

Starmer: Fucking hell, not this again. You keep spouting that kind of thing. Does denying the facts make things any better, or does it just make things worse but you just refuse to admit it?

Johnson: We had the fastest growth in the G7 last year and that wouldn’t have happened under you, Captain Hindsight! And there are five hundred thousand more people in jobs thanks to me!

Starmer: You know regulatory bodies told you to stop saying that because it’s a load of bullshit, right? This is your “Oxford University debating skills” as quoted by the Mail on Sunday, hmm? Ignoring questions in favour of an incoherent response. So what’s this about us being the only country in the G7 to raise taxes?

Johnson: I changed the National Insurance threshold to pay the NHS; you of all people should be happy about that!

Starmer: Dear gods, you’re an ostrich with your head in the sand.

Johnson: I believe in jobs, unlike you! FIVE. HUNDRED. THOUSAND. NEW. JOBS.

Starmer: Yet again, they told you to stop repeating that figure because it’s not true. And thus far the only thing you’re planning as regards the cost of living crisis is letting people get their MOT renewed only once every two years instead of every year, which is going to have a lot of people driving unsafe cars and put a further financial burden on mechanics as they have fewer customers, all while saving a negligible amount of money.

Johnson: I’m supporting people! I’m going to build a new nuclear power plant every year! Your party had one a decade!

Starmer: You ... know it takes longer than a year to build a fully functioning nuclear power plant, right? Look, at the end of the day, you’re fucking people over and my party does not intend to do that. Just as a FYI for the elections next week.

Johnson: HA! You’re doomed to be a permanent spectator! I have plans! Plans for the NHS, social care, immigration, the economy!

Most of the rest of the country: But will they be good ones?

Johnson: Labour constituencies go bankrupt!

Most of the rest of the country: Sure, when you cut their funding in a fit of vindicative pique...

Johnson: Hammersmith Council spent £27k on EU flags!

Most of the rest of the country: And how much did you spend on Union Jacks, again?

Johnson: Labour left the UK bankrupt in 2010!

Not quite enough of the country: Actually, the global financial crisis in 2010 hit the UK as hard as it did specifically because of the deregulation of the banks by the Conservative party in the mid-80s or so. If we’d had our previous banking regulations, that wouldn’t have happened, so we can lay that at the Tories’ door, thanks.

SNP Leader in Westminster: Yeah, so, since you and your cabinet are probably not going to be in your job for long, maybe ask more people than your cabinet for ideas on the cost of living crisis. Like, maybe match Scotland in child payments? Or drop the National Insurance hike? Or increase benefits?

Johnson: We’re doing stuff to help! Really! We’ve tweaked some things so we look really good if someone’s not particularly bright or informed! And you probably won’t keep your job any longer than I will, so nyah!

DUP Leader, Northern Ireland: So ... you know that moving goods from Britain to Northern Ireland is a lot more expensive with that stupid deal you signed up for, right? What happens to the NI Protocol?

DUP MP: Also we’re having a hard time getting Covid tests.

Johnson: We want to support the Good Friday agreement.

Unsaid: But we want to stick it to the EU more, so prepare for The Troubles Part 2.

Conservative MP: So when’s my constituency levelling up?

Johnson: Next handouts are in the autumn; until then, go away.

Labour MP: If supermarkets are lowering prices to help, why aren’t you doing anything?

Johnson: I want to thank businesses for helping me out of the hole my refusing to tax them properly puts me in on a regular basis.

Lib Dem MP: So you know the High Court ruled that it was unlawful to discharge older people from hospital into care homes without testing them for Covid, and how many people died as a result? Are you going to apologise to the people who died in care homes, and their families, and the care home staff who got sick, all because of your stupid herd immunity crap?

Johnson: Look, we didn’t know that much about the disease at the time! How were we supposed to know that not everybody showed symptoms all the way back in April 2020?

Most of the rest of the country: You could have listened to the WHO, who’d been saying that China had observed asymptomatic transmission as early as January 2020.

And, some time later:

Chief Whip, Conservative Party: I’m sorry, I have to go investigate multiple Tory frontbenchers - as in, cabinet ministers - for watching pornography on their phones WHILE PARLIAMENT WAS IN SESSION?!?

Most of the rest of the country: *starts placing bets on which ones*

No, I’m really not kidding. Right after Parliament finished up, all of a sudden we’re getting Tory MPs being investigated for watching porn on their phones while Parliament was in session. I just ... on so many levels, I just do not even get that. I mean, I don’t see the appeal anyway? But that’s just grody. Then again, not the first time. I used to work for a branch of the Department of Health lo these many years ago and we had to have a bit of a crackdown on the internet because someone had not only watched porn in the office but ... ah ... left a bit of a mess, as it were. But at least that was after hours, not in a crowded Parliament session mostly involving people yelling at each other. But then again, I shouldn’t kinkshame, I guess. Still, though ... time and a place, y’know?

Not to mention that they did just open themselves to the best worst pun, because it proves that, at least on the Tory benches, Parliament is full of wankers.

#Thess on politics

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