#I recognize those boots but I forget which fashion house!

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

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~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do. 

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into? 

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure. 

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her. 

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed. 

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots. 

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it. 

I’m going after her. 

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster. 

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back. 

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone. 

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her. 

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!” 

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house. 

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack. 

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull. 

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again. 

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt. 

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it. 

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground. 

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her. 

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. 

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I? 

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes. 

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there. 

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here. 

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own. 

Come downstairs. 

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.  

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question. 

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something. 

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it. 

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me. 

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there. 

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man. 

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own. 

And then nothing. 

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry. 

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part. 

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless. 

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs. 

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour. 

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief. 

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms. 

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first. 

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him. 

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules. 

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face. 

Because he said that almost like an accusation. 

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone. 

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. 

Instead I ask, “Why?” 

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important. 

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this. 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone. 

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask. 

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.” 

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair. 

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge. 

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words. 

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth. 

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me. 

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all. 

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you. 

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to. 

It doesn’t work. 

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true. 

But it doesn’t, because they are true. 

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear. 

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself. 

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for. 

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I��m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream. 

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment. 

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth. 

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general. 

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting. 

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit. 

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow. 

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me. 

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me. 

And then he says something that changes everything. 

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done. 

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me. 

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison. 

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away. 

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing. 

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs. 

He tsks, feigning disappointment. 

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice. 

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #elaine irwin #azriel #elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elain x azriel fanfiction

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 7

Hi friends! Sorry for the delay here. I’ve been on vacation, so my priorities have been boozin’ and cruisin’. Thanks for your continued support of this story—I love hearing your feedback. This one’s a whopper of a chapter!

______

We often lose track of time in this great, big world of ours, in much the same way we lose a pair of keys, a couple of pens. “I swear I saw them two seconds ago!” we groan, groping to purse-bottoms, finding only lint and chump-change. So many things—these small facets of our lives—sucked into the void of bygones, taken before we can ever think to tie them down.

“I swear I was twenty-two just yesterday.”

This is how it is for Jamie and Claire, their years like old playbills confiscated by the wind and an invisible clock. Certain acts reappear from time to time, when the arm of a broom sweeps them into the light, when the frosting of dust disturbs, then floats. And for a brief moment, as the particles of time and forget resettle themselves, Jamie and Claire can hear their lives’ most glorious crescendos. The lowest notes tip-toe from the long-kept silence, rising and sinking slowly, steadily. All plucked strings, still vibrating, until the echoes die, cradling the past.

You can write an entire story with these bits and pieces of their lives, cut the acts together to form one winding opera. It plays and stops until, eventually, the grand finale. The overlap: a perfect harmony which carries them from their separate wings, to center stage and to each other.

And it is there, finally, that they meet again, lips and lives melding. They stand together in the orb of the spotlight. A single sun, glowing.

THE SPIRIT IN THE HORSE, 2000

Starring James Fraser, Jenny Fraser, Brian Fraser, The Doctor, Ellen Fraser, Fitzy (and a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else)

Though a bestselling author, JAMES FRASER did not grow up with dreams of books, but of horses.

He was born on an unusually hot day, spring 1968. Everything melting at its very seams, the birthing room’s thermometer feverish with mercury blood. His father and sister had fashioned fans from intake forms, moving heat-murk and birth-stink with the accordioned papers. They looked on with damp foreheads, lips white and tight, so that Ellen could have the breaths they saved.

At half-past noon, the doctor had caught Jamie’s auburn crown, dripping more heavily than his own laboring mother. All of this—the heat, the sweat, the waving forms—was taken as the stamp of Jamie’s fate. Surely, they had all agreed, he would set the world on fire, would be a brand forever puckering its skin.

The hibernators had emerged early that year, scurrying from their earthen wombs just as Jamie had slipped from his mother’s. Heat-drunk and dizzied, they had eaten everything in sight. Corn stalks, cabbage leaves, whole fields of barley—gone. Even Ellen’s strawberries, barely ripened—devoured by mid-April. The red fruits had shrunk to halves, then thirds, as the creatures munched and munched. Fleshy hearts eaten to bleeding, the pulp left to the sleepy stragglers.

And so on the day Jamie entered the world, the Frasers had returned to a dark and stifling house. Rot wafted from the windows, and the electrical wires were chewed cleanly through. One rabbit, the chosen martyr, had laid cooked in the grass, fur spiked.

Brian had thrust Jamie into his daughter’s arms, ran inside to rescue what unspoiled food he could (three eggs, a loaf of bread). Waiting in the yard, Jenny had imagined the wilting lettuce inside the fridge and Ellen, equally wilted under the blue hospital sheet. She had watched a squirrel leap across the berry guts, a rope of black wire between his paws.

How—if at all, she had wondered—would they survive without her mother?

Too exhausted for a trip to the store, Brian had fried the eggs on the driveway. The yolk was thick in his mouth and the sorrow thicker in his chest, before he realized Jamie’s cries had quieted. He started when he heard the horse’s whinny, the snorty exhale through its nostrils. Beside him, Jenny had scuttled away, feet scraping at the egg crusts.

Incensed by the heat and the crowd, Fitzy the horse had stormed her stable doors to freedom. She had brayed, desolate to find her owner gone, until she spotted the flame in Brian’s arms. Copper, auburn, cinnabar—all Ellen’s colors—poking from a swaddle of blue. And so Fitzy had bowed her head, brought Jamie into her awed silence. One shining moment, the first since Ellen’s passing—calm and peaceful.

Even now, 32 years later, Jamie loves to tell this story. How Brian had pressed his baby fist to the mane, his mother still a stickiness on his baby thumb. And how, as a young boy, Jamie had thought Ellen lived somewhere inside auld Fitzy. Something in the black bead of the mare’s eye: a flash, a peculiar spark. It was an acknowledgement that, until one night in 1989, Jamie had never felt before.

After his book tour in ’99, Jamie Fraser decided to take the leap—carpe diem—and purchase his own horse and his own land (fields way out in the Highlands; a farmhouse converted to splendor by his millions). The horse, like Fitzy, wears a chestnut coat. She is stubborn but loving, recognizes Jamie’s voice when he calls and his face when it floats above her stable door. He sees a flash of Fitzy—and of his mother, he thinks—when she surrenders her anger to Jamie’s flags of truce: a fresh Granny Smith, a carrot stick plucked from the ground. He sees a More-Than-Flash of Someone Else when she nudges his shoulder, apologetic. The only source of happiness, this beautiful beast, outside of his writing.

“Ye see?” Jamie had said after their first standoff, “Ye canna stay mad at me forever.” And when the horse had chomped the apple from his hand, he’d sworn that she was smiling.

“Mo nighean donn,” he’d whispered, and decided, then and there, to name her Sorcha.

______

CARROLL’S THEORY OF TRUTH, 2003

Starring Claire Randall, Frank Randall, Joe Abernathy, duncandonuts, wetwillie, mark_me_1745, parsleymarsley, l.mackenzie (and The Author)

When CLAIRE RANDALL is not working at the hospital, her nose is pressed to a blue-white screen.

For years, she had resisted those monstrous, blocky machines—Macintosh, Dell, Gateway—all brand names accompanied by her husband’s greedy and jabbing elbows.

But there was value in tradition, Claire had argued. A kind of sanctity in the ping of an Underwood or the swish of pen; privacy and authentic connection. Frank had merely rolled his eyes, always lusting after the new and shiny—whether it was a computer or a student’s gloss-plumped lips—knowing it was not “tradition” itself that his wife was holding onto.

“So like you, Claire,” he’d said bitterly one day, “wanting to stay stuck in the past.” And, of course, he’d been right. Just to spite him, she’d finally surrendered and gave him one for Christmas.

Gradually, Claire came to love the whirring engine, the wail of the dial-up, the period of isolation where she was unreachable by phone. Like time travel, almost, the way it took her places past and present, opening every door like some futuristic gentleman.

But mostly, Claire loved the computer for the freedom it gave her. Boot up the system, click the mouse, log on, be someone else. Online, Claire could play a different role than the surgeon or the amateur gardener, pretend she was not the wife who turned her cheek as often as she made her husband’s dinner. On the Internet, her identity was a thirty-word bio, her face a grey silhouette displayed comfortably—anonymously—inside a neat, square frame. A million different bodies growing inside her, once her fingers flew across keyboard:

Claire Randall, the British spy.

Claire Randall, the avid hiker, climbing the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Claire Randall, the mother, who loved the melt of ice cream down her daughter’s chin. Her tiny mouth, sweet and sugared, when it met hers for a kiss.

One website, her favorite, was this: a forum, populated by other faceless humans who, like Claire, could recite page 451 (or any others) of A Blade of Grass. In this corner of the online universe, they had spoken of The Author on a first-name basis, trading facts like prized baseball cards. But it was only Claire who could share the most private knowledge, attribute it all to her keen nose and thus earn the respect of 16 anonymous users.

Even so, Claire had been surprised by what they knew solely through their reading. The Author’s childhood, his relationships, his favorite color. She was able to ask her own prodding questions and receive correct answers, such as:

whiteraven: A long shot, but does anyone know how to contact him by telephone?

And five of the grey-faced few had responded.

duncandonuts: easier to send him send him a letter (might get lost among the rest of his fan mail though).

wetwillie: have you tried his agent, john grey, in london?

mark_me_1745: if u meet him, tell him 2 come 2 brasil!!!!!!! we <3 him!!!!!!!

parsleymarsali: Publishers Weekly mentioned he’s now with Geordie Gibbons at the Claude F. Agency, not Grey, @wetwillie. Think it had something to do with creative differences and missed deadlines.

l.mackenzie: pass that info onto _me_ if you find it, girl! <g>

By a stroke of luck, someone had known someone who’d known someone who’d known someone. And just like that, she was given a phone number the following Wednesday. A day like any other, if it weren’t for a single string of digits sitting in her inbox, a silent but ticking grenade.

She spent three months with the numbers inside her head, stored in a folder marked with The Author’s name. She did manage to call though—once—when her hand finally lowered from its hover. She’d waited out the sonorous ring-ring-ring, the robotic chime, “You have reached the voice mailbox of..." She had listened to the beep that followed and then the silence, stretching, until she remembered her mouth. It opened, exhaled, then shut abruptly with the click of her teeth. There was the clatter of keys and the thwop of a briefcase—Frank home from work.

She had almost whispered, but did not.

It was too much to have both men in the same room: one gently pecking her lips, the other pressing an electric current into her cheek, crackling. Too much, too much. Claire had slammed the phone down and cursed, “Bloody teleprompter. Always calling before dinner,” which had made her husband laugh. She’d made him spaghetti that night, the spices forming twelve digits in the saucepan no matter how many times she swirled the spoon.

It’s been four months since that first and only call, though Claire still remembers The Author’s number. She thinks of if—when—she will have the courage to call again, to finally speak and fill the space of eleven empty years. While Frank snores beside her, she plays the scene from start to finish, like a draft of the real, inevitable thing.

Again: the sonorous ring, the tinny greeting, the beep, and the silence that waits for her. But this time: her mouth opens—one, two three times—and five words repeated, again and again.

In some versions, she says them aloud. In others, merely pushes them, soundless, into the air. Still, they are there, held aloft by satellite arms high up in the sky. Somewhere between her and The Author, existing: I was born for you, I was born for you, I was born for you.

And what is said three times—even unfinished, even without words—is always, always true.

______

THREE TIMES THE WORLD ENDED , 2004

Starring Jamie Fraser, Jenny Fraser, and Laoghaire Mackenzie (and The Girl)

JAMES FRASER, age 34, can pinpoint three moments where his world fell apart.

He was eighteen during the first, a brazen thing, but still as green as the pot freshly stinking his Levi’s. After reading the call notice pasted to his door, he’d floated to the common room on a cloud of White Widow weed. He dialed, laughing, until Jenny’s voice had sobbed down the line, breaking the peace of his druggy fug.

Their father, she’d cried, had died the previous evening.

With the news, the had drugs turned. Floors slanted, limbs jellied. Jamie watched as a hole ripped open the wall behind him, its enormous black void revealing the space Brian Fraser had left behind. It had swallowed Jamie up, refused to spit him back again until The Girl reached inside and found his heart two years later. Returned it to him, like a love note, passed on the inside of her smile.

Jamie describes the second collapse in his two famous novels, A Blade of Grass and Two Centuries in Purgatory. This time, the world had split completely, Jamie and The Girl like two tectonic plates shifting in the night. It was his writing that had bound Jamie’s world together again, though the spine remained cracked, a few of the pages missing.

The third time occurred just last week though Jamie was not entirely surprised. It’s what happens, he supposes, when you build something on uneven ground. Physical presence—someone’s here-ness—does not equate to love.

Nine years after the second earthquake, a new person had come into Jamie’s life. She would stand in the doorway at 6:30PM, jump to her tip-toes to welcome him home. There would be steam from the stove, and utensils would gleam in perfect, shining order. Napkins would wait with their patient folds, each prepared to catch the food that she, his ever-present Laoghaire, had prepared during the day. And for those three years, Laoghaire’s toothbrush had sat next to Jamie’s, her silks hanging beside his cottons. Evidence, he had thought, that he maybe-almost loved her.

But then Laoghaire had grown curious—“Why’ve no made progress on yer novel? What are ye writing all day if it isna yer third book?”—and stuck her piglet nose into places it did not belong. She, in a rare moment of ingenuity, had unlocked the safe and found his letters.

And so this time, Jamie’s world had not ripped or split—but exploded with a thousand sticks of paper dynamite. Laoghaire had burned through the house, burned through the letters. She’d called the magazines and the bloggers, vowing to tarnish his reputation with lies: cheater, drunk, lunatic, fraud. Finally, she’d left, taking the napkins, the cutlery, and the toothbrush—but leaving the embers in her wake, smoldering. A few scraps had avoided the fire, and Jamie read them as the night rose.

My da once told me I’d know straight away, that I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t.

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many different men.

The love of you was my soul.

and

Yours, Jamie

Forever, Jamie

Come home, my heart. I am not as brave as I was before, Jamie

On and on and on they went. Singed pieces of his letters. Every one meant for The Girl who’d confronted his darkness, had rescued his heart at a Christmas Eve party.

4,380. One letter for every day he had missed her.

______

THE KILLING GIRL, 2006

Starring Claire Randall*, Henry Beauchamp, Julia Beauchamp, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, Frank Randall (and The One Person)

CLAIRE RANDALL* , resident at Boston GH, was five years old when she thought she was murderer. For years, she could hardly sleep, fearing not the monster beneath her bed, but the one beneath her covers.

Instead of counting sheep, she’d recounted facts as they’d been reported in the paper: Henry and Julia Beauchamp, parents of one Claire Beauchamp. Their mangled car, and a rocky deathbed set one hundred feet below. Both husband and wife, father and mother—dead upon impact.

Rarely, did this guide Claire towards sleep, and so she began to picture the accident as she’d recorded it in her diary. The same story, but more accurate—one that played behind her eyelids as if she had watched it all, a spectator on the road’s shoulder.

There was her parents’ blue Ford ribboning the cliffside. The low hum of conversation and the static of the radio. There was Claire’s goodbye before they left—“You always go without me! IhateyouIhateyou!”— which followed her parents and pushed them off the edge. She was sure it was her words that had broken her mother’s neck, had snapped it like a flower’s stem. One Claire Beauchamp, the little killing girl.

Five years passed before Lamb had found her in the courtyard, weeping her guilt into a mat of grey feathers. She had confessed to her five-year old anger then; how she’d pried open the rocky mouth and dropped her parents in.

“Death doesn’t move according to reason, my dear,” Lamb had said, “but only chance. And by no fault of yours.” He had patted her on the head like a priest grants forgiveness, and they buried the bird in the Nyungwe Forest. Wings and Claire’s blame laid to rest beneath the trees.

Still, Claire likes how accountability sets her world—so wracked by coincidence—back on its axis. Responsibility, however false, is easier to accept than the fickleness of husbands, of dead parents, of love and life. She assumes the role of the guilty to feel a sense of control, like she herself is in charge of the scale’s tip. And so:

It was Claire’s fault that the frost returned in May, all her marigold suns snuffed out.

It was Claire’s fault that the infection took the wound, gnawed the patient’s flesh so that a saw had to chop the bone.

It was Claire’s fault that midnight voices chirped down the receiver. The girls’ lovesick pleas—I need you. I love you. Leave her.—placed in Frank’s pockets by Claire’s own hands.

And of course, it was Claire’s fault that things had ended as they did. The final fight, every bit of hate, hers to claim:

“I am not an idiot, Frank! And I’m tired of being made into one.”

“Darling, you aren’t an idiot. I never said you were an idiot.”

“Don’t bloody ‘darling’ me, you bloody cad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How novel.”

“Truly, I am.”

“So that’s it, then? Just ‘I’m sorry.’ No excuses? No begging-on-bended-knee?” (Claire had scoffed. Her laughter, like the paring knife that guts the beast.) “No, of course not. Begging would be too embarrassing for you. Too much effort. All your energy is spent chasing skirts and quick fucks. You selfish, disgusting man.”

“So I’m the only selfish one here, is that it? Just me?”

“You’re saying that I’m selfish?”

“I am.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you, Claire! You, who is always working and never here. You, who sleeps with his books under our mattress, still wears the man’s goddamn ring on a chain. Like a fucking noose around our marriage, from the start.” (Claire had winced; Frank’s knuckles had cracked the wall.) “No, I’m not selfish, Claire. I’ve shared you with another man for thirteen years.”

“So I see you’ve lost all sense, but still have some fucking nerve."

“Cursing doesn’t improve your argument.”

“Wanker.”

“Now Claire…”

“Just go.”

“Claire, please—”

“Go.”

And thus, it was Claire’s fault that Frank had whispered, “You’ve never looked at me. Not once, not really.” And it was her fault that he had grabbed his keys, slipped into the blizzard and into his car.

And it was Claire—Claire, Claire, Claire—who became the ice that hissed against tires. Who launched Frank’s body through the glass, turned his skin purple-blue and the snow dark red. Her fault that the last thing she’d said was “go”, and Frank had taken her at her very word.

All of this, she has put upon her shoulders, for its burden is lesser than the truth: that she has no control, never did and never would. Claire is forever held at the mercy of a capricious gravity—she and everyone else, a little bit helpless. Always.

But there was One Person, she often remembers, who had given her a kind of foothold. On their wedding night, she had whispered about her mother’s flower neck, about the grey bird whose wings she’d given to the Nyungwe. And he had understood, promised forgiveness for whatever wrongs she had and would commit. “Real or imagined, Sassenach” he’d said into hair, “Already forgiven.” They had spiraled through life, the pair of them, both a little bit helpless—but everything shared.

But of all of her false faults, this is one Claire fears is true: that she is the reason The One Person is not here, but some 3,000 miles away. She was, after all, the one who had packed the suitcase and caused the gavel to fall, Divorce.

All her fault: Claire Randall. The guilty one, the killing girl, the widow. Spinning and spinning into empty space, grasping at stars, alone.

*[Note from director: Ms. Claire Randall has requested we change her name to Claire Beauchamp. Please reprint with this correction ASAP. Thank you.]

______

POINT OF CONVERGENCE, 2007

Starring Jamie Fraser (The Author, The One Person), Claire Beauchamp (A More-Than-Flash Of Someone-Else, The Girl), Geordie Gibbons

JAMES FRASER does not like to disappoint. It is his greatest fear, seeing someone’s face pull, twist, and finally droop into an expression of discontent. Even worse: when the expression is given a name, “I’m so disappointed in you, Jamie.” And worst of all: when the name is given by his agent, Geordie Gibbons.

One of the most important days of Jamie’s life began in anticipation of such disappointment. He had twiddled his thumbs beneath a table, dreading the moment Geordie’s fedora ducked beneath the restaurant’s eaves. The wait staff had milled around him: A waiter dashed towards snapping fingers, the hostess offered towels for rain-soaked heads. He’d felt jealous, watching them, of their readiness—how they could be so effortlessly on time. Jamie couldn’t even manage to meet his deadlines, the desk calendar at home flipped far beyond the designated X.

Jamie and Geordie were to have “lunch” and “catch up”. This would, inadvertently, devolve into an interrogation about Jamie’s third novel, which was nothing more than a series of working titles. It was a pattern, this lateness and lunching, never changing despite the demands and promises made by both parties. Geordie would remove his hat, exposing the frown previously shadowed beneath its brim. Their food would be served—Jamie, something yeasty; Geordie, a taxidermist’s culinary experiment—and Jamie would choke down a side of his agent’s disappointment. Eventually, they would part ways, and Jamie would return home, knock out a few pages. Turn in a shitty draft the next morning for the sake of postponing a second “lunch.”

But on this day, the universe had shifted; the pattern broke. Jamie had continued to sit there, all sweat and nerves, but Geordie’s fedora, the interrogation, and the food never came.

Because while Jamie had waited in the restaurant, CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP was arguing in her bedroom mirror: Claire vs. Claire, Head vs. Heart. She was thousands of miles away in a Boston apartment, but still—the tremor traveled, pushing a storm across the Atlantic, down the Royal Mile, to Jamie. The trajectory of his day and his life had changed as Claire gesticulated wildly at her own reflection.

So at 12:14, Jamie had been alone, Geordie unusually late for a man so fond of punctuality. He read the menu three times, settled on a whisky. Thought better of it; ordered two.

At 12:30, Claire’s battle had still raged, no victor in sight. The thunder had shaken the house, shaken the mirror on the wall.

At 12:46, Jamie had condemned Geordie, then deadlines. Art, he’d fumed, was beyond time, existed outside of it. He had ordered a third whisky when a wine spill was wiped up, gone before it had the chance to leave its mark.

At 12:48, Claire had moved to the kitchen. Both armies were advancing quickly, charging into the living room, to the yard, back to the living room, over and over. She and herself, it seemed, had reached a stalemate. Head and Heart had squatted, dripping rain, and awaited the other's surrender.

At 12:50, Claire had paused and looked through the window. She caught a glimpse of her garden, reborn and thriving despite the storm, and the sight of the marigold blooms did not reveal an emptiness inside her. She felt, for once, happy. Her Heart had stormed her Head’s walls, then, the gates of decision giving way.

At 12:51, Claire had opened her scrapbook, a secret once kept from Frank. It was filled with bits and bobs: a piece of bubble wrap, a bell from her holiday sweater. Both of them glued beside old polaroids. Again, she did not feel her Heart stutter, but expand; lift straight out of her chest. A full siege after that. Her Head’s weakest men fell beneath the lash of artery whips.

At 12:52, the end was near, and Claire’s Heart marched to her computer, hunted through years of mail. Its trophy had laid buried in a folder—one message with twelve digits—and the battle, at last, was won.

At 12:53, both Jamie and his phone had buzzed. The door opened, letting in the air. It had smelled of wet soil, earthy and ripe. Familiar, like a ghost’s kiss on the back of his neck. He put the phone to his ear, and…

At 12:53:05, he said, “Jesus, man! Where are ye? I’ve been waiting nigh on 50 minutes!” There was no response.

At 12:53:08: “Did ye get caught in the storm? Are ye calling from a pay phone?” More silence.

At 12:53:13: “Hello? Anyone there?”

At 12:53:20: “Geordie, man, is that you?”

At 12:53:25: A deep, shaking breath. An audible gulp. Claire’s Heart whispering its victory song.

12:53:26: “It’s isn’t Geordie.”

12:53:27: “It’s me.”

And at 12:53:28, everywhere, suddenly—the brightest sun.

Phew! This chapter is one of the longest, but it’s also one of my favorites. The structure is lifted straight from Fates and Furies—there’s a chapter that is just a series of the protagonist’s plays—and I was looking to try something new (it also weirdly fits in with the tone of the chapter introductions). In my opinion, the best thing about writing fanfiction is that you have so much room to experiment.

This structure also allowed me to do what I’d been wanting to do from the beginning: move away from the One Day conceit and explore Jamie and Claire’s pasts. It was very easy to just run with any image or idea that came to mind—we know so little about their childhoods; there are so many possibilities!

And speaking of why fanfiction is so awesome—and I mentioned this in another post—but it’s a blast figuring out how to incorporate canon into an AU setting. Using canon dialogue can boost the emotional punch of a line in a way that is just *chef’s kiss*. “I was born for you.” “I am not as brave as I was before.” Ugh, kill me.

I have to whistle past some of the melodrama and Frank’s computer craze (wouldn’t he also be a typewriter sort of person???). And modern!Bonnie Prince Charlie’s Brazil comment still tickles me. This is not meant as an offense to Brazilians—y’all are just always on *clap* it *clap*, and I love your enthusiasm.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed :)

#myfic #outlander #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #reunited and it feels so gooooood

[dragonnan]

Small teaser of the new fic for 2021 that I’ve started working on.  This is in memory of my own dad - someone I loved dearly even if I never knew as much about his as I’d always wished.  He was not someone who ever easily shared abut himself - that just wasn’t his way.  But I knew he loved me and my mom and siblings.  That was never in question.

It maybe goes without saying but the character of Stephen’s dad, while maybe having some surface similarities (the skills and history as a farmer) that are shared with my dad but he isn’t meant to be a proxy.  In the end, this is a story about father’s and children and the complexity that can come from those relationships.

A final disclaimer - other than names and where they lived I know nothing about Stephen’s parents.  Everything I write in this fic will be my own interpretation - not the least of which that I’ve chosen to have Stephen’s dad still be alive.

_____

Untitled Doctor Strange Fic teaser:

Nothing had changed.

And that was both startling and expected... in a way.  But mostly it was comforting.  Years... decades... centuries had passed him by and yet the same post office sat on the corner.  The same family-owned general store was across the street – windows still painted with specials that had been special since he was a child.  The same movie theater with its peeling marquee – the same bakery filled with overpriced and over-baked pastries – the same department store stocked with garments a good decade out of fashion.  Still dark but there was no lack of traffic as owners and employees made their way to shops and businesses.  One older man – Stephen thought his name was Danny... no, Donald, waved and smiled before unlocking the front door to a carpet and flooring shop.  

He could lift any day from his childhood and it would look just like this.

His exhale carried visibly through the air – the chill setting off a shiver and making him miss his robes – the cloak in particular.  This wasn't the sort of adventure where a cloak was needed, however, beyond warmth of course.  In fact the only arcane item he'd brought with was his sling ring.  He could be anywhere in the world in seconds, if needed.  So why was he walking? Certainly Wong had been the small voice in his head asking the question for the last five minutes.  But, truthfully, he needed this time.  He wasn't certain what sort of welcome he'd find at the end of his walk and, if he took enough time, there was always a chance he'd be summoned back to the Sanctum well before he arrived.  

He wasn't sure if that wouldn't be better, overall...

Stephen was half an hour beyond the town, sticking to the verge and surrounded primarily by fields, when he revisited the wisdom of his choices.  He was vibrantly aware that a slip of the ring could have him at the end of his journey.  He should have left later in the day.  To be fair it was easy enough to forget when the sun rose in Nebraska.  It was easy to forget a lot of things – even with an eidetic memory.  

Why was he doing this?

The watch on his wrist was a far cheaper model than the one, sitting on his bedside table, back at the Sanctum.  However, it had the benefit of actually functioning. Nearly 6:15, now; the sun would be up in a little over an hour.  His destination, however, was at the end of the driveway just ahead. Stephen blew on his hands before starting down the gravel path.

Carefully cultivated red pines lined either side of the narrow road.  They'd begun to go a bit wild, though, in the decade since his last visit.  Outside lights, ahead, gave him glimpses of the two-story structure that had changed color ever four or five years when he was young.  First white, then an unfortunate yellow, then finally red.  One last turn and he could finally take in the entirety of the property.

The apple trees had grown.  That shouldn't have surprised him and yet...  And each branch was heavy with ripe fruit – some already scattered on the ground.  God he could still taste Mom's pies.  He could remember the tradition of canning them every Autumn... right around this time, actually.  Steam adding a weighty humidity to the kitchen – his mother's arms red from the heat that rose around glass jars suspended in the hot water. The smell of fruit and spice.  Stephen plucked an apple – brushing it against his shirt before biting into the flesh.  Juice dribbled down his chin and he squinted at the tart twist of flavor – cool sweetness following and he wiped at the stickiness caught in his goatee.  He chewed as he walked – bypassing the house for the barn near the back woods.

Once upon a time cattle had moved through the pastureland set just beyond the fencing that separated it from the trimmed lawn.  But cattle hadn't roamed the hills since before he'd achieved his doctorate.  Too much income lost between disease and predation.  Tossing his core towards the treeline, Stephen was lifting his hand to the massive sliding door when sudden barking made him hesitate.  There had always been dogs on the farm but he was a stranger, here, and he felt that realization cut sharp through his belly.  A muffled voice quieted the dog.  Work boots clumping across concrete carried through the thick wood and, moments later, the smaller side door creaked on hinges that likely hadn't been oiled since Stephen was a child.

An enormous black dog darted out onto the packed dirt surrounding the barn.  Stephen couldn't help smiling – recognizing the breed as Newfoundland.  Typical of the breed, the big animal approached amicably – tongue lolling out with no trace of aggression.

“Hey, boy...”  Kneeling, Stephen twisted his face away from the tongue that swiped towards his cheek – though it managed to lap across his ear.  A few rubs on the shaggy head and he pushed up again – aware of the silent form watching him.  Finally he returned the look.

“Hi, Dad.”

Eugene Melvin Strange looked at the son whom he hadn't spoken to, face to face, in nearly a decade.  Three years away from eighty but one wouldn't know it from his features. Only his hair gave it away – almost pure white save for some lead grey streaks near the temples.  Well after the moment between them had become awkward, he gestured towards the house.

“I could use a cup of coffee.  You planning to stay a while?”

Stephen nodded – one hand still stroking across the large dog's head.  “Yeah.  I was, uh, hoping we could...”

“Great.  Lock up the barn, would you? I'll go put the pot on.”  And with that, Eugene whistled the dog to his side and the two of them headed towards the house.  

Well that could have gone worse. Rather than simply lock the door, Stephen allowed curiosity to lead him inside.  Gone were the smells of animals – the wild mix of warm fur, hay, and oats that had always been so appealing.  He used to nibble at raw oats – the taste like seeds and fresh grass.  In its place was the powerful sharp tang of varnish and furniture stain; enough to trigger an involuntary sneeze.  Rubbing his nose, Stephen pressed forward – back towards the stalls that used to house the cattle as well as one disgruntled boar.  Now those spaces had been filled with tools and furniture in various states of completion.  A second sneeze was brought on by the sawdust that still hung in the air where his father had been at work with a table saw – trimming down lengths of wood that had some eventual purpose that he couldn't quite discern.  On the other side of the barn, completed pieces stood behind sheets of plastic that had clearly been hung to keep contaminants from settling on the freshly varnished surfaces.

Stephen could remember his father always having some interest in furniture building.  He'd build a secretary for Stephen's mother for their 25th wedding anniversary.  Beverly Strange had used that secretary often – both as a place to draft letters as well as work on her stories.  She had never quite managed to publish anything but she had completed five manuscripts before she had taken ill.

Another sneeze hit sharp across his sinuses so Stephen called an end to his explorations – locking the outside door and following the path to the house.

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 13

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress, musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air, escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Triggers:  not triggers for this chapter (I think so 😁 )

Tag list: Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you   so much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I   think I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag   you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8   penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming  alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​

How nice was to be able to wake without the noise of cars and drivers screaming at each other. It was so calm there. Henry was still asleep, with his arms wrap around you. Gosh, he looked like an angel. You wanted to prepare breakfast for him, so you moved slowly, putting his arm on the bed carefully so he wouldn't wake up. You grabbed a pair of red pants, a white hoodie and a shirt to wear underneath. You made a big effort not to made any noise. When you left the room, Kal surprised you running towards you, excited to see you. You petted him and rushed him to the kitchen, so he wouldn't bark in front of the bedroom door and wake Henry up. You were studying his Instagram Stories and tried to replicate some of his previous breakfast and made some tea and toast for you. You couldn't contain the chills and tingles in your body when you felt his body pressed against your back, while he hugged you and kissed you on the neck and the cheek. You laughed as a reflex of the tingles and then turned around to kiss him. - I made you breakfast- you told him as you ran your fingers through his hair. - I see and smells delicious, I must say - he replied and kissed your forehead - It could smell delicious but taste horrible- you joked and he grinned - I'm sure it's pretty tasty. You spend part of the morning talking about all the smaller things than you hadn't talked during your time apart. Things that you did while you were on LA, funny things that Kal did, etc. Later, he decided to train with the machine that he had on the house while you use the time to check houses in London. You wanted a house as close to Henry's as you could, but the house had to be big. You needed to have enough rooms so you could have room to store your instruments and you also wanted a room that you could turn into a small recording studio. After some time researching, you found the perfect one. It had three small floors. It was white on the outside and luxurious on the inside. It had the main room and two guest bedrooms, a gym, a small cinema and a pool room. It had a gorgeous patio and a terrace that was also great. Your emailed the link to the sale to Brian and asked him if he could contact the people for you to see if the house was still available to purchase. You realized that once that you moved to London, you'll need to get yourself an assistant because you would no longer rely on your agent to do everything for you. You offered to prepare lunch and make risotto. Henry took a shower after training and joined you in the kitchen and helped you with the cooking. - I don't have to work tomorrow either, you know- he told you - I know, that means that we'll have another day to spend together, right?- you asked, excited - Yes. And there's another thing... - What? - Tonight I'm going to a friend's house to watch a Rugby game. - That's great! You deserved to spend time with your friends -you encouraged him- we can hang out tomorrow. - Actually, I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me?- he asked - Really? You want me to meet your friends? - you questioned surprised - Absolutely! - he assured you - Do you think that your friends will be ok with me going too? - I've already asked and yes. Besides, is not like is just men in there, all my friends always bring their girlfriends and wives. - Oh, so great, I will not be the only lady in there. - No.- he said grinning- plus, one of my friends in that group is a girl. - Oh, yeah? - you asked, raising an eyebrow- Is she pretty? - She's like a little sister- he answered, making sure that you wouldn't be jealous and you laughed. - That's ok. I'm not going to tell you not to be friends with a girl. You can be around a woman and doesn't have to mean anything more than a friendship. I have male friends I'm close to. They have been there for me for better and for worst so yeah, you can be friends without anything else going on. - you said and smiled at him and he smiled back.- Oh, by the way, I need to give you a heads up. - What? - I don't know shit about Rugby.-you admitted and Henry laughed. - That's ok. I'll explain to you later if you want or you could watch the game and try if you can understand something or go to talk with the other ladies that don't care much for the game.

You put on a black short skirt dress with a black vegan leather jacket on top; a nice pair of black short stiletto boots with long black socks underneath. For makeup, this time you went with a different approach a did a black smokey eye. As for your lips, you only put gloss, so it wouldn't be too much. You looked like if you were going to a fashion show instead of a house of Henry's friend to watch Rugby, but you wanted to cause a good impression. He was one hell of a man, you didn't want his friends to think that he could do better. More than all, you wanted to believe it yourself, that there was no one better out there for him than you. Henry was waiting for you in the living room. He had a light grey Royal Marines hoddie, a pair of blue jeans and a beanie of England's Rugby team. He stood up as soon as you showed up and looked at you astonished. - You look alluring. Like...I cannot tell you how much I wish to cancel the plans right now and run to the bedroom with you. That's how beautiful you look. I mean, you always look beautiful, but right now, you look "you're going to give me a heart attack" kind of beautiful. - you rolled your eyes and called him exaggerated and then kissed him, leaving a little gloss on his lips, which made both of you burst into laughter. His friend's house was lovely. Homie. You recognized him and a few faces from a picture that Henry had on his place. His friend introduced you to his wife and said: "This is Henry's girlfriend, y/n". Everyone knew who you were, you were famous around the globe, your face was easy to recognize, but he still introduced you to everyone as "Henry's girlfriend". Henry was greeting his friends and chatting with them, as his friend handed him a cold Guinness and offered you one as well, but you rejected it and decided to go for soda instead. You sat next to Henry and while he was talking with the group, you were lost in one thought "Henry's girlfriend". - Babe?- Henry spoke to you, touching your knee to call your attention. - Yeah, sorry, I got a little distracted. I sucked with names and I was trying to memorize all before I forget them.- you lied and smile. - They asked me how we met and I was telling them that we ran into each other at Simon's party.- he explained to you - Yeah. I wasn't even invited. Not really. Was more like "ok, you can bring your friend, now leave me alone" kind of case I'm sure.- you joked and the rest joined you. - So you met at the party and started to date? Who made the first move? -asked one girl curiously. - Well, that depends. Technically, both. He asked me out as a friend and then I visited him to thank him for the date and after a lovely chat and, thanks to said friend, already knowing that he liked me, I told him that I liked him too, and the rest is history. - you said and look at him and smiled and he smiled back at you and kissed you. That caught you off guard. You have never been kissed in front of other people before. It felt weird but nice. A bit uncomfortable, but like a warm hug at the same time. He put his arm around your shoulders and watch the game with his friends. You didn't pay attention at all to what was happening, all you did was stared at his face as if it was the most perfect painting that you've ever seen. He caught you looking at him a couple of times, smiled and kissed you and gave his attention back to the game. You love how passionate he was about his favourite things. After the game, he and the rest of the group spend some time discussing the game results and then just talk. You liked his friends a lot. They were funny, nice and real. For those hours that you've been there, you weren't "y/n, the superstar, the legend", you were " "Henry's girlfriend, y/n". It was nice for once to feel like a normal person. After you left, you picked up Kal from his assistant's place and then headed home. Once there, you decided that was time to address the elephant in the room. - You know, your friend introduced me tonight as your girlfriend. Did you told him that I was "your girlfriend"?- you asked, trying hard not to blush. Henry sit on the couch of the living room and looked at you, a bit nervous. - Yes and no.- he answered and that confused you- I didn't call you "my girlfriend", I called you "my girl".- dammit! you could feel the warmness of your cheeks. - Oh... - I should have consulted with you first before I told my friend.-he apologized - No, that's ok. It took me by surprise, that's all. - So, you want to make this official then? - he questioned - Hu? - you asked speechlessly - Do you want to be my girlfriend? I totally understand if it's too soon for you for a formal relationship, but for me, I already know that I want to be with you, so was the point of a wait when I already have what I want, except for the right to call you my girl. - Yes. - Yes, what? -he asked raising an eyebrow - Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, silly. - You said and he looked at you with a big smile. He was still sitting on the couch, petting Kal who was sitting next to him- Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, if you don't stand up and come and kiss me right now I swear...- you didn't have the chance to finish the speech. He was already grabbing your face and kissing you. Then, as you put your arms around his neck, he put his around your hips, pulling you closer to him.

#henry cavill #fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #demivampirew

[rammaukins]

Shara - The New Latexdoll

IMPORTANTE NOTE: Everything that appears here, in this story, only exists in my mind, anything that resembles reality is coincidence or fortuitous. . .  ( hopefully there will be many of these 🤩,  or not, who knows 😭  ) 

Damn! Where is the Zipper? - Movimento 1

( My gratitude to KunKlo , for his great job of correcting my English and expressions. )

Part 1

On an ordinary Friday afternoon, Shara, a clerk working as a secretary in an advertising company, was strolling around looking at the shop windows of the stores in the commercial district. Like every last Friday of the month, she had put on comfortable clothes that were easy to take off, so that she could easily give in to the temptation to try on a new dress or some other garment and maybe buy it. But what was typical of this day after getting her paycheck, was that today she was going to treat herself to a new pair of high heels.

She was addicted to heels, she had renovated her house to make a dressing room in which half of the space was just for her shoes. And she had her shoes sorted by day of the week, by heel height, by whether she wanted to be more or less comfortable. She had set aside a special place for her most expensive shoes and also her favourites for creating an impression. From that dressing room, without any friend or acquaintance of hers knowing, she had made a few videos for YouTube that she knew would appeal to lovers of heels and fetish fashion. Always avoiding showing her face or any detail that would make someone recognize her.

Today was one of those days when she hoped to be able to buy some shoes that were not run of the mill, that were extravagant, impossible looking, with which she would surely get more followers and thereby improve her earnings. And if she could also find some clothes to impress, so much the better. She even looked in costume shops for porcelain Venetian type masks, not minding if they were made of plastic. If she could further cajole her followers by letting herself be seen completely and still maintaining her anonymity, that would be great.

She wandered the streets of the shopping district, looking into the windows, hoping to see something that would catch her eye. Shara today was also hoping to find something nice to wear this weekend, to get really sexy and seduce again someone she already had in mind. For a moment while she was looking at a lingerie shop, she remembered how that person was running his hands over her skin. Those manly, strong hands, that knew so very well how to excite her body.

Shara walked down several streets, perusing all the shops for possible purchases. She had made a mental note of some of the clothes she had seen and which shops they were in. With the clothes she had some choices, but for now, she couldn't find what she had truly come for. After going into five shoe stores, she couldn't find a pair of shoes that were out of the ordinary. There were sandals of all kinds, shoes of all shapes, heels of all sizes. There were several models, that if you could combine them and create a single pair. . . she would have something worthy to use in her videos. But so, Shara was forced to keep looking, getting a little frustrated.

As she was about to return home, a shop caught her eye. She had never noticed that narrow alleyway in the cyberpunk clothing shopping district, where each shop was more outlandish than the last. If it weren't for the neon lights on the sign, “Your Sin”, she wouldn't have noticed that shop at all. It wasn't the first time she'd been in a sex shop, but it wasn't something she was in the habit of doing. At the moment she was entering, another client was coming out and he gave her a tremendous fright. He was the typical person who didn't care about the opinions of others, dressed in leather clothes, with his chest covered by a torn fishnet t-shirt and, for a man, made up too much, like. . . whatever urban movement he belonged to.

Shara stood watching the man leave, when the shop owner greeted her and invited her in. With some embarrassment she looked back and forth, in case there was another customer, but apart from the shop owner, there was no one else in the store. She took a deep breath and relaxed, and began to feel more comfortable knowing she was on her own. It wasn't her first time in a sex shop, but she didn't feel comfortable buying intimate things in person, preferring the internet. She always felt uncomfortable, when she felt someone's gaze upon her, thinking she knew what they were thinking about her when they bought something. For this reason, she never showed her face in the videos.

Now more relaxed, she began to look at the products on display, and the first thing that caught her eye, was a complicated corset, underbust, with a strap connecting to a collar that was the same shape as the corset. On the collar it said in dark gold letters "Sex Toy". Shara was impressed by the outfit upon closer inspection. Both the corset part and the necklace part had the same design, except for the detail that the neck corset had that characteristic witch's necklace design. Not very high, but high enough to cover the head from behind and limit the view from the sides. It looked like something out of a bad eighties epic-erotic fantasy witch movie, but with a careful and elegant design.

"With that you could charm any man right under your heels." - Shara suddenly heard behind her.

The young woman who was attending the shop, after seeing Shara, noticed right away that she was not a regular shopper in these types of establishments. So she had said that phrase to her, to get her mind focused on something that wasn't so embarrassing, and it seemed to work. Shara relaxed a little more and didn't look around herself so much. She noticed the amazing, shiny, pale pink latex Cheongsam dress with black lotus floral embroidery that the shopkeeper was wearing. She was also wearing a corset-like belt, much like the one Shara had been looking at, but without a collar. The whole outfit was very provocative, giving her a sensual and chic figure.

"Hi. I just wanted to introduce myself, honey. I am called Beky. I can see you're more of an online shopper, so I think I'll leave you a little bit to your own devices to familiarize yourself with the store." - said the shop owner, trying not to scare her.

"Look, down this aisle you'll find some cute outfits, toys are over there, leather clothes here and accessories and bondage items over there. High heels and stripper shoes are here and at the end of that aisle, you can find the most fetish like and the craziest shoes. Let me know when you find something that interests you." - Beky said, pointing down several aisles.

That last bit of information made Shara forget what she was currently looking at. She said thank you and went straight for the shoes. Her inner slutty self had always wanted a pair of stripper shoes to surprise a visitor. She already had more or less a picture in her mind of what she wanted. But when she reached the shoe rack she was overwhelmed by the sheer variety of rare shoes and boots on display. They were mostly available in black, white, red and transparent. The lowest heel was three inches and no platform. There were shoes with thin heels, wide heels, shaped figures, pony-boots and some that immediately caught her attention, the ballet-heels.

They were shaped like ballet shoes, but made of patent leather, on the instep there was a transparent sheet and two straps that crossed in "x" form , another one with a buckle that crossed the instep, and then a much wider strap on the ankle, whose closure had two small rings, to lock it with a small padlock.

"I love them." - she said to herself, marveling at the design and at the same time she was so excited to have found what she was looking for.

Shara had heard of them, and also, she had read comments coming from some of her fans. But until now she had had no interest, mostly because the ones she had seen as an example in a link, sent by one of her followers, was a rather horrendous design. But that pair was anything but hideous, she examined the shoe more closely and there was no doubt that whoever wore that pair of shoes would have to tiptoe like a ballet dancer. That shoe had caught her attention, they were perfect, with an elegant finish, just what she was looking for and she had to have them.

She picked them up and looked for the size of the shoe, and when she looked at the label, it wasn't her size. But then she saw something that further crushed her plan. To her big disappointment, right next to the size of the shoe, was the price of that shoe. It was totally out of her reach. With some annoyance she looked at the rest of the ballet-heels there. And she found some pink booties, vintage design. Shara took a closer look at the boot and the price seemed more reasonable than the shoe.

"It's not as pretty as the other one. . . but it will do." - She said to herself hoping it would have the effect she was looking for.

With the ballet-heels in hand she walked back to the checkout counter where the owner was taking a call. There was an open box next to her, while she was holding up a flesh-colored, see-through latex suit. As Shara waited for the girl to end the call, she couldn't help but overhear her talking about a "LatexDoll" model latex costume from something called "WomanDoll" that she had received. But only one had been delivered and she had ordered ten.

Shara visually examined the box the clerk had on the table. There were two things that caught her attention, right at the bottom of the box it said: "Designed to attract attention and not let anyone recognize you." Then Shara's gaze went to the top of the box, and that slogan captivated her: "Become your own Sex LatexDoll".

to be continued...

tumblr: Shara - The New Latexdoll (Part2) >>

DeviantArt: Shara - The New Latexdoll (part2) >>

Story by Rammaukin

Correction by KunKlo.

If you 😍  it, click on 💗, and we appreciate your comments 👍 , also the criticisms 🤬, although it may and is very likely that, we do not pay attention to them 🧘.

#digital art #tights #corruption #boots #cute girls #digitalilustration #rammaukin #story #part1 #solofeme

[shakespeareintellectualbadass]

http://andthenshesaid.co.uk/expertsofourownexperience/queer

Feels weird to advertise a blog on a blog, but I'm writing a series called Experts of Our Own Experience around pieces of my personal experience of life - being neurodivergent, dealing with depression and anxiety and an eating disorder, and most recently, being visibly queer for the first time in my life. I've learned more about myself from hearing others talk about their experiences, and I'm a big believer in learning about experiences other than your own, so whether any of these things apply to you or not, maybe you'll find something connective.

If you're interested, check it out, lmk if you have thoughts ✌

I’ve known I’m not straight since I was seventeen.

I went to all-girls school for fourteen years, from age four to eighteen. All my friends were female until I got to college. For most of my youth I was more consumed by the romantic stories my imagination conjured up, and generally those stories starred princes rather than princesses. I never spent any time overanalyzing it because it never felt wrong, to imagine either but focus more on boys.

And yeah, I’m definitely attracted to men. I obsessed over the boys we met at parties in high school like my friends did. I enjoy flirting with and dating men (most of the time…). I have a longstanding, embarrassingly strong celebrity crush on Jensen Ackles (like full blush, swooping in my stomach listening to him sing or when he winks at the camera). I remember one particular boy who my best friend and I fought over for about an hour at a friend’s quinceañera freshman year (that might be the most heated fight we’ve ever had and we’d only met him at that party, which is ridiculous). I also had really intense female friendships I didn’t think anything of. With the benefit of hindsight, I can see how those friendships with girls I liked and admired - the really earnest ones where I’d go out of my way to do things for them and be around them because I just really want her to want to be my friend - were actually crushes. I’m a people pleaser (with people I care about anyway), but I recognize that higher intensity now that I’ve been through more serious relationships. Definitely bisexual.

It clicked in the autumn of senior year, when I fell for one of my friends from school. We spent a few months pining and then dated for about half a year (though we were both dealing with shitty mental health struggles at the time and were overall not very good for each other) and broke up right before I graduated. All our friends knew we were together, as did my family and probably hers and probably quite a few more people than we knew. What can I say, I’ve never been known for my subtlety, especially when romantic interest is involved.

But right now is the first time I’ve been obviously queer. Visibly, aesthetically queer in how I choose to present myself.

I’ve easily passed for straight all my life. I’ve had long hair and lengthened my eyelashes with coats of mascara, worn low cut tops and tall heels and tight jeans. I’ve flirted with men more than women and leaned into my soft, feminine energy more than my assertive, masculine energy.

But I’ve never had to adjust to being bisexual, to accept that about myself. I never worried about what my parents would think. I know I’m enormously lucky because of that. That said, there’s a difference between coming to terms with being bisexual and being comfortable presenting as queer. My parents are both artists; they both went to college for performance (acting for mum, singing for dad) and are wonderfully open minded and raised me with that same open-mindedness. I don’t think I ever actually came out to them. I could tell they knew about my interest in my high school girlfriend, so I just started talking about it, and that was that. My whole extended family is very accepting, and there are other LGBTQ+ members of the family. One of my cousins is trans and bi; we make a lot of jokes about being the gay cousin (“every family has a gay cousin; if yours doesn’t, you’re the gay cousin” “but if I’m the gay cousin, and you’re the gay cousin, who’s flying the plane?”). My dad’s mom and her partner have been affectionately dubbed The Grandmas for my whole life. Grandma Natalie is as much my grandparent as Grandma Gayle, though we’re not related by blood. I don’t know how many members of my family know I’m queer - I’ve never specifically come out to any of them either - but I don’t worry about it. It’ll become obvious at some point, or I’ll drop it in conversation like I do so often now.

It does vary, how out I am - in high school I was comfortable with it in my personal life, but I never considered joining the LGBTQ+ club - and it’s been different when I’m in a relationship. Both my long term boyfriends were queer/on the bisexuality spectrum, but we presented like a heterosexual couple so never had to worry about coming out. While my high school girlfriend and I weren’t subtle, we also weren’t fully out as a couple. Her family was religious and she was worried about their reaction. On top of that, we were both fairly femme, and in Catholic school the general assumption is that everyone is straight. When I got to college, I only dated men. Part of that was residual fear left over from how badly that high school relationship ended. Part of it was I went to a Catholic university (seriously, how did I spend eighteen years in Catholic institutions when I’ve never been Catholic). A lot of it was compulsive heterosexuality - something queer women fall into a lot because our society is set up with men as the be all and end all (“how could anyone not be attracted to men?” “Of course the ultimate happy ending is settling down with a man...”). A lot of it was how much more I was around men. For the first time, there was a lot of choice, which was an exciting prospect. Even when I wasn’t in a serious relationship, I tended to only focus on men as romantic prospects.

Again, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see how much I’ve been and still am guided by that ingrained need for male attention and validation. It’s also easier to pick up men than women - there’s no is she flirting or is she just friendly to deal with – because men and women are socialized so differently that men don’t usually gush and compliment women they’ve just met in the same way that women do. Maybe it’s just easier to assume men are flirting because of the stereotype that men always want to get laid. Maybe it’s scarier to flirt with women. Maybe both. It’s certainly possible that’s my own projection rather than fact. That said, I did once have a two hour conversation with a lady in a shop during which we effusively complimented each other multiple times, and I have no idea if she was flirting with me or if she was just nice. Girls in bar bathrooms consistently hype each other up without ever exchanging names. It’s wonderful, but it does make things a little foggy when one is trying to flirt with a lady.

Anyway - I was talking about being obviously queer for the first time. It’s odd because I’m very comfortable talking about being bisexual. I bring it up in conversation easily. I post about it for pride. I talk about it a lot on my podcast. I’ve been comfortable with it since I recognized it - I have a wonderfully supportive family, and accepting that part of myself came easily. Presenting it to the world aesthetically is different - more personal, more vulnerable. Even writing about it here, thinking of you reading this, I feel more shy than I would were we face to face. While I didn’t spend any time reassessing my personality when I realized I’m bi, I’m just now recognizing that I do have internalized biphobia and compulsive heterosexuality I need to work through. I think the difference right now is about presentation, that I’ve never felt like I looked bisexual. Which is silly, right? As much as we talk about gaydar and queer trends (bisexuals cuff their jeans, etc), both within the LGBTQ+ community and out, you can’t actually tell anyone’s sexual orientation from their appearance. Queer people just tend to be more adventurous with their self-expression, perhaps because they’ve spent time at one point or another repressing who they are. Perhaps there’s just a joy in exploring something different, that makes you stand out. I don’t know - that’s true for me, though I’m only just starting to experiment myself, and I’m sure it’s different for everyone. I certainly don’t know if I would experiment with my style in the same way if I was straight, having never been straight.

My style has slid less feminine during this year of lockdown. Part of it is that I’m rarely going anywhere, and when I am, I’m walking a lot, so sneakers are a must. I exercise a lot more now, so often when I leave the house, it’s for a workout in a park and I’m dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt. I’ve gravitated toward looser trousers for the last year and a half or so; after years of skinny jeans, I’m obsessed with how comfortable they are. Now that it’s winter, I’m more focused on being warm and comfy than being fashionable. Also, I sort of feel like any moment an apocalypse movie is going to start and I need to be dressed to live in the woods. This added up into a vibe more butch than I’m used to, but with my hair longer than it had been in years, I didn’t really notice.

And then I chopped all my hair off. Like actually all off. A full pixie cut, shorter than I’ve ever gone.

Leading up to it, I guessed I was going to want to lean more into feminine fashion again to balance the cropped cut. I like being feminine and I’m in no hurry to give it up. I planned to pull out my comfy knit pencil skirts and my heeled ankle boots. I expected to forget about my new habit of dressing like I live in the woods. That hasn’t really happened. I’ve still been dressing for comfort, and my style choices have gravitated more toward sweater vests and flare trousers. Both Harry Styles and Phoebe Waller-Bridge in the “Golden” music video. The other day I caught sight of myself in a window and needed a moment to recognize myself: the combination of loose jeans, sweatshirt, raincoat, sneakers, and short hair just didn’t feel like the me I remembered. I looked at myself and didn’t see the femme, straight passing person I’ve looked like for most of my adult life. Let me be clear - I am by no means saying that looking obviously queer is a bad thing. It’s new to me, but I’m rediscovering myself.  I still saw me - and that’s key, that this haircut has always felt like me - but a different me than I’m used to seeing in the mirror.

I have a lot of affection for this new aesthetically masculine and feminine mix, and the other day, stuck in the house at the beginning of lockdown no.3, I felt the urge to dress up a little. I put on lipstick for the first time since May, pulled out a plunge bodysuit and a pair of one-of-a-kind flare jeans I found in a vintage shop on Brick Lane the other week (looser jeans are a masculine leaning I’m embracing wholeheartedly). I decked out my fingers in rings and pulled out my wire-rimmed blue light glasses (my eyesight is so bad that my actual glasses look like something from the wardrobe of a nerd from a 1980s movie, so I stick with contacts). I snapped this photo, just to see the full effect as I no longer have a full-length mirror, and - bam.

I love how I look. I’m obsessed with my hair, with the bright red lines of the bodysuit (and isn’t me in a bright color shocking enough!). I love the jeans, love that they’re a little too big in the waist and just keep flowing out from there, a feminine line in a masculine fabric. I love the wire rim glasses (even if I do look like my dad in the 80s). I love the muscle I can see in my arms from months of pushups and calisthenics. I love how much space I take up, both physically and just in my presence. I am feminine and masculine. I am impossible to miss. Once, even a year ago, that would’ve been stressful. Now, I feel like shouting from the rooftops. This is me.

It’s gone up on Instagram. It’s my new profile picture on various apps. The only caption has been a peace sign emoji - a joke within the LGBTQ+ community about how bisexual people never know what to do with our hands (“point a camera at a bisexual and see how long it takes them to flash a peace sign or finger guns”). It’s a very different vibe from my last profile photo - almost two years ago I smiled at my friend behind the camera from a flowering yellow bush as I watched my last relationship coming to an end.

I keep coming back to how much it is different. This is a change - not of who I am, but of how I reflect it to the world. Proud and excited as I am, and as much as I want to care only for what I think, the fear of rejection lingers. The fear that my friends’ love isn’t malleable and won’t fit this new me anymore. The yearning for the people I love and admire to be proud of me. And on top of that, I wonder how I am different, how my change in appearance reflects an inner shift. How it necessitates it. I’ve always felt the inner shone through to the outer - now that I’m changing the outer, does that come from a shift I’ve already made or is there one still to make? Do I have to act more queer because I look it? What do I feel I need to prove?

Maybe I’ve spoken so much and so easily about my sexuality because I knew it wasn’t visible. Now it’s far more clear, and I feel both more confident and shy. Who is this woman who wears red and casually takes up space? I know her, have seen her in flashes, but this is the first time she is stepping out so boldly. That’s it: I am bold in a way I haven’t felt before. I know, logically, that I have been (again, I’ve never been known for subtlety), but not so consciously. Not with so much intention behind my choice. Some boldness comes so easily I never think of it, but this - this was like bursting out of water for that first breath of air. Natural, intuitive, but not easy.

All this comes in the middle of a period of great change in my life. I’m moving back to my home country after living in London for almost three years, back to my parents’ house after living alone for a year during this pandemic. I’m reconsidering everything I want to spend the next few years doing, much less the rest of my life. I’m trying to figure out how to fund seeing the world and how to organize running a podcast with guests from everywhere I go. I’m consciously focusing on myself and what I want rather than delaying or sacrificing my goals for anybody else. I’m putting off putting down roots for a bit and relying on the knowledge my family is there to come back to. My future see-saws between the safety of family and the unquestionable boldness of adventure.

There is an apprehension that comes with change, an acknowledgment that I am growing and becoming something new, something that is always myself though I did not know it was there. It is freeing and exhilarating and terrifying, growing. Like jumping off a cliff, I have to squeeze my hands into fists and tighten my core and rely on the knowledge that the water below will catch me, that I will catch me, so that I can enjoy the fleeting moment of flying into something new.

#selfpost #experts of our own experience #and then she said #queer #lgbtq+

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 11 - Cupid’s Arrow

Chapter 01 - Chapter 10

“Today’s the day,” Marinette uttered nervously, pressing a hand against her churning stomach in a fruitless attempt to untie the knots her insides were tied in. Her nerves were stretched to the limit, ready to snap. She gazed up at the building where her fashion show would take place in a few short hours. She wasn’t ready to go inside. Not until her knees stopped trembling, at least.

She’d been a quivering mess since she woke up this morning. The countless hours of work had all led up to this moment. This was the goal she’d been working toward all these years. Every drop of blood, each drip of sweat, every single sleepless night spent hunched over her sewing machine had been for this chance to showcase her talents and hopefully catch the eye of a famous fashion house that would want to take her on as a designer.

Hands shaking, she gripped the strap of her purse in a futile attempt to steady them.

When a warm arm suddenly wrapped around her shoulders, she shrieked and nearly jumped out of her skin. Spinning in place to view her attacker, she lost her balance and nearly fell over.

“Easy there, Marinette,” Adrien chuckled, hands gripping her arms to keep her on her feet. He gazed at her as she inhaled deeply, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating. “Are you going to be okay?”

Stepping back out of his personal space, she closed her eyes and counted to three, opening them once again to observe her friend.

He’d grown into a truly handsome man. His shining blond hair was artfully styled into deceptively careless disarray, a few wayward strands falling over his brow and into his vivid green eyes. Mouth pulled into a devious smirk, she heard him continue to laugh at her clumsiness. She pouted a bit at how truly handsome he was. It wasn’t fair for someone to be so damn good-looking.

“I’m fine,” she bit, annoyed that he had once again caught her unravelling at the seams. “I’m just a little nervous.”

He laughed. “A little? When I touched you, you nearly came out of your skin.”

“You just startled me, is all.”

Once more, Adrien chuckled softly at her. “You’ll do great. The hard part is already over. Now,” he said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders once more, encouraging her to go inside with him, “let’s do this, Marinette.”

Gathering her courage, she held her head high and stepped inside.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

“Mlle. DuPain-Cheng, music starts in twenty minutes,” the producer – a severe-looking woman with auburn hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun - informed her, clipboard firmly in her hand. “Are your models ready?”

Glancing behind her at her friends, she smiled and nodded her head. She had just finished helping Juleka dress in her first outfit: a tunic length purple sweater with a wide cowl neck that exposed Juleka’s slender shoulders and black floral print leggings. Completing the ensemble was a pair of knee-high platform boots.

Adrien stood next to her looking absolutely dashing in a deep green, v-neck t-shirt, a casual pin-striped blazer emphasizing his broad shoulders and trim waist. Dark washed jeans and white sneakers completed his look. If she had seen him in an outfit like this when she had still been infatuated with him, she would have gushed about how the color of his shirt perfectly matched his eyes and how the blazer drew attention to his perfect butt…

But she wasn’t still infatuated with him, so she’d keep those thoughts to herself, she mused.

“You guys look amazing,” she said happily. “Thank you so much for helping me today, guys. I really appreciate it.”

Juleka smiled softly and said, “No, Marinette, thank you for giving me an opportunity to walk down the catwalk. You’re helping me as much as I’m helping you. I even asked my brother to come today so he could see me model in your show. He was so proud of me when I told him I was going to be modelling during Fashion Week and it’s all thanks to you.. With as much attention as you’re sure to get with your fabulous clothes, I’ll get to shine along side you as your model.” She giggled softly as she cocked her hip out. “With clothes as cute as these, there’s no way they’re not going to love you.”

“She’s right, you know.” Adrien reached over and rested his elbow on Juleka’s shoulder, grinning at her. “You’re going to be a smash hit, my Lady. You’re not alone here. Alya is covering your show for her blog, Nino’s up in the DJ booth cuing up the music as we speak, and don’t forget your parents out in the audience. We’re all here for you and we’re so proud of you.”

“Thanks, guys.” Reassured from her friends’ kind words, she shook her head and focused on the task at hand.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

In the audience, Luka was waiting patiently for the show to begin. Looking around, he saw a few familiar faces, which put him at ease. Across the room, up in the DJ booth, Nino had his headphones on, jamming out the music only he could hear as he got his set list ready for the show. Wondering at the small world he lived in, he spotted Alya Cesaire, Nino’s girlfriend, sitting in the front row, taking pictures with her cell phone and excitedly tapping away on the screen. Must be doing a story on Fashion Week for her blog, he thought. He’d run into her a few times when he and Nino had collaborated together on a project.

Personally, he was excited to see his sister in her first fashion show. Really was proud of how much she’s grown in the past few years. When she had first told him she wanted to be a model, he supported her dream whole-heartedly, but worried whether someone as introverted as she could make it in such a cut-throat business.

His worries had been unnecessary. She had proved all who doubted her wrong and had been steadily finding work doing magazine ads and even appearing on a few billboards recently. But nothing could compare to this. Even though it was for an unknown designer, being able to put that she’d modeled in a Fashion week show would open a lot of doors for her modeling career and he wished nothing but the best for his beloved sister. He’d be there to watch over her, after all.

When the lights dimmed, he sat up, eyes focused on the raised catwalk and waited to see his sister. Techno music pounded through the once silent room, increasing the energy level in the room with is solid base beat.

Behind a screen at the entrance of the stage, he saw a feminine silhouette appear, striking a sassy pose with her hip cocked and her hand behind her head. His mouth gaped as he watched his sister - his shy, mild mannered sister – strut down the lane, hair billowing behind her and her eyes on fire. He could barely recognize his sibling in this fierce woman posing at the end of the walk, showcasing the outfit she was wearing.

When she disappeared backstage, the screen illuminated again, this time outlining a male model. His eyes widened when he recognized the man from advertisements plastered with his face all over the city. It was Adrien Agreste, the face of his father’s internationally branded fashion line. Screams erupted in the room as the audience recognized the handsome model strutting down the catwalk with the grace and intensity of a panther.

The designer responsible for this show was very smart to use him for their show, he decided. Come morning, their designs would be plastered all over social media and possibly even the news now that Adrien Agreste was the one wearing them. And his sister would be piggy-backing on top of that fame, launching her own career into possible fame.

Once the blond model retreated backstage to prepare his next outfit, Luka watched as his sister once again took the stage, wearing a completely different ensemble. How they changed her entire look in less than two minutes was absolutely astounding. It must be pure chaos behind the scenes, he mused.

However, his amusement faded as he continued to watch the show. With each ensemble that was shown, his eyes narrowed further. He recognized some of these clothes. He’d seen them taped to the wall when he’d delivered that fabric to his designer.

It’s impossible, he thought to himself. There’s no way such coincidences exist.

Still denying the possibility that the girl he’d been looking for for so long was the one who was responsible for the show that his sister was modeling in, his jaw dropped when Adrien walked out in his final look: the embroidered blazer that Luka had seen hanging on the mannequin.

Suspicions confirmed, he grinned, disbelieving his luck. Now, he wouldn’t have to try to track her down. He found her without even knowing he’d done it. Even better, his sister already knew his elusive designer and could introduce her to him after the show.

He whistled under his breath when he saw the show’s final piece. Juleka came out dressed in a gorgeous dress. The strapless top shimmered with beads under the bright stage lights. A silver-buckled black satin belt transitioned into a full skirt. The outer layer of black satin contrasted beautifully with the deep purple satin lining, visible due to the front of the skirt ending at Juleka’s thighs and the back cascading down to the floor. Opaque black stockings covered her exposed legs and protected the modesty of his sister, which he was secretly grateful for.

She gracefully walked to the end of the catwalk where Adrien was waiting for her. With a final pose, the two models leaned into each other with wide smiles in response to the roaring applause thundering through the room. turning toward the entrance of the stage, they waved, gesturing for someone to join them.

Tearing his eyes away from his stunning sister, his breath caught when the designer stepped on stage. He could almost hear the twang as he felt a punch in the gut, like he’d been shot by Cupid’s arrow.

She was petite and slender, her limbs willowy and graceful as she joined her models. Her dark hair shined blue under the lights, pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck with a few tendrils escaping to caress her neck. Her bright, blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stood proudly next to her designs. Pink lips stretched into a grin as she reached her hands out to either side of her and took her companion’s hands. With a final smile at the audience, the trio bowed, thanked the audience for their praise, and escaped backstage.

Luka was stunned. How on earth had he missed how pretty she was when she crashed into him that first day? In his defense, she had been in such a hurry and so he hadn’t had the chance to get a good look at her, but had he really been so oblivious?

Unable to wait another minute to finally meet his elusive muse – and congratulate his sister on a job well done – he rose from his seat and made his way back stage, eager to be introduced to the blue-eyed beauty responsible for the music pounding in his head.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Chapter 12

*OMG, It’s almost time! He knows! Aaaaah! Hahaha, sorry. I’m just really excited for these two to get some time together in the same room. Next time, I promise! But things aren’t going to go so easily for them once they do meet face-to-face mwahahaha!

Once again, thanks for taking the time to read this and give me your likes and reblogs. Leave me a reply about what you like, what you don’t like, and what you’d like to see. Your feedback gives me fuel to better myself and my writing.

Until next time, my lovelies, XOXO*

@write-for-your-life2

#lukanette #lukanette february #mlvalentines2k20 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #lukanette fic #lukanette fanfiction #miraculous fanfic

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Sometimes Speed-Dating Works

Commission for the sweetest @depressedstressedlemonzest! Commission info can be found here!

~

Temperance, called Tami, inspected herself in the mirror, and was pleased with what she saw. Ever since she’d started making her own clothes, she’d felt drawn to early Edwardian fashion, and her newest outfit showed her growing skill. With the addition of her hat and purse, she cut quite the dashing figure.

She also knew that there were few who would admire her talent with her body underneath. But honestly, fuck them.

The speed-date she’d signed up for was being held at a rather low-end cafe a few blocks over that was at least big enough to contain a steady stream of moving people. She wavered on whether to walk or take the bus… then decided to walk. It would put pink in her cheeks, at least.

Her neighbors were used to her, and stepped out of her way easily. It was when she left her neighborhood that people started looking at her oddly. She ignored it. It was like this everywhere. So what?

The cafe was crowded. The person assigning seats at the door completely overlooked Tami, until she cleared her throat politely and said, “I’m here for the date, too.”

“Oh!” He smiled, but it looked more like a wince. “Sorry, sorry. What’s your name?”

“Tami Smith.”

“Right, okay. Uhhh, you have the eighth seat down from this direction, on the left side.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm-hm.” Another wincing smile, and Tami moved on, resisting the urge to shake her head. Honestly, these fast-fashion addicts were worse than her own family.

~

Settling in one of the folding chairs provided for this occasion, she heard it creak faintly. Cheap. She rearranged her skirts and waited.

The first man wouldn’t stop staring at her bosom, and answered her friendly questions with monosyllabic answers. She did not miss his relief when the timer went off.

The second man tried harder, but he seemed put off by her outfit, and was in general rather cagey.

The first woman was braced, and immediately started making comments on how “brave” Tami was to come to one of these things. Tami was polite back, but she was very annoyed and was quite happy when the timer rang.

It was disappointment after disappointment. Not that Tami had had high hopes; mostly this was just a way to pass the time, and maybe talk to someone who wasn’t her coworkers, neighbors, or family. But this was boring, and annoying, and she almost regretted signing up.

Then a tall, muscular woman sat across from her, and Tami’s expectations cranked up several notches. Because the other woman was dressed Edwardian, too, but somewhat lower-class than Tami’s preferred wardrobe. They just stared at each other for a moment.

Then the woman grinned, and said, “I’m Kimi.”

“I’m Tami.”

“Where’d you get that hat? It looks great with your face shape.”

Tami blushed faintly and smiled. “A milliner in London. I went to stay there for work for a few months.”

“London! I’ve only ever been to Stratford-Upon-Avond, and not for long.” Kimi seemed… genuinely interested, leaning forward on her brawny forearms, her sleeves rolled up neatly and showing her muscle. She wasn’t a body-builder type, but she certainly did some form of exercise that built muscle. Tami found herself being maybe a teensy bit more interested in Kimi than she’d expected. “Where do you work, that you got to visit England?”

“I’m in marketing, but I was flown out to work on details with the sister-firm in London.”

Conversation flowed so naturally between them, and Tami found herself becoming very interested. Kimi made her own clothes, too, and thought that Tami’s were excellent quality; she was an accountant, but she worked out because sitting for so long every day made her restless; her parents had been from Laos, but moved to America for her father’s work. Tami answered in kind: Kimi’s tailoring was impeccable, her taste in time periods exquisite (they both laughed at that); marketing was fine, but it was her coworkers who annoyed her so much that sometimes during lunch she would take long walks to work out her anger; her own parents were Michiganders, born and bred, but Tami had moved because she couldn’t stand her family. They talked about hobbies, and books, and when the timer went off, they scribbled their phone numbers on napkins and exchanged them, before the next “date” arrived.

Tami felt a glow of triumph throughout the rest of the evening, and when everyone was standing and leaving, a few folks found her and offered their numbers. She took them with thanks, but she knew she wasn’t going to call them. Actually, it wasn’t until she was on the sidewalk waiting for the light to turn green that she realized she didn’t want to talk to anyone but Kimi.

“’Ello, m’lady,” a familiar voice in a terrible English accent said beside her. She grinned and turned. It wasn’t very usual for her to need to look up at other women, but Kimi was several inches taller than her. Kimi grinned back. “Can I walk you home?” she asked Tami.

“That would be delightful,” Tami replied.

They continued talking all the way to Tami’s apartment building. It was… nice. Kimi waited until Tami was inside to leave. Tami couldn’t help grinning giddily as she ascended the stairs to her floor.

When she had divested herself of her suit and put on her nightgown, she texted Kimi to ask if she’d reached home safely. Kimi replied only three minutes later in the affirmative.

I really liked our date tonight. Do you want to go for coffee next Saturday?

Tami didn’t even hesitate. That sounds wonderful! When and where were you thinking?

~

The coffee date was a success. So was the dinner the next week. So was the kiss after Kimi walked Tami up to her doorstep.

Tami’s coworkers seemed baffled when she came to work happy, and were even more baffled when she said she’d started dating.

“You just, you always seemed so work-oriented,” David said weakly, glancing at her waist.

“I can be fat and date,” Tami replied calmly, sipping her coffee.

“That’s not...” Tami met his gaze steadily, and David decided not to be even more of a dick.

But that comment got Tami thinking. Kimi had never commented on her size, whether to praise or insult, and in fact, she never even seemed to notice. Her arms fit nicely around Tami’s waist and she made room for her in crowded places as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was lovely, and Tami was both pleased and puzzled.

They had another date planned that Saturday. A stroll through the park, and then dinner at a fancy restaurant, Kimi’s treat. Tami dressed in her newest suit, pink and peachy-gold, with white lace. Kimi was picking her up; she would text when she was there. So Tami spent time searching the internet for that glove-maker who had made those lovely silk opera gloves for her. Unfortunately, the glove-maker was not taking custom orders at that time. Not surprising, since they were now much more in demand. Still, a little disappointing. Tami would’ve liked to order some proper driving gloves for Kimi.

Her phone trilled, and she snatched it up eagerly.

I’m here! And there’s a lout by the door looking shady.

I’ll be down shortly. It’s probably Jacob. He’s always forgetting his keys.

Tami stood, fluffed her skirts, made sure of her purse, secured her hat, and swept out of her apartment.

When she reached the foyer, she found three girls whispering nervously to each other. Seeing her looking at them, they moved quickly out of her way.

“Are you alright?” Tami asked them, surprised. “I don’t recognize any of you.”

“There’s a guy outside,” one of the girls blurted.

Tami immediately straightened, and took out her phone. “Just a moment, girls,” she murmured, and texted Kimi.

There’s some frightened young girls in here. That lout might have been following them.

On it.

The slam of a car door. The door and walls were too well-made for Tami to hear words, but she definitely heard an angry male voice. And then that voice screamed, and Kimi rumbled something, and there was the sound of running and crying.

Kimi knocked politely on the door, and when Tami opened it cautiously, shielding the girls, Kimi smiled. She looked so handsome and dapper, her slightly-skewed hat the only indicator that there had been any kind of confrontation. “I broke his arm,” she said frankly.

There was a sigh of relief and a hysterical giggle from the girls behind Tami. She turned, and asked them, “Can you call yourselves a ride?”

“Yeah,” the girl who had spoken earlier replied. “We just… didn’t want to go past him.”

“Fair enough,” Kimi said. “Good luck. Stay safe.” She offered her arm to Tami, and with a final wave to the girls, they left.

They were both silent in the car for a few minutes. Then Tami asked, “Why did you break his arm?”

“I always break their arms,” Kimi replied calmly. “If a man scares or hurts a girl or woman, I break his arm. That’s how it works.”

Tami bit her lip, then asked softly, “Kimi, what happened?”

More silence. Finally, Kimi said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tami nodded, and didn’t mention it again.

The walk around the park was calm enough that they both relaxed, and Tami asked about work. Kimi grimaced and said, “Oh, they’re planning to fire people. For the good of the company. If I’m not one of the lucky few chosen to be booted, I’ll be the one tasked with removing them from the system. Which shouldn’t be so hard, except our software is bullcrap.”

“That’s not fair!” Tami exclaimed, straightening in outrage. “You told me they’ve already laid people off.”

“Yeah.” Kimi took off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. “I need to find a new job. Kinda hard, though, when you’re a giant butch and don’t care about hiding it.”

Tami snorted derisively. “Any company would be lucky to have your skills. Can you get a job as a fashion designer?”

Kimi laughed. “Yeah, sure, let me just whip out my portfolio from college ten years ago and apply to the nearest fashion house,” she joked, grinning at Tami.

“I’m not joking,” Tami replied flatly. “I’ve seen your patterns and sketches, Kimi. You’d be an amazing designer. Tell you what—we’ll start our own business. You design, I’ll photograph, and we’ll both sew. You can sell patterns, too.”

Kimi’s smile slipped, and she looked genuinely surprised. Tami tucked her hand in Kimi’s elbow and said, “Of course, we don’t have to start tomorrow. Just… think about it, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Kimi said, and her voice was maybe a little breathless. “Yeah, okay.” Then she cleared her throat, and looked away, and asked, “How was work for you this week?”

Tami snorted. “Annoying. My coworkers don’t believe me that I’m dating you. And god, Nate was so annoying about his son’s birthday...”

Kimi relaxed as Tami continued talking, and soon they were both smiling and laughing again. They almost missed their reservation, walking around the park and talking. But they arrived in time, and even though the hostess gave them strange looks, they didn’t worry. The meal was quiet, but in a safe, content way. When dessert arrived, Tami asked Kimi softly, “Do you want to come over and watch a movie tonight?”

Kimi actually blushed, but grinned. “I’d like that,” she replied simply.

Tami couldn’t help feeling smug as Kimi put her arm around Tami’s waist as they left. When they got to Tami’s building, they snuck up the stairs with a delicious sense of getting away with something. The only moment Tami realized this might have been a bad idea was when she opened her door and led Kimi in—and realized her place was a mess of fabric scraps, tailoring supplies, and pieces of paper from modified patterns.

“Oh dear,” she said, beginning to blush. “Um. Please pardon the mess.”

Kimi laughed and kicked off her shoes. “My place is far worse,” she promised, coming up behind Tami and putting her hands on Tami’s waist. She surveyed the apartment over Tami’s head, while the shorter woman blushed deeply. She really wasn’t used to such intimate positioning. “At least your furniture matches.”

That made Tami laugh, too, and she leaned back in Kimmi’s arms tentatively, smiling wider as Kimi slid her arms comfortably around her. “Yes, well, I still don’t think puce couches work with lavender walls, but it’s something.”

“It certainly is. Oh, shoot, your hat! Sorry, I squished it a little.”

“Fuck the hat. Let me get out of this rig and we can lounge around watching silly home reno shows.”

Kimi laughed again. “Sounds perfect,” she said, with such warmth that Tami found herself reluctant to ever move from Kimi’s grip.

But move she must. So she did, and hurriedly chose her most comfortable kimono before taking off her suit and hanging it up carefully. Wrapping the kimono firmly around herself, she blushed to realize that she was, essentially, in just her underwear and a bathrobe. Was that… too much?

Probably. But she didn’t think Kimi would mind.

When she exited her bedroom, she grinned to see Kimmi taking up the whole couch, stretched out and propped up on either end, with the remote on her chest. She’d taken off her jacket and her suspenders, and when she saw Tami, she blushed furiously.

“Your house, you choose,” she drawled, picking up the remote and turning on the TV.

“Wrong way around. House guest chooses program.” Tami walked over and stood beside the couch, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you going to leave some space for me?” she demanded.

Kimi grinned wickedly. “I did,” she replied, and patted her stomach.

It was out before Tami could stop it—“What if I hurt you?”

Kimi snorted. “Unlikely. If I can pick you up, you won’t hurt me.”

“You can’t pick me up,” Tami accused, trying to ignore the tingles of happiness.

A sigh, and Kimi sat up, stood, turned to Tami—and picked her right up, arms firm around Tami’s thighs. Tami yelped, and then laughed, and smacked the back of Kimi’s shoulder lightly. “Alright, alright, you win! Put me down!”

“Fine, fine,” Kimi sighed, and put her down, gently. But then she swept Tami up princess-style and plopped back on the couch in her former position, cuddling her host firmly and comfortably. Tami hid her face in Kimi’s collar to hide her increased blushing and frankly giddy smile.

“What show do you want?” Kimi asked, picking up the remote.

~

Three months later, Tami woke to Kimi stroking her hair thoughtfully.

They’d started spending more time at each other’s apartments, and agreed to call each other their girlfriend. It had been a while for both of them, but this was… a good thing, that they had. Tami closed her eyes again and smiled as Kimi kept running her fingertips through Tami’s hair. Maybe they could sleep in some more. It was Sunday, after all. Five more minutes.

“Tami?”

She wrinkled her nose, but answered, “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking. About what you said a few months ago. About… starting our own online business, with clothes and stuff.”

Tami was instantly awake, and leaned her head back to look up at Kimi’s face. “You have?” she asked, surprised. She had thought Kimi had forgotten.

Kimi frowned a little, but nodded. “I was thinking… maybe you’re right,” she said slowly. “Maybe we could do something like that. Not full-time, I don’t think we could manage that, but… as a side thing.”

Tami smiled, slowly. “Kimi, love, that would be fantastic!”

Kimi smiled too, small and hopeful. “You think so?” she asked.

“Absolutely!”

“Good. Then we’ll do it.” Kimi kissed Tami deeply, then asked, “Shower or breakfast first?”

#writing #commission #romance #commissions open

[motleymoose]

Lukewarm Endearments at Best

Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Gender Neutral!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester (mention) Words: 2800+ Warnings: Flangst

It had been a long time coming.

Dad had always been a traveler. When he was home, he was a novelty to me, a stranger who was familiar yet so dang mysterious that it surprised me every single time my name came to his lips. Like, even as a little kid I didn’t think he’d know me from Adam unless I was right next to Mama.. And it wasn’t like I really knew him, either. How can you know someone who’s been on the road, away from you, for most of your life? Heck, when Mama passed, I didn’t even see him for at least 18 months.

Of course, he sauntered back into my life as if nothing had happened in that intervening year and a half, like I hadn’t been forced to become a responsible adult right on the cusp of 17, shirking high school, colleges and relationships in order to keep myself from drowning in debt and despair. I was angry, and I said some things I’m not proud to repeat. And like the distant, abstract saint that my father has always been, he stood there, stoically taking the tongue lashing I had saved up for him. Through all of it, I could feel my own grief growing deeper. I had lost my mother, but I realized I never really had a father to begin with. John Winchester had been a wandering canvas that I could project my ideals of fatherhood onto, and I had always been too caught up in my own little world to recognize that he was just as human as me.

Apparently a little too human. As I let my anger burn low and my voice grow quiet, Dad looked straight into my red-rimmed eyes and said he was sorry for what he was about to say. I told him that I wasn’t going to apologize for anything that I just told him, and he shook his head sadly.

“Listen, Y/N/N,” he started, and I watched as his eyes became distant and misty. “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of, and a huge part of it is how I’ve treated my family in the past.”

I snorted and began to speak, but he held up a hand to stop me. “Please, let me finish.”

“‘Kay,” I snapped.

He cleared his throat a little before continuing. “I’m not going to be around for much longer, and I want to know that, before I go, you are taken care of.”

“Oh, like you took care of me when Mama died? Thanks, but I‘m good.”

Dad flinched, his eyes darting guilty to his boots. “That couldn’t be help-”

My face grew hot. “‘Couldn’t be helped?’ Fucksake, Dad. You left us high and dry as soon as you heard the diagnosis!” I couldn’t be around him anymore, didn’t even want to be on the same planet I was so done with him. I forcefully concentrated on jamming my feet into my running shoes, fighting back the tears pressing behind my eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going for a run, see yourself out.”

I slammed the door shut behind me, and that was the last time I ever saw my father.

-----

It wasn’t until last month that I’d read Dad had died. He’d been gone for over a decade. The obituary mentioned two surviving sons, but I was so caught up in probing the ancient scar of anger that my brain barely registered the fact. I found the old anger was weak from disuse, my coffee was cold, and I didn’t feel one damn thing either way about him. It was like reading the obits of a stranger. I felt no guilt, no anger, no grief, and I was able to quickly brush it off and carry on.

It didn’t hit me until a day later, in the middle of a crossword puzzle, that I had brothers.

After rereading Dad’s obituary, I decided to find these so-called brothers of mine. I guess I was lonely, and maybe some of the old anger was beginning to rekindle. I had a family of friends, those whom I could lean on when things got shitty, and I loved every one of them. But there was a kernel of curiosity planted in my brain, the urge to know who my brothers were and if they were anything at all like Dad… or me.

It wasn’t exactly simple to find my brothers but it wasn’t that difficult either; just like with me and Mama, Dad had set up his other family in a nice little neighborhood of a smaller city. White picket fence and everything. It didn’t last long, apparently. The house burned down with the wife still inside. But at least the kids got out alright and his precious car was saved. It was a deadend after that, no honor roll or sports write-ups mentioning a Sam or Dean Winchester could be found in any of my searches. Which was weird.

Weirder still was the FBI wanted list.

It wasn’t completely by accident that I stumbled upon Sam and Dean pouting lasciviously at the camera. Two photos, posted side by side in an archive buried under another archive stuck in a clunky footer menu. These files were hidden so deep in the government website that it took several days and one very long night to dig through all of the archived information. It was as if someone didn’t want anyone to find them. But there they were. No one could mistake the striking resemblance between me and the Winchester brothers. Same sharp nose, same alluring eyes, same crooked smile that must’ve broken at least a thousand hearts collectively. Obviously, I had better hair and fashion sense than either one of them, but that was all thanks to my mom.

Anyway, after the criminal reports came the death certificates. And after the death certificates and official police statements, I was at a loss for what to do. I knew in my gut that they were still out there, alive and raising Hell, but I couldn’t explain it nor find any evidence to disprove the official reports.

But after months and months of bum-diddly squat, a desperate hour of carnal need led me to something so fucking obvious, I wouldn’t have believed it if it has strolled up and bit me in the ass.

Dean Winchester was on Tinder.

Shrieking in surprise and triumph, I swiped right so fast that my finger would have left Grease Lightning in the dust. Yes, it was delightfully improper that I was pretending to not be related to him, but there wasn’t another option that came to mind to officially make his and Sam’s acquaintance. And I really wanted to compare notes on our father. And maybe punch one of them in the face. But I was beginning to get ahead of myself before I even got a response, my anxiety ratcheting my inner dialogue up to eleven.

<i>Aw hell,</i> I realized, this is a questionable and highly unorthodox way to meet your brothers in person. What if he swipes left? What if it’s not actually Dean but a catfish? It took a moment to scrub my mind of an actual catfish typing on a keyboard, but then I was back on track to berating myself. How could you think this plan was anything but sloppy at best? It’s almost inconceivable that-

bing!

The doubt dissipated as soon as I peeked at my phone.

Dean had swiped right!

Wait, Dean had swiped right. Which meant he was probably coming into this meeting with wildly different expectations than me. Dread trickled down my spine and into my already roiling stomach.

Thanks a lot, brain, I thought darkly, willfully ignoring the warnings flashing through my head. “No use in worrying about things that probably wouldn’t happen,” I growled. It was a quote that I often fell back on, but it never gave me any solace, probably because it was said by someone who had never had anxiety.

I shook the tension out of my hands before replying to his winky-kiss emoji. I bluntly suggested that we meet up at a tiny coffee shop not far from the main shopping district of a nearby town. If worse came to worst, at least I’d have a bunch of people at hand to witness my abduction.

***********************

A few hours and a double shot of whisky later, I was standing in line at the meeting place. I’d just given the barista my order when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

“Y/N?” Dean asked quietly, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. He’d sidled up beside me while I had been making small talk with the barista, taking me slightly by surprise.

“You must be Dean, then!” I said, a little too brightly. Rein it in, Y/L/N, I chided myself. Readjusting my features, I gave him a pleasantly bland smile and gestured for him to order. After he was finished, he paid for both our drinks and took the lead to a table in a shadowy corner of the coffee shop. Plunking himself down in the booth, he gave a casual stretch and motioned for me to join him.

I pasted on another innocuous smile and took the seat opposite him. He shrugged off the slight and leaned forward, arms resting on the table. His entire body language was so overly nonchalant I was afraid he was going to fall asleep. “So tell me about yourself, Y/N,” his voice was soft and warm, his eyes twinkling suggestively.

Yep, big nope and a nuh-uh, that’s gotta stop. “Well, I’m a librarian by trade, I’m a cat person who also happens to be a Sagittarius, and,” I caught my breath, my brain hunting for something a little less blunt than ‘you’re my brother.’ “You're my brother.” The words fell out of my fucking mouth before I even had a chance to soften the blow. It took me months to find these guys, and my big mouth goes and forgets all forms of subtlety. The anger and frustration at Dad had built up so much inside me that I was having a hard time controlling my feelings, and now I could add embarrassment to the pile. And I never not have control over my feelings. Sometimes.

Dean sat back, stunned. He started to speak, fumbled over several words, and then shut his mouth. I waited patiently while his brain processed the information. It took a few minutes for him to break the silence. “I gotta make a phone call.” Dean stood up from the booth, shaking his head in disbelief, and stepped away from the table as he tapped something into his phone.

“No worries, I’ll be here when you get back.” I waved to him, all innocence and sweetness. He glanced back at me with furrowed brows and stomped off, whispering aggressively into his phone.

“That went better than expected,” I muttered to myself as I happily accepted our coffees from a rather bemused waiter.

***********************

Half an hour later, Dean returned. He didn’t look at all surprised that I had drank his coffee for him, only a little hurt. I would have pointed out that I’d saved him the trouble of finding it lukewarm and bitter, but the tension in the air was so thick around him that I thought better of it. Behind him, I caught a glimpse of Sam, the younger brother, ducking through the door and giving the baristas a friendly wave.

“Ooh, are we having a family reunion?” I sniped, feeling annoyed that I hadn’t even had a conversation with Dean yet and he was already calling in for backup. “You’ll have to excuse me for my earlier remarks, but I don’t like to beat around the bush.”

He quirked an eyebrow at Sam and frowned. The taller one rolled his eyes and took the chair beside me. Dean slid back into the booth. I was surrounded, but that didn’t matter. What mattered most was confirmation. And I wasn’t going to get that by just staring at them. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sam beat me to it.

“This is… quite the claim, Y/N,” he started, kindly. I could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to process having another sibling. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it isn’t possible-”

Dean butted in, gruffly. “What my brother is getting at is that this isn’t exactly our first rodeo.”

Sam looked at him in worn exasperation, but shook off the comment. “Like I was saying, it isn’t impossible that you could be a long lost sibling, but… do you have any proof?”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the few pictures I had of Dad and me, plus photos of him and Mama I had shot when they weren’t paying attention. A knot was forming in my throat, but I forced it back down with a sip of ice water.

Sam and Dean each took a few of the photos, riffling through them like they weren’t my only link to a man that I barely knew. Dean stopped at one and nudged Sam. It was the one of me and my mom standing in front of Dad’s black muscle car, big grins pasted on our faces and dripping snow cones melting in our hands. I was 13 and still enamored with the idea of having a traveling father, too self-centered and self-conscious to think about the reason why he wasn’t around like all the other dads. The bittersweet memories of disappointment and otherness began to creep into my brain, sewing the chaos of sadness in their wake.

Taking a gulp of the ice water, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand to cover the frown pulling at the corners of my mouth. “That’s at the county fair. It was one of the longest times I’d remember ever being around him,” I said with a not-so-subtle tinge of bitterness in my voice. “He wasn’t exactly the type to come to the all-school play, or even stick around for more than a weekend.”

The brothers exchanged a look again. I was starting to get annoyed with that look; it was a secret language between siblings that I had never gotten the chance to experience because my father had kept us secret from one another. He had known that we all existed, had even <i>lived</i> with his two families at different times, apparently. I had never thought of Dad as selfish before, but the more I thought about it, the more I could see that he was just as much of a bastard as I had believed since reaching adulthood. The angry part of me was beginning to confuse the more rational side of my brain, and I needed to get the answers I sought before my inner voices started a war inside my head.

While I sat there fighting with my inner, angrier self, Sam and Dean had been in quiet conversation, heads bent close over the picture. Dean flipped it over to the other side, and frowned at my mom’s scrawled writing on the back. “This says it was taken in the summer of ‘94, which means you’re…” he stopped, forehead scrunched as he concentrated on his fingers.

“I’m about to turn 39, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out,” I replied, my knees bouncing from the stress and anxiety ravaging my nervous system.

Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “That can’t be right. Sammy? Right?” I could tell he was floored by the math. If I was 38, that meant I was born between their birthdays. And if that was the case, Dad had a lot more to answer for than just being crappy at his parental role.

Sorting through the photos again, Sam didn’t respond right away. He was lining them up in chronological order, studiously checking every detail.

“Sam!” Dean said sharply, nudging his brother’s elbow.

“Huh? Oh, right.” Sam’s eyes refocused on my face, but I could tell he wasn’t really seeing me. The evidence of my existence was plain on my features, and they would have to be fools to not see my resemblance to our father.

After a while, I began to get fidgety again. “Listen, guys,” I said as I stood up and gathered my things. “It’s been a real pleasure, but it’s getting late. Besides,” pausing, I looked both of them square in the eyes, “I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”

Turning, I threaded my way to the exit and made it just outside the door when Dean caught up to me.

“Y/N, wait.” He tapped my shoulder again, and I pivoted to meet his gaze. “If what you say is true, and you are in fact family. Well,” he glanced back at Sam who was coming out behind him. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

#Gender non-specific reader #superanatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #found siblings #spn fic #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn #sam and dean #sibling!reader #flangst #angst #fluffy angst #reader is gender neutral #gender neutral reader

[bolbianddolanhouse]

BNHA self insert AU

New to the AU? Start here!

Chapter 37: Oh Hell Nah~ 

It’s not quite move in day for Tenya, in fact it’s like a month before he can sign the new lease! But he has split his time more to spend it with Ita and mentally preparing to be the CEO’s boyfriend more openly.

“Hey, what’s this?” Tenya asked Ita as he pointed at the elaborate flower arrangement on the coffee table as he walked in the living room to join her on the couch “it’s very fancy.”

“Oh it’s my invitation to the Techies Gala” I responded without looking up from my phone “it’s one of those fancy networking events but with big names and some international faces. They’re themed and this year it’s Royal Court.”

“Are you going?” Tenya looked at the small invitation card in the middle of the arrangement “It must be a big ordeal if they sent flowers.”

“Heh I’m the only one that gets flowers” I roll my eyes “the co-director of the event’s host company has the hots for me. Every time I come around to any event, he won’t leave me alone until I have a dance with him or have a drink with him” I sigh tiredly “I have to go to maintain my image as a big name in the community. I’ve been going since I was a small fry company.”

“Can I come?”

“Why?”

“Well, I want too” he looked at her with excitement and wonderment “I want to be arm in arm with you in your prettiest gown and you introduce me as your significant other! And we’ll stand around sipping on champagne, dance and you point out your business partners to me and-”

“Okay! Okay!” I stop him and laugh “you can come, but you’ll need a suit to fit the aesthetic” I stand up and stretch “guess we gotta pay a visit to my secret designer.”

“Wait, that’s true?” he gasped at what I was saying “you have a private designer?!”

“Yeah, most luxury brands don’t carry my size gowns and when I was a no-name CEO, no designer would do a commission for me” I send a quick text to my designer “so I turned to the one person I knew would make me a gown in a pinch and at my budget at the time. And now he does all my commissions for my public appearances and my entourage” I turn to him “put on your shoes, we’re going to Taito to pay him a visit.”

We hop in my Jeep and drive 30 mins to the city, near the suburbs. We pull up to this apartment building in the nice part of town.

“Wow, this is a really clean area” Tenya commented as we parked “he lives in this building?”

“Yeah, what’s even nicer is that I don’t get recognized around here” I said as I got out of the car “this place is a retired hero heavy area, so it’s protected and confidential.” We walk up 4 flights of stairs to get to the place, I knock and a familiar face and denim vest greets us.

“AH! I’ve been expecting you two!” the tall man leans down to hug Ita “how are you darling?”

“I’m well!” I gave a firm hug “glad to see you’re in good health too!” I break the hug and gesture to Tenya “you recognize younger brother Ingenium don’t you?”

“I can recognize those eyebrows, polo shirt and capri pant wearing rectangle anywhere” roasted the tall man.

“It’s you! Best Jeanist!” Tenya was too starstruck to process the roast “this is where you retired to?!”

“After the whole Hawks thing, he stepped down to civilian to not deal with hero bullshit and focus on his number 2 passion” I explained “and that’s fashion! I’ve kept his passion under wraps so he doesn’t get swarmed with commissions.”

“Speaking of, you needed an addition to yours?” Jeanist shifted gears “getting serious are we?”

I hear a meow coming from the window “Why don’t you two get measurements done and I’ll be over here with Chiffon” I make my way to the white, long haired cat on the window sill.

The two make their way to the next room to do said measurements. “So, when should I expect the wedding commission?”

“What?” Tenya responded cluelessly.

“When are you planning to pop the question? Put a ring on it? Make her an honest woman?” Jeanist was half playing around, half serious “I know you two have been together for a while and you’re moving in soon, so what’s the wait?”

“I- um, I’m not thinking about marriage right now” Tenya gets red with embarrassment “I love her but I’m not sure when I should ask.”

“You know, the last boy didn’t marry her but had the nerve to get her pregnant then leave after almost 3 years together” he snapped his tailor’s tape to make a statement “don’t wait too long, she can’t waste her time on another one.”

“Understood” he responded to his threat “I don’t plan on dishonoring her.”

“Good! I’d hate to see another Iida go unmarried” 

“Right, I forget that you and my uncles and father worked together.”

“And your brother, in all honesty, you’re all a bunch of good looking men” he writes the measurements on his client book “that ‘singles’ curse is no joke! But I trust that you’ll break that streak.”

That statement bothered Tenya for the rest of the time, it’s true that the men in his family don’t all get married or have many children to carry the family name. He can count his cousins on one hand and the reunions get smaller and smaller as the years go by. At this point, he feels introducing her into such a small family would shock her to what she’s used to. They get back to the house to get dinner started.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!” she suddenly remembered “my parents are coming to stay for a few days.”

“Oh that’s wonderful news, which days?”

“From January 1st to the 5th”

“Oh that overlaps my move in.”

“I know, so plan is to move in partially after Christmas and get fully settled after they leave” she explained her plan “so that way you can have your clothes and important items here and all the heavy stuff after they leave. If that’s alright?”

“Yeah, I can do that” he thought about what things he’d have to leave behind until then “can’t wait to see your parents! Wonder if they’d let me first name them now that we’re dating.”

“Oh um, about that” I laugh nervously “I haven’t told them that we’re dating- DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT TENYA!” I glanced at his offended face “it’s not that I’m embarrassed or ashamed of being your girlfriend but my parents get very emotional when I tell them I’m in a relationship, since Shinso and the whole losing the baby thing, they’ve been very adamant that I don’t get in a relationship and just focus on being successful.” I see him change expressions “but I’m sure they’ll like you! They’d remember you from last time.”

“I hope they do.”

-Fast forward to the 1st of January-

“I’m back” I call out as I enter the house “Muffin, can you take these to the guest room?” I hand over 3 suit cases then turn to my parents struggling to take off their coats and boots “estan bien?”

“Yeah, just not used to taking off our shoes” my father responded as he got one boot off “by the way, did you get a new car? That’s a very nice Cadillac.”

“Oh that’s not my car, it’s my roommate’s” I panicked and said roommate instead of boyfriend because of their reactions.

“Roommate? Why would you need a roommate?” my mother asked suspiciously as she helped my father out of his boot “es duena de la casa!”

“Si pero, soy triste and quiero compania mama” I pouted and as they finished taking off their outer wear, Tenya walks down the stairs “you remember Tenya?”

“Oh? el nino que se introducio el otra ves” my mother walked up to him “what business do you have with my daughter!”

“Oh my, right to the point” Tenya adjusts his glasses “well you see, were very good friends and we just wanted to live together because I’m a pro hero now and-”

“A hero? Professional Hero?” my father questioned “can’t be stronger than Ita, so it’s not to protect her.”

“Tenya! See I told you they remembered you!” I nudged him “Oh we’re just the best of friends and-”

“ITATI ES TU NOVIO HUH?!” my mother figured it out “OTRA VES?!”

“PORQUE TE ENOJAS?! YA SOY GRANDE Y TENGO MI COMPANIA” I got latina rage that my mother wasn’t happy that I was in a relationship “I CAN HAVE A BOYFRIEND SI QUEIRO!” I argue more with my mother in the kitchen while my father and Tenya sit and wait it out in the living room.

“So, how was the flight Mr Palma?” asked Tenya, nervous if he was going to respond coldly “Ita tells me that you came over to celebrate your birthday.”

“The flight was alright and yeah I wanted to celebrate over here” he peered over the couch to see if the two women stopped bickering “I would’ve came alone but her mother wanted to tag along too.”

“Does she like traveling?”

“Yes but she doesn’t like me traveling alone” a warm smile spreads across his face “we travel everywhere together, since we were young.”

The way her father said that warmed him. He felt the type of love Ita was raised around and it reminded him of the dynamic he has with her. As the two women calmed down and set their frustrations aside, they sat down to eat the pozole Ita prepared before she went to pick them up from the airport.

“Tambien come la comida mexicana?” the mother commented as Tenya put the usual condiments on his “pues, no es tan mal.”

Tenya gives me the ‘translate please’ look to me and I laugh a little “she said he eats mexican food too? Maybe he isn’t so bad.”

“You don’t know Spanish?” the mother gasped “I thought you might have picked up a few words.”

“I did pick up a few words but I don’t get to hear it very often as Ita doesn’t speak it very often here in Japan” he got timid “I love the food she makes, especially the seafood. All I know is when she yells at me in spanish, I’m in trouble.” The outburst of laughter coming from the 3 startled him but then he sees where she gets her laugh and scrunched laughing face from. It was a heart-warming moment for him, it gave him an idea on how family dinners were back home for them. When the parents went to bed and the dishes were clean, he waited for Ita to come to bed.

“Well minus the argument I got into with my mom” I said as I sat on the bed “I’d say that went well! They liked you once they ate.”

“Your father and I were having some nice conversation on the couch” he recalls what her father said “he reminds me of you.”

“Really? How?”

“You have his laughing face, kindness and warm smile” he looked at her flushed face “I can’t believe that man taught you all those weird things you mentioned.”

“He’s like that” I laughed and laid down on my side of the bed “well, I’m tired from all that. Tomorrow, we’re going to the temple.”

“I remember” he turned off the light and got next to her “good night love.”

-At the temple, next day-

They spent most of the morning showing the parents around and answering their questions before the mother asked for a coffee.

“I’m going to find a hot drink stand, you want anything?” I asked Tenya, who was sitting near the prayer bells with my father.

“I’ll have a tea, thanks” he watched as the two women went to find hot drinks.

“So Tenya, when are you going to marry my daughter?”

“Oh um- I-” Tenya stammered

“I see the way to look and speak to her, I’d want her to marry a man like you.”

“How so?”

“You look at her the way I look at her mother” he looked at the two women ordering the drinks from afar “her mother and I where also friends in the beginning, she saved me from certain death and got in trouble for it. I didn’t like how everyone treated her like trash just because she was smart and had a double quirk, her mother hated me. She hated me even more when I got her daughter pregnant at 15, I did the right thing and married her and stood by her side when she gave birth. I wanted to give our family the life they deserved by immigrating to America to find work. But of course she didn’t let me go by myself, we left our daughter in the care of my mother and traveled hand in hand to America. It was difficult and seemed like nothing was going right at first but seeing her working just as hard kept me going. Eventually we brought our daughter over and started the life we deserved, then she came along, then her brother.” the two women were walking back with drinks floating near them “we taught her how to love and work hard, she taught herself how to fight back and stay strong. Our pride and joy is in her” he turned to Tenya “we’d love to have you as part of our family, just don’t wait too long.”

“Here, I got you some dango too” Ita hands Tenya a stick of dango and tea. They sat as the parents were walking around with their tea, hand in hand. “Aren’t they cute?” I commented as they pointed to the mountain in the distance “can you believe they’ve been married for 32 years?!”

“32 years?” Tenya nearly choked on his tea “wow, I can’t even imagine myself 32 years from now!”

“Right?!” I laughed “I hope sometime before that, I’d be able to go home.”

“What if you have a family here by the time it comes around?”

“I’d bring them with me, my whole family is over there” I turn to him “but even if I don’t, I want to bring you along.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to travel alone” I hold his hand and squeeze “you make me feel less lonely in the world.”

“What if you want to stay in America?”

“I won’t beg you to stay with me but that’ll all depend” I look at my parents taking pictures of the bridge “for now, I’ll wait for that day to come.”

Tenya felt less pressured to marry her now that she said all that. She wanted him around even if they weren’t in love. It didn’t seem too bad to wait things out for just a bit longer. They spent the rest of their parent’s stay traveling together and sharing meals.

“Tired?” Tenya asked Ita once they got home from the airport.

“A bit, we left super early and it’s still pretty early” I yawned as I stretched “I’m going to take a nap on the couch before I have to go to work.”

“I’ll join you” he carried her to the couch before she could protest “here, I’ll hold you as you rest” he cradled her and immediately she fell asleep nuzzled into his chest. As she rested, he really took in his surroundings. They were in a new year, in a home with his love and the house was quiet. It was nothing like he imagined it when they were teenagers but it was very realistic and just as wonderful. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you” he whispered “I’m not leaving, not without you.”

She got up after an hour to get ready for her agent job and left, leaving Tenya alone to move in the rest of his things. He enters the office space and sees her cluttered space, a day bed and an empty part of the room. He assumed that’s where all his things go and after settling in, some of the things on the day bed caught his attention. On the satin sheets was an oversized hoodie and her old laptop, upon unfurling the hoodie, he sees it’s an Ingenium hoodie. “This is my hero hoodie” he said as he checked the tag on the inside “limited edition at that.” The idea that she bought one at all baffled him since she wasn’t into hero culture at all. He traced the sticker clad laptop with his fingertips “I wonder if I still remember her password” he opened the laptop to see the iconic picture of the 3 friends with the bear that she tamed, he typed in what he remembered and it logged him in. The home screen background was of Mr Muffins, just like how he remembered it. Out of morbid curiosity, he pulled up her browser and flipped through her tabs. Most of them online shopping sites for her beauty, hair and snack items that aren’t sold in Japan. One tab was on hero news, he clicked on it and saw himself on the screen along with all his statistics. “She’s been catching up on me?” the search history went all the way to when he showed up on the ranking, 3 years ago. “All this time, she’s been worrying about me and seeing how I’ve been before we reunited” he felt his heart ache at all the time she sat in this bed with the hoodie on, reading about him and longing to talk to him again “Oh Ita, I wish I wasn’t so stubborn to say it sooner.” He closed the laptop and put the hoodie back how he found it. He knows that she had feelings for him since high school but knowing now what she did in those years apart made him sad but determined. Sad that neither of them could say it, Determined to always say how he feels toward her.

-Night of the Gala-

“Need help?” I chortled as Tenya struggled to straighten the shoulders of the garment.

“Please” he said in defeat “how do you guys do it? High fashion doesn’t seem hard to put on.”

“You’ll get used to it” I fix the tassels on the shoulders “We usually fix each other’s clothes and hair before heading out to the chauffeur.”

“Y’all decent?” knocked Jin on the bedroom door.

“Yuh, ready to go?”

“We need some hair spray for Mimi” Jin said as Mimi walked up into view “it’s one of those hair days.”

“Oh shit, I got you fam” I pick up some combs and hair spray to fix her hair.

Tenya watches them in the living room, working on Mimi’s hair just like when they were in high school and he walked in the intel dorms to visit Ita. Just another fond memory that hasn’t changed. Once everyone was fixed and ready, they headed to the Gala in style.

“I didn’t know you could just portal a whole limousine like that” Tenya awed at how fast they traveled from the front gate of the community to the Gala.

“I do it for safety reasons” Jin says as he checks the time “wouldn’t want stalkers or villains to know where we are” he put his phone in his suit pocket “not that it’s happened before but you can’t be too careful.”

They step out of the limo to be swarmed with cameras and interviewers like it was a red carpet event.

“You guys weren’t kidding! It’s a big deal to be here” Tenya looked around him once they entered the place “Oh my, everyone is in theme.”

Before Ita could say anything, a familiar but unwelcomed voice called out to them “WELL! If it isn’t the most gorgeous woman in Japan!” a lanky man walked up to them.

“Correction, it’s Most Powerful” Mimi stopped the man from coming any closer “what do you want weasel man?”

“Can’t I talk to my associate?”

“Newsflash flat ass, we never agreed to your contract” Jin slides in with the facts “and with the crash in your stocks recently, our eyes are set to crush your company next.”

“Yeah whatever” the man ignored Jin “you’re looking mighty fine this evening Miss CEO, will you join me for some wine and see where the night takes us.”

“She can’t” Tenya stepped in before she could say anything “she has yet to introduce me to her colleagues.”

“And you are?”

“Her date tonight” He said confidently, feeling giddy that he said it “come babe, who were you going to show me?” putting his arm around her waist to take them to the otherside of the room, flashing a mischievous look back to the lanky man.

“Babe? Excuse me Mr. Her Date Tonight” she mocked and teased once they were out of earshot “who are you?”

“I didn’t like how that guy wanted to take you away for your undivided attention” he shuddered “I got a sickly vibe from him.” He looked around the room and saw all the hushed whispers and looks everyone were flashing at them “You’re certainly drawing a lot of attention with your gown.”

“They’re looking at you too” I chuckled “I’ve never been photographed with a date, let alone arm in arm with them” I wave at some of the familiar faces “lucky you, don’t worry about messing it up, just be yourself and limit only 2 glasses of champagne.” 

After some ceremony things and year in recap for the tech moguls, Ita takes Tenya to her favorite part of the place. A little ways past the courtyard, theres a large pond full of colorful fish and frogs.

“What a quaint area” Tenya said in awe “is that a platform?”

“Yeah, you can take it right up to the middle of the pond, just above the water, to see the fish better” they go on the platform a distance from the edge “see, there’s some glow ones too and my favorite one is that iridescent one.”

“How deep do you think this pond is?” he asked curiously “theres so many fish here that it can’t be waist deep.”

“Quen sabes?” I look at him “do you think this’ll be a good addition to the yard?”

“A pond?” he thought about it “the yard isn’t that big.”

“I know but I’m thinking about having a mini one with just 3 or 5 fish to swim comfortably in and have it where the lemon and Kumquat tree is” I touched the surface of the water “but who knows when I’ll have time to sit down and plan it, I have so much on my plate for this year.”

“I see, it’s hard juggling everything” the big gold koi fish poked it head up and it caught his attention “but I hope you do decide to do it, I’d love to see it and anything you put your mind into turns out amazing.”

“Oh stop it!” I blushed as I stood up “you flatter me too much.” As they leaned in for the kiss, the platform gave way and they both fell into the pond, causing a scene. They both swam to the edge and everyone came out to see what happened.

“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry Miss!” the host of the event was mortified “are you hurt?! I’ll cover the cost of your damaged gown!”

“I’m more concerned about the fish” I said wringing out my hair “I hope our fall didn’t hurt them, I was so careful to not fall in.”

“I saw who tempered with the platform controls” spoke up a female that was part of somebody’s entourage “it was that lanky man with the navy suit! I was on the balcony when it happened.”

“I’ll handle things!” the host helps her up “lets get you two dried and inside” they lead us into a door that leads to the guest room “my apologies again! Please feel free to wash up too and I’ll get your clothes cleaned.”

“It’s alright Mr. Taka!” I say to calm him “thank you for your hospitality, I think we’ll just stay here until we get our dry clothes and leave for the evening.”

“Oh but I feel awful that that man had the gull to ruin your night, like some school boy!” the host gestured toward Tenya “I didn’t even get to meet your boyfriend properly, Hi I’m Mr. Ani Taka, CEO of Kankai Electronics.”

“Oh my it’s an honor! I’m Tenya Iida, Pro Hero Ingenium of the Ingenium legacy.”

“A PRO HERO! MISS PALMA I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAD TWO BIG NAMES THAT FELL INTO MY POND!” he screamed and fan-boy’d “sorry I’m just a hero fanatic! I’ve shaken hands with your father and brother along with other heroes.”

“I thought you might react like this” I laughed and turned to Tenya “he’s one of my business partners and my supplier for touch screens and sensors.”

“I never gave up on their idea and helped them become the big name she is now” he turned to her “why don’t you get out of those wet clothes and into a robe?” he waited for her to close the door on the bathroom “So young hero, when’s the wedding?”

“You too?!” Tenya groaned “I’ve only been living with her for 2 weeks and dating for 8 months, its too soon to ask.”

“Alright BUT I want an invitation!” he huffed “just don’t wait too long.”

The rest of the night was spent in that guest room, finding out that lanky man is banned from future events and heading home pretty early. The next day, the headline on the event was ‘Robo Dog CEO and Pro Hero Ingenium Fall in Pond at the Tech Gala, CEO more concerned about the fish?’ 

“Really? Nothing on why Tenya was with me on the platform?” I questioned as I looked at the headline in my office “well I guess I should be thankful I was put in the positive light.”

“That spike in publicity is going to be LIT!” Beizu commented.

“Ew please don’t say ‘lit’ like that, you sound like my parents” I cringed and everyone else in the room agreed.

“Well that wasn’t very plus ultra of you guys” Beizu pouted “besides, this was a tech highlight, hero gossip shows up on the main page of anything way later or not at all. They’re heroes after all! They pay the publisher to remove gossip about them to boost their image” everyone took his word for it, he was a side-kick after all “if anything, this isn’t going to affect him much. Who reads the Tech headlines for hero news?!”

-Meanwhile, At the Todoroki Estate-

“KYAAA! SHOTO!” Fuyuumi cried out as the brothers run in from their morning work out.

“What is it?! What’s wrong Fu?” Shoto panted.

“LOOK! Palma-sama is with your friend!”

The brothers look at the headline and collectively said “So?”

“And he’s in the same un-named designer outfit!” she just confused the brothers more “it means she’s dating him! There’s no other reason why he gets a custom suit AND is arm in arm with her at the BIGGEST Gala of the year for Tech!” she squealed “I’m so happy for her!”

“Now that you mentioned it, Iida-kun moved out of his brother’s apartment at the end of the year and didn’t say where he moved to” Shoto recalled “and he was at her tech presentation in October” things finally clicked for him “it took him 3 years to finally say it! And didn’t tell anybody!?”

-In the Midoriya household-

“I can’t believe they finally said it!” sobbed Izuku and Ochako in their living room over the headline “I’m so happy for them!”

“We have to celebrate somehow!” Ochako squealed “I’ll contact the girls and you gather the boys.”

“I’m on it!” Izuku and Ochako sent a mass text to their old classmates about their discovery and celebration plans.

-Back at the house, later that evening-

“How was work?” I asked Tenya he walked in.

“It was weird today, I got a lot of attention when I went patrolling” he took off his shoes “plus my phone has been blowing up with voicemails and texts from our classmates.”

“Oh si? What did they say?” I was surprised to hear the blowing up his phone part.

“I went through the voicemails and most of it is screaming and crying, which concerned me until I heard Yuga’s” he plays Aoyama’s voice-message.

“Bonjour Dear Classmate~ I heard you’ve been hiding something from us, your relationship with your Princess! At long last you poured your heart out and she accepts you, unfortunately I am out of Japan and in France at the moment BUT I do expect a wedding invitation! Bye Bye for now!”

We both turn red and laugh “Well, so much for keeping things private” I peer over his phone “what else did they send?”

“Texts that say to call them back, screen shots of the headline, OH this threatening text from Bakugo” he pulls up the text.

I read the text “Oi, you better treat her right or else I’ll personally beat you to death, NO QUIRKS!” I laugh “that’s on brand, I miss those twinks oddly enough.”

“You have one request from Dummy-Dum to video-call, would you like to answer?” said the robo as he waddled in from the hallway.

“Kaminari? Um sure put him on the wide screen” I commanded and sat in front of the television. A buffering screen of Kaminari in his kitchen appeared “What’s poppin fam?”

“YOU! And -gasps- HIM!” Kaminari was freaking out as you can clearly see Tenya in frame of the video call “You two have been hiding your little hand holding and smoochy smoochy eh?!”

“Denki I told you I was talking to her again” Tenya said as he walked toward the couch “and you didn’t say anything about it!”

“I thought you meant like texting or emailing not fully hanging out!” Kaminari was just pacing in his kitchen “You two are putting pressure on the rest of us.”

“How?!” Tenya and I said at the same time “All we did was fall into a pond!”

“You fell in with a designer outfit that SHE made custom for you! Jiro wants me to start matching with her now” he pointed at his screen “do you know how uncool it is to have your girlfriend plan outfits?!”

“I actually don’t mind her styling me” Tenya chopped in response “she has an eye for fashion, this shirt flatters my frame better and she got me these Gucci slides house shoes.”

“It’s that attitude that’s putting pressure on us!” he groaned “I guess I’m happy you two finally made it official, just don’t out do us when you propose.”

The video call ends but the messages from old classmates kept coming in, well, except Shinso. While he knew all along, he knows he can’t say he’s happy for them until they get closure. But when?

-Chapter 37, End-

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#bnha #mha #self insert au #chapter 37 #not canon #will update regularly #ask me anything #//Palma-sama Speaks #yall like that Best Jeanist sub-plot? I SWEAR it's relevant #also you'll see more of the other characters now in later chapters #yes...Midoriya married Ochako AND yea Kaminari and Jiro are dating #BUT JUST YOU WAIT! it gets more latina dramatic

[frenchie-sottises]

Intro: Simply Meant to Be. (Janavo X Reader)

This is to answer @awkwardly-sweet-self-ships‘s question.

Here is the first part.

Your P.O.V.

You weren’t one to be left out: when others joined in on any activity, you were determined to be in there with them. It didn’t matter how stupid the activity was.. just as long as there was no death involved.

This year was Halloween, a traditional celebration that had kids running all over the place in costumes to get candy. Again, wanting to be a part of any activity, you looked through your closet to see what you had. This time, you wanted to go as a punk. You slipped on your favorite combat boots, favorite pair of pants and favorite hoodie. You threaded some cool looking earrings through your ears and fitted on a serpent’s necklace of your favorite color in which you had many of.

You looked into the mirror and smiled; You looked great!

“Wait, something’s missing…” you thought before your eyes shifted to your hair that was combed back.

You chuckled as you pulled your bangs down in a neat fashion that would cover your eyes in some angles, but not in others. You gave yourself a check up and down before nodding and heading out the door with the bucket of your favorite animal. It’s time to see how much candy you can gather!

You looked left and right before making a turn that led to a busy road. The road was full of people walking up and down the walkways, many with kids or just kids themselves. You cautiously meandered through the packs before hitting the first house which held an old man. He seemed grumpy as heck, but hey, you didn’t mind. You walked up to him smiling and holding your pail close to your chest.

“Trick or treat.” you hummed.

The man looked at you and your pail before laughing, “You stupid fop. Thinking I’m gonna give you candy?? Grow up.”

After he left and slammed the door, you were left confused. Jerk.

You shook your head before heading more deep down the road which soon led you another house. This one had lights on still, so they might be up to give candy.

You knocked on the door and hummed your greeting again. This time, the person behind the door had the voice of a woman.

“Get out of here, we have no candy!” she hollered with a snooty tone to her voice.

You frowned once again before going to another house. The same thing happened again: No candy. You went to another house: again, no candy. You kept walking back and forth from one side of the road to the other, your patience and happiness slowly withering away.

After hitting the last house, you sat around the corner that was the home of a huge forest. You never knew so many people here were so mean. They seemed alright to you, but it seems that’s not true at all. You curled in on yourself before groaning really loudly in frustration. Man, this day freaking sucks.

Rustle, rustle.

You looked up: What was that??

You waited and looked towards the huge forest before hearing the sound again. You stood up and made your way into the entrance of the forest. You decided to be smart and keep as quiet as you could.

Rustle, rustle.

You followed the sound before you realized where you were: a huge opening in the middle of the woods. You’d never thought this was even here. The rustling soon turned into crunching of twigs and dead grass which caused you to hide behind a huge rock. Once it started to move away from you, you looked up… and what you saw was what you’ll never forget.

In the middle of the opening stood a tall figure. The moon came out and revealed a foreign being with dark grey skin and massive horns. He wore an outfit very similar to yours: combat boots with baggy pants and a hoodie baring a zig-zagged symbol that ended with an arrow. When he took his hands out, you noticed the spiked bracelets that moved up with the wrists that led your eyes to watch him slide his fingers through his exaggerated, rocker-styled hair. He had many piercings on his horns and face which glistened in the gentle moonlight. It led your eyes to examine his face: it was a strong structure that you’ve seen on many good looking men, and his face also had a stubble and a small mustache.

 Okay, the stubble was fine, but really? The mustache? You couldn’t help be stifle a small giggle.

Finally came the eyes. Good god, those eyes. The scleras were gold and the irises were shades of dark blue that transitioned into a sky blue as they went inward. The pupils were thin slits as he looked up to the sky. When he looked down, you noticed the pupils turn into big orbs. His smile revealed serrated teeth with two large canines: one being bigger than the other. You kept staring at him from head to toe to… tail. Oh yeah, that’s right. He had a massive tail with the scales of a snake along with a rattle to match. The bracelets that were on his wrists were also on his tail, for he had five from the base to the tip.

Crack!

Guess you’ve been staring too long: now he sees you.

You immediately duck when he eyes looked dead-straight at yours. The sudden noise was made from you moving your foot to get a better look at him. Good going.

“Hey, doll. I’m not gonna bite.” a deep voice reverberated through the opening.

You gulped as you shook. It was clear you didn’t want to move, and it was only worsened by the approaching noise of footsteps from the other side of the rock. You looked up and saw the man towering over you.

“You alright, doll? Did I scare you?” he asked as his glowing eyes examined your panicky state.

You kept shaking as he bent down on his knees. His eyes were still examining you and soon enough, he held his hand out.

“Lemme help you up, sweetie. I promise I won’t hurt you.” he cooed.

You looked at his hand and back at him before slowly taking it. He stood up slowly and pulled you up with him. He let go of your hand as he scratched the back of his head.

“So, uh… can you help me?? I think I’m stuck here.” he smiled nervously.

You stood there dumbfounded. Stuck?? This guy isn’t some dude is some costume??

He noticed the look on your face and realized what he said, “Oh, uh… yeah. I’m not a human. I’m a troll from another planet.”

Troll? You’ve heard those before, but it… no. It wasn’t. You thought they were fake! You examined him again and you were slowly starting to accept the fact that trolls were, in fact, real.

You smiled and told him you didn’t know. You wished you did, but you didn’t. He smiled and nodded.

“Heh… thanks, doll. By the way, my name’s Janavo. It’s been nice to see you.” he smiled as he turned to walk away.

Before you knew you were doing, he was already gone. You ran through the woods and tried to call out his name, but he didn’t answer. You mulishly gave up and walked back home with no candy and no new friends made.

You threw yourself onto your bed and started to weep your frustrations out. Curse this night. It didn’t even feel like Halloween! You cried on the fact that everyone was so rude to you and the fact that Janavo left you behind. After a few minutes, that felt like hours, of sobbing, you sat up and heard a crinkle in your hoodie pocket. You reached in and took out a folded piece of paper which you’d unfolded to reveal a number you’ve never recognized. Even though the number was unrecognizable by itself, you soon realized who’s number it was.

You jumped up in joy when you put two and two together, for this might be the first time you’ll ever be friends with an alien.

#My literature #Janavo Adalov #Janavo X Reader #Reply #Hiveswap

[jennycalendar]

an open mic enthusiast

read it on ao3!

Rupert Giles was sitting at one of the tables, playing leisurely and expertly on his guitar, singing in a way that was possibly the most unbearably fucking sexy thing Jenny had ever seen.

(comics reboot: Jenny’s got a crush.)

will i keep writing fic after every single one-panel tidbit about reboot giles and jenny? probably. definitely. absolutely.

some oblique references to issue #3 (and probably falls within that rough timeline), but you don’t have to know the comics to enjoy this.

Six days out of the week, Jenny Calendar stayed responsibly indoors after dark. It wasn’t wise to tempt fate when it came to vampires, especially not in a town like Sunnydale. Students and teachers alike dropped off the face of the earth at least once a month, if not more, and she had no intention of being one of them. As much as she loved being out at night, dancing and exploring and messing around with magic, none of those things were worth ending up as vampire chow.

One day out of the week, it was open mic night at the Espresso Pump.

This particular Wednesday, Jenny had tried on five different outfits and four different shades of lipstick, then vacillated between pinning her hair up and letting it fall in loose waves to graze her shoulders. Currently, her hair was half-up-half-down, her lipstick was half-purple-half-peach, and the butterflies in her chest were making it impossible for her to accurately judge how good any of her fashion choices were.

“Fuck you, Rupert Giles,” she said to the mirror, and meant it wholeheartedly. No one had ever gotten her this flustered with a single well-played chord.

The whole ordeal had started about three months ago, two days after Jenny had met Rupert Giles in a faculty meeting. She hadn’t thought much beyond “reasonably hot and sweetly polite,” and had correctly assumed that he was the kind of guy who wasn’t really into making friends on staff. As such, she hadn’t been thinking about him at all when she’d noticed the Open Mic flyer tacked to the noticeboard in the faculty room—only that apparently open mic night also meant a discount on coffee, and the Espresso Pump was only half a block away from Jenny’s apartment.

“Hmm,” said Jenny, cheered by the prospect of cheap coffee from one of her favorite places.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for an open mic enthusiast,” observed Mr. Giles, who was making himself a cup of tea at the counter nearby. He looked up at her almost furtively. “Are you planning on going?”

“I like coffee,” said Jenny, shrugging. “And it’s near my house. Utilizing the open-mic-night coffee discount might be a nice way to kill a few hours before I go back to a night of Netflix and…” She trailed off. “Really just Netflix.”

“It’s certainly a lifestyle choice,” said Mr. Giles, giving her a crooked grin as he finished making his tea. “One I can wholeheartedly relate to. I spent the better half of last night binging period dramas and translating ancient texts.”

“Multitasking!” Jenny grinned back. “Can’t help but admire that in a guy.”

Mr. Giles blushed an adorable shade of pink and took a sip of his tea. “Lord, but that’s awful,” he said, pulling a face.

“I think the Espresso Pump has some great iced tea,” said Jenny helpfully.

“That’s worse,” said Mr. Giles, but he was still smiling a little as he headed out of the staff room. Jenny was smiling too, and didn’t entirely know why.

She was thinking a little about Mr. Giles for the rest of the day—casually, and between classes, when she had a few minutes to spare. They weren’t very serious thoughts, and she was pretty sure a lot of them had to do with the fact that living on a Hellmouth made it pretty much impossible to get laid. Besides which, he wasn’t her type—she didn’t tend to go for sweetly gentle intellectuals who blushed like an English rose. By the time she’d gotten home, he had all but left her mind.

That day, she didn’t change her outfit before open mic night. She did reapply her lipstick, mostly on principle; there was still a possibility she might meet somebody in the time it took to drink her coffee. She put on a cross necklace as a precautionary measure and headed out of her apartment, feeling the sense of cheerful boredom that one did right before something big and wonderful knocked them sideways.

In this case, it was the fact that by the time Jenny had gotten her coffee, all the seats indoors were full. A little annoyed by the concept of actually having to attend open mic night, she stepped into the outdoor seating area. Though she couldn’t see who was singing, she could make out a man’s low, melodic voice, accompanied by a softly strumming guitar. She recognized the song, or at least the melody, and was humming idly along as she moved forward to sit down—

—at which point someone moved out of the way, and Jenny saw that Rupert Giles was sitting at one of the tables, playing leisurely and expertly on his guitar, singing in a way that was possibly the most unbearably fucking sexy thing Jenny had ever seen. Stunned, and unwilling to take her eyes off Rupert, she set her coffee down on the nearest empty table, then sat slowly down, watching him with rapt and breathless attention.

Halfway through the song, Rupert looked up and saw her. His fingers slipped on the strings, striking an off-key chord, but his voice didn’t falter—and his eyes didn’t leave Jenny’s.

This had been going on for a lot longer than it probably should have. Outside the open mic, Rupert and Jenny exchanged light pleasantries at most, holding brief, friendly conversations in the minutes before staff meetings started or lunch ended. But every Wednesday night, Jenny changed her outfit, applied a bolder shade of lipstick, and headed down to the Espresso Pump, where it was now very rare for Rupert to be playing anything but love songs.

They were in a holding pattern, Jenny knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to break it. What if it turned out Rupert wasn’t half as interested in her as his music and his blush made him seem? There was something unspeakably romantic about their connection when she could pretend it was reciprocated. she felt like bringing it into the real world ran the risk of revealing that Rupert just happened to get a little flirty while he was singing.

And now here she was, in the third month of acting like a lovestruck teenager. She didn’t know what it was about Rupert, but being around him made her feel…warm. And happy. And a little nervous, but in a nice way.

Though the nice parts were somewhat counteracted by how fucking difficult being nervous made picking out a good outfit. It was starting to get late, and Jenny was starting to worry that she might legitimately miss seeing Rupert play, but she had started dressing up and she couldn’t dress down now. It was the principle of the thing—

As she was scanning her living room for the top she’d tossed over her shoulder, Jenny’s eyes landed on the clock, and—fuck!

Okay. Seriously no time to be picky. Tugging her hair down, Jenny wiped off the purple-peach lipstick hybrid, stepped into a pair of heeled boots, adjusted her top, and sprinted out of the house, half-tumbling down the stairs and out the door and—

—colliding directly with Rupert, who neatly caught her in his arms before hitting his head rather hard against a lamppost.

They stared at each other, eyes wide. Then Rupert said, “This really is my day for head injuries, isn’t it?”

“What?” Jenny took a second look at Rupert, then saw his torn clothing and the bruising down the side of his face. “Oh my god. Are you okay? Was that me?”

“What on earth were you running to?” Rupert asked, sounding more curious than accusing.

“I didn’t want to miss seeing you play!” Jenny answered immediately, too preoccupied with her concern to realize what she’d indirectly told him. “Did a building collapse on you?”

“You really do pick the most extraordinary days to miss seeing me play,” said Rupert. He looked amused, though that adorable, telling blush had returned at Jenny’s admission. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing about the giant vampire-killing bat from at least one of your students tomorrow.”

“Giant—you know what, forget it,” said Jenny, waving a hand. “I really don’t want to know. The supernatural dealings in this town give me a headache. Listen, come up to my apartment and I’ll fix you up.”

A slow, shy smile spread across Rupert’s face. “I’d like that,” he said.

After Rupert had been sufficiently patched up, Jenny made tea. She didn’t really know how to make tea, but she had some extra tea leaves left from a ritual she’d been experimenting with, so she sort of just threw them all into a pot and filled it with water, hoping against hope that Rupert wasn’t watching.

“What are you doing?” said Rupert from behind her, sounding like he couldn’t decide whether to be affronted or start giggling.

“Tea?” said Jenny.

“No,” said Rupert. “Have you—what—no.”

“I kinda live off of store-bought coffee and takeout,” said Jenny. “I don’t really do the whole cooking thing, especially not since they invented the Domino’s app.”

Rupert pinched the bridge of his nose. Now he just looked like he was really trying not to start giggling. “And I’m supposed to trust that you administered adequate medical care?” he teased. “You don’t even have a kettle.”

“Pot, kettle,” said Jenny, and directed a winning smile at Rupert.

“That’s terrible,” said Rupert. “You are terrible. Sit down while I make you a proper cup of tea.”

“Oh no!” Jenny objected. “At the very least let me fix up your head. You look awful!”

“Thanks ever so,” said Rupert dryly.

“No, I don’t mean—you’re obviously still seriously hot, I’m just saying—” Jenny clarified, then groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Obviously still seriously hot,” Rupert repeated, sounding rather pleased about this description.

“You know, I used to be way smoother?” Jenny informed him, raising her head to glare at him. “I used to have game, Rupert, I used to be able to knock people’s socks off, and it was not fair of you to just play guitar like that.”

“I’m simply utilizing my only advantage,” said Rupert mildly. “Not all of us can be stunningly beautiful, adorably tiny computer science teachers.”

Jenny bit her lip, smiling. “Go on,” she said.

“I do believe I have sung you a multitude of love songs, Ms. Calendar,” said Rupert, “and now you’re asking for more?”

“Wait,” said Jenny. “Hold up. Those were for me?”

Rupert looked at her for a very long time. Then he said, “Just to clarify. I’ve been holding off on asking you out because I wasn’t sure if you were interested, and you were under the impression that I just happened to be singing love songs while making direct eye contact with you?”

“You weren’t sure if I was interested?” said Jenny disbelievingly. “What did you think I was going to open mic night for?”

“You said you liked coffee—”

At that point, the absurdity of the situation hit Jenny in full force. She burst into violent giggles, falling against Rupert’s shoulder, and she felt him begin to laugh as well. “God, we’re a pair!” she wheezed.

Rupert turned his head towards hers, eyes alight, and Jenny realized that she would very much like to kiss him. But she kind of wanted to spend tonight finally getting to know him, so instead she took his hands in hers, giving him a delighted, open-mouthed smile. “You wanna show me that Netflix period drama you were talking about?” she said. “I do actually know how to make popcorn.”

“I’d quite like that,” said Rupert, smiling warmly back at her.

“Hey, Mr. Giles?” said Jenny, poking her head into the library and doing her best to look innocently professional. Rupert, who had been conversing with Willow Rosenberg and Buffy Summers, brightened at the sight of her. “Just wanted to check—you’re gonna be doing that open mic night thing next Wednesday, right? As long as there aren’t any giant vampire-slaying bats?”

“I don’t know why you were getting on my case last week about me blowing my cover, Giles,” said Buffy. “I think my giant Pegasus blew my cover.”

“Shh,” said Willow.

“Ms. Calendar, I am definitely doing the open mic,” said Rupert, ignoring both Buffy and Willow with an impressive amount of dignity, “and I very much hope to see you there.”

The girls looked from Rupert to Jenny, then from Jenny to Rupert, then exchanged a wide-eyed, vaguely unnerved look. “Are they—” began Buffy.

“They can’t possibly be—” Willow agreed.

Jenny found herself very much enjoying this. “Also,” she said, “if you want to come over for Netflix and chill tonight, I would love that.”

Rupert, who definitely didn’t know the connotations of Netflix and chill, gave Jenny a large, delighted smile. Buffy and Willow now looked downright horrified. “Keep it in your pants, Ms. Calendar!” said Buffy very loudly.

“See here, Buffy,” Rupert began reprovingly, “that is no way to talk to a teacher—”

“Oh my god, he doesn’t know what it means,” said Buffy. “Giles, do you know what Netflix and chill means?”

Now, Jenny thought, was probably a good time to make an exit. “See you tonight, I hope!” she called over her shoulder, right as a furiously blushing Willow was whispering an explanation to Rupert. As the library doors swung shut, she heard Rupert’s indignant and reproving, “Jenny!” but chose very cheerfully to pretend she hadn’t heard it.

(He did come over, anyway.)

#fic #calendiles #stayed up....later....to post this #anyway this was inspired DIRECTLY by the fact that this timeline has jenny alive & giles playing regularly at a coffee shop

[dcvalentineexchange]

Those damn hipsters (or How Tim brought Jason back to the family with the power of music)

to @demilover21

from @the-casual-cheesecake

A/N: Happy Valentine Ace! I hope you like your gift <3

______

The first time it happens, Jason doesn’t even pay enough attention to it to notice a pattern.

Jason is on a case in Gotham, which is not a thing he wanted to do in the middle of freezing February. At least his nose is safe in his helmet. Gotham winters suck. He’s alone because Roy decided he’s too creeped out by Gotham to come with, and stayed in California like the asshole he is.

Nevertheless, Jason is on a case. A drug case to be specific, he’s following a gang operating on his turf and has managed to find their money man. He just needs to corner him and make him talk.

Thing is, he’s been surveilling his apartment for the last two hours, and he swears if he sees the teenager on the floor below walk aimlessly to the fridge only to open it and close it again, he will yell. He groans aloud when he catches a glimpse of a shadow moving the apartment only for it to be the cat again.

 “Oh, I love this show.” A voice says to his right and Jason doesn’t jump only because of years of training.

He glances to his left and it’s Tim. Of course, it’s Tim. What could possibly make this night better for Jason. He follows Red Robin’s gaze and finds him snooping on the third-floor apartment where some sort of cartoon is playing.

“Is there something specific you wanted replacement?” Jason asks.

Tim shakes his head at Jason, “Slow night.” He says as an explanation, presumably.

Jason re-settles in his position on the roof and decides he doesn’t care enough to start a fight with Tim right now. He’s also terminally bored, but that’s for him to know.

Tim settles next to him with an air of satisfaction.

They survey the apartment together silently, but the silence feels different around Jason, not better per-say, he thinks, just different.

That is until Tim starts humming.

Jason ignores him at first, but the tune nags at him the longer Red Robin drones on. He almost asks him what the song is, but then his target opens the door to his apartment and comes in alone, and they’re both moving like cats on a hunt.

Jason backs his target against the corner of his living room and starts the scare tactics he knows always works on these types of men. He makes himself tower over the man and deepens his voice to a Batman bass, and starts listing off his offenses.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Tim making friends with the man’s cat. The dork.

Jason forgets the whole thing with the song during patrol the rest of the night, but then he finds himself humming in the shower afterwards and it hits him that he’s singing Duran Duran. He rolls his eyes at Tim in the privacy of his bathroom and resolutely decides to make fun of the little hipster when he sees him next.

***

The second time it happens, Roy is with him.

They’re in a car chase somewhere in middle America, Jason is too focused on the car in front of him to think about where they’re heading.

Roy is yelling ecstatically in the passenger seat and waving an arm out the window, and Jason would be annoyed if he didn’t find it just as fun as the redhead does. He feels a smile make its way across his face as his foot presses harder on the gas pedal.

The thief they’re following has stolen alien tech and he’s not nearly responsible enough to keep it, and well, Kory wants it back. The guy takes a sharp right into a side street and when Jason turns to follow like a maniac, he and Roy both let out a loud whoop.

Jason’s communicator beeps in his ear as they make the next turn and Jason yells for Roy to answer on the speaker of his helmet in the backseat. Roy dutifully does so.

“What?” he yells in answer.

“Jason? Is everything okay? Your com is moving very fast.” Tim’s voice comes through the helmet.

“Since when do you keep tabs on me you little stalker?” Jason answers and speeds as the car in front of him merges into a highway. Roy laughs.

“you set off an alert you megalomaniac.” Tim deadpans, then adds, “are you following someone or are you just being an ass?”

“We’re chasing the black Chrysler 200, little red.” Roy answers, “wanna help?” he adds after a second.

Tim lets out a loud put-upon sigh, but they hear keyboard clicks in the background.

Jason grins; a glance at Roy beside him shows that his friend is just as happy about this new development.

Jason swerves and bypasses a car on the highway, beeping at it in the process.

The perp is still in eyesight but he really doesn’t wanna lose him.

Tim starts humming on the com, it’s impossible not to recognize the song, and when Tim gets to the chorus all three of them start singing,

“One way or another, I’m gonna find ya, I’m gonna getcha getcha getcha!“

The laughter that bursts out of Jason is amplified by the adrenaline from the chase. He drums his hands on the steering wheel with the song. 

They sing the rest of the song accompanied by music that Tim found and broadcasted to him via Helmet. Jason smiles the entire time.

“Got him.” Tim says. Jason and Roy exchange amused looks but don’t point out the pun.

The car in front of them starts slowing down.

The song stays in Jason’s head for days, and he knows for a fact Roy sang it in the shower of their safe house a week later.

***

The third time, they’re all in the manor for Alfred’s birthday.

Dick is sitting on the loveseat with Damian on his armrest, Bruce is on the armchair, Stephanie stealing the loveseat all for herself and Cass, and Tim and Jason are on the couch with Alfred and Alfred the cat.

They’re watching The Breakfast Club, because it was Tim’s turn to pick a movie apparently. Although nobody told Jason there was an order to the picking or he’d have actually shown up on family night before.  

The movie’s good, a little sappy, but not Dick Grayson sappy so it’s okay.

It’s when the song starts playing that Tim starts vibrating in his seat and mouthing to the lyrics. Jason can see his hands drumming on the poor cat, and how he’s not scratched to hell by now Jason has no idea.

Dick catches Jason’s eye across the room and gestures at Tim. Jason shrugs at him, but Dick only shakes his head and frowns at him.

‘what?’ Jason mouths at his big brother.

Dick rolls his eyes in reply and grabs the remote. He rewinds the scene and turns the volume up.

Tim glances up at Dick with the same confusion Jason feels.

Dick gets up, disturbing Damian from his perch, which doesn’t seem to earn him the death penalty from the demon brat, but then again, everyone knows Dick has special allowances not available to mere mortals.

Dick reaches Tim and drags him from the couch by his hands and starts singing as his hips dance to the beat. The hesitant smile on Tim’s lips turns into a full-blown grin as he joins in the spectacle with his own rendition of the song.

From the corner of his eye, Jason sees the satisfied look on Alfred’s face and resolutely catches Steph’s eye and gets up himself.

“Hell yes!” Stephanie say, then quickly follows it with a, “sorry Alf.”

Soon enough, the whole family is dancing around the room. Even Bruce has Cass in his arms and is twirling her around expertly.

Stephanie and Dick are the loudest singers, which bodes well for no one if Jason is being honest.

In the middle of the spectacle Tim grabs Jason’s hand and pulls him up on the table to reenact the scene and Jason has never felt more ridiculous in his life, but Tim’s “Please Jason.” Kills any reluctance left in him.

At the end of the night, Jason sneaks into the Batcave to steal the footage from the security tapes, but before he gets to the computer, he sees Bruce there reviewing the same tape Jason was looking for with a soft smile on his face.

Jason leaves the manor with leftovers from Alfred and no tape.

***

The fourth time is a complete accident.

He’s patrolling his usual route in Gotham. It’s a normal night, nothing major. All the freaks are in Arkham, and the only crime Jason’s stopped so far is the petty kind.

He’s passing by the entrance to a club on a rooftop opposite when he someone catches his eye. He stops and zooms in with his helmet, and holy hell, that’s replacement.

Tim is in leather pants and a red shirt partially unbuttoned, and he’s wearing makeup. He looks grown up. Jason squints, because something’s definitely up. Tim Drake has 0 fashionable bones in his body, and there’s no way the nerd decided to show up to a club in the east end dressed like that with no reason.

Jason looks down at himself and makes a decision. He strips the most recognizable parts of his uniform and hides them with his helmet on the rooftop; he rigs the security for the helmet to alert him for any theft attempt.

He shows up to the entrance of the ‘Red Door’ in his black uniform pants and combat boots and a white tank top. He gives the bouncer a look and gets in without a fuss.

He scans for Tim from the entrance, eyes heading to the bar first, because catching the little shit drinking would be hilarious. Tim isn’t there though, so Jason moves in to the dance floor.

He moves fluidly enough to be considered dancing, if only to get through the crowd of people.

When the beginning of the bass of a familiar song starts playing, he catches Tim a few feet away. He’s dancing with an unfamiliar woman. He looks comfortable, but Jason does not like it.

“so, you’ve got to let me know, should I stay or should I go.”

Tim’s dance moves start getting better, and of course he would enjoy this song, Jason thinks, his brother is such a hipster.

Jason moves behind him with a smirk and yells a loud “Boo!” in his ear.

Tim turns, wide eyed at him, then rolls his eyes and apologizes to his partner before dragging Jason away.

“what’re you doing here?!” He demands.

“Am I not allowed to be curious about my underage brother in a club on my turf?” Jason raises an eyebrow.

Tim looks surprised and Jason realizes that he just called the kid his brother, he groans internally, because he just knows this will get to Dick and the big idiot will be all sappy about it.

“I’m on a case Jason.” Tim explains. And well, Jason should have really figured.

He shrugs at Tim, “need help?”

Tim smiles at him, it’s a deadly smile with all that eyeliner on his face, and starts dancing back to the dancefloor, “name’s Alvin.”

***

The fifth time, the time he stops counting, he’s in one of his safe houses in Gotham.

It’s one of his more comfortable ones because he wasn’t that beat yesterday coming back from patrol and made himself go the extra blocks to wake up in a nicely furnished place on Sunday.

The problem is, he woke up because he heard something move outside the bedroom, and that isn’t normal.

He sighs.

He’s fully awake because his body is used to fight or flight responses, but he really doesn’t want to have to deal with this at, he glances at the clock, 10 am on a Sunday. His sighs deepen.

He gets up nevertheless, and moves with one of his guns towards the door. He pushes it open silently and the music is the first thing he hears. It’s synthetic, and somewhere in the back of his mind a bell chimes in recognition, but he doesn’t focus on it.

When the voice sounds half humming, half singing to the music, “don’t you want me baby, don’t you want me oooh.” Jason sets his gun on the living room table and rubs his face.

“Why?” he asks Tim, who’s by the coffeemaker in his kitchen.

“Oh Hi, good morning.” The kid chimes.

“No. not good morning, explain to me why I’m awake red.” Jason glares.

Tim smiles, and Jason wonders when his glares stopped working on him, he mourns the loss of a very effective method for the second he has before Tim turns the sound up on his phone, since apparently this house is an awake house now.

He goes back to the coffee, and then to steal food out of Jason’s fridge.

Jason glances around the place and notices Tim’s uniform on the couch, and the obviously slept in look the couch has. And considers how weird it is that Tim can sneak into his place in the middle of the night without waking him up.

When he catches himself singing along with Tim unconsciously, he has to admit he lost this strange secret game between them, and as he watches his little brother making breakfast in his kitchen, he has to admit he doesn’t really mind.

[useless-fanfiction]

KR800- Chpt. 3

Pairing- Connor/Reader + platonic Markus/Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

TW: Haha none! Because I can’t write anything other than fluff 

Summary: It’s time to march. Here comes the android revolution whether Detroit wants it or not

Chpt 1 // Chpt. 2 // Chpt. 4

~~~

           The day of the march had come but you weren’t nearly as excited as you should have been. Instead, you were sitting on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest thinking about Connor. It had been three days since you had seen him and your systems felt constantly drained. Your need to be with him was greater than anything else in your life. No matter how much the revolution needed you, you needed Connor more. You wondered if he was even looking for you. Shouldn’t he have found you by now if he was? Why hadn’t he come for you yet? Did he forget about you?

           All these thoughts consumed you, causing tears to drip from your eyes and quiet whimpers to push past your lips. You were so consumed in grief that you didn’t notice Markus coming in to rouse you for the day. Typically you were still asleep. Seeing you awake and crying was concerning. He didn’t hesitate to sit down on the bed, his weight sinking the mattress and drawing your attention. Carefully, he placed his hand on the top of your knee.

           “What’s wrong?” He asked softly.

           You looked up at him, eyes watery, and opened your arms to ask for a hug. In Markus’ mind you looked so much like a little kid. He pulled you into his arms lovingly and allowed you to snuggle into his chest as your tears soaked his shirt. Your grip on him was unrelenting as you sobbed but he just rubbed your back and hushed you, reminding you everything would be okay. Slowly, your sobs turned to hiccups and you looked up at him.

           “I miss Connor,” you breathed out shakily.

           Markus nodded in understanding, “I’m sure he’s looking for you, little one. Jericho isn’t easy to find. Maybe we’ll see him during the march today.”

           “You think?” you asked hopefully, rubbing at the tear tracks on your cheeks.

           “It’s a possibility,” Markus chuckled, “Now let’s get you cleaned up and ready for the day, alright?” He scooped you up like a koala bear as he stood and carried you towards a barrel that was filled with water. He sets you down on your feet and picks up a washrag, dips it in the water and gently washes your face, “No more tears, little one. You have to be strong.”

           “I know,” you whispered, “I just miss him. It’s like there’s a hole in my chest and he’s the only one who can fill it.”

           Markus gently stroked your cheek as he replaced the rag on the side of the barrel, “I’ll take care of you until we can reunite the two of you, okay? And if he doesn’t find you before the end of the week then we’ll go looking for him,” he promised, “But now it’s time to get you dressed.”

           “Yes, Makus,” you responded and walked over to a small box where you kept your clothes when you were sleeping, because let’s be real, sleeping in your underwear is far more comfortable than pajamas.

           “Not those,” He interrupted, moving a bag off of his shoulder, “Simon and I thought you could wear something different for the march,” He tossed opened it up and pulled out a pair of army camouflage pants, a black crop top, and black combat boots before chuckling, “We have a bit of a fashion complex.”

           You gasped, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you ran up and hugged him, a bright smile on your face.

           “There’s that beautiful smile,” Markus smiled, detaching you from him so he could help you into the outfit, “You look great. You fit in perfectly.” He ruffled your hair, “Grab your jacket just in case though.”

           You nodded and went to pick up Hank’s jacket, tying it around your waist before returning to Markus’ side. He smiled and led you out to meet with the others and go over the plan. You sat between him and Simon and nodded along as they went over the plan with Josh and North. You and Markus would be liberating any and all androids you could, and since you’d need to part ways for a bit Simon would be following you while Josh and North stayed with Markus. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Simon, the two of you had become close friends in the past two days, but leaving Markus made you hesitate. He made you feel safe, almost as safe as Connor, and with neither of them around you weren’t sure if you’d be okay. You’d be starting out in the streets while Markus would work in the nearby mall and join you later.

           Just as you all set out Markus paused, “One more thing,” he pulled a black knit hat complete with pom over your head, “Don’t let them know you’re an android, (Y/N). You’ll be safer if they think you’re a human.”

           You nodded and began to walk again. Simon kept a protective hand on your shoulder as everyone walked. Suddenly you were his responsibility and he wasn’t about to let you get hurt. When you made it into a more public area, you and Simon broke off from the others to head to the main square downtown. It was simple, all you had to do was stand near an android, possibly say hi, and they’d awaken. Markus’ job was harder, he’d actually have to interface with the androids without being caught, but you couldn’t help but feel nervous.

           You froze when you got to the square and Simon leaned down, “It’s okay, you can do this. I’m right here, (Y/N).”

           You took a deep breath and took Simon’s hand in yours. It was big and warm and your thoughts drifted to Connor for a moment before snapping back to reality. Looking up to the blond, you nodded your head and pulled him along with you as you went to start awakening androids.

___

           Connor was still technically on leave from the DPD which left him sitting alone in Hank’s house, continuously flickering through camera footage, still hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Kamski had been no help to him; it was obvious he knew where you were but he refused to tell Connor. Sumo lay across his feet as he thought about you. It had been two days since you had run away, two days since he had held you in his arms, two days since he was able to focus on his mission. You were probably scared, wherever you were, and hoping for him to come save you and yet here he was sitting on a couch because Fowler had threatened him with CyberLife if he went out to look for you.

           A certain drone’s camera recording caught his eye. A couple hundred androids were marching together down the street. Deviants, no doubt. But what really made him scrutinize the footage was when it showed two androids. A tall male and a short female seemed to be leading the androids as they walked down the street, chanting for their freedom. The drone suddenly zoomed in, focusing on the two leaders.

           “(Y/N)!” Connor shouted, immediately throwing himself off of the couch and out the door.

           He ran. He ran like his life depended on it and in some ways it did. Connor needed to reach you before something bad could happen. If you were caught by the wrong people in the middle of all this you would die and he wouldn’t be able to handle that. He was thankful to be an android in that moment, his speed and knowledge of the city allowing him to travel faster than he had ever had to go before. He pushed himself further, working his biocomponents to their limits. As he ran he put in a notification to the police department, to warn Hank and to keep officers from shooting. (Y/N) needed to be safe first.

           Connor nearly froze when he saw the SWAT team barricading the street. They stood between him and his love but he wasn’t about to let them hurt you. He ran forward again, confident in his plan.

           “Don’t shoot!” He shouted as he used the back of one of the team member to hurtle over the barricade of shields.

___

           You walked hand in hand with Markus, leading the newly liberated androids down the street in a peaceful protest. Simon, North, and Josh were right behind the two of you. You smiled up to Markus brightly and he smiled back down at you, raising your interlocked hands up victoriously as you both chanted. A nearby cop was calling for you to disperse, but you both pushed on. This was so important.

           Police cars slid across the icy road before your peaceful march, the wheels squealing as the grinded to a halt. You shrunk back a bit, grasping Markus’ hand a bit tighter as he continued forward until SWAT cars blocked the other path. Everyone froze in place as the SWAT team lined up, creating a barricade with their shields.

           “Disperse or we will shoot,” The captain warned through the aid of a speaker.

           “Don’t shoot!” Another voice rang out in the snowy, still air, “Don’t shoot! (Y/N)!”

           You watched as Connor flew over the barricade and landed, “Connor!”

           Tearing your hand away from Markus’ you ran meeting Connor somewhere between the line of SWAT and the line of androids. You fell into his open arms and he lifted you as if it were the easiest thing in the world. He couldn’t help but cry he was so happy to have you back in his arms and he fell to the ground, cradling you to his chest. Tears streamed down your cheeks and his as you shared a tender kiss. Revolution be damned. All that matters was you were reunited, that Connor felt your weight presses against him and you felt his arms around you once again.

           “I thought you gave up,” you nearly sobbed into his chest, your smile betraying your happiness as you sat on your knees.

           Connor shook his head, “I’d never give up on you. Fowler took me off duty and threatened to send me to CyberLife if I joined the search party. I was so worried, little one. I’m nothing without you.”

           You took his face in your hands, kissing him again before saying, “You’re my whole world, Connor.”

           “Promise me you’ll never leave again.”

           “I promise,” You nodded, “I just want to go home.”

           Connor nodded and kneeled with his back facing you. You climbed onto his back and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, resting your cheek against his back. The SWAT team had lowered their weapons and when Connor stood the captain nodded to him and began to disassemble his men. Turning back to the androids, he noticed multiple he recognized a few as wanted deviants, and they all took steps back upon seeing the deviant hunter. Most of the newly awoken deviants began to disperse, Simon, North, and Josh leading them back to Jericho. Markus stood with his arms crossed, a look of amusement on his face as he approached you and Connor.

           “So the deviant hunter is a deviant himself?” Markus asked with a smirk.

           Connor nodded stiffly, “So it would be,” he said as he carefully eyed Markus.

           “I’m glad you found (Y/N), but I’m sad to see her go. She’s been like a little sister to me the past couple of days,” Markus smiled, “She was also a great help with today’s march.”

           Connor cast his gaze over his shoulder at you with a small huff of amusement, “Well if she got to me I’m not surprised she got to others as well,” he carefully let go of one of your legs to hold out his hand for a handshake, “I’m sure you already know this but I’m Connor.”

           Markus grasped his hand in a firm handshake, “Markus.”

           “Thank you for taking care of her, she can be very…needy,” he chuckled when you gently smacked at his cheek and whined.

           Markus smiled, “She’s welcome at Jericho anytime. I implore you to join us in the revolution. You are your own person, you deserve freedom.”

           “Bye Markus! I’ll come visit you. Tell Simon I said thank you for protecting me this morning!” You raised your head to bid farewell to your friend.

           He chuckled, “I will. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, little one. I’ll see you when this is all over,” He waved as he turned to help shepherd the last few deviants back to their new home.

           Connor bristled when Markus called you “little one” but calmed down as you sighed tiredly against his back. He had to get you home, he was sure you weren’t properly resting while you were away and quite possibly running on what little energy reserve you had left to keep you from a forced stasis. He intended to take you back to Hank’s house and tuck you into bed immediately. You were his first priority. As soon as Markus was out of sight Connor ordered a taxi for the two of you; he wasn’t about to carry you all that way, you wouldn’t make it awake.

           “Con?” You whispered.

           “Yes, little one?” He asked, enjoying your weight and warmth against his back.

           You shifted enough to kiss his cheek, “I love you.”

           “I love you too, (Y/N),” Connor smiled, and watched as the taxi pulled up, “Let’s get you home.”

           You nodded against his back, “Yes, Connor.”

           Connor set you down on the ground and opened the door to the driver-less taxi. You scooted in and across the seat so Connor could get in as well. Once he sat in the seat beside you and gave it the address you climbed into his lap. You rested your head against his chest and listened to his thirium pump beat steadily, the mechanical rhythm soothing you from the excitement of the day. His arms wrapped around you brushing against your exposed midriff, using one hand to brush the tangles from your hair.

Today had been more than eventful for the both of you and he rested his cheek on top of your head as he sighed. You tilted your head back so he no longer rested on you and caught him in a gentle kiss which he reciprocated immediately. It was sweet, tender, and soft. When Connor pulled away he looked at you with such happiness and love that your chest felt ready to burst. He leaned back down for one more peck before looking out the window. The taxi was quiet save for the sound of wheels moving on pavement and the gentle rumble of the engine which tempted you to sleep. However drained you may have felt though you were indeed a stubborn little thing who had just gotten her love back and you had no intentions of sleeping anytime soon.

It wasn’t long before the taxi was pulling to a halt in front of Lieutenant Anderson’s house. Connor got out of the car and helped you out before shutting the door. You took his hand in yours and he took the opportunity to kiss your knuckles. A soft blue blush crossed your cheeks and bridged your nose and he smiled, pulling you into the house with him. Hank wasn’t home, he was most likely still at the precinct working. Somewhere in the back of his mind Connor knew you’d have to be taken in for questioning. After all, you knew where Jericho was. You were actively participating in the revolution and from the sounds of it you had become close to the leader.

“Alright, go put your pajamas on and get into bed,” Connor commanded as he let go of your hand and moved towards the kitchen.

You shook your head, “I’m not tired,” a yawn escaped your lips as if to contradict you and you frowned at your body betraying you.

He chuckled, “I saw that yawn, little one. I’ll be there in a moment,” he walked back over to you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Go.”

As you walked towards the room Lieutenant Anderson had designated as your Connor gave your butt a slight swat and took pleasure in the way you jumped a bit and scurried away quicker. He once again moved to the kitchen and quickly flipped through the book Kamski had given him for confirmation before fixing a mug of tea. He could hear you shuffling through all the clothing that Kamski had had delivered to the lieutenant’s doorstep so you had something to wear. If he had to guess, you were most likely pulling on your flying squirrel onesie; you enjoyed having the comfortable blanket like material surrounding you and keeping you warm.

When Connor entered your room you were in fact in your onesie and sitting patiently for him on your bed. He scanned your form and suddenly you looked exhausted, as if two days had been a lifetime. The way your shoulders slumped and your hands hung loosely in your lap caused a sad smile to cross his lips. As cute as it was, seeing you this tired was also a bit worrisome. What had you been doing in your time at Jericho?

He sat on the bed beside you and pressed the warm mug into your hands, “Drink,” he said softly, kissing your temple.

You wrinkled your nose in fake disgust but took a sip of the liquid warmth in your hands, “Thank you, Connor.”

“You’re welcome, little one. You need to relax, tomorrow you’re going to have to come to the precinct and get interviewed,” he told you, watching as you drank.

You downed the rest of your tea and he took the mug, setting it on the nightstand, “Why do I have to get interviewed?”

“Because you were involved in the revolution and you know where Jericho is,” Connor smoothed your hair down and gently pressed against your shoulder until you were flat on the bed.

“I can’t tell them where Jericho is, Connor,” you shook your head, “The androids need them.”

He pressed another kiss to your hairline, “Hank and I need you to cooperate tomorrow, okay little one?”

You reluctantly nodded, gripping onto his jacket when he moved to leave, “Stay with me.”

“I have work.”

“Please, Connor? I just got you back. What if I have a nightmare?” You gave him your best puppy eyes.

He just melted under that look, lying down beside you and pulling you tightly into his side. You wrapped your arms around him and rested your head on his chest. He hummed softly, slowly running his hand up and down your back. You were out like a light; it was the quickest he had ever seen you enter stasis. He only hoped that tomorrow would go smoothly; you would cooperate and they’d be able to raid Jericho and put an end to this revolution.

To Be Continued

~~~

Tag list: @imaginovator @bunnie-kookie @layinglonely @a-fan-fighting-for-equality @wolfie-marie sorry if not all these tags work! I tried I swear. And Sorry if I forgot to tag you?

#connor/reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #detroit connor #dbh connor #reader insert #android reader #fanfic #platonic markus

[paul-s-walks-uk-blog]

Walk 8 :  Dartmouth to Totnes

 ‘A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there's more conversation.’

William Blake

One of the area's truly great walks, this daylong ramble follows the wooded banks of the broad and beautiful river Dart, on a route crammed with gems and jewels of human and natural history.

The South Devon AONB website synopsis of the walk

View over Dartmouth

Walk data

Distance: 12 Miles, 19.3 km

Grade: Moderate. Easy walking, but on average uphill 

Start Point : Bus stop at North Embankment, Dartmouth (sx878512)

End Point : Steam Packet Inn, Totnes (sx805600)

Facilities: Full range of facilities at Dartmouth: Shops, supermarkets, pubs, toilets, banks. Also at Totnes. On route the are several pubs, all of which serve food. There is a village shop and cafe in Dittisham.

Transport: There are buses between Dartmouth and Totnes, regular on weekdays, but only twice on Sundays. There is also a river ferry between them, it is a beautiful trip, but but it’s timing is dependant on tides, so the timetable  must be checked before hand ( It is operated by the Dartmouth Steam Railway and Riverboat Company-check here for times). Totnes is easily accessible by bus or train from either Plymouth or Exeter. Dartmouth is directly accessible by bus from Exeter and Plymouth, but the busses also service the local villages on the way, so the journey time is in either case in excess of two hours (but you do get to see lots of scenery). Bus and train journeys can be planned here.

Maps  : Ordnance Survey Explorer OL20. Coordinates are from this map. A compass is not needed, but the map is strongly advised, even though the trail is well signed.

An album of Photos from this walk can be found on my Facebook Page

Walk overview

This is a fairly long but straightforward walk following a recognized and clearly signposted trail (The Dart Valley Trail) between two of Devon’s most historic and lively towns. It starts in Dartmouth, near where the river flows into the sea, and ends in Totnes which is the farthest point navigable by large boats.It consists mostly roads and country footpaths.  It is not a challenging walk, although a couple of small stretches are perennially muddy, so you will need good waterproof boots or shoes. There are a few long, steepish parts, and since the trail is following a river inland, the path is generally uphill. 

This is a great walk if you want to experience some good Devon pubs. Don’t try too many, or you may never get to the end!

Route Maps and elevation

Stage 1 : Route map and elevation

Stage 2: Route map and elevation

Stage 3 : Route map and elevation

Dartmouth

Dartmouth is on the western bank of the mouth of the Dart. It is a busy place, with seagulls crying and flapping around all day, and many boats bobbing up and down on the water.

Although Dartmouth has a natural deep-water harbour it was only an agricultural settlement at the time of the Norman Conquest (1066), but it soon began to grow and by the fourteenth Century it was well known enough for Chaucer to include one of its inhabitants among his pilgrims ‘A schipman was ther, wonyng fer by weste;For ought I wost, he was of Dertemouthe.’, who tells a somewhat morally dubious story about money lending.

By the Elizabethan times it was a thriving port. Castles were built on either side of the estuary with a chain between then, that could be pulled up to prevent  invasion from the Spanish fleets. The castle on the Dartmouth side is worth a visit. The Pilgrim fathers stopped at Dartmouth on the way to America (they hadn’t got very far at that stage).

The Navy has since had a keen interest in Dartmouth and the naval officer academy still sits in in an imposing Victorian building that dominates the a large hill on the edge of the town

The first bridge across the Dart is at Totnes, over 10 miles upstream. but in Dartmouth there are two vehicle ferries and one foot passenger ferry across to Kingswear on the eastern side.

There is plenty to explore. To find out what to see and do, and for any events happening, click here.  

 Dartmouth is one of those English towns which has grown up in a sort of hotchpotch fashion, so that it has many house from different periods. On the steep hills such as this the house frequently have a front door on the street, once inside you go down to the rest of the house instead of up. Some have little bridge connecting the front-door to the street. It is common in Devon towns for house to be painted in different colour. Dartmouth is no exception: There are blue houses, pink house, yellow house. Some have slate fronts, some wooden, some granite or limestone.

If you want to sample a traditional devon pub, there are too many to lst here, but check out this page. Almost all will serve good food (frequently fish and seafood, freshly caught) as well as a range of local ales.

On the subject of pubs-Devon has a host of local breweries, some large, some tiny. Apart from making very good beer, they also seem to be in competition to come up with weird names for their beverages. Here is a list of some them along with the breweries that make them. They are not all available everywhere, although Jail (personal favourite) and Otter are most common

Jail Ale (Dartmoor brewery, Princetown)

Pandit (New Lion Brewery, Totnes)

Cor bugga! ( Teignworthy Brewery, Newton Abbot)

Devon Dumpling (Bays Brewery, Paignton)

Otter Ale (Otter Brewery, near Honiton)

Pheasant Plucker (Hunters Brewery, Ipplepen)

Black Ops (Taw Valley Brewery,  North Tawton)

Pandemonium (South Hams Brewery, Kingsbridge)

Repeat Offender (Stannary Brewery, Tavistock)

Tuckermarsh Pale (Bere Brewery, Bere Alston)

If you are from outside the UK you can relax and  forget the myth of warm beer.The British have not drunk warm beer since the 1970's (except of course  when they do... at  beer festivals, where it is more or less compulsory)

Stage 1 : Dartmouth to Dittisham (4.5 Miles, 7.2 km)

The walk starts at the south west corner of the little square harbour near the waterfront. You will see a kiosk that sells boat-trip tickets, and on the lampost next to it a blue sign, which shows in white two castles with some wavy lines below. This is the first sign for the trail. You will see it frequently. Often it will be accompanied by a white arrow on a blue background showing the direction to walk. The trail is part of a much longer trail The John Musgrave Heritage Trail (this is 32 miles long) so the signs for this can also be followed (yellow and brown circles, with an image of aboot print inside).

Follow the road past the little harbour and past the white and blue painted Royal Castle Hotel until you come to a car park on you right. At one corner you will see a small street called Zion Place walk along this to the end, turn right and almost immediately there is a long flight of stone steps called Coxs Steps. Climb these til you come to a narrow road called Clarence Hill.

Cox’s Steps

Turn left onto Clarence Hill and follow it along. It eventually becomes Townstal Hill and the Church Hill. Towards the end in bears right and comes to the main road out of Dartmouth (The A379, College way at sx870515)

The trail goes the the end of Old Mill Lane, Down a flight of steps and into Old Mill Lane This is a pleasant walk on a country road that descend gradually to Old Mill Bridge (sx861519), situated, unsurprisingly on Old Mill Creek. Old Mill Creek always seems to be at low tide. It is pleasant to sit on the wall at the end of the bridge across it and watch the water fowl hopping around in the mud. The Old Mill  sir on one side of the bridge. One can only imagine that the stream to the bridge was once more lively, as it’s current sedately flow would not be enough to drive a mill wheel.

‘Old Mill’ is a self-explanatory place name. But not all the names on the map are. Here is a list of some names that are not. They are all on or close by this trail. I can guess at the origins of some of them, about others I can only wonder.. 

Tippity Van

Dinah’s Side

Blackness Point

Bozomzeal

Sprat Lane End

Poor Bridge

Corkscrew Hill

Higher (and Lower) Yetson

Hothole ( I kid you not)

Lower (and Higher) Gribble Plantation

From Old Mill Bridge turn right and follow the road. It soon becomes a country footpath, called Lapthorne Lane, which quickly brings you to the edge of Hole Copse. Here you have two choices. Both are signed to dittisham. You can either follow straight ahead along the lane or right into the woods. The fist is 2 miles to Dittisham, the second is 2 3/4. The longer way is more pleasant and takes you through Hole Copse and Great Copse. It will also give you some nice views of the Dart, where you can see to the edge of Dartmouth, with the Higher Ferry, laden with cars going back and forth.

Either way will bring you to the road just past Bozomzeal (sx861539). This is Fire Beacon Hill. This is so named as it is the site of one of the beacons that were lit to warn of the SPanish Armada. You can see the beacon across the fields, a tall pole with an iron basket on top. It has a grim look, like a gibbet. The fire beacons were lined along the whole South West. More information on these can be found here.

Dartmoor in the distance, from Fire Beacon Hill

Take the footpath that appears on the right, down through fields of grass and sheep. This eventually joins a farmers road. Here you will be glad if you have good waterproof boots. The farmer here must use a lot of heavy machinery, since the road is always deep in mud and churned up by giant tyres. You can walk on the banks of the road with some care. It is not a long stretch, and after a couple of turns you find yourself in Dittisham (sx861550)

Dittisham

Thatched cottage in Dittisham

If you talk to any of the residents and don’t want to look like a Grockle,  Dittisham should be pronounced Ditsum, or even better Dits’m. (This is a mild reduction of a place name for Devon- There is a village named ‘Woolfhardisworthy’ on maps, but which the locals pronounce ‘Woolsery’)

The trail only skirts the top of the village, which is a shame, as this is one of the best places to visit on the river. It is quite ancient, having been founded in about 660 ad by Saxons, who had found the Dart to be a good trading route inland.So take a detour into town if you have time.It has steep lanes to the water, clustered with old cottages. There are two good pubs, a shop and a good coffee house. A guide to the village can be found here.

stage 2 : dittisham to asphsprington (4.6 Miles, 7.4 km)

The trail passes along the top of Dittisham, following the road until it passes the hamlet of East Cornworthy, after which is cuts through a wooded area on a track to the right. This little country path must once have been a more important way, as there is a small but substantial bridge over the ltlle river. It is odd to find it in this quiet lane, on a dirt track. It has the curious name of ‘Poor Bridge’

Cottage near East Cornworthy

Woods and small river near Poor Bridge

The track becomea a road and leads through the  village of Cornworthy, another small ancient setlement. Agin it has a nice pub, the Hunter’s Lodge. At the far side of the village standing in a field is the remains of a priory, where Nuns lived from about 1200 to the mid 1550′s. It is marked Gatehouse on the map. (sx821555)

From cornworthy the trail turns right off the road and paases downhil towars Bow Creek, another tribuatry of the Dart. It passes through the small Charleycombe Woods, which are full of oak and ash trees.The path turns left. On the right is bow creek, where if you are lucky you can see herons flying low o ver the mud-flats. To your left is Corkscrew Hill. A lot of water flows off the hill after rains and the trail here is often VERY muddy. But there has been a lot of tree planting done recently, so as sapling grow into a new wood, it should they should contain the wet: At the monent though, take care not to get wet feet.

The trail rejoinns the road from Tuckenhay to Bow Bridge. Ther is a good pub in each of these places, The Maltsters and the Watermans Arms. Both have seating with river views.: In summer both are likely to be busy.

Cross Bow Bridge and head up hill to Ashprington.

The Waterman’s Arms, Bow

Ashprington

Ashprington has been in existence since at least the time of the Norman conquest, and is mentioned in the Domesday Book, in 1086, (where it is called Aisbertone). It had about 22 people living there. It has a church which dates back to this time, although the only remaining Norman part is the font. The current church dates from the fifteenth century. There isn’t much happening in Ashprington. It is a quiet, peaceful and secluded place. It has a pub, though, the Durant Arms. There is a bench by the churchyard, so if you need a nice long sit down, having walked just over 9 miles, with still another 3 to go, this is a good place to watch the world slowly moving by.

Stage 3 : Ashprington to Totnes (2.9 Miles, 4.7 km)

Asphrington Church Graveyard at sundown

This is the easiest part of the route as it is almost entirely in the Sharpham Estate until it reaches Totnes. The estate keeps the path well signed, neatly gravelled and clear. 

From the bench by the church head towards Sharpham (i.e. uphill) following the road until you get to the estate gate. Here you leave the road and take the footpath to the left.

Sharpham Estate

Sharpham Estate dates from around 1260, but it’s current form dates from the 18th century, when Captain Philemon Pownoll, who was something of an adventurer, made his fortune capturing a Spanish treasure galleon. (He had an adventurers death, too. He was hit by a cannonball in a fight with the French in the North Sea.) If  Philemon Pownoll seems a crazy name, consider that his grandson was named John Bastard.

Today the estate is managed by the Sharpham Trust. The mansion house is now a center for events and courses. Being close to Totnes ( see below) these are often New Age type events. The Trust supports many conservation schemes. It also has a vineyard, producing a range of wines, and makes it’s own cheeses. If you have time it is worth diverging from the trail and visiting the restaurant/cafe by the river front, and trying the wine and cheese. If it is summer, you may even have time for a guided tour of the vineyard.

Evening in a mirror in a hedge

On arriving it rhe end of the Sharpham footpath, turn right on the road and at the bottom of the little hill you will find the Steam Packet Inn, by the river. Reward  yourself with a nice pint and rest your feet, before going into town.

Totnes

Totnes is chefly famous as being a center for alternative lifestyles. It calls itself a transistion town, and ven has it’s own (not freuently used) currency. There are crystal shops, and mindfulness courses, and always buskers. But there is more to the town. It has a Norman Castlt, a museum, a medieval guildhall and the narrow streets at the tiop of town, still on the medieval layout. (With good Devon Common-snse, these are called ‘The Narrows’). There are lots of coffee shops, cafes and resturants: To many to list, but see here

Totnes High Street

https://www.pubsgalore.co.uk/areas/totnes-town/devon/

#totnes #dartmouth #dart valley trail #dittisham #cornworthy

[arichhipster]

Extra! Extra! Life As a Movie Extra in New Mexico

(LIFE OF A MOVIE EXTRA...... Er, I suggest.... BACKGROUND ARTIST)

As I left the house, I glanced on the outdoor thermometer. It examine five under. Thankfully the car started out. Once on the street, as I approached my destination, in the nonetheless-morning darkness, I became off the primary street and observed the road of purple tail lighting up the hill's dirt music in the direction of the properly-lit tents above. Through the frozen tundra, I walk from the auto to the primary tent, greeted through warm smiles and friendly exchanges as I checked in, thankful that the changing room turned into amply heated https://new-solarmovie.com/countries After six previous workdays, the changeover from civilian to duration western garments turned into old hat now; long johns first, fast adding blouse, pants, each with severa buttons, suspenders, boots, jacket, work gloves and hat, all of the even as speaking to my fellow comrades. Next, stand in line to get grubby, as hair and makeup girls dirty you up. I look inside the mirror, thinking who that desperado is that's staring returned at me.

Finished, I throw my civilian jacket over cloth wardrobe, and walk returned outdoor into the frigid air, trying no longer to slip on snow, ice and cables as I slowly assignment towards the eating tent for some short breakfast and important hot coffee. People are often subdued internal, something to do with the numbing bloodless.

A closely jacketed woman with a headset steps into the tent and yells to us "The van is right here!" Begrudgingly we step returned out into the bloodless, slide into the vehicles and tour closer to the western town this is just beginning to emerge in the dawning mild. Crawl out of the van. If the temperature rises above freezing, the snow we are hiking through turns into a muddy mess later. Somebody yells "I see Props" and we go and outfit ourselves with our weapons and holsters. More salutations from bundled team contributors as you walk towards the protecting facility hoping for one ultimate cup of coffee which of course isn't always brewed but. Too overdue besides, you're needed for the first shot of the day. It's time to play make-agree with. You locate solace questioning at least Russell Crowe and Christian Bale appearance cold as properly.

You glance round at your surroundings and say. "Hey, here I am, status inside the center of a Hollywood movie, ready to play a gunman in an Old West town." There's simplest one character I recognize who would be silly enough to position up with these situations for so little pay...I MUST BE A MOVIE EXTRA (or heritage artist as we within the commercial enterprise choose to be called). Forget approximately my close-up shot, I thought. Just area me inside the warm temperature of the solar!

And so starts another day as a movie greater on a movie manufacturing set. Usually the climate situations are not so intense as this particular New Mexico January day changed into at the set of "3:10 To Yuma", but while they're...Properly, that simply provides to the story.

Given those conditions, why could one want to be an Extra? Is it for the cash...Hardly ever, although for many it's far a paying activity which human beings are finding tougher to come by in recent times. Is it for the hazard to look your face on the silver display, if most effective for a 2d? There's the carrot on a stick enticement, the opportunity of having a speaking component, which right now catapults you to a higher pay scale, and a cooler pair of sunglasses. The rumor whisperers proclaim, "You know so-and-so large call actor began his career as an additional".

How about the opportunity for a departure from the normal habitual, gambling a man or woman that's quite one of a kind out of your ordinary self?

Other reasons might be the social benefit the prolonged circle of relatives bond offers that develops amongst fellow extras who have worked together on preceding movie productions; the capability to have a look at moviemaking firsthand; and the ego enhance you experience when you receive a pleasant nod or salutation from a chief movie star. And sure, there is additionally an inexpensive paycheck and complimentary food.

For me, it's a majority of these reasons, and maximum veritably for the tales.

In current years, Hollywood has arrived with a vengeance in New Mexico, a country with a moviemaking records so long as the enterprise itself. When I first moved right here in '94 several movie and TV productions have been ongoing. A woman pal of mine told me about a casting name. I stood in line in the resort lobby till a person in casting took my Polaroid and asked if I turned into to be had in two weeks. One surprise smartphone call later, I turned into attempting on my new western cloth cabinet for the TV mini-collection "Buffalo Girls". I've been in most cases available ever considering the fact that.

Movie hobby quick lapsed into a lull during the late 90s; but, new tax incentives for the film industry (and our a lot less expensive hard work force) created a resurgence in moviemaking in the past 5 years. Today, whilst the tediously lengthy casting call traces and Polaroid headshots have given manner to new methods like Internet bulletins, digital pictures and e-mailed resumes, lifestyles as a further has remained highly the identical. One moment hasn't modified; the manner you experience after a long twelve-hour workday, having worked due to the fact earlier than sunrise to sundown; you are cold and tired, standing in line within the dark ready to return your wardrobe so you can check out and go home...All at once exhausted and gratified.

If you are trying to pursue history greater work as a full-time profession, my advice would be high-quality to hold your day activity. A bendy paintings time table (unemployed being the exceptional) is a prerequisite for running as a further. The nature of the enterprise is to be geared up to paintings at a moment's observe which is near not possible if you paintings a often scheduled task.

It's no marvel Hollywood enjoys working with us New Mexicans, and plenty of production human beings will gladly country this reality. The majority of extras I've labored with are a very courteous, amiable, uncomplaining, cooperative, tolerant lot, some distance distinct we are informed from our "large town" cousins lower back in LA. Of course, even within this high-quality group of New Mexico extras there are constantly those exceptions, the demanding standouts: The Braggart, whose alleged credentials are without problems challenged; the Movie Star Wannabee Schmoozer who's determined for the large danger, willing to dangle and cajole all of us who they assume will assist circulate them up the stardom ladder; and of path, every big group has at the least one chronic complainer. Fortunately, those individuals get weeded out quite rapid.

I appreciate the eclectic, unbiased, iconoclastic kind individuals who often gravitate to this bendy innovative line of work: the creative, impartial people (artisans, rock band roadies, jack of all trades); the worldly iconoclasts (hippies, vacationers, philosophers); the tough-working, generous blue-collar souls who love the hazard to act out special roles inside the movies; the destiny movie makers; the unemployed; the curious; the ones looking for a loving, worrying circle of relatives; musicians between gigs; ex-veteran pensioners; those folks who come from sad houses and economic conditions looking for escapism and happiness; the real cowboys; those pursuing movie production careers; the coolest souls whose honesty and wellknown kindness has harm them in the cruel, actual global of commercial enterprise; and those individuals stepping out in their recurring exercises.

Learning the Hollywood lingo is a part of the process's attraction: terms which includes "back to at least one", "that turned into extremely good--- permit's do one greater", "martini shot", "checking the gate"' "this is a wrap", "silence on the set"' "checking sound", and "Action!" For a veteran history artist, this film jargon coats you in a mantle it really is fun to put on.

What is an ordinary day on the set? Days are lengthy. While on some productions you are working an awesome portion of the day on set, regularly you're waiting in some preserving room or tent, possibly hours in length, 9 hours my document, before you are referred to as for a scene. During these off digital camera moments, it is as much as you whether to make the most of the waiting state of affairs either thru social conversations or through quietly analyzing a ebook, gambling playing cards or chess, ingesting snacks, or, as what came about after nine hours of waiting on the "Beerfest" film set retaining location, breakdancing and lap dancing. Otherwise, you may pick to whine, pout and be commonly uninterested in the revel in. That man or woman can constantly move lower back to paintings on the thrilling vocation of financial institution clerk.

Regretfully, as an additional you are stored broadly speaking within the dark as to the storyline and the way your small contribution applies to the context of the movie. Very little is told to you approximately the scene or what sort of person you are gambling, so regularly as an extra you tend to create your very own person tale. You pay attention "Action!" yelled so that you begin to pantomime your imaginary speak with others as you sit down at a desk or stroll down a street. Suddenly the director yells, "Great...That turned into exceptional, everyone" and the scene is over. This method your cognitive instincts for the scene were spot on tremendous, or your presence wasn't even on digicam so it didn't depend what the heck you have been doing. I examined this concept out on "Into The West" by using acting Monty Python fashion backward funny walks at some point of my history crossings, and the scene turned into perfect; just as I idea, not on digital camera.

A given truth but is when you are seen on digital camera, and you're not doing what the director needs, to your know-how or in any other case; a director's tongue-lashing can arise, plenty to your humiliated chagrin.

On the rare occasion a director, AD, AAD (assistant, assistant director) or casting director actually enlightens us film extras as to the context of the scene we are approximately to movie and its relevance to the screenplay, it is significantly liked and facilitates us get prompted and obsessed on our position.

We're the background coloration, an imperative function in the scene's final outcome. We complete the scene's surroundings by bringing "the set" to lifestyles, offering the social environment from which the principle actors play off of, in place of forcing them to paintings in a vacuum.

Sometimes one's first-time more enjoy can be hard. One negative woman on the set for "Wild, Wild West" fainted difficult after succumbing to the mixed results of August heat and suffocating corset. Stoically, she attempted again the following day, only to be nearly trampled by horses at some stage in the chaos scene. Never noticed her again after that.

There's an artwork to getting on camera with out being too pushy or apparent. Get stuck mugging the digital camera, and, like what occurred to a pricey friend of ours, you are fired instant, which of direction now provides an possibility for a person else. The vintage standby, the casting sofa, or trailer, or tent, can nonetheless paintings, as a minimum temporarily. I have also discovered that one's possibilities are substantially improved in the event that they work on a comedy, for there are actually higher screen opportunities for extras on comedies than in dramas. Mostly, however, the best manner, which is totally out of your manipulate, is having "the right look" that a director wants. Before you understand it, you're positioned in a scene prepared to confront Pierce Brosnan or Liam Neeson. Suddenly, the director yells "and...Action!

Sometimes your digital camera time might encompass a few exciting computer graphics and make-up. If you've got been painstakingly, grotesquely rearranged via makeup artists to play a zombie, augmented with horrifying prosthetics, it is able to only be you that recognizes yourself whilst your horrifying face debuts at the screen.

I did a particular double-take at the "Unspeakable" movie jail set after I walked past Dennis Hopper's head sitting on a table, after which Dennis Hopper himself exceeded me via within the corridor.

You might not experience the dramatic scene you are taking part in, while status in front of a computer graphics "blue screen"; but, your jaw-losing aghast reaction may want to measure your appearing competencies since you're supposedly responding to a robot monster achieving towards you, no longer a scraggly droopy-pants group member.

On the "Beerfest" movie set, the emphasis changed into whatever however actual beer in our mugs. First, production attempted an ineffective vacuum system designed to suck near-beer out of our mugs, frequently with hilarious outcomes. Next process turned into to digitize the beer into our empty mugs. We because the Irish beer drinking group took moderate offense at these methods in view that first, in fact, we would have out drank the Germans, and 2d, we should have without problems drunk real beers in report competitive time!

And with set layout it is excellent not to look too closely, for in the course of the ones dramatic funeral scenes, the somber cinematic mood is probably broken if the audience knew who is without a doubt written on those movie styrofoam cemetery tombstones like Yo Mama, Three Stooges and Jethro Tull.

In some instances the story in the back of the film is greater pleasing than the film itself. The city of Madrid become selected via Disney to represent the all-American town ready with white-wood fences, flora, lace curtains, heat nearby diner, and Chili festival. However, there aren't any white wooden fences here in actual lifestyles; extra accurately associated with black wood enamel, gauged through some of the locals' abusive usage of crack. The city's decor is more raw and cool, than homespun, seeing that its origin as a coal mining metropolis and later, a hippie haven. The diner, now a tourist enchantment, turned into built in particular for the movie and any actual local would say, "We do not need no stinkin' Chile festival!"

There is the symmetry connection with Disney that is also charming. Flying over Madrid, an old coal mining city inside the overdue 20s, Walt Disney became so captivated by way of the metropolis's twinkling display of Christmas lighting, the scene inspired him to years later create the Disney World Parade of Lights. Disney, the company, had lower back to pay their respects to Madrid, in their personal warped corporate manner.

On some of films our old prison has been used for more than one units, occasionally at the same time as an antique jail which includes on the film "Unspeakable". Over twenty years in the past, the old jail have been witness to a macabre, deadly jail riot massacre and siege. Even nowadays blood stains are still visible from that horrible occasion and tales ran rampant at the set about team member's character reports with ghost sightings and other eerie sensations.

I'll regularly listen people ask "How do huge actors behave--- are the rumors true?" I recognize our tabloid-pushed inquisitive minds need to accept as true with the memories of prima donnas, spoiled brat temper tantrums and privileged treatments; however, in truth, the actors I've visible behave in a professional, conscientious manner on the set. They pay attention attentively to the director's recommendation and vice versa. Some actors can be very personable with the extras, other extra remote, staying in person or reviewing their lines. Some actors are very secure, taking the off digicam moment to journey their horses or trip their bikes between scenes. Sometimes you overhear the actor's occasional disgruntled tone which a few manufacturing member tried to speedy assuage. Heck, you pay attention those tones from us all the time. It become difficult however to restrain from giggling or yelling "Martin, come on!" while Martin continually arrived on the "Wild Hogs" Madrid set with his bodyguard entourage, pushed in a Mercedes golfcart for the arduous 3 blocks from his triple-decker luxurious bus whilst a beautiful assistant carried a mini-fan to hold him cool.

The movie and TV industry has been so prolific at some stage in the Santa Fe/Albuquerque/Las Vegas place, your day by day distinctions among fiction and reality start to blur. The second felt surreal while, after having watched "Swing Vote", I left the film theater simplest to pass the equal grandstand featured in the film on Rodeo Road simply ten minutes later. Blink, look again, and there may be "Astronaut Farmer's" united states of america fair. South of metropolis there may be one rural stretch wherein I assume to come upon the simultaneous convergence of "Wild Hogs" bikers, Billy Bob Thorton's rocketship, and a rough-searching Colorado Volunteers marching regiment.

Even a avenue crossing on downtown Albuquerque's Central Ave. Takes on a new dimension when you have to be cautious of large Transformer robots stepping on you!

Not discounting the great current successes of so many diverse film and TV cutting-edge project topics made on this country, New Mexico's center essence nevertheless embodies the traditional American Western. Once you are fully outfitted in western garb, and you are taking the moment to absolutely embody your environment, a dusty, windswept street within the middle of a western metropolis, a very special feeling envelops you. Your mind can also flashback to youth fantasies, gambling a cowboy or gunfighter, remembering studying testimonies of the Old West or seeing your first wild west TV display or film. On western sets the heritage artists virtually appear to be our pioneer ancestors, a length of records which was honestly only some generations ago.

Pierce Brosnan turned into fascinated by how much our motley institution clearly sported long hair and beards, wore cowboy hats, chewed tobacco, demonstrated know-how of horses and guns, and who nonetheless slept in tents.

While at the set, youngsters fast modify and revert to less complicated pleasures. Townsmen tip their hats to women in bonnets at the same time as the gunslingers exercise twirling their plastic weapons, hoping to be issued real guns for the shootout scene.

Western movies generally tend to have the most tough climate situations, either blistering hot within the summer, blow-dried dusty inside the spring, and brutally bloodless at some stage in the wintry weather months, which perversely is the favorite season for maximum productions.

The western set can also be the most hazardous. A properly-skilled choreographer and horse wrangler coordinator is obligatory for, if ill-prepared, tragedy may additionally strike. Such have been the instances on the primary day of shooting on "3:10 to Yuma" wherein a horse changed into mortally wounded and rider critically injured, or the primary day of filming the Sand Creek Massacre reenactment on "Into The West" wherein severa horse accidents took place. And, during the filming of "Wild, Wild West", there are careless acts along with the dearth of notification to some forgotten extras that they had to clean the western set earlier than production blew it up. Fortunately, no extras were blown up! And they worry approximately animal mistreatment.

With the latest proliferation of film activity, many new faces have arrived inside the business, while most of the players of just ten years in the past have left the region or long gone on to other endeavors. Sometimes you have to permit own family members go away the nest. Except for the few envious ones, most of the people of us extras are pleased whilst a person from our extended circle of relatives receives a speakme element.

It's a profession wherein one minute you are ready to retire, especially after a grueling fourteen hour day, however then you definitely get the itch to get returned into it, for some other shot at stardom, for some other interesting story, and primarily due to the fact you leave out your buddies.