#June Engagement Session | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lumosinlove · 2 months

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Vaincre

June part iv

I’ll tell you the truth

But never goodbye

Remus thought about practice and all the sounds he wouldn’t be hearing again for a couple of months now. A din he desperately hoped would come again in the Fall.

The quiet bustle of the boys arriving. Yawns and some early morning groans. Bags being tossed down into stalls. Velcro and stick tape. The skate sharpener across the hall. The shivery sound of a bucket of pucks being scattered onto the ice. The slap of pucks and bodies on the boards rebounding in a high-roofed, empty rink. The ping of the goalposts. Bursts of laughter between drills. Showers stuttering into a hard, hot spray and the echo of voices off of tiles.

He wanted it all again. The crowds and video tape sessions. The signings and the chance to meet fans. The wins—even the losses. Even the press conferences. He wanted to see his best friends every day. He wanted to win.

They didn’t have a destination, but neither Remus nor Sirius tried to change that. They walked through the New York streets, downtown, where everything felt a little bit like a movie set. Most places were shut tight for the night, but it still felt alive.

Sirius looked handsome in the city lights. In his jeans and t-shirt. More importantly, he looked relaxed. More relaxed than Remus had expected, anyway.

“You’re calm.”

Sirius didn’t look over at him, but a small smile appeared on his face. “Maybe I just look it.”

“Okay, fair.” Remus squeezed their tangled fingers together. “I just meant that you don’t seem…”

“Miserable.”

“Well, sure. That word works.”

“I’m just…” Sirius looked down at him. “Not sure if it’s sunk in yet, maybe. You?”

“No. Not really.”

Sirius squeezed his hand back and Remus felt his engagement ring press into his skin. If anything good came out of this, it was that he would not be taking of his ring any time soon. He caught it glinting in the passing lights.

“New York really never sleeps,” Remus said.

“Neither do we, apparently.”

It was helping more than sleep, though—the walking. It was starving off the soreness they were bound to feel soon. He’d already glimpsed a bad bruise forming near his knee.

“Either way,” Remus said. “I like these walks of ours. It feels different than Gryf.”

“Ouais,” Sirius agreed. “At least we both have rivers.”

The next street they turned onto was not asphalt, but cobblestones. It wound and bent, going against the grid of New York that Remus had become accustomed to. He leaned his head back to look up at the lit apartments above. It might have been two AM, but he could see shadows moving around, or the colorful flickers of televisions.

“Did you talk to Logan?” he asked.

“Non, not really. I mean, on the ice I did. But I don’t know. I wanted to get out of there.”

“Yeah.” Remus sighed. He fought the urge to start talking about the game. Part of him wanted to know each and every single one of Sirius’ thoughts. The hit in the second. The odd, sloppy breakaway in the third. That last buzzer attempt.

“You want to talk about it don’t you,” Sirius said.

Remus laughed, then groaned, hiding it in Sirius’ shoulder. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

It was something special, to have someone who could read his mind. He closed his eyes, inhaling Sirius’ familiar scent and trusting him to guide him on the street. Sirius’ hand disappeared from his and wrapped around his waist instead. A kiss was pressed to Remus’ temple.

“Curb,” Sirius said softly, and Remus stepped down to cross the street then opened his eyes.

“Magnetic,” Remus said. “Do you remember them calling us that?”

“No one needed to remind me.”

Remus tightened his arms around Sirius’ hips and pressed a kiss over his shirt. “I know. I was just remembering.”

Their passes had connected so thoroughly this series. So well. It was awful, almost mean that the passes that stuck in their minds the most were the ones that had missed.

“How about we keep remembering…” Sirius began. “But how about we do it with fries and milkshakes.”

Remus looked up. The idea made his mouth water. “Yes. What made you say that?”

Sirius just smiled and jerked his chin forward. “Là.”

There was a diner on the corner. Many of the booths in the window were filled—Other people in search of late-night snacks. The neon sign out front read 24 HOURS and Remus could see a group of girls with milkshakes and a basket of fries in front of them.

He reached up to wrap his arms around Sirius’ neck and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek. “Love of my fucking life.”

He felt Sirius smile. Sirius reached for his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his ring. “Ouais, it’s true.”

He held the door open for Remus.

They were shuffled into a leather, worn booth and given giant seemingly endless menus. Remus found that he could hardly sit still. He kept laughing to himself. At one point, when Sirius gave him an amused, dazed look, he’d had to cover his mouth.

“You’re wild on adrenaline,” Sirius laughed.

Remus wondered if that was it. If adrenaline was what this was. These weird, surprising tight bursts of joy bubbling over in his chest. Surely he should be feeling low. He had just lost part of his childhood dream yet again.

Was adrenaline fueling the smile Sirius gave him when their two chocolate milkshakes and order of fries arrived? Did adrenaline cause Sirius to skeptically watch him dip a fry into the thick chocolate? Did it make them both laugh when Sirius tried it, made a face, and quickly switched back to ketchup?

Or maybe something had changed.

“You know, I always wanted to talk about games with you,” Remus said.

“Always?”

“You know. Before.” Remus brought the straw of his milkshake between his teeth. “I always wondered what you were thinking. Even when you were mean to me.”

Sirius groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Arrêt.”

Remus reached across the table and tried to pull his hands away. “I did! Sirius, don’t hide, come here.” He laughed when Sirius wouldn’t. “Sirius.”

Sirius let out an exaggerated sigh and pushed himself up from his side of the booth, only to slide into Remus’, arm along the back behind him and tight against his side.

“Wh…” Remus began.

Sirius leaned forward and stole the fry from Remus’ fingers with a short tug of his teeth. “You said come here.”

“That was my fry.”

“Too late.”

“Meanie.”

Sirius just made the sound that Remus associated with both him and Logan—a very Quebecois sort of tisk of disapproval (in Logan’s part, mostly jokingly aimed at Finn). Sirius’ arm slid from the booth to Remus’ shoulders and he kissed him. Remus tilted his chin up into it and let himself relax.

“Chocolate and potatoes?” Sirius asked as he dipped to kiss Remus’ jaw. “Really?”

“Sweet and salty,” Remus replied, trying not to let his eyes slip closed. They were in a diner.

“Weirdo.”

Remus hissed at a playful nip to his neck and Sirius pulled back. Sirius dragged his milkshake over to their side of the table and took a long sip. Remus could tell he was thinking. Remus had always been able to tell when he was thinking. Even when he hadn’t been able to figure out anything else about Sirius.

“Tell me,” Remus said.

“I wish I hadn’t broken that stick,” Sirius said quietly. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. “Re…”

“I know,” Remus said. “I know.”

Sirius let out a frustrated sound and rubbed at his eyes. “Merde…I don’t know what gets into me. Well, I do…”

They had both been expecting them, but as the clouds of loss edged back into their peripheral vision, Remus sighed. Sirius tightened his arm around Remus and tilted their heads together. Remus closed his eyes as they took each other’s weight.

“Julian said it best,” Sirius said. “I wanted this for you.”

“And you.”

Sirius pressed his lips together. “I—yes.”

Remus arched a brow, confused by the conflicted look on Sirius’ face. “What, what’s that look?”

Sirius sighed. He smiled, just a little. A bewildered sort of smile. He hooked his fingers into the plastic fry basket mindlessly, the greasy paper crinkling at his touch. His eyes went a little unfocused as he thought. Their blue-gray looked so fair in the diner’s light. “I keep wondering why I’m not as upset as I usually would be. I keep trying to, like…” He moved his free hand outward in a small sharp motion, palm forward. “Push myself towards being that upset. Which is insane. Why do I feel guilty for feeling slightly okay about this?”

“I…” Remus nodded slowly. “I get that. I do. Hey, but that’s good. It’s good you feel okay, you wouldn’t have been okay other years. That’s why I said you seem so calm I’m…I’m fucking proud of you for it.”

“Ouais. I guess…” His expression turned almost shy. “I guess me too.”

That made Remus smile.

“What I mean is…I’m gutted.” Sirius picked up a fry. “I want to throw something, I want a do-over…I want to be angry at Logan.” He tossed the fry back, turning to look at Remus. “But the thing that I keep thinking about isn’t the game. Isn’t the Cup. It’s you.”

Remus’ smile faltered. He looked down. “Yeah? Well… you keep catching yourself feeling guilty?” Sirius nodded. “Well, I keep catching myself thinking that this was it. That I’m finished.”

“You’re not. Re.” Sirius’ hand cupped his shoulder and Remus turned his head to look down at it. He could have drawn his scar in perfect alignment even while not being able to see it. Sirius’ fingers, over his shirt, traced it perfectly, too. He watched Sirius do it once, then twice. It was so much apart of him that even Sirius could map it into his skin.

“Loops.”

“You almost never call me that anymore.”

“Well, right now you’re my teammate as much as everything else and I’m telling you you’re going to get there.”

Remus smiled. He felt the waver in it and so did Sirius. “Telling me as my Captain?”

“As your Captain,” Sirius confirmed. His fingers traced the scar again. “As your friend and teammate who watched you…watched you take every part of your life back from Fenrir.”

Remus surprised himself with a laugh and tears springing to his eyes. “Fuck. I did, didn’t I?”

“Ouais.” Sirius kissed a tear away. “You fucking did.”

“Oh my God,” Remus whispered as the tears pressed harder at him. He tucked his face into Sirius’ neck and Sirius wrapped him up tight. His voice was warm and familiar in his ear.

“I’m telling you as all those things, and I’m telling you as someone who loves you more than anything. Ever.” Sirius’ hand spanned his back, rubbing gently. “D’accord. I think that was most of my English for tonight.”

Remus laughed tearfully again, and then let out a quiet sob, shoulders hitching. “I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m sad or relieved or what.”

“I don’t know either,” Sirius said. His voice held a teasing note. “But our waitress looks like she’s going to bring us free pie.”

Their next laughs were realer, and Remus pulled back. Sirius made a soft sound and thumbed away the tear tracks on Remus’ cheeks. Sirius still looked tired. The strain of the game was still there, but there was a happy, weightless flush to his cheeks that Remus had never seen before.

Sirius dipped a fry in his chocolate shake and held it out to Remus. “Sweet and salty night.”

Remus let Sirius feed him the chocolatey fry. Sirius dipped his own in ketchup and popped it into his mouth. Remus looked over his familiar profile. He’d seen it in shadows and bright lights…he would see him soon in the lake house’s sunset.

“Next year, mon loup,” Sirius said. “You and me. It’s not the end.”

Remus nodded and let Sirius tuck him back under his arm. “You and me.”

Logan was leaning against the side of the rooftop bar between Luke and Alex, listening to everyone swap stories and enjoying the warm wind on his back. It was good to be with Percy and Will again. He was glad now, basking in the New York night, that he hadn’t ruined this year for himself—at least not the entire year. He was glad he could stand here laughing with them about old times. The desperate fog of sadness from his first month still haunted him, but it was easier now. That was all he could hope for.

His rum and coke was sweet, but not as good as it was when Finn made it for him. The chicken wings on the table were spicy, but not as balanced as Leo’s. What had started with promises of a big, wild night had mellowed out quickly. It seemed like the team was content to simply be together, basking in the high of the win. Logan was basking with them. Just a little. Even when part of his heart, part of his mind, part of everything that was him, was at home with Leo and Finn.

It was close to three in the morning and Percy was in full form, joking with him about all the girls trying to get his attention. It was true—their group had been clocked the second they came in.

“I swear that’s the sixth one,” Percy sighed, looking over at the bar. “We’re just stars in your galaxy huh, Tremzy.”

“It’s the eyes. Nothing’s changed since college,” Will added. “Thank God Finn isn’t here.” Will had stayed out with them, which was rare. Usually he went home to his family before long. Logan was happy he was here. He’d always loved how loud his laugh was. It reminded him of Freshman year, hanging out in the kitchen of OKN house with Finn and Percy, watching Will cook the house dinner. He’d been such a good captain. The best, besides Sirius.

“What would happen if Finn was here?” Saint asked. He was standing at Luke’s side. Luke kept stealing sips of his whiskey—and narrowing his eyes playfully when Logan smiled at him.

“He, ah, sort of forgets what flirting is,” Logan explained and Alex nodded, pointing at Logan like it would enhance how true that was.

“I mean, maybe it’s more like he’s too good at it?” Percy offered.

Logan laughed. “He talks to everyone and it’s only when they ask him for his number after like, twenty minutes of talking—”

Alex laughed. “Then he’s like, oh no.”

Logan tried for a Finn accent. “Oh, shoot, sorry, I’m actually…”

Will threw his head back with that wonderful, infectious laugh. “Wait, that’s so dead on.”

Logan smiled. “But it was so so wonderful getting to know you! Those pictures you showed me of your dog—Man, they made my night.”

“All right,” Saint held up a hand. “I get it.”

“Yeah stop, it’s creepy now,” Alex said. “That’s scary good. Maybe better than mine.”

Luke scoffed. “Dude, you can’t have a Finn impression. You are a Finn impression.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Alex held up a hand. “If anything, Finn is an impression of moi.”

Logan smiled. He glanced at his phone. One new message, but from Noelle telling him he was coming to lunch tomorrow. It was late.

“Hey, hey,” Percy said, making Logan look up. “I know that look…Nu-uh. Not yet.”

Logan raised his eyebrows, smiling. “Perc.” He put on the Finn voice again. “C’mon, give me a break.”

Percy shuddered. “Okay, I didn’t mean to open this can of worms. This terrifying can of worms.”

“Perc, he beat his boys out today,” Will said. “If he wants to go home, let him.”

Percy put his hands against his chest. “But I haven’t even gotten to the best part of my day yet!”

“How could we ever guess,” Saint said flatly.

Percy winked at him. “Sebastian…Cassie Baker smiled at me today.”

Logan laughed and finished his drink. “Ouais, I’m out. You can moon over my ex-girlfriend without me.”

Alex finished off his drink, too. “I’m done, too. This was fun, boys.”

Percy spluttered. “What? It is young. The night. The earth—is young!”

“I have two boyfriends in my bed, warm and asleep,” Logan said, pushing up from the wall. “And my bed is usually very cold and very empty. So. This was fun. Goodbye.” He looked over at Luke, knocking him lightly in the shoulder as a way of saying goodnight. Luke jerked his chin in reply.

“Tremzy.” Percy actually pouted. “No, non, no.”

“Ouais, yeah, ouais,” Logan said. Percy grabbed onto his arm and made a show of putting most of his weight on Logan to keep him in place. Logan did nothing to help him and Percy began sliding towards the floor.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Will dragged Percy back to his feet with a fond shake of his head. “You’re so embarrassing.” he nodded to Alex and Logan. “You two have a good night. Don’t beat yourselves up too hard. It was a good game.”

“Yeah.” Alex sighed but nodded. “It was.” He looked up and called over to the bar. “A round for these guys, Hank!” He tussled Percy’s hair. “My parting gift, Perseus.”

Percy sent them a mournful look, but looked willing enough to accept the drink. “Fine.”

Even Saint cracked a smile.

“That really was a good Finn,” Alex said as Logan followed him down the stairs to the main restaurant and out the door. A breeze picked up on the dark street.

“Merci.” Logan shivered a little in his thin shirt. “Are you calling an Uber?”

Alex sent him an unimpressed look.

Logan sighed. “You’re walking, aren’t you?”

“What do you take me for?”

“Fuck,” Logan said, but followed him.

It was like walking with Finn—Logan didn’t have to think about directions or finding his way around. He knew they lived near each other but would have to split up at some point. Alex would tell him when they did. For now, the air felt good against his skin and the silence was gentle. Sometimes he still felt like he could hear the game in his head.

“Finn asked me once to try and take the shot for you if I could,” Alex said.

Logan wasn’t surprised. Alex touched his elbow briefly to get him to turn left.

“Luke offered me the same,” he said. “It…it is what it is.” But that wasn’t quite right. “Non. It fucking hurts.”

“I know,” Alex said. “I’ve had that with Kasey. You want to apologize when there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Logan half nodded, half shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I had gotten to see Le before we left. I thought he needed space. I thought I needed space…I guess we did. I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Alex said.

“Adrenaline’s wearing off,” Logan said. “I miss him.”

“You’re walking home.”

“I know,” Logan said, eyes down. “But I miss him.”

Alex’s hand appeared on his back, rubbing gently.

“Is Kasey doing okay?” Logan asked.

Alex was quiet for a long time. When Logan looked over, he was frowning down at the ground and fiddling with the small, dark diamond he wore.

“Alex?”

Alex guided him right. The light was red but not a car was in sight. “It’s…really hard for me to tell right now actually.” He stepped up onto a low wall and balanced for a few steps before jumping off again. The temperature had dropped. Logan thought it felt like rain.

“You’re the one who told me to talk to Finn when I was worried about us,” Logan began carefully, and frowned when Alex sort of flinched. “You’re not the type to not take your own advice.”

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Sometimes I am.”

Logan supposed that was true enough. No one always practiced what they preached. Logan watched their feet as they walked, waiting for Alex to say more. They had fallen into sync. They were quiet for a while again. Alex lead him straight, then left, the straight on again. Logan knocked their shoulders together at one point. Alex knocked back.

“I’m not…worried about us,” Alex said suddenly. “Exactly… I just wonder—I wonder if I’m…” He rubbed a tired hand across his face as they avoided a puddle at a curb. Logan was beginning to think this was about the wedding. He didn’t blame Alex if it was. If Leo and Finn suddenly decided to get married, he’d crawl out of his fucking skin.

“You should tell them,” Logan said softly. He realized he was replying to unsaid things, but if anyone might understand even a sliver of Alex’s situation, it was him.

Alex’s face tightened. “Tell them what?”

Logan thought for a moment. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need to.”

“What I need to?” Alex repeated. “What I need is to show them—show them that I…” Alex gave a sharp shake of his head. Just as suddenly, Alex switched topics. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

Logan looked up at him. “Alex—”

“I hope—did I force you? I’m sorry, Tremz.”

“What? Non, non. I…I’m glad I came. Really, I am. But—”

“Okay,” Alex said. “Just checking.”

The streets turned to cobblestones and took on curves. There were still a few apartment glowing. Logan liked that. It felt like Gryffindor. There was always a light on. Finally, Alex stopped.

“You’re right,” Alex said. “I’m left.”

“Oh, I thought you were agreeing with me.” What he meant was you can talk to me. “Al, can I do anything?”

Alex smiled. It was a little tight, but he gave Logan a playful shove in the right direction. “No. Thanks, Tremz.”

Logan didn’t believe him, but he didn’t know how to push either.

They stood there in front of each other for a moment. Alex huffed out a laugh and hugged him hard. A hug Logan associated with Finn, with Finn’s parents. They both did the little shoulder pat that their mom hugged with, too. It made Logan smile.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Logan said.

“Yeah,” Alex replied, muffled by Logan’s shoulder.

When Logan had crossed the street, he turned. He felt like he hadn’t tried hard enough, and he’d already made that mistake once tonight with Leo.

“Mais—I’ll say one thing?”

“What’s up?” Alex nodded, waiting on the corner.

“What you said earlier,” Logan said. “In the locker room and just now. About showing them. That we can be both lovers and—” He almost said enemies. “Opponents.”

“The…oh. Yeah?”

“I think…I think I won a hockey game today,” Logan said. "And I love my boyfriend. If I had lost a hockey game, I would still love my boyfriend. When there are no more hockey games, I’ll still love Leo. And if someone, some fucking reporter wants to link those two things, then they can go to hell.”

Alex was shades of blue and silver across the narrow street.

Logan shifted, a little nervous now. “I don’t think…I don’t think we have to show anyone anything. If it’s okay for me to say…”

Logan thought of the hell this year had been. He thought of Leo, holding him when they’d found out he was going to New York. Leo, tumbling into their living room in the middle of the night when Logan had come home from All-Stars. Leo and his soft kisses in the bright hospital hallway while they waited to see if Finn was okay. None of that was a show. Leo might like to put on a performance on the ice for the fans, but everything else about him was instinct, real and pure. Logan admired that. He’d put up fronts for Finn for so long, fronts that he was still tearing down.

“You don’t have to show Kasey and Nat anything. Not, like, a happy face or that you’re okay. That’s not…” Logan shook his head. “That’s just a bad habit, Alex.”

Alex tilted his head up to look at the faint moon over the city. It wasn’t full, but it was getting there.

“Tremzy…” Alex said slowly. When he smiled, the moonlight lit up his face. “You know what?”

“Quoi?”

“You’re fucking right.” Alex put a hand to his chest. The necklace glinted between his fingers. “You’re so fucking right.”

Logan let out a breath. He smiled back. “Yeah? I don’t know if that made sense in English.”

“Yeah.” Alex’s voice cracked, his brown eyes were bright with tears, but when Logan made to step forward he waved him off.

“Well,” Alex said. “I’m going home now.”

There was a lot of relief in that word. So much that it made Logan smile and feel choked up, too. “Me too.”

Logan tried to open the door as quietly as possible, going slow and expecting darkness.

Only, the lamp above his couch was on, turned down to the dimmest setting, and Finn was looking at him from just below it. He was wearing his faded NASA t-shirt and sweatpants, socked feet crossed on top of a pillow. His sling was draped over the back of the couch, his arm resting easily atop another pillow which also propped his book up.

Sleeping against his chest, was Leo.

Logan wanted to crumble to his knees.

“Oh,” Logan mouthed. He kept perfectly still.

Finn folded the book closed silently. He had his glasses on. Hi, his soft eyes said, and then with a glance down at Leo and a palm on his back: Don’t worry, I’ve got him.

Logan set his keys into the bowl by the door as quietly as he could. Leo. He toed his shoes off. Leo. He walked over to the couch and knelt beside them.

“You are so bad at sneaking,” Finn whispered—so quiet. “Did you have a good time?”

“Ouais,” Logan whispered back. He settled a palm beside Finn’s on Leo’s back, eyes trained on his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful. Logan leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss over his t-shirt. He looked up at Finn so he could read his lips more than hear him. “Had a good walk with Alex.”

Finn’s eyebrows raised, surprised. “Oh? Alex…is very good to walk with.”

Logan nodded. He would tell Finn he was a little worried tomorrow.

“Is he okay?” Finn asked softly.

“He will be,” Logan said. He nodded towards Leo. “And ours?”

Finn rubbed a slow hand down Leo’s back with a sigh.

“Lo…”

So far, Leo hadn’t stirred, but at Finn’s touch Logan felt the change in his breathing. Logan could always tell when Leo was awake. Slowly, Leo’s eyes opened. His cheeks were flushed. He regarded Logan sleepily for a moment. Logan felt Leo’s muscles tense as he remembered.

“Hi,” Logan said softly. “Hi, Le.”

“You—” Leo began, but his voice was hoarse and he had to begin again. “You should be out celebrating.”

“I did,” Logan said. “But I want to be here. Merde, Le, I wanted to be here fucking hours ago, I…” Logan shook his head. He was upset with himself, more so than he’d allowed himself to realize earlier tonight. “I should have come and see you. Soleil, I didn’t know…I didn’t know if you’d want…God, I love you, what can I do? Is there anything?”

Tears filled Leo’s eyes. He gave his head a small shake.

“Okay,” Logan said. Was he allowed to reach out to him? Did Leo want that? “Okay…”

“I’m going home with my parents tomorrow for a couple days, Lo.”

Everything in Logan froze. He looked up at Finn, whose eyes told him that this was what he had been about to say.

“Quoi?” Logan breathed. All the tension came right back into him. The fizzy, heavy quiet drained right out of his head.

“Lo,” Finn said, slightly warning.

It knocked him off balance, sitting back on his knees, but Finn reached out and grabbed his hand. His brown eyes were firm, clouded with racing thoughts and emotions. Relax. Think. Wait. Finn’s fingers squeezed around his own. Think. His thumbs made slow tracks across Logan’s knuckles. It’s okay. Think about him. Think about why.

Slowly, slowly, Logan pulled himself back towards Leo, who was watching him with exhausted blue eyes.

Logan let out a breath, he squeezed Finn’s hand then dropped it and combed his fingers through Leo’s hair. “I…okay. Okay. Whatever you need, Soleil.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you play—”

“Shh,” Logan whispered. “Le. Leo. It’s not about me. I know I just—um. Freaked out for a second. I’m sorry. We’ve had enough of that this year, ouais?” He leaned down to kiss Leo’s temple. “Home is always good.”

Finn closed his eyes at that, tucking his nose into Leo’s hair. “He’s right, Le. I…he’s right.”

Leo’s first sob was quiet, just a hitch of his chest, but the second came out in a harsh breath. He turned his face towards Finn’s chest, eyes squeezed shut.

Logan felt Leo’s pain right in the center of his chest. “We love you. So much. Le…” Logan wrapped an arm around his back, and Leo reached out a hand to hold his.

“We do,” Finn whispered. “We’re right here.”

“Always,” Logan said. “And—Le, you played so well tonight.” Logan’s throat closed up and he had to pause before he could talk again. “And I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re so talented and this year has been shit. It’s been absolute shit, Le.”

“I really—love you, I just—I need…” Leo gave up trying to talk, just pressed closer to Finn.

“You don’t have to explain,” Finn said soothingly. “We understand.”

“Ouais.” Logan nodded. “I also would—would want Eloise’s chicken soup.” Logan wiped his eyes clear of tears so he could see Leo better. “Even with full spice.”

It startled a laugh out of Leo, crying and blocked-nosed as it was. “Full spice?”

“Ouais, I would. I swear it.”

“Me too,” Finn said. “It’d make me cry but me too.”

Outside it started to rain. A crack of thunder and the force of the drops doubled. Logan didn’t realize he’d hardly looked up until the second clap of thunder.

“The storm,” Leo said.

“Can’t hear it,” Logan replied.

Leo took a few breathes, then picked up his head from Finn’s chest and looked at him.

“Hi, pillow.”

Finn laughed softly. “Very happy to be of service.”

“Didn’t think I was going to be able to sleep at all.” Leo pressed a kiss to Finn’s chin and groaned a little as he pushed himself into a sitting position, like he hadn’t moved in ages. He let out a long breath, rubbing at his eyes.

“I love you guys, too,” Leo said. He reached out for Logan. “The ice…Seeing you on the ice…”

Logan shook his head. “I know.” He pushed himself up onto the couch when Leo made free the space on his other side. Finn sat up and slipped his sling back over his head to cradle his arm. He sat facing them criss-crossed and Leo touched his face. Finn kissed his palm.

“Did you guys eat after the game?” Logan asked.

Leo shook his head. “Finn wanted to get me something but…I really just didn’t want anything.”

“You should have something,” Logan said, then he leaned forward for a quick kiss. “Wait.” This. This was something he could do. “Don’t move, either of you.”

Logan moved around in the yellow light of his kitchen with hard-fought for ease. He cracked eggs into a bowl. He poured a splash of milk in, the way Leo had taught him. In the pan, he kept the heat on low, turning the eggs slowly so their soft curl didn’t break. He turned the heat off while they were still just a little runny, slid them onto the toasts—which he had managed to time perfectly—to let them finish cooking while they melted in butter and a few passes of shaved cheddar. Four shakes of chili flakes. He went to the fridge and found the fresh mint that Leo had bought for him. He waited a moment for his kettle to boil, then clumped the mint into three mugs and poured the hot water over them. A little drizzle of honey in Leo’s, a big drizzle in his, none for Finn.

In the living room, Finn and Leo were dozing together. Outside, the sky lit up with lightning and both of their eyes opened. Leo held out his arm.

“You’re back.”

“Of course,” Logan said.

Leo looked over at Finn. “See?”

Finn shuffled Leo closer under his arm. “I do. I do.”

Logan braced himself, setting the tray of Leo’s eggs and the three teas down just in time for the thunder to make him flinch. Leo’s eyes were clearer now. He smiled when they saw the food.

“Aw, Lo…”

“It’s nothing like you can do,” he said. “But I love you.”

I love you, love you, love you.

He settled the plate on Leo’s lap and watched as he took a bite, humming as he chewed. He held out the toast for Finn. Another crack of thunder rang out, but Logan hardly heard. He was warm in one of those softly glowing apartments he’d seen from the street. The sun was going to rise soon and Leo and Finn were tucked close to him. Their faces were tear-streaked, noses still sniffling, and it wasn’t quite their summer. Not yet.

Outside it was raining and thundering, but inside it was beginning to feel to Logan like their storm was passing by.

#vaincre lumosinlove #coops #hockey au #finnlo #sunfish #lelo #o'knutzy

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toadallytickles · 6 days

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NEST 2024 + Gatherings Going Forward (again)

Attended my 4th NEST this year! This is just a quick point-form summary as I’m still dropping and wanted a write-up before I fly out this weekend to see my moms!

Perhaps I wore my “tickle me I’m cute!” shirt on Friday- and perhaps it got me pinned and gang tickled by 4 friends UGH- I haven’t been gang tickled since last June which is WILD honestly. Kinda hoping wishing this June it happens again 👀

Learning that it’s okay to let people touch me. 🙄😒 From my past writing “AUNT 2024 + Gatherings Going Forward,” I shared that I’ve denied myself from playing with friends until everything felt perfect, but recognized that I set the bar way too high and that maybe I just fear that “awkward first session” because I’m really awkward with touching and this fetish. At NEST this year I’ve allowed friends I’ve met and connected with at previous gatherings to tickle me in the con-spaces to break that touch barrier in a fun, familiar way for everyone. I also let myself engage in pick-up sessions with friends to get that “awkward first session” out of the way! I had to reassure myself throughout the weekend that it was okay that they were touching me, and they were touching me because they wanted to~.

My nesting partner is choosy about the gatherings he attends as he wants to focus on those he has connected with already, and can find gatherings overwhelming at times. This NEST made me feel similar- I want to continue attending gatherings, and I love meeting new people, though going forward I’m going to focus on regular attendees and friends I know from previous gatherings. There are a lot of regulars and mutuals I would love to get to know better and potentially play with- I’m just really awkward and don’t know how to approach people, and in turn I feel I accidentally give off a closed-off vibe. I would like to be part of my friends’ friend group, I just don’t know how to integrate! NEST going forward, I would love to volunteer and help out more to continue making the gathering the best it can be!

Oh, I had my first Wawa experience! I tried their Caramel Cookies and Cream Frozen Cappuccino, IT WAS SO GOOD, Starbucks Frapps could never. definitely kept me up way past my bedtime! 😋 Also the mascot is a (Canada) Goose because Wawa was originally a dairy farm in Wawa, Pennsylvania, and the Ojibwe word “we’we” means “Snow Goose.” Now I need a Sheets experience~.

I got to try out @ticklingduck's vibrating tickling rods! @mister-ttt and I did record content including them! They are like a small Pursonic (without it stopping after 2 minutes~)! 😏 I also BOUGHT ONE!! 🎉 @ticklingduck's socials: Etsy, Twitter, Tumblr.

Wore my Geurdo Link cosplay on auction night, even though I was not participating in the auction, and I was extremely shy so I just sat in the audience and didn’t really show it off LMAO!! (Still editing the tickle video featuring this cosplay, previews are in the NEST Server and on my OF~).

I’ve had the literal pleasure of forming a play partner dynamic with a local friend, and he has really built up my confidence, self-esteem, and has helped me be more self-sex-positive. It was exciting to carry that sex-positivity into some sessions this weekend, and I learned that I really like being consensually sexually violated by friends.. 🥴💦 don't look at me.

This weekend really validated my growth and boundaries. Finding this gathering somewhat personally hard to navigate because I wasn’t meeting my exact wants (a me-issue, not NEST's), that helped me recognize that I’m not the same person I was at my first NEST and other 2019 gatherings, and that I’m truly growing. I wasn’t able to navigate NEST like I did in 2019, so now I know I’m on the right path and know what I’m exactly looking for.

And finally on the last day of the gathering, I’m sitting in the lobby in my lazy travel fit, not showered, sporty wind-breaker, capris, my glasses, pink paw print socks + sandals of course, and a guy I’m pretty sure was not part of the NEST group asked me if I was “Kyle-“ and there were other men around. I say no, and guy just wanders back to where he came from. Assigned Kyle at NEST. I have not felt gender euphoria in a long time. 🥹

anyway, the end. looking forward to the next gatherings~

#hi I'm never here but I'm doing really well! just lots going on in the in-person scene so I'm active there!#I still pop in from time-to-time. But I'm definitely happier in-person.#Thought I'd share my NEST 2024 experience as Fetlife got this! My AUNT 2024 is on my Fetlife too!#Anyway- I hope to see lots of familiar and new faces at NEST 2025~! I'm hoping to do lots of volunteering at future NESTs and events! :)#my posts #NEST #NEST 2024 #tickle gatherings #my writing #tickles #text

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vs120shound · 6 months

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Smokingbabygirl always looks hot and smokes so seductively for being relative new to the habit. She radiates in this closeup video!

ALI, UP TIGHT WITH VS120s!

Tight shots are a part of the SF video experience but they do not dominate in most cases. Here, with Ali (Smokingbabygirl), it is non-stop action up close and personal but the tightly-framed camera is set on to her face only. The focus is pulled back enough for essentially capturing her smoking and her ample (new) breasts, but not so, so tight, not distractingly so. Yes, she received a phenomenal enhancement / augmentation procedure that has left us breathless and amazed at how stunning implants can leave a BHYSW (Beautiful Hot, Young Smoking Woman)! At least for Ali, they are ultra sensational!

Not an exciting or overly dramatic clip here but if you admire Ali and get pleasure from watching her devour her Newport 100s and this Virginia Slims 120 Gold Pack Menthol, then we're pretty sure you are enjoying this video. This could be from her trip with hubby, athensdaddy, her manager and "pimp" as well, to Paris. We believe two other clips of her on our brand originated from that "working" vacation, one of which is featured below. Ali appears 100 percent in profile; straight on captures her facial beauty a tad better, we'd say. In case Ali is new to you, she began smoking a few years ago upon meeting athensdaddy who nearly immediately won her over. She fell into his trap. He made a deal out of meeting women in their young-20s or late-teens, turned all of them who were non-smokers into Smoking Sluts as they fulfilled his voracious appetite for kinky carnal activities. Ali was no different, except that "she was the one!" Engagement, marriage, heavy smoking, plenty of sex and she agreed to his quest of promoting intimate sessions with her for hire -- with random men from the Internets -- for capturing for publication on restrictive Social Media platforms! Whether they are still into that scene (game) big-time, we do not know. Enticing proposition, isn't it. Ali earned Honorable Mention status in January 2023 during the release on vs120shound of the "unofficial" official Top-25 all-time favorite SF models list!

Previous Posts of Ali on Our Network!

From vs120shound-2 on June 8, 2023 . . .

From vs120shound-2 on May 24, 2023 . . .

From vs120shound-2 on March 24, 2023 . . .

#SF #Hot women who love smoking cigarettes #Smoking cigarettes #Smoking #Smokingbabygirl (Ali)!#Honorable Mention for the Top-25 all-time favorite SF models list!

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leslie-lyman · 11 months

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Kinktober in June: Focus (Ezra x f!reader)

Summary: It’s hypnokink with Ezra. That’s it, that’s the fic.

Pairing: Ezra x f!reader/nameless!OFC (can be read either way, reader is referred to only as she/her/Birdie; no physical descriptions other than her having a vulva)

Rating: E 🚨 (absolutely no minors!!)

Warnings: hypnokink, duh; hypnodom!Ezra and sub!reader; Ezra and reader have limits and a safe word and all that good stuff negotiated but I don’t go into it here, I wrote this from the perspective of everything being consensual and you should read it that way too, okay?; dirty talk out the fucking wahzoo; coming untouched

Word count: 991

A/n: So uh, remember when I said I was gonna write one (1) story for Kinktober last year? This is it and we are not gonna talk about the fact that it’s now June. Also reminder that this is fiction, not a manual on how to engage in this kink.

Masterlist.

———

Let us begin, Birdie

Ezra watches her eyes instantly glaze over. He always starts their sessions this way, the trigger phrase immediately starting to pull her under.

Feel your breath move

As the tide upon the shore

In and out

The Green had taken many things from him: years of his life and much of his capacity for compassion. It had come dangerously close to stealing his humanity. But no loss does he feel more acutely than that of his arm.

His right arm, no less. Without his dominant hand, even one-handed activities now involve an embarrassing amount of awkward, shaky fumbling as he learns to do the most basic of tasks - writing his name, using a fork, unzipping his trousers - with the fine motor skills of a toddler.

But that was before her. Before this.

Breathe for me, Birdie

In and out

Let everything start to drift away

All the tension in your body

All the thoughts in your mind

In and out

Let them all go

Let your body go soft

Let your mind go blank

Until there are no worries

Until there are no thoughts

Until there is

Only

It’s an exercise in control - controlling her, yes, her body, her mind, her pleasure, but also in controlling himself. The lips of her cunt glisten with slick, a delicious honeyed treat with which he aches to slake his thirst. His cock is diamond-hard, straining against the material of his pants. It would be the work of mere moments to be buried inside her in any number of ways, with her taste on his tongue or her walls clamped tight and hot around his fingers or his cock.

But he resists, because as they’ve both discovered, playing with her this way is so much sweeter in the end.

In and out, Birdie

In and out

Feel yourself letting go

Sinking down

Down, down, down

Into a warm, blank place

Feel your body grow heavy

As it sinks, sinks, sinks

Into that warm, blank place for me

He watches her naked body slacken on the bed, her arms over her head, her legs falling open. He holds her gaze from where he sits near the bed, not close enough to touch her, enjoying watching her struggle to keep looking at him.

I know you want to drop for me, Birdie

It’s so hard to keep your eyes open, isn’t it?

It would be so easy to let them fall closed

To give in

To succumb

You want to, Birdie

I know you do

Sink just a little deeper

Fall just a little further

In and out

To drop and be completely under my control

Won’t that be so nice?

To just sink, sink, sink

All the way down

To drop in

Three

Two

One

He snaps his fingers and her eyes roll back, lids fluttering closed. It had taken them so long, so long to build this trust, to find and push and expand the limits of how they could play like this. And still, every time it fills him with a perverse mixture of awe and pride to watch her fall under his spell.

That’s it, Birdie

Sinking all the way down now

Down, down, down

As you breathe

In and out

Now feel that warmth start to grow between your legs

Let that slow, warm pleasure roll down your spine

Let it all

Sink, sink, sink

Down into your most special place

Feel how it already drips for me, Birdie

Feel it grow swollen and needy

Feel how it aches to be touched

And how much better it feels

The further down you drop

All the way

Down, down, down

Knowing that if you sink just a little further

Drop just a little deeper

The more pleasure you’ll find

A bead of wetness falls from the lips of her cunt onto the bed. Ezra is sure there’s a matching dark patch near his waistband where the head of his cock is now steadily leaking. He could keep her here like this for hours, flushed and docile with arousal without letting her cum, guiding her right to the edge before backing her away, as many times as he wants. But he decides to fall on the side of the merciful today.

Now feel the pleasure start to grow

More, more, more

Let it keep building

Up, up, up

The more you sink

Down, down, down

Feel how much you want to cum

How your little pussy gets

Closer, closer, closer

And wants to cum for me

He watches her chest rise and fall as her breathing picks up, a subtle tremor in her leg and the ever-growing wet spot beneath her the only other signs that her body is following his every command.

I think you’re ready, Birdie

Your body is so, so ready to cum

No thoughts in your head

Just pleasure

Pure pleasure

It’s going to feel so good, isn’t it?

Here we go

Let the pleasure swell

More, more, more

Ready

And

Cum

He snaps his fingers again and her body arches off the bed. Her drooly pussy pulses and clenches around nothing as she cums completely untouched, compelled to do so by his words alone. The only sound she makes is a soft little moan, but Ezra feels it in every bone and sinew in his body. Kevva be damned, he thinks, for surely this is the power of gods.

My sweet, good girl

My soft little pet

Breathe through it

In and out

That was such a good first one

Let’s see how many more we can find

Keep sinking down into the pleasure, Birdie

Down, down, down…

The Green took so much from him, but it did not take his voice.

He speaks, and she listens.

He speaks, and she obeys.

#ezra fanfic #ezra x reader #ezra x ofc #ezra prospect #pedro pascal #kinktober

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bettyshoweduptotheparty · 4 months

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My Exit Note (for now) - and A Letter to Taylor

I’m so very sorry to the lovely people on here who will be saddened to read this, but this will be my last post for a while. I re-joined tumblr in June last year to re-reconnect to this lovely community, and it genuinely seemed so much safer to do than back in 2017. I thought the fandom had gained some perspective as a whole. But after only 7 months, the fandom (and by that I mean swifties) has once again become a battle ground for us, fuelled by none other than Taylor herself, and I’m no longer willing to gloss over that. I’m choosing my own peace.

It may seem like a very fickle move after only 7 months in this space, when the good people on here are genuinely some of the kindest and most intelligent people I’ve ever met online, but let me explain why I need to take a break. I don’t intend to leave Taylor Swift and her art behind and never look back. In fact, I have Eras tour tickets for the summer and I want to give myself a chance to actually be excited about that by the time June comes around. But it’s all too familiar, pretty much exactly the same reason I left tumblr the first time in 2017. I’m here to discuss and analyse Taylor’s art with likeminded (queer) people and I can’t respect the artist of that very art when she continually gives her toxic ‘fans’ ammunition to come into our safe space and harass us and then watches as we scramble to keep ourselves safe amidst abuse and threats. They are doing this in HER name. Members of a marginalised community she claims to be an ‘ally’ to are being doxxed and harassed in HER name and she’s doing nothing. If anything she’s fanning the flames while it burns. Whatever it is that she’s doing with her brand right now, her silence when her own crazy fans are sending DEATH THREATS to people for simply interpreting her art, means that I cannot be part of that right now. I thought the fandom had changed, that Taylor had grown more confident defending what she stands for, but clearly, I was wrong.

The tipping point back in 2017 for me, was when she told those kids from the rep secret sessions that the album was all about her darling bf and gave them permission to go after anyone who said otherwise. And boy, did they take that seriously. They came after us in our little corner for gushing over how beautifully gay those songs were, fuelled by words straight from the horse’s mouth. SHE sent those people after us. Because she wrote the gayest album in history and she couldn’t deal with the noise getting too loud. And I lost all respect for her. It was only in 2019 when she was suddenly draped in rainbows that I carefully looked at gaylor spaces online again, because it seemed like she was finally actually committing to it. But we all know how that ended… So, to see one of those very rep secret session kids on my YouTube feed yesterday picking apart this beautiful NY Times article with lies and inaccuracies in the name of Taylor’s straightness, just reminded me whose side she decides to put herself on. She invited those people to her house. She caters to them, not us. She made them think they were her friends and then sent them after us. With HER OWN WORDS. And I can’t be in the trenches for someone who hands my bullies a gun and points at the target.

I will leave my blog active this time, so my content will be here for people to engage with if they want. But I won’t be on here to receive your messages or dm’s. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you guys at a time where we need to stick together, but I’m getting more anger and hurt out of this than joy atm and that’s always the time for me to put myself first and step away. I hope that we will come together again when the tide changes, I’m still somewhat convinced that the clock is ticking towards a better time for us, but I need Taylor to come through for us (and herself) before I can look at her again. And I promise if that happens, I won’t hold a grudge.

And lastly, here’s something I’ve never done because I’m not crazy enough to think that Taylor sees us on here, but I don’t have any other social media and I had to get this off my chest. (If you have twitter/instagram, maybe do something similar, you never know, she might actually see it and I think she needs to know how much hurt she’s causing with this)

Dear Taylor, @taylorswift

What are you doing, love? I wish I could actually ask you that. In fact, I’ve wished it many times throughout the decade that I’ve been a fan of your music. I’ve wished that I could tell you what your music meant to me when I was heartbroken, and how much joy it brought me when I was young and felt invincible. You changed my life when you proudly held a girl’s hand in public with a smile that showed me that love is there for people like me to find, after all. And when the world was hard on you, I wished I could ask you if you were ok. But today, I just want to ask you this: what have I done to deserve you sending the worst kind of people after me? Time and time again. And you can’t tell me you didn’t know that would happen, I know you’re smart. I know you know the kind of people I’m talking about, the ones that worship you like a God, that will stop at nothing to defend the version of you they have in their heads. The ones you built your empire on. Good on you, but when did you stop caring for the people that actually see you and read the words you put out into the world for us? Was that not what you wanted? I can’t claim to understand how you live the life you’ve chosen, but at least your art was always there to bring joy to my life and community when I needed it. I didn’t need you to be a hero, but now you’ve become part of the problem.

So, here’s the thing: choose a side. Commit to us, or let us go. This line that you’re walking has reached the end. You want to be an ally? Fine. Let me help you with that: Don’t claim to be a safe space for queer people and then throw a grenade into our community and watch it burn. That’s not what an ally does. Don’t appropriate our culture by using our pride flag colours or the colour lavender and then deny the cultural and historic significance of those colours, effectively erasing their meaning. That’s not what an ally does. And most importantly, don’t let people be slaughtered, gaslit and harassed on the internet, or mainstream news, for interpreting your music as queer. A young queer woman, who is an incredible journalist, got called ‘inappropriate’ and a liar on national news yesterday, because she picked up what you’re putting down in your music and wrote an article about it. An incredible article by the way, one that made us all feel seen and validated. And then you’re letting old white men on national television call that inappropriate and invasive. You may not have said those words, but you let them stand there uncommented, let your cultish fans think that their hero is offended by being presumed to be gay. You guessed it, that’s also not what an ally does. A marginalised group of your fans got DEATH THREATS in your name in the last 24 hours because we pick up on queer flagging in your art. And you did nothing. You handed our bullies weapons and left us to fend for ourselves. That is not a safe space for LGBTQ people. And for that reason, you’re losing me.

Because I have nothing to believe. Unless you actually choose me (and yourself for that matter). Just once.

Until then,

#lgbtq rights #lgbetty #friends of dorothea #I’m out for now #hope I can be back some day #but I need Taylor to show me why I should #i’m sorry #love our community #stay safe people

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androgynealienfemme · 8 months

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"The main justification for invalidating butch-femme is that its an imitation of heterosexual roles and, therefore, not a genuine lesbian model. One is tempted to react by saying "So what?" but the charge encompasses more than betrayal of an assumed fixed and "true" lesbian culture. Implicit in the accusation is the denial of cultural agency to lesbians, of the ability to shape and reshape symbols into new meanings of identification. Plagiarism, as the adage goes, is basic to all culture.

In the real of cultural identity, that some of the markers of a minority culture's boundaries originate in an oppressing culture is neither unusual nor particularly significant. For instance, in the United States certain kind of bead- and ribbon work are immediately recogniziable as specific to Native American cultures, wherein they serve artistic and ceremonial functions. Yet beads, trinkets, ribbons, and even certain "indian" blanket patterns were brought by Europeans, who traded them as cheap goods for land. No one argues that Indians out to give up beadwork or blanket weaving, thus ridding themselves of the oppressors symbols, because those things took on a radically different cultural meaning in the hands of Native Americans. Or consider Yiddish, one of the jewish languages. Although Yiddish is written in Hebrew characters and has its own idioms and nuances, its vocabulary is predominantly German. Those who speak German can understand Yiddish. Genocidal Germanic anti-Semitism dates back to at least the eleventh century. Yet East European Jews spoke "the oppressors language," developing in it a distinctive literary and theatrical tradition. Why is it so inconceivable that lesbians could take elements of heterosexual sex roles and remake them?

It is June 1987, and I am sitting in a workshop on "Lesbians and Gender Roles" at the annual National Women's Studies Conference. It is one of surprisingly few workshops on lesbian issues, particularly since, at a plenary session two mornings later, two thirds of the conference attendees will stand up as lesbians. Meanwhile, in this workshop the first speaker is spending half an hour on what she calls "Feminism 101," a description of heterosexual sex roles. Her point in doing this, she says, is to remind us of the origin of roles, "which are called butch and femme when lesbians engage in them." She tells us the purpose of her talk will be to prove, from her own experience, that "these roles are not fulfilling" for lesbians. She tells us that the second speaker will use lesbian novels from the 1950s to demonstrate the same thesis. And, indeed, the second speaker has a small stack of 1950s "pulp paperbacks" with her, many of them the titles that, when I discovered them in the mind-1970s, resonated for me in a way that the feminist books published by Daughters and Diana Press did not.

I consider for several minutes. I'm well versed in lesbian literature, particularly in the fifties novels, and don't doubt my ability to adequately argue an opposing view with the second presenter. I am curious to see if she will use the publisher-imposed "unhappy ending" to prove that roles make for misery. I also decide I'm willing to offer my own experience to challenge the first presenters conclusions- though I'd much rather sit with her over coffee and talk. She is in her midforties and, although she claims to have renounced it, still looks butch. Even if she speaks of roles negatively, she has been there and I want to hear her story. Then I look around me. Everyone is under thirty. There are a few vaguely butch-looking women present who'd very likely consider themselves to be as androgynous as everyone else, and not a single, even remotely femme-looking women besides myself. I recall Alice Walker's advice to "never be the only one in the room." Quietly, I get up and walk out. I go to no other lesbian presentations at the conference."

“Recollecting History, Renaming Lives: Femme Stigma and the feminist seventies and eighties" by Lyndall MacCowan, The Persistent Desire, (edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

#the persistent desire #Lyndall MacCowan #Joan nestle #lesbian #lesbianism #butch and femme #butchfemme #butch and femme history #butch lesbian #femme lesbian #butch history #femme history #lesbian history #lesbian culture #lesbian feminism #lesbian feminist history #lgbt history #queer history

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columbiauniversity-schoolboard · 18 days

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‎

With the end of the semester approaching fast, Columbia wants to settle out a guide for this year's summer if any students might be interested.

L͟e͟a͟r͟n͟ m͟o͟r͟e͟

NYC Residential Summer

Whether you are enrolled and pursuing a degree at Columbia College or the School of Engineering, are a graduating senior completing your degree this academic year, or are simply planning to attend one of University's select summer programs, Housing offers options for living on campus during the summer semester.

Online Summer

Join our programs from anywhere in the world and experience interactive classes with high-achieving peers and dedicated instructors, engaging co-curricular activities, and resources like our online library. Monday through Friday, students will join their virtual classrooms to refine their academic skills through a variety of activities—class discussions, debates, simulations, individual and group projects, Student Life workshops, and more.

College Edge: Summer

In the College Edge program, students in grades 11–12 truly get the college experience by earning college credit as they learn alongside Columbia’s undergrad students on our Morningside campus. Students will also receive academic advisement and professional development opportunities.

Columbia’s Summer Course

Columbia students may choose to enroll in summer courses to catch up or get ahead in their academic programs, fulfill prerequisites such as Core requirements, or explore new fields. Whether you’re interested in exploring a budding passion or fulfilling degree requirements, consult with your advisor for approvals and to ensure that you meet the eligibility requirements to register or enroll in Columbia Summer courses.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☟ SESSION DATES ☟

FULL SUMMER TERM (X)

Dates

May 20–August 9

SESSION A

Dates

May 20–June 28

SESSION B

Dates

July 1–August 9

SESSION G

Dates

May 20–June 14

SESSION J

Dates

June 17–July 12

SESSION H

Dates

June 3–June 28

SESSION R

Dates

July 1–July 26

Registration Dates ☏

Late registration, which is the same for all students, takes place on the second, third, fourth, and fifth days of each session. For some courses, permission from the instructor may be required. A $50.00 fee will be charged during the late registration period. A $100.00 fee will be charged after the late registration period.

Registration for the summer semester will be accepted below with a students name and their term or a teacher and their class.

OOC NOTE: Just like how Student Mods may decide they want to continue through the summer, Teacher Mods should be able too. So, please, comment your respective characters below if they will be able to be present through the summer unless they are absent.

#academic calendar

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proxima-writes · 1 year

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‘til the sun burns out - part 3

part of the nothing else matters universe

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Read it on AO3

Summary:

Your wedding night to Eddie Munson.

Additional tags: explicit sexual content, p in v, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation, fluff and smut, no angst, established relationship

“Edward James Munson, if you are late to our wedding I will personally send you to hell myself,” you hiss into the receiver, leaving your fifth and increasingly threatening voice message to the phone the guys share while they’re on the road.

Your best friend Claire looks at you expectantly as you walk back into your bedroom. She flinches at your murderous expression but cheerily says, “Don’t worry, sugar, I’m sure they’re just…on the road. Speeding down here to make all your dreams come true.”

Rather than respond, you pour yourself another shot of vodka and toss it back. Then, you start pacing again, wringing your hands together to avoid grabbing the phone and leaving your sixth message.

It’s 1991 and a seasonably warm June day in Hawkins. You’ve been engaged to the man of your dreams for over a year, and the wedding planning was what kept you busy and your mind occupied during the months he was away for his latest tour and recording sessions.

Your wedding is scheduled to begin at 2 p.m. at Hawkins Church. You had kicked and screamed your way to this decision, but ultimately your dad telling you it would make your late mama proud tugged hard enough at your heartstrings to make you relent. Eddie had been a pretty quick sell on the idea.

“You mean get married by the very man who called me a radical satanist? It might give him a heart attack. Let’s do it,” he’d said when you called him to tell him your dad’s guilt trips had finally won.

It was now noon, and Eddie was supposed to be home from the tour at 10 a.m., but you haven’t heard from him or any of the other guys. “Claire, I’m going to kill him.”

“So you’ve said. To anyone within a five foot radius.” She sets her wine down and stands, grasping you by your upper arms. “You need to relax. He’ll be here. When has Eddie ever let you down?”

“September 1986 when he admitted that he’s never actually liked Red Vines and only eats them because I like them.”

“That’s not letting you down, that’s having taste. Now ease up on the vodka, I don’t want to have to hold your hair back in church.”

There’s a knock at your bedroom door and a familiar head of luscious hair pokes his head in.

“Harrington!”

“What’s this about vodka?” He asks as he enters the room, giving you a quick hug. “Where’s Munson?”

Claire makes a striking motion across her throat, but it’s too late. “He’s not here. Our wedding is in two hours and he’s not here! ” You shout.

Steve’s eyes go wide as he watches you start your pacing over. He looks at Claire. “She been like this all day?”

“This is…arguably the most calm she’s been.”

“I’m sure he’s got a good reason for running late,” Steve says diplomatically. “And if he doesn’t, then I’m glad I’m not him.”

You glare at Steve. “Thanks, Harrington. You really know how to make a girl feel better.”

“Anytime. I just wanted to stop by and say hi, let you know Nancy and Robin just got back in town. El and Max are at the church decorating. Dustin is…somewhere, being Dustin.” He pauses. “Pastor Mitchell has only been praying for the absolution of your sins for the past hour or so.”

“Huh, that’s not so bad,” Claire murmurs.

“I know, right?” Steve rubs a hand over his chin as he thinks of anything else to tell you. “Oh, Mrs. Wheeler brought the cake over to the bar. Chad put it in the fridge.”

“At this rate, the only thing I’m looking forward to is Mrs. Wheeler’s German chocolate cake,” you grumble. “Thanks, Steve. If you hear anything from Eddie could you let me know?”

He gives a little two finger salute before slipping out the door and disappearing. Claire regards you with concerned eyes. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you dressed.”

—-

It’s 1:45 p.m. and your dad is going to be walking you down the aisle any minute. You’ve had Claire checking whether Eddie’s arrived every five minutes for the past hour, and still no sign of him. The only thing keeping you from crying is the fact that your eyelashes are coated in a layer of mascara so thick that if you cried, you’re almost certain you’d go blind.

Your gown is an off the shoulder white dress that hits you leg at the knee, simple in style but stunning in figure. Your hair is teased and sprayed within an inch of its life. You’ve got a handful of sunflowers mixed with baby’s breath as a bouquet. You’re ready to get married.

The only thing you apparently don’t have is a fucking groom.

Your dad knocks on the door to the room you’re waiting in just off the lobby of the church. He’s dressed in a white button down tucked into black slacks, the same thing he wears to church the three times a year he goes.

“You look beautiful, sweet pea. I only wish your mama could have seen you,” he says, eyes glassy. All the anger leaves you in a rush as he envelopes you in a hug. “Now, come on. Let’s go get you hitched.”

You slide your arm into the crook of his elbow. The wedding march filters through the old wood doors of the nave as your dad stands with you, waiting for the doors to open. It’s Steve who pulls the door open, his face giving away nothing as your dad guides you inside.

The small gathering of people are all standing in the pews, facing you, with huge smiles on their faces but your eyes immediately find a familiar pair of brown ones at the end of the aisle.

Eddie stands next to a surly Pastor Mitchell, lips spread wide in a huge grin. To your surprise, he’s wearing a suit - black on black shirt, vest, and haphazardly done tie topped with his leather jacket instead of the suit jacket. The rest of the guys from the band stand beside him in similar suits, while on your side Claire stands in her baby blue gown, holding a bouquet similar to yours.

Your dad kisses you on the cheek before placing your hand in Eddie’s. Those familiar calloused fingers wrap around your own and just like that, all of the stress of the morning fades away.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers as you stand beside him and Pastor Mitchell begins his wedding sermon.

“You’re late,” you whisper back, though the words are full of far less heat than they would have been a few hours ago.

“Ran into a bit of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Would you believe me if I said we stopped a robbery?”

You turn your head to him as you hiss out, “What?!”

Pastor Mitchell clears his throat, the annoyance clear on his face.

“Sorry,” you murmur, turning back to him. Eddie’s shoulders shake in silent laughter.

“The couple has chosen to say their own vow,” Pastor Mitchell says. “Edward?”

“Hey, baby,” Eddie starts, “Remember that time we drove out to watch the meteor shower? And how you watched the stars, but I could only watch you? You’re my favorite star in any galaxy. And I’ll love you until the sun burns out.”

Pastor Mitchell turns to you, and gestures for you to speak. “Eddie, you’re the wordsmith here, not me. But just know, you’re the sun in my galaxy. My best days begin and end with you, my love. I can’t wait for a lifetime of the best days.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” Pastor Mitchell says, closing his sermon book. Eddie reaches out to curl a hand behind your neck, hauling you towards him in a kiss impeded by your bright smile.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he murmurs.

“Me, too, Munson. Me, too.”

Hand in hand, you run laughing down the aisle of the church to the cheers of your friends and family.

And the silent prayers of Pastor Mitchell.

___

That night, The Hideout hosts its first ever wedding reception.

Mrs. Wheeler volunteered to take charge of managing the potluck style dinner and the cake. Your bartenders happily volunteered to serve drinks through the night. And the boys of Corroded Coffin provided the entertainment.

You haven’t stopped smiling, and every time your eyes meet Eddie’s, your heart flutters wildly in your chest.

Eddie Munson. Your husband.

Man, what a world.

The man in question slides an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck. “Dance with me?”

“Eddie Munson, since when do you dance?”

“Since I got the prettiest girl in the room to give me a chance,” he says. He drags you in front of the stage, and the boys start in on a song you haven’t heard before.

It’s slow, the guitar drawn out and the deep bass more pronounced. You slip your arms around Eddie’s neck and sway with him, your bodies pressed tightly together. Gareth is on vocals while Eddie enjoys your first dance.

“It’s called Nothing Else Matters. Metallica’s new song,” Eddie tells you, turning you in a circle. “Thought it fit us pretty well.”

Never cared for what they say

Never cared for games they play

Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

And I know, yeah, yeah

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

No, nothing else matters

“It’s perfect, Eds,” you whisper.

———

Later, after the party has wound down and your friends shoo you and Eddie out of the bar and into the car decorated with a “Just Married” banner, Eddie pulls up to your shared home and rushes around the hood to pull your door open.

You barely get your seatbelt undone before he’s lifting you from the car, making you giggle. When he reaches the door, he sets you down for a brief second to tug his keys out and open the door before scooping you up into his arms again.

“When we cross this threshold, we’ll officially be husband and wife. You ready?” He asks.

“According to the state of Indiana, we’ve been husband and wife for the last twelve hours,” you reply.

Eddie steps into the dark house, kicking the door shut behind him. He makes a beeline for your bedroom, tossing you on the bed and immediately crawling up over your body.

“Have I told you yet how stunning you are?” He asks. “This dress looks amazing on you, but I bet it would look better on the floor,” he says with a wink.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, tone gone sultry. You wrap your fist in the black tie around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “I can think of some places where this tie would look better, too.”

“Later. First, I’m gonna eat my wife’s pretty pussy,” he says, sliding down until he’s situated on his stomach between your spread legs. His rough hands shove your dress up over your hips, exposing the black lace panties and matching garter holding up your stockings. Eddie looks like a kid on Christmas. “Jesus Christ, this is all for me?”

“‘Til the sun burns out, baby,” you tell him. He grins at you, palms sliding up the backs of your thighs as he presses your legs up, exposing more of you to his hungry gaze.

He plants light kisses up the inside of both thighs before his lips gently trace your folds through the silk and lace. The dulled sensation of his mouth on you is maddening, not nearly enough for how tightly wound your body and soul are for this man.

“Eddie, please,” you beg, voice breathy.

“Oh, is my little slut already desperate?” He taunts. His thumb rubs circles over your sensitive clit, still keeping your lingerie as a barrier. “These cute little panties are already soaked, huh?”

You nod, arching your back and trying to shift your hips to chase the friction. He pulls back, making you groan in disappointment.

Eddie’s fingers trace the edges of the lace before finally pulling them aside. He uses his opposite hand to trace a single finger through your wetness before he draws back, landing a light smack to your center that has you fighting against his hold.

“Hold still, or I’m going to make this take way longer than either of us wants,” he warns before his tongue is on your, licking you from your dripping hole to your needy clit.

You cry out in relief, blabbering a litany of thank you and oh my god and please as he tortures you in the best way possible. You do your best to follow his instruction to stay still, but on a hard suck to your sensitive nub your hips chase his mouth and your fingers bury themselves into his curly hair.

He must be in a forgiving mood, because he simply groans against you and increases his pace, winding you tighter and tighter until you come against his lips with a shout of his name like a prayer.

Eddie works you down from your high, until your legs are deadweight over his shoulders. He sits up, grabbing your waist and flipping you to your belly. His fingers find the zipper of your dress and pull it down, shimmying the fabric off your body, and the only help you’re able to provide is in the form of lifting your hips so he can pull it fully off and toss it to the ground.

“Huh, I was right. It does look better on my floor,” he jokes before grabbing a handful of your ass in a rough grip. He smacks one cheek, then the other, making you cry out and rub yourself against the sheets, even as sensitive as you are.

The warmth of his body leaves yours as he stands, and you turn your head to watch him undress. Your mouth goes dry watching him unbutton his shirt, the tattoos you love to trace with your tongue coming into view. You follow the trail of hair beneath his belly button to the bulge in his slacks, watching as his deft fingers undo the fly and shove all the offending fabric out of the way of your appreciative gaze.

He holds the tie in his hand, a familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye as he gets back on the bed. “What do we think we should use this for? A gag? No, I wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make for me. I think maybe we should tie you up, huh?”

You let out a pitiful whine, but nod your consent. Eddie helps you lift your arms above your head, your body now laying in one long line as he winds the silk around your wrists. He gives the bind an experimental tug, seeming pleased with his work.

“Lift those hips, princess. On your knees,” he says. You work your knees beneath you, raising your hips with a deep arch of your back, your chest pressed to the bed.

He runs a hand from your neck to the base of your spine, toying with the band of your underwear. “I think I’ll leave these on,” he tells you, before once again shifting the fabric to the side.

Your breath catches when you feel the blunt head of his cock at your dripping hole. He presses forward slowly, agonizingly, stretching deliciously until his hips sit flush to yours. He groans, hands trailing over all the skin he can reach as he lets you adjust until you give him that tell-tale shift of your hips, asking for more.

And more does he give.

He pulls out until you’re nearly empty before driving back inside, a harsh slap of his hips against yours. The angle brushes the head of him against that maddening spot inside of you, making you cry out and moan with each drag of his cock in and out of your heat.

Eddie winds a hand through your hair, using it along with a hand around your throat to bow your body off the bed, back arched against him as he pounds into you.

“My perfect little wife. So fucking gorgeous for me on her knees, crying out my name,” he growls into your ear. “Want you to come on my cock, sweetheart, want you dripping down my thighs as I fill you up.”

You nod against his hold, your hips moving frantically in time with his thrusts as you chase the second wave of relief he’s gifting you.

It shatters across your nerves a moment later, and Eddie groans, a flood of colorful curses leaving his lips as he chases his own release. He stills, and you moan at the feeling of him pulsing against your walls as he cums.

He gently guided the upper half of your body back to the bed before slipping out of you. He spreads you open with a hand on each cheek, watching with possessive attention as his cum leaks out of you.

Satisfied that you’re well fucked and marked up as his, he flops on the bed beside you, lust drunk hands struggling to undo the bind on your wrists. When you’re finally free, he hauls your body against his, the sweat cooling on your skin as he holds you.

“So, you ever gonna tell me why you were late?” You ask after a moment of catching your breath.

“I wasn’t joking about the robbery. We were pulling forward through a stop sign when some guy that stole a woman’s purse literally smashed into the van. On foot. Knocked him out cold. We had to wait for the police to take their report before we could keep driving.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know. Drove like a bat out of hell the rest of the way to make it on time.” His fingers trail along your arm. “Wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

“I guess I can forgive you, then,” you tease.

He grins at you, looking just like the teenage boy you’d fallen for all those years ago, and for all the stress this morning caused you, you know you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader smut #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie stranger things #explict #eddie Munson would be late to his own wedding #no use of y/n #eddie munson x y/n

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moonchildreads · 1 year

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small town

Chapter 15 - Don't You Want Me

IN THIS CHAPTER: Illicit library naps, a sleepover, and Important Questions get asked [7.3k]

WARNINGS: fear of coming out (lighthearted, everything turns out okay), self doubt, bisexuality? idk if that's a warning but if you haven't noticed yet, eddie and dot are both bi lol

A/N: happy pride friends! i swear to god i didn't plan for this chapter to be out and proud in june, i set the outline in stone months ago but i'm taking it as a happy accident. sorry for posting a day late, yesterday was Not Great but we should get back to friday updates this coming week. enjoy <3

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You know I can't believe it When I hear that you won't see me

Monday, May 12th - 1986

The rainy spell that haunted Hawkins at all times continued throughout most of the Monday, up until lunch time when it finally relented. The sky was still mostly dark with heavy clouds hiding the sun while the Hellfire seniors stood just outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for Eddie to be done with the conversation he was about to engage in so they could head to their next classes. All four of them - Dottie, Gareth, Donny, and Jeff - were staring pointedly at him as he approached the cheerleaders’ table.

“Got the goods, Cunningham?” Eddie raised his voice to call Chrissy’s attention.

“Yup! Got ‘em right here!” she said, smiling brightly and reaching into her pocket to grab the remaining prom tickets she’d promised to save for him. He gave her the money and she accepted it gracefully, but when he leaned forward to grab the tickets, she snapped her hand back, lifting it over her head. “You better suit up, Munson, or I’ll personally block your way in.”

“We’ll dress up, I promise,” he said, crossing his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a Scout, Eddie.”

“You don’t know what I get up to in my free time,” he snatched the tickets from her hand and began walking backwards quickly towards the doors. “See you around, Chris! Have a good day, ladies!”

Not a beat had passed since he’d walked away before Chrissy’s friends surrounded her, gossiping loudly about the situation they’d just witnessed. The Freak talking to their Captain? Who did he think he was?

“Ugh, he’s so… scruffy! Why do you let him talk to you like that?” Libby, a junior tumbler said, crossing her arms and burrowing further into her cheer cardigan.

“What do you mean? He was perfectly polite,” Chrissy defended him. “He just wanted to buy some prom tickets.”

“He shouldn’t be talking to you anyway, you aren’t in charge of selling them,” Melissa, a senior flyer and Chrissy’s second in command, scoffed. “I bet he’s not even gonna go, he probably just wanted an excuse to be near you. God, he’s such a freak.”

“I’m on the Prom Planning Committee, it’s more than okay if people ask me about tickets. And don’t call Eddie a freak anymore. It’s not right,” Chrissy said, stomping away to her next class.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” Libby turned to look at her senior.

“I don’t know but she thinks she’s hot shit since that Ohio State cheer clinic she went to during Spring Break. I don’t like it,” the flyer replied, but Chrissy never heard her, already busy getting her books out of her locker.

Eddie was pulling out of his driveway to take Dottie home after their usual after school study session when she asked him to drop her off at Gareth’s instead. She mentioned they were having a sleepover at his house so they could work on a Chemistry project that had to be delivered during first period on Tuesday, and that didn’t do anything to calm the little knot Eddie was beginning to recognize as jealousy that formed at the pit of his stomach. The rational part of his brain, the one that knew there was nothing going on between two of his best friends, was at war with the dumb side that wanted to stop the van in the middle of the road and throw a tantrum. He settled on gripping the steering wheel until his fingers hurt when he saw her hug Gareth hello like she hadn’t seen him in years; the younger boy waved at him like Eddie’s heart wasn’t cracking at the slightest hint of being undesirable.

Oblivious to his friend’s feelings, Gareth guided Dottie inside towards his living room where his phone was so she could call her Dad and let him know she'd arrived safely. Once James had been informed of his daughter’s whereabouts, the teens got to work on the coffee table until Gareth’s dad came home from work. Gareth’s mom, Lydia, was a sweet looking woman with bright blue eyes her son had inherited and a big blonde hairdo. She really enjoyed being a hostess, which is why she had gladly slaved herself away in the kitchen all afternoon making a sweet and sour brisket she claimed was her specialty.

"Okay, so we're thinking regular crackers, marshmallows, cereal, toasted bread, untoasted bread, and dry pasta?" Dottie read from their notes.

"We should add something that we know is unhealthy, just to test it out."

"We have marshmallows."

"Yeah, but those are full of air, they'll probably burn really fast. We need something more dense, like… uh…," Gareth thought hard about what they could find in his pantry and still came up with nothing.

"D'you have peanuts? With the shell?"

"Peanuts are unhealthy?"

"I mean, not really, no, but they are, like, high in fat? And I bet the shells burn well."

"Let's do peanuts then," he nodded, jotting it down onto their notebook.

Their last project of the year was free choice, and after perusing a few science magazines in the library, they had settled on building a calorimeter. Truth be told, they should have done it earlier but between Mother’s Day, Hellfire and Dottie spending so much time with Eddie helping him get ready for his exams, Monday night before the project’s due date had to suffice. Gareth had asked his Dad for help to build two calorimeters, which were ready to go on the desk in his bedroom along with the blow-up mattress Dottie would be sleeping on right next to his bed. His Mom had been a little hesitant to let them bunk in the same bedroom, but her son had brought up a good point: his sister, Gretchen, would positively lose her mind if a stranger slept in her bed, so Gareth’s floor was a good compromise as long as they left the door wide open.

When Gareth’s dad, Gavriel, arrived home from a long day at work, dinner was almost ready to be served. Gareth was in the middle of an animated rant, explaining to Dottie about a very special part of their meal he had begged his Mom for to mark the special occasion. He had never really had a sleepover before, and even though they’d be up late into the night working on their project, he was still very excited at the prospect of hanging out with someone he considered one of his closest friends with no time constraints or adult supervision.

“You said you’ve never really tried Jewish food before, so I asked my Mom to make these for you,” Gareth explained, carrying a big plate to the dining table where they usually sat to do homework on Wednesdays, Dottie trailing behind him carrying cutlery and bread.

“They look like hash browns,” she said, peering at the mystery food.

“They are better than hash browns. These are called latkes. My Mom only makes them during Hanukkah, but honestly, I’d eat them every day if I could.”

“Didn’t know you did Hanukkah,” Dottie frowned. “Didn’t you say you went to your Grandparents’ for Christmas last year?”

“Yeah, we do both! And neither, now that I think about it,” he frowned too, like he was just realizing something about his own traditions. “We’re not really religious, I mean… We celebrate, but it’s more about family and getting together. We mix both sides.”

Gavriel was Jewish and Lydia was not, which in turn made their children half-Jewish. This was something Gareth’s friends were aware of, but didn’t entirely understand since they never really talked about what it meant. This, coupled with the fact that the youngest Coleman hadn’t really had close friends until he reached high school and joined Hellfire, led to his now very apparent enthusiasm while showing Dottie everything that made him… well, him. He didn’t consider himself spiritual in the broad sense of the word, but being Jewish was one of the only things he had always known about himself, the part of his identity that no matter what happened would always be his and he was proud of who he was.

Dottie sat at the dinner table with Gareth and his parents to share a lovely meal together and wondered for the millionth time in her life what it would be like to have siblings. She knew her friend and Gretchen, his older sister, hardly saw eye to eye: she was outgoing, sporty, had a lot of friends and a loving boyfriend, and Gareth was nerdy, shy, and obsessed with horror movies to a degree people that didn’t know him too well found off putting. Despite these differences though, it was clear from the way Gareth spoke about his sister that he would gladly walk through literal fire for her, even though he was the first one to chew her out every time she came home and left enough hair to make a wig on their shower wall. He put two latkes on Dottie’s plate, one with applesauce on top, the other one with sour cream and waited for her verdict, big blue eyes shining with excitement.

“Which one’s your fave?” Dottie asked him, holding the one with sour cream like Lydia was doing across from her.

“I’m not gonna tell you, you can’t be biased,” Gareth scoffed, fork halfway to his mouth full of decadent meat. “Gotta form your own opinion.”

“I’m gonna try them both, I just wanted to know which one you liked more,” she defended herself before trying a bit without any sauce first, just to get a feel of the texture. “Okay, yeah, I see what you meant now. These are better than hash browns.”

“Told ya,” he grinned. “Now try it with the sour cream.”

“Gareth, don’t be pushy,” Gavriel warned, but there was no need, she was already on her second bite.

Gareth waited with bated breath as she switched to her other latke, this one with applesauce. He watched her chew, her face giving away nothing while she wiped her hand on a napkin. A few moments of silence went by, both Lydia and Gavriel looking at each other with curious eyes, their son’s eyebrows going higher each second that ticked by. He had never been particularly patient, and Dottie was making him sweat for her review.

“So?” he asked, leaning towards her. “Which one’s better?”

“Are you gonna throw me out if I don’t agree with you?”

“Dot.”

“Sour cream’s better,” she said, and he groaned loudly. “It’s not that applesauce is bad, I just liked the other one more! The chives in the cream make it feel special. Thank you for making these for us, Mrs. Coleman, they are great.”

“Oh, you don’t have to thank me, sweetie!” said Lydia, beaming at the praise. “I like them with chives better too.”

“You are both so wrong,” Gareth said, looking at his father for support. “Tell them they’re wrong, Dad.”

“I like them with both sauces,” Gavriel declared before kissing Lydia’s cheek. “Your mother is a great cook, just eat and be grateful.”

“Ugh. Got no allies in this house.”

“Finish your dinner, Gare, it’s getting cold,” Lydia said, knowing better than anyone else how dramatic her son could be.

As the dinner progressed and his parents chatted with Dottie, eager to know more about her, Gareth couldn’t help but notice just how different it was to have a female best friend than to only have multiple sweaty metalheads around all the time. He loved Jeff, Donny, and Eddie, and he was pretty confident that he would go to war for them if they ever needed him to, but there was a soft quality to his friendship with Dot he had never really experienced before, not even with his sister. He felt less pressure to be traditionally boyish, could have longer, deeper talks and not have to worry about anyone making fun of his feelings when they overwhelmed or confused him. And truthfully, it wasn’t that he couldn’t be 100% himself with the boys, but having a girl in their tight-knit group had meant they were now a lot more careful about how they approached certain topics, or how they behaved in general.

No more farting around in each other’s faces when they got into the van or pausing to stare at boobs during Fast Times at Ridgemont High - they were much more in tune with each other now, noticing the little things they would have easily disregarded before, like Jeff’s apprehension towards the big brother he had once looked up to and tried to emulate, or Donny’s budding excitement at the thought of joining his family’s business after graduation. Or perhaps it hadn’t been Dottie at all who had changed the dynamic of their group, and they had simply, well, grown up. Graduation was just a month away, after all.

After dinner, Gareth’s parents retreated to their living room to relax after a long day while the teens gathered their supplies and slipped outside to the garage to do the practical portion of their project. Gavriel had spent a couple of hours on Saturday helping his son build all the necessary parts for two homemade bomb calorimeters; mainly they had just drilled holes into cans and hoped things would fit in once assembled. Once everything was in place, they got to work with the ease of two people who had been lab partners for a while and knew exactly what their tasks were: Dottie was in charge of the charts and Gareth of the equations. They were both equally excited about the burning though.

“God, this smells like a s’more,” he groaned, the barely there fire under their can of water consuming a marshmallow.

“I don’t like s’mores,” she said, jotting something down on their chart.

“You are so weird.”

They were both sitting in the driveway in front of the garage, the pavement under their jeans a little bit chilly from the day’s overcast sky. They had already burned the bread (toasted and untoasted), cereal, and dry pasta, and were now moving onto the remaining foods, the sickly sweet marshmallow scent mixing with the smoke in the night air.

“So…,” Gareth began, measuring the temperature of the water in the can.

“So?”

“Heard Eddie got you a ticket for prom.”

“Yeah,” she said, nonchalantly. “We got into an argument last week and he wanted to make it up to me.”

“Are you two going together now?”

“No, we’re still going as a group. He just did something nice for me.”

“Sure,” he smirked. “Something nice. Absolutely not strange at all.”

“Just spit it out, G, what do you actually want to ask?” Dottie turned to him with a tired expression.

“What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing!” she said, a little bit too defensively, which made him lift an eyebrow in response. “Nothing is going on, I promise. We’re just friends.”

“Dot, come on,” he shook his head, big curls swaying back and forth. “Are you seriously telling me that you two aren’t swapping spit during your dates? He bought you a prom ticket, he takes you to dinner all the time, he might as well have fucking tattooed your name on his left tit.”

“Okay, first of all, ew. Swapping spit, really? God have mercy on however kisses you,” she ducked to avoid a marshmallow to her head. “Second, we don’t go on dates. We get together to study and sometimes we eat together, that’s it. Nothing inappropriate has ever happened, so knock it off, okay?”

Gareth saw her jaw clench and decided to drop the subject entirely, switching topics to their current assignment and the different smells certain charred food reminded him of. They completed their work quickly and efficiently, packing up for the night before retreating to the safety of his bedroom. He offered her his shower and Dottie accepted it gladly, desperate for a few minutes alone to clear her head. He fished out clean towels from the hallway storage cupboard, and sent her on her merry way to the Jack and Jill he shared with his sister, wondering if maybe he’d mistaken the signals he’d gotten from watching two of his best friends interact with each other.

Dottie was spiraling. There was no other way to describe what she was doing while staring at the big bottle of hair conditioner in Gareth and Gretchen’s shared bathroom. The water was scalding, leaving her skin pink and her fingers pruny but she didn’t attempt to move from under the stream for several seconds. Had she really been that obvious? Could people tell that she liked Eddie? Could he tell? What if he didn’t know, but found out and was disgusted about it? She’d shared so much of her past lately, what if he used it as a weapon to hurt her? Oh, but Eddie wasn’t like that. He could be mean when he wanted to, but never to his friends, or at least not intentionally. He could be harsh sometimes, but he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. And besides, he’d offered up his life story to her too so that meant he trusted her. But what if he started hating her? What if he hated that he’d confided in her while she was secretly harboring this big ass crush that seemed to grow every day and left her breathless every time their hands touched? What if -

“Dot? You okay in there?” Gareth’s voice cut straight through the madness swirling inside her head.

“Y-yeah! I’ll be out in a sec!”

“Okay! You want egg cream?”

“What?” she turned off the water and wrapped herself in a fluffy baby pink towel, padding closer to the door.

“Egg cream, it’s like an ice cream float but with no ice cream. Like foamy chocolate milk. You wanna try it?”

“Uh, okay. Sure!”

She could hear him walking away towards the kitchen, socks cushioning his steps, and quickly changed into her pajamas trying to come back down to the present. Gareth had always been incredibly nice to her, and she considered themselves to be pretty close. She thought of all the boys as her best friends, but Gareth and her had immediately clicked in a way that was different than with the rest of them. Jeff was very much an equal, a calming presence, the friend she turned to when she was nervous and needed advice, and he sought her out for comfort as well, their relationship shaped around a sort of gentle give and take. On the other hand, Donny was the big brother she’d never had, guiding her in D&D when she felt particularly lost, sharing music with her, and helping her become more confident in her own skin. She’d return his affections with endless enthusiasm and curiosity, their friendship based on mutual admiration and genuine fondness. And Gareth… Gareth was the rambunctious twin she’d always dreamed of. They bickered incessantly, she’d steal his sweatshirts and then let him copy off her homework, and he’d threaten to burp in her face only to then steer her away from bullies in the hallways. Out of all their friends, he was the most likely to give her his real opinion on something without filtering it, and that’s why when she hung up the towel to dry, she decided he deserved to know the truth.

“Hey,” he said, looking up from the glass he was pouring chocolate syrup into. “You can have that one, I didn’t make you a big one in case you didn’t like it.”

“Thanks,” Dottie smiled lightly, and he smiled back. “What did you say this was called? Creamed egg?”

“Egg cream,” Gareth snorted. “It’s chocolate milk, but with seltzer. It sounds crazy but it’s really good, I promise.”

Dottie took a small sip and scrunched her face instantly making him laugh. With a confused expression, she went in for a second sip, and then a third one. She wiped the foam from her upper lip and set the cup down.

“It’s not gross, but it’s not good either.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda weird, right? That’s why I like it. It’s better with Fox’s U-Bet, but I only have Hershey’s,” he said, before taking a big gulp and downing half his glass in one go. “Ready for bed?”

“Can we take down your Freddy Krueger poster? It gives me the creeps.”

“You’re such a baby,” he teased her, but he was already on his way to his bedroom to unpin it from his wall.

They settled in for the night after brushing their teeth while sharing the sink, playfully bumping each other with their elbows for more space. Gareth not only took his Freddy Krueger poster down, but also his Night of the Living Dead and The Evil Dead posters while Dottie fluffed her pillow, the air mattress bouncing softly every time she moved. They lay in the dark for a few minutes, moonlight barely giving shape to the bumps in the bedroom before she turned to him.

"G?" Dottie whispered, not wanting to wake him up if he'd already fallen asleep.

"Yeah?"

"If I tell you a secret, you promise not to tell anyone? Not even the guys?"

"Of course," the sheets shifted against his legs as he rolled onto his side and she saw his hand extend until it was right next to her. "Pinky swear."

She lifted her own hand up and linked pinkies with him, shaking on it once. He stayed on his side, squinting in the darkness to see her profile but she never spoke. He thought she'd maybe dozed off, but the blow-up mattress began crackling when she turned on her side to look at him. A car sped down the street illuminating the room and both teens stared at each other until the lights dimmed again. Gareth could tell, if only for a brief moment, that she was terrified of what was stuck in her throat.

"Do you… do you wanna, like, come up here?" he asked, thinking of how he used to climb into his sister's bed when he had nightmares as a kid. Gretchen would always protest against it, but when he woke up in her arms after the sun had gone up, he knew she didn't really mind that much.

"Yeah. Yes, thank you. Just for a bit, though."

"Just for a bit," he repeated, moving back towards the wall and leaving space for her to crawl under his covers.

They lay on their sides sharing a pillow, their heads so close they could have smelled each others’ minty breaths if they just inched forward a bit more. By all means, the situation should have been extremely weird, but it wasn't. There was no rush, no expectations, just two friends waiting until one of them was brave enough to spill some truth into the midnight. Only mild nervousness at the conversation that was about to unfold could be found on Gareth's bed at that moment.

"I think I like Eddie," Dottie said, breaking the silence and bracing for an impact that never came.

"You think you like Eddie?"

"I… no. No, I know I like him. I like Eddie."

"Okay. And he doesn't know?"

"I haven't told him, so I hope not."

"And you don't know if he likes you back?"

"I was kinda hoping you'd help me out on that."

"Well," Gareth began. "Not sure I can. I've known him for years and he just doesn't talk about that stuff with us. Not since Polly Sue at least."

"Polly Sue?"

"This girl he liked back when we first met him. They were in junior year, I think they sat together in class. He asked her to prom and she laughed at him in front of everyone," he explained. "It was really bad. Her friends made fun of him for like a whole week."

"That's horrible."

"He never talked about girls again after that. I know he's kissed some after gigs but it hasn't happened in months."

"Maybe he found someone he likes?" she said, chest seizing at the thought.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. He's literally spending all his free time with you, so you must be doing something right. I bet he likes you too, but he’s too awkward to say it."

"Yeah? You think so?"

"Yeah! Come on, he'd be a dumbass if he didn't like you back. You're great!"

"You have to say that, you're my best friend," she nudged his leg with hers.

"As your best friend I have to also tell you that you're a freak for not liking latkes with applesauce."

"You're the freak, you sleep with socks on."

Both teens giggled at the absurdity of their fight, Gareth swinging a leg over her hip while she gave him a hug with her left arm only, the right one tucked under her head. He hugged her back, also with one arm, his chin barely touching her forehead.

"You know, if you really want to know, you could just ask him," he suggested.

"I can't walk up to him and go "hey Eddie! Do you like me? Oh, why am I asking you say? Don't worry about it, just curious!". Like, I'd literally rather fucking fall into the quarry."

"I'm not saying you should ask him like that, smartass. You could just ask him if he likes anyone, it’s a friendly question."

"And if he says he does and it's not me?"

"Then you know and you can move on. But honestly, I don't think you should worry. He got you a ticket for prom, he's getting all his grades up for you. I think you're good. Just, keep going like that, y'know? Show him what he’s getting with you if he grows some balls."

"You're really smart sometimes, you know that?" she teased, but her voice was full of fondness.

"Eh, I have my moments," he grinned.

They chatted for another hour, gossiping about things they'd heard in the hallways and making plans for the summer after graduation, the places they wanted to see, the food they wanted to try, the people they wanted to meet. Dottie slipped back into her mattress when the yawns became frequent, sheets cold but heart warm with the knowledge that if everything failed, she'd always could count on Gareth to be her best cheerleader.

Tuesday, May 13th - 1986

If Eddie thought dropping Dottie off at Gareth’s the previous night was bad for his blood pressure, he had no way of preparing himself for the absolute shock it was to see them hanging onto each other near Jeff’s locker where all his friends were congregating before their third period. Gareth was barely awake, clinging to Dottie to keep himself upright despite his head lolling onto hers every few seconds. Dottie looked equally sleepy but seemed to be less in danger of falling to the floor, shoulder tucked under his armpit and locking her body in place. All of that would have been enough to give Eddie a heart attack, but the fact that she was wearing Gareth’s oversized Van Halen sweatshirt tucked into her overalls had his brain firing in wild directions.

"Hey, man," Donny said, standing next to Jeff.

"Hey. You two good?" he asked the tired duo.

"Hi, Ed," Dottie smiled at him sleepily, and Eddie felt his insides turn to mush. "We got an A+."

"First A+ I've gotten since middle school," Gareth muttered, eyes closed but with a satisfied grin on his lips.

"Probably the last one too," Jeff teased, making the curly haired boy blindly lunge at him.

The sudden movement dislodged Dottie’s comfy stand, making her wobble against Eddie's side, left hand coming up to clutch the front of his shirt softly. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders to help stabilize her, but truth be told, he just wanted to hold her and it seemed like a good enough excuse. She didn’t seem to mind, letting herself relax into his soft embrace.

"Sorry," she said, stifling a yawn. "We stayed up really late last night, I'm exhausted."

"I can see that. You wanna skip Calc and take a nap in my van?"

"We can't skip Calc, finals are in a couple of weeks."

"Princess, you're dead on your feet right now."

"We aren't skipping Calc," she said firmly. "I'll nap in the library during fourth."

"Okay," he chuckled. "I'll wake you up for lunch."

Eddie didn't have the heart to wake her up after she fell asleep. Once fourth period started and they were free to study wherever they wanted, he dragged her towards a dark-ish corner at the back of the library and worked on his drawing portfolio quietly while she snoozed on the carpeted floor, her head resting on his lap. She slept straight through fourth period and lunch, and he made no attempts to rouse her from her slumber before the bell rang signaling the start of the last period and the end to their shared classes for the day. He walked her to her Home Economics classroom where Donny was waiting to fully wake her up with a bone-crunching hug, and hurried towards the Biology class he shared with Jeff who asked about their absence at the lunch table with a worried expression.

By the time they all reconvened in the parking lot at the end of the day, she was looking much more alive and he was hungry as hell. They didn’t stop to get snacks as they so often did, choosing instead to share Dottie’s BLT and chips she’d packed for lunch and the brownies she’d made during Home Ec on their drive to the trailer. She didn’t even wipe his tepid bottle of water before taking her own sip, and he hung onto that detail for far longer than he should have. Who could care about her wearing Gareth’s clothes when she lifted a bit of sandwich to his mouth while his hands were busy switching gears and pulling into a turn?

Wayne, as always, was happy to see her and gave her a big hug when they walked into the trailer. Dottie offered the last piece of brownie to him and Eddie could have sworn the old man thought about bringing out adoption papers right there and then. He left them to chat while he rearranged the mess in his bedroom and then the two teens retreated to the dry comfort of his bed, looming clouds threatening to rain again after it had drizzled all morning. Nobody had told Dottie the midwest was this goddamn rainy before she’d made the big move, but she’d much preferred it to how hot she knew summer was going to get as the days went by. She finished her homework for the day quickly and Eddie let her wander around his room while he steadily worked on his, Biology textbook open next to his knee.

When he was on his last question, he noticed she seemed to be bouncing with energy, keeping herself busy by rearranging his tape collection again. He snapped his textbook shut with enough force for her to jolt her head up, and as soon as he’d cleared his bed from any stray papers, she jumped on it, kneeling in front of his crossed legs with shifty eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Okay, spill. You look like Gareth when he overhears something juicy in the hallway,” Eddie said, leaning back onto the wall behind his bed and crossing his arms.

“Speaking of Gareth,” she began, and Eddie waited patiently. “We were talking about prom last night, and, well, it doesn’t really matter, but I was just wondering if you… because we’re all going together as a group, right? But you got me my ticket and I didn’t want things to be awkward if you did so I thought-”

“Princess, I’m so lost right now.”

“Right. Sorry,” she said sheepishly. She took a deep breath while she rearranged her legs to sit criss-cross in front of him. “I was just wondering if there was someone you liked, you know? At school? Because you got me my ticket and I’m really grateful, but I don’t want to ruin things for you if you want to get a date or something.”

“Did Gareth tell you I liked someone?” he narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“No! No, I asked him about- I can pay you back if you want,” she wrung her hands on her lap.

“You don’t have to pay me back,” he said, sitting up. “I don’t… there isn’t anyone I want to take to prom. I want to go with you. And, y’know, the guys. Hellfire Class of ‘86 and all that, right?”

“Yeah, no, I just thought…,” she chewed on her lower lip, not knowing where to take the conversation. “It’s okay if you wanna go with someone else.”

“Do you want to go with someone else?” Eddie asked, wary.

“I wanna go with you,” she said, and looked up at him suddenly. “Hellfire Class of ‘86, l-like you said.”

“Okay,” he said, untangling her wrung fingers and pulling one hand into his. “Good. Nothing’s changing then. You don’t have to pay me back.”

“Okay,” she repeated. “Good.”

Eddie pulled her by her hand until she fell forward into him, legs tangled on top of his blanket and arms around hers. Where were these questions coming from? Had Gareth mentioned something to make her doubt that he wanted nothing more than to take her to prom? He couldn’t wait until the moment he got to sit next to her in his van with her fancy dress on and a love stricken smile on his face. Dottie settled comfortably on his chest, the side of her nose pressed to his sternum, cheek squished against the soft cotton of his shirt. He wondered if she felt it too, that inexplicable pull between them, that overwhelming need to be close, to feel the heat coming off from each other’s skin.

One time very early into their friendship, Mike had mentioned that it was strange how touchy they both were with one another considering they hadn’t known each other for long. Eddie was someone who never hesitated to pull a friend into his arms, always play fighting with the boys, not entirely understanding what the phrase “personal space” meant. He was loud and boisterous, and he was equally showy in his affections regardless who was on the receiving end: Eddie Munson didn’t half ass anything - anything that mattered to him, anyways. Dottie on the other hand was much more reserved, but still didn’t shy away from physical contact. She was always letting her head fall into someone’s shoulder, consistently linking her arm with her friends’ while they walked through hallways, giving everyone strawberry chapstick kisses on their cheeks as a goodbye. But even after Dustin had pointed all of this out to Mike and everyone had agreed with his assessment and dropped the subject, Eddie had never stopped thinking about it.

In more recent times, he’d begun hoping that maybe all the work he was putting in was actually coming to fruition. He still had a long way to go in his eyes, but he couldn’t complain about the fact that he was currently holding the girl he was secretly in love with while laying on his bed, in the room she had helped clean, with his tummy full of the food she’d prepared. Would it really be too much of a sin to push things further a little bit? To start figuring out where he stood compared to everyone else in her life?

“What about you?” Eddie asked, hand coming up to brush her broken curls out of her face.

“Hm?”

“Do you like someone at school?”

“Not really, no,” she muttered, and he could feel her heart rate pick up under his own chest.

“What about Gareth?”

“Ew,” she said instantly, making him snort. “I love him, but I don’t like him like that. He’s like… Like an annoying brother. Did you know he snores?”

“Be glad all he did was snore. I’ve heard him fart in his sleep and it’s not pretty,” she chuckled. “Be honest now though,” he paused dramatically. “Do I snore?”

“You don’t snore,” she lifted her head, chin hovering where her cheek had been. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Thought we were gonna get kicked out of the library today, it was like an earthquake,” he said, making her gasp and slap his side. “No, you don’t snore, darling. You slept like a baby.”

“What about you though?”

“Do I sleep like a baby?”

“No - Do you like someone?”

“Not really,” now it was his turn for his heart rate to pick up. He hoped she couldn’t feel it under her hands that were now between her chin and his chest.

“What about Chrissy?”

“What about her?” he was confused.

“Dunno. The guys said you weren’t friends until recently and I just wondered. She’s pretty.”

“I suppose so, yeah,” Eddie thought about Chrissy for a bit. He did think she was pretty, but in the same way he thought a sunset was pretty. Nice to look at, pleasant to be around, but not particularly breathtaking. Not to him at least. He hoped Jason Carver thought Chrissy was as stunning as the way he thought Dottie with her wild hair lying on top of him right now was. She deserved that kind of adoration. “I don’t really see her that way. She’s a good friend, though. I told her she should talk to you, I think you’d get along.”

“Why?”

“Why I think you’d get along?” he asked for confirmation, Dottie nodded. Because I’m in love with you and she’s gonna be my maid of honor slash best woman slash whatever that shit’s called at our wedding. “You’re in World History together, right? You’re both sweet, and kind, and caring. And you both like Elton John. And Queen!”

“Everyone likes Queen.”

“Yeah, but not everyone has their records. I don’t. You could talk about that with her, she owns all of them. She says her Dad always gets a new one for her when he’s on a work trip.”

“You really are good friends with her, huh?”

“Like you and Gareth,” he said, wanting to make it clear his eyes were not wandering. He didn’t need Dottie thinking he wasn’t interested in her. “Well, maybe without the sleepovers.”

“Isn’t it dumb though?” Dottie said, furrowing her brow in mild irritation. “How people just assume that if you’re friends with someone of the opposite sex you must be into them?”

“I mean, sometimes friends like each other.”

“Sure, yeah, but not all friends do. Like, no one thinks you and Jeff are dating and I’ve seen you two almost kiss sharing a mic. If you did that with Chrissy, people would think there’s something going on.”

“Dot, you know exactly why people think that,” he lifted an eyebrow. “Fuck Reagan, remember?”

Dottie sat up immediately, looking very rigid. He took his time sitting up too, but took it as a win when she grabbed his hand and began playing with his rings. It almost looked like she was preparing herself to drop a bomb on him, and he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t necessary. He knew what she was gonna say before she even opened her mouth, because whatever she looked like right now, was exactly how Eddie looked like a few years back when Wayne found a very special magazine he’d bought in Indy hidden underneath his bed amongst all the other ones he didn’t care to put away properly most of the time.

“Eddie, there’s… there’s something you should-”

“I know,” he said, thumb ghosting along hers. “Me too.”

“You too?” she said, confusion and hope mixing in her eyes. He nodded.

“Darling, you love Rocky Horror. That’s kind of a dead giveaway.”

“I like musicals,” she tried to pull back her hand but he held on.

“You do. But we both know it’s not Rocky and Brad you’re into when you watch it.”

“And,” Dottie swallowed a big lump in her throat before continuing. “-that’s okay with you?”

“Why would I care? It’s not like I watched it for Janet,” he revealed, a knowing smile on his face.

“So you like… boys?” she asked, wanting to turn all the cards on the table upright.

“And girls,” he said, her eyes snapping back to his. “And you like girls?”

“And boys. Like you.”

“Like me.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before she let out an airy laugh, like she had been holding it for a while. Eddie wondered if he was the first person she’d ever told this to. Maybe someday he’d tell her that Wayne wouldn’t care either, and when it happened, she’d tell him that her Auntie Rachel didn’t mind as well, but for now, this shared secret would stay between the four walls of Eddie’s bedroom that no longer smelled like mold or vinegar. It smelled like home.

“Have you…,” Dottie began, not knowing how to ask. He picked up on what she meant instantly.

“Yeah. A couple of times at The Hideout. The guys don’t know though.”

“Do you think they’d have a problem with it?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think I’m ready to find out yet,” he said honestly. She nodded in agreement. “Have you?”

“Just one time. A kiss at a party. We were playing Truth or Dare.”

“Real steamy,” he joked, and she pushed him lightly.

“I was fifteen, okay? It was enough to send me into cardiac arrest.”

“I bet. I thought I was having a weird trip my first time. Didn’t help that we definitely smoked some strange shit before.”

“I feel silly now,” she admitted. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“Come here.”

He opened his arms and she crawled between his legs, squeezing his middle. He rocked them both side to side for a bit to make her giggle and loosen up. Eddie had a good feeling about where they were headed after this and let himself enjoy it, knowing that the knot in his stomach he’d identified as jealousy had begun unraveling. She didn’t like anyone at school and now she knew that he didn’t either. This was good. Things could grow on fertile ground, and he was doing a damn good job at prepping the soil. It was time, he felt, to turn up the heat.

“Hey,” he said, and she hummed in acknowledgement, not lifting her head from his shoulder. “So, you know my birthday is this week, right? Jeff was telling me today that we could have a movie night in his basement. You game?”

“On Thursday?”

“I was thinking on Friday after Hellfire. And on Thursday you can come over and we can, like, hang out? Wayne said he’s gonna get a cake, and I’d kinda really like to spend the day with you both. Nothing big. We can still do homework and stuff, I mean, I’m only halfway done with my portfolio and-”

“I’d love to come. Count me in, birthday boy.”

“Great. I’ll tell Wayne later.”

Later that night, when Dottie was tucked into her own bed after two long days filled with very interesting conversations, she pondered on Gareth’s words. Show him what he’s getting with you if he grows some balls, he had said. Just before she fell asleep, a sudden thought entered her brain and stuck to the front pushing away everything else. Maybe I am the one that needs to grow some balls.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean

#bunny writes #small town fic #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things 4 #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things #chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #baby's first fic

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sherlollyandspoilers · 2 months

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Intimacy

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 6, Physical Contact This little one shot will most likely become part of my current fic, We're worth it, which is where Sherlock and Molly go to therapy, granted this is not just a therapy session nor is reading that fic required for this one shot to make sense, so please enjoy!

“With the wedding right around the corner I want to talk about intimacy.” Sherlock and Molly both stared at their therapist like she had grown a second head. June frowned at them, “I promise I don’t have amnesia and have forgotten the multiple times we have discussed your sex life…nor have I forgotten the TWO CHILDREN you have.”

Molly giggled and Sherlock just shook his head slightly.

“I want to discuss other forms of intimacy besides sex.” She handed each of them a piece of paper with a list of 10 different forms of intimacy and their examples. “Take a minute to look this over and then I want to talk about the ones you see in your relationship besides physical.”

They both took a moment to review the list.

“I personally feel like we have differing levels of all of these.” Molly looked between Sherlock and June as she talked. “For example, since starting therapy our emotional intimacy has grown but I think our intellectual and experiential intimacy has always been high.”

“Sherlock, do you agree?” June asked.

He nodded and sat forward in his chair. “I think our intellectual intimacy was a big part of what made me fall in love with her – it’s been something we’ve shared since before we were together.”

“Good!” June smiled. “What else?”

“This description of social intimacy…the ability to know that a person will understand your underlying experiences and be attuned to your body language…this is how Molly makes me feel understood.” He sat back and looked at her. “When we are physical, I can read your body language, but I do not think I am great at the social intimacy for you.”

Molly gave him a small smile and shook her head, “No, but that’s okay.” She reached out and took his hand in hers. “Creative Intimacy plays a large role in how you communicate with me.”

“I am glad you brought this point up,” June started, “Just like with physical intimacy, there are different levels of each intimacy, and some people are going to be better at engaging in different forms than others.” She paused a moment. “You don’t have to have all of these in your relationship, but which form of intimacy do you believe you two need to work on or want to work on?”

They were both quiet, thinking, before Molly started, “I am not saying we don’t have conflict intimacy, but we are definitely still working on it…that has not always been a strong point for us…for me.”

“Sherlock?” June turned to him.

“I think there have been some…arguments in the past that could have been avoided had we had more of it.”

“I also have seen you two work on this in session, so you guys are getting there.” June smiled at the two of them. “Any other ones that you think you need to really focus on growing?”

Molly looked sheepish, “I mean, besides just continuing to be emotionally vulnerable with each other…I am pretty happy with the others.”

“That’s okay!” June reassured her. “Sherlock, any others that you want to add to the list to work on?” He simply shook his head no and she nodded. “I feel like you two have come to a place of authenticity and honesty in this room,” she continued, “so I feel comfortable just asking you this straight out, are you both satisfied with your current sex life?”

“Yes,” they both answered, small smiles on their faces.

“Good…how about with other physical contact?” She looked between them, giving them time to think.

Molly huffed a little. “I mean, I think I’m satisfied?” June gave her a questioning look. “I guess I am not sure I understand what you asking.”

June nodded in understanding. “Hand holding, hugging, kissing…contact like that.”

“Okay…then yes, I would say I am satisfied with it.” Molly smiled. “I would say Sherlock and I are very contact heavy in our relationship…holding hands, hugging, putting an arm around each other or a hand on the knee…for me, his touch helps ground me.”

Sherlock smiled but looked down at the floor. “Before Molly I did not know that I could care about physical touch and then we took that silly quiz you gave us – ”

“Love languages are not silly, Sherlock,” June interrupted him, but he continued.

“And I discovered that touch is one of my primary love languages…I feel Molly is fluent in it.”

“My goodness,” Molly muttered under her breath as she looked away, her cheeks turning red.

“It is an excellent thing to be fluent in your significant other’s love language,” Jung encouraged. “And good. We want to keep the topic of intimacy as something we revisit often to make sure it’s not something that ever gets neglected.

Molly was already in bed by the time Sherlock had finished reading to Mina.

“Tomorrow, I get the easy one,” he said as he looked at her already comfortable under the sheets.

“You’re the one who can’t say no to her.” He rolled his eyes before discarding his clothes in the pile. “You are adorable when annoyed.”

He sighed loudly as he turned off the light and got into bed. “OH!” He jerked away from her cold hands. “Annoyed is what I am now.” She giggled as she continued to snuggle up to his side. “How are your hands that cold?” He reached down and took her hands in his and brought them up to his mouth, warming them up.

“I was just trying to speak your language,” she said in a cheeky tone.

He sighed again and dropped her hands before moving so he was hovering over her. “Maybe we should have a conversation then,” he whispered as he slid the tip of his nose across her cheek.

“Maybe,” she felt her breath catch as he gently bit her ear.

(smutty times ahead if you like that sort of thing…if not, I suggest stopping here)

His lips traveled down her neck, leaving wet kisses as he went and eliciting small moans from her mouth. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging gently as his lips journeyed down her chest.

She swore he was managing to touch more of her body than usual tonight. All at once she could feel the grip of his fingers, the tug of his teeth, the nudge of his knee and she thought she was going to tip over right then.

“Sherlock…I…oh…yes…like that,” she moaned when his mouth found her center. With one hand he gripped her hip while the other circled her as his tongue dipped in and out. She felt every point of contact between them and yet somehow, she wished there was more. She tangled her fingers in his hair, enjoying the feeling of grinding against his mouth as he ground himself against her leg…the feeling only driving her closer to the edge. “Ohh…I….” she was beyond words as she drowned in the feeling of him, tipping over the edge with one last drag of his tongue.

“I like talking to you,” he whispered as he placed kisses up her torso.

“I like listening to you talk.” She smiled, enjoying the post orgasm tingles. “I think maybe its my turn to get a few words in.” And before he could respond she was sitting up on her knees, leaning over him, and pumping him a couple times with her hand before slowly, ever so slowing, sliding her lips down the length of him.

“Ohhh,” Sherlock couldn’t help it as the sound escaped him.

Molly moaned around him and his hand found its way to her hair, just as hers had to his. She pulled back and ran her tongue around his shaft until he was slick and dripping. Putting her lips back at his tip she nodded to him and he understood what she meant.

Propping himself up so he could get a better view, he tightened his grip on her hair, which he loved the feeling of, and pushed down as he gently thrust up. Watching and reading all of the signs her body was giving, he continued to slowly fuck her mouth. He could feel her moaning around his cock as well as her hard nipples brushing against his leg as she leaned over him. He tried to keep a slow pace but it was driving him crazy and his thrusts become more erratic.

In one motion he pushed her back on her pillow and centered himself between her legs. Running a finger up her slit, she was soaking for him. “You liked the feeling of me in your mouth?” he asked, teasing her clit.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she moaned. Her back arched up at his touch. “Please.” She wiggled against him as he licked her wetness off his fingers. “Please,” she begged again, hooking her leg around his back, “I need to feel you.”

Without another word he slid into her, pressing till he had filled her. He stilled once fully in, resting his forehead against hers.

“You have ruined me, my love,” he whispered, a smile on his lips.

“Good.” She placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Now, make love to me until I can’t tell where I end and you begin.”

#sherlolly #sherlollyweek2024

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tomaytow · 2 years

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THE MONDSTADT INQUIRER

MONDSTADT, MONDSTADT

VOL. CLXVII ... No. 616

HAPPY SPOUSE, PEACEFUL HOUSE!: THE GUIDE TO LIVING AN AMAZING LIFE WITH HOUSE HUSBAND VENTI

BY: ANONYMOUS

— MONDSTADT CITY

Welcome, Windblume!

Thank you for this secret purchase. We’re grateful for the continuous efforts that you’ve done for the publishing company so we’ve decided to dedicate ourselves to do more research to provide you the best quality information as a gift.

We’ve noticed that you’re still having a great time with your beloved husband, and we’re very happy that your married life is still on the honeymoon phase. Congratulations to you and to Venti!

It’s a common fact that Venti adores happy endings, so in order to reach that, we’ve decided to help you once again!

We hope this next guide will aid you in your journey!

House husband Venti is a sweet, romantic, and affectionate lover.

When he wakes you up, he’ll pepper your face with lots of kisses. It’s either on the forehead, on the cheeks, on the jaw, on your lips (and it’s the most important of all, according to him.)

Morning kisses are essential and aren’t you so lucky to witness Venti’s bedhead? Venti’s braids that are down? Feel free to stroke them, or even just play with them. He enjoys it when you do.

(Also if you do tug on it, these are the possibilities that may happen:

– He will tug your hair too, and it’ll be war! Though make sure to brush his hair afterward, and he’ll do the same for you. Bedheads are nice, and he finds it funny (you both match!), but you both don’t want to have a bad hair day, yes?

– Or he’ll like it. Yes. You’ve read it right. He’ll like it when you pull his hair. This is a dangerous possibility. It may lead you to never getting out of bed. Yes. We are implying what you are thinking, so be careful, soldier.)

And we’ve heard you. Indeed, your ears will be blessed. Venti is known for his siren calls, his beautiful melodies, his soft hummings and wonderful laughs. But his morning voice? Good lord. He can’t help it – it’s out of his control.

If you find it hot, then we recommend you to look at him while he speaks. There’s a high chance that he may be talking to you with half–lidded eyes and a lazy smirk.

But if you have a weak heart, we recommended you to look the other way. Venti has a big effect on people and we wouldn’t want our lovely Windblume to faint.

House husband Venti is actually a bad influence.

Despite saying this a lot of times in the previous issues, you know that we mean well. If you remember issue 79th and issue 82nd, the following paragraphs will perhaps, be a piece of cake to you.

You have work. It’s basic knowledge that Windblume can’t afford to be late. You are diligent, after all, and you have a good attendance record. But Venti knows his power. He knows that you just can’t get enough of Venti’s kisses—and he feels the same way, by the way—and that’s very bad for you. Very, very bad.

The Kissing Venti Addiction or KVA is not curable, but it can be controlled and prevented.

Venti will do everything just for you to not go to work. And if Windblume is still so downbad for him, please remember that you have bills to pay. And wine to pay, in Venti’s case.

It’ll be like this everyday. He’ll dote on you, compliment your appearance, before pulling you closer to his chest for a tender kiss. And then the next thing you know is that you’re both engaged in a heated make out session. When will it end, you wonder? We don’t know. It may take forever.

(“V–Venti—mhm,” you pant, pushing him away for a bit. “i– i have to go, i have work to do—“)

According to issue 11th, it’s already a given that Venti is very needy. And very clingy. He will pout if you both stop. He will whine. You will feel his arms snaking around your waist desperately, and he will give you the biggest puppy eyes. “But windblume…” And yes, he will beg.

He’ll stubbornly kiss you more. He’ll not give you room to talk. He’ll cage you in his arms. He’ll busy himself with you. Even if he’s lithe, even if he has stick arms, Venti is extremely strong so you can’t really get up once he pins you down on the bed.[1] Venti demands more kisses, you hear? He needs to recharge.

(NOTE: Bear in mind that it’ll never be enough. It’ll always never be enough. The only solution? Kiss him deeply. Kiss him so much to make his toes curl and stomach flutter. Kiss him until he can’t breathe. And once you pull away, we guarantee that Venti will be stuck in a lovesick daze – he’s distracted by your suddenness. Remember in issue 1st? Venti loves it so much when you make the first move. So once he’s stuck in that mood, quickly remove yourself away from his grasp.)

(ANOTHER NOTE: Please check issue 16th or our additional footnote in the bottom of the article for more information regarding badass Venti)

Remember, this is a risk that you’ll have to take. It’s either you’ll be successful in running to the bathroom to finally start your morning routine, or Venti will instantly snap out of it. He’s sensitive. If he feels the lack of warmth, he’ll get back to his senses. He’ll only be distracted for a short period of time.

We pray for your future victory. But if you’ve failed, then we humbly ask you to consider it a win. All Windblumes are born with KVA, so who are you to reject Venti’s kisses?

Venti will laugh at your failed attempt—read: think you can get away?—before yanking you down on the sheets for another make out session.

But we sincerely apologize if you turned in late for work because of this. Venti will tighten his hold on you so there is really no escape.

Though you can always follow advice from issue 3rd: Venti has a weak spot. It’s his sides. Tickle him.

House Husband Venti will always long for your presence.

After giving him one final kiss on the lips, he’ll yearn all day long. Sure, you’ve spoiled him by complimenting his decent cooking skills—Venti’s homemade breakfasts are tasty and very cute, after all (see: Venti’s homemade lunches)—and you’ve given him enough time to smother you again with so much love, but remember: it’ll always never be enough.

He’ll do the chores just to get his mind off of you for a bit, but it’ll be pointless, because everything in your shared apartment (or house) just reminds him of you. You’re everywhere, but you’re not here.

When he’s restocking the fridge, Venti will reminisce about the time when you both recently went to the grocery. Venti loves grocery shopping with you because it’s just so domestic, and also he’ll always deceive you into buying more wine. But as the responsible one, you need to reprimand him. You may poke him (gently) in the forehead or even give him the nastiest glare.

If you did the former, Venti will get whiney again and fake cry. If you did the latter, it’s either Venti will snicker or pout – don’t look at me like that, I’m sorry, Windblume!

When he’s folding the laundry, Venti can’t resist himself so if you ever catch him hogging all your fresh clothes, do not mind him. He really, really likes your smell and your smell brings him closer to you, so again, do not mind him.

Yes, there’s a high possibility that Venti may bury himself in your warmer clothes, like your long–sleeved shirts, hoodies, sweaters, or jackets. He may even wear it. But don’t blame him and call him weird, okay? He really just misses you! And he’s your husband! He has the right to smell and scent your clothes!

And did you know? This is also Venti’s way of marking what is his.

Yes. He intended it for it to happen – for your workmates / colleagues to distinguish the scent of cecilias or the hints of apple fragrance on your clothing.

Venti wants to smell like you, and he wants you to smell like him. You’re taken, you’re MARRIED, and he wants everyone to know that.

When he’s fixing your bed sheets, he’ll simply gush all by himself because he will recall your expressions earlier. (Envision: a giddy Venti plastered on the bed, lying supine on your spot.) A sleepy Windblume is just too cute! He wants to squeeze your cheeks!

Ahh, this makes him miss you even more. Come home soon, love. If he can’t hold it anymore, you can’t stop him from visiting your workplace.

If the above mentioned does happen, please do not ignore him. He may be a hindrance or he’ll interfere with your work, but allow him to at least to just see you!

You do have to tell him to go home, though (you want him to stay, actually, but your boss will get angry, your colleagues will annoy the hell out of you, and you won’t be able to focus on your job). So, with a heavy heart, you send him off after reassuring him that you’ll be back home soon. Yes. You’ll reassure him lots and lots – it’ll be perfect if he comes home giggling like a high school boy in love. Oh, Windblume.

House Husband Venti is also a good influence.

And man, of course he does! This has been stated many times in the previous issues; he has a good impact on your life and he helped in shaping you to become a better person! He’s still doing it today!

But yes, he is a good influence. He wants to take care of you, and he wants you to take care of yourself!

When you come home tired from work, Venti will engulf you in a biiiiiiig hug. And yes, his hugs will make you melt. Venti is besotted with you so we’re not going to be surprised if you:

1.) find yourself laying on his lap;

2.) find yourself sitting on his lap;

3.) find yourself laying your head on his shoulder;

4.) find yourself draped all over his body or,

5.) find him on top of you

1. If you find yourself laying on his lap, then feel free to bask in this very moment. Not anyone can get as lucky as you, Windblume. Not anyone can lay their heads on Venti’s famous thighs. They’re softer than your pillows and if you’re not careful, you may pass out once you perch your head on top of it!

Not to mention how Venti’s constantly praising you for your hard work in whispers or mutters. It’s what you deserve, being sweet talked. This is his reward for all the sacrifices you’ve made. So don’t fall asleep just yet!

There is a theory that if Windblume has a headache and you inform Venti about it, he won’t hesitate to lean down and to press his lips on your forehead. Some accounts say that Venti’s kisses work wonders, so if your headache is gone by the minute, please send us an email ASAP with a brief explanation of how, what, and when it happened to confirm our theory.

2. If you find yourself sitting on his lap, we hope you’re used to Venti spoiling you because like number one, he’ll also spill sweet and touching words from those lips of his that will undoubtedly make you flustered. Venti has his way with his words, he isn’t one of the best singers in your time for nothing, and if you can’t get a hold of yourself, Venti will drown you lovingly.

(NOTE: We speculate that Venti may give you kisses on the cheeks as well. Lips are included too.

We also want to point out that if you move too much in his lap, we’re not responsible for what’s about to come. We did tell you that Venti always yearns for you, and he’s needy. Very needy, so we highly suggest for Windblume to stay still.)

3.) If you find yourself laying your head on his shoulder, then it’s okay to take a nap for a bit. Like Venti’s thighs, Venti’s shoulders are good pillows, too. Venti will have an arm around you, will rub your sides for a bit, and our favorite: he will sing you a lullaby or if you want, one of your favorite songs.

Number three is just pure fluff because all Venti ever wants during this time is to surround you with his affections, and you have to take it all, okay? Take. It. All. Listen to his singing. Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out. Clear your thoughts.

Ahh, it is a calming time, indeed.

4.) If you find yourself draped all over his body, we will just assume that you are too exhausted to care, for you to collapse so shamelessly on your husband. If you have your head resting in Venti’s chest, you are allowed to nuzzle into it. You will hear him giggle and you will feel him pat your head. This innocent action of yours may deliver different messages to Venti, so again, we are advising you to be observant of what you’re doing. For we are not responsible for what’s about to come. We do, however, will assist in preparing you for the sudden changes that may arise.

Venti can read you like an open book. We will not be shocked if he actually knows everything about you at this point.

If your aim is to only cuddle with him, then be all tender. Or careful. Or cautious. Spoil him because you are in charge. Interlock your fingers with his, pinch his braids, wallow him in praises. Now that’s an uno reverse that we’d like to see. If you’re lucky and won the 50/50, you may even witness a rare embarrassed Venti!

Embarrassed Venti is hard to catch and if you bring this up to him, he’ll deny it, and blush even more. He will try to hide it, and let him. It’s amusing and adorable to see the Anemo Archon squirm and conceal his flushing cheeks with his braids.

If you continue to tease him, he’ll whimper and cover your eyes instead. (Don’t look. He’s not usually like this!!)

Kisses are okay, but there are some exceptions. Don’t let it lead to passionate kissing sessions, because again, we are reminding you that Venti can misinterpret your actions.

Here are the safest locations to kiss Venti:

- his head

- his forehead

- his cheeks

- his lips (without tongue)

But if you are curious about the hotspots (or the not-so-safe locations, or Venti’s favorite spots):

- his neck

- his chest

- his thighs

- his lips (with tongue)

If it’s all getting heated, then that’s out of our hands, Windblume, which may lead us to number five.

5.) If you find him on top of you, we can deduce that this happened because he missed you really badly or if you kissed his favorite spots. Like from morning earlier, Venti will kiss you and kiss you, as if he’s starving for it. As if it’s his saving grace. As if it’ll be the last kiss you’ll ever share with one another. The kisses will be tripled.

Don’t even think about escaping once more. Now that you’re home, Venti won’t separate himself from you, even if you nudge him about tonight’s dinner. The takeout that you’ve bought will grow cold, and Venti dislikes cold food, but he’s too occupied in devouring Windblume.

You can shift, search for a way out, but it’s all futile. He has an iron grip on your wrists and he’s holding you down. Venti’s built differently. You can’t free yourself from Venti’s love. You are trapped.

Venti wants you to forget about work. You’re in his arms now so he wants to be your only priority. Focus only on him and him only. Forget about your colleagues. Your boss. The strangers you’ve interacted with on the way home. You’re here now. You are home with him.

He will get rid of your weariness.

Number five is all the other numbers combined. Venti will praise you, sing to you, touch you, and kiss you. Windblume will definitely and ABSOLUTELY be overwhelmed by Venti’s love.

We’re not sure if you both would eat dinner at this point but we are sure that Venti will seduce you to come join him in your bedroom, whether you like it or not. It’s up to Windblume what happens onward, but it’ll be a long night!

Though we find your progress fortunate, considering you’re both thriving in the sheets nowadays, please feed Venti first. Yes, feed him with a spoon and again, spoil him. He probably skipped his meals just to wait for you.

Happy marriage!

FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions)

We have assembled some of your previous questions and our previous answers in case you’ve lost the articles.

Q1: Venti seems moody lately. I don’t know what I did but he seems to be avoiding me. All I remember is that I invited him for a drink in Mr. Diluc’s bar and then I freestyle danced with some men and women. Help, please! I don’t know how to deal with this! It hurts me that Venti’s giving me the silent treatment!!

A1: Silly Windblume! It seems that our music–loving lad is jealous. Don’t worry about it too much though, Venti won’t be avoiding you for a long time soon because spoiler alert! He loves you too much! But don’t tell him that. You’re supposed to be the one who should make the first move and the one who first confesses.

Venti wants you to take the first step, and then he’ll follow.

Q12: So I’ve been doing some research and… Is it just me or does Venti look exactly like the Anemo Archon? It’s not just the hair, but the shape of his body as well...

If he truly is the Anemo Archon Barbatos… um. I don’t know what to feel about that.

A12: Oh dear Windblume! We deeply apologize. We cannot answer this matter because we have signed a contract so our mouths are shut. This is actually something we cannot handle. Your best place to start, however, is to talk to Venti himself.

We cannot guarantee if he will answer you seriously. He does have the penchant to stray away from these kinds of topics or even leave the scene with his signature ehe!

But surely, maybe you have a chance for him to give you an honest response. That is, if he trusts you enough to finally open up about his past.

Q27: I want to sing a song for Venti, but I’m too shy. Venti’s just so amazing with his tunes and I’m just… me. I don’t even have an amazing singing voice! How can I even catch his attention when our interests don’t align with one another?

A27: Fear not, Windblume! You don’t have to be shy when it comes to singing, especially if it’s for Venti himself. If you’re afraid that he’ll judge you—he does have the reputation for being one of Mondstadt’s popular bards—Venti is actually kind–hearted. If you want our opinion, Venti’s the best person to go to if you want a shoulder to cry on or to rant about literally anything.

But back to the point, just be yourself! Venti admires people who are real and true to themselves, and you don’t have to change yourself just to impress him.

And as for the interests, there is a saying that opposites attract! Wink wink.

Q49: So this is going to sound very strange, but I can’t find Venti anywhere. And I really, really REALLY need to talk to him. Yet all I can ever see is this one wind wisp that’s following me everywhere I go…

A49: Again, we don’t have the right to answer these kinds of questions because it’s out of our control. Sorry, dearest Windblume, but you’ll just have to be stuck with the cute wind wisp for a while!

Please do update us on what happens next. We’re genuinely curious about the elemental being! Te-hee~!

Here’s a helpful tip: we’ve heard from some reliable sources that the wind wisp who’s accompanying you is fond of apples. Try feeding the cutie the fruit, and maybe you’ll finally know about the truth!

Q65: I’ve made a discovery, and I’m proud of it. Apparently, Venti’s not used to touches, is he? My man is touch–starved and I tried holding his hand… Now he doesn’t want to let go. What to do? He’s sleeping beside me right now in Windrise and I’m shaking as I type this on my phone!

A65: Congratulations! We are very proud of your recent progress, and we encourage you to keep going! Please touch Venti with all your heart’s content, so hold him close, because you are right! We are confirming it, Venti’s touch–starved!

Windblume, you’ll have to talk to him to let go of your hand~ but Venti is obstinate, and once you indulge him, he’ll indulge you back.

And isn’t that just so sweet and metaphorical? Venti doesn’t want to let go!

Q66: You’re right. He did indulge me back because after I told him that my hand was numb—because as much as I want to hold his hand for a bit longer, I have things to do!—Venti just snickered at me and fell asleep again.

So the whole night, we were in Windrise, holding each other’s hand…

A66: The dating stage is always so dreamy~

Q615: Venti’s a kissy freak. Will there ever be a time that Venti will get tired of kissing?

A615: Fortunately, no~ you’ve married Venti, and you’re Venti’s beloved spouse. He loooooooooooooves kissing you!! Do not expect Venti to get tired of kisses so easily because once again: it’s never enough for the Anemo Archon!

And you have a KVA!! A Kissing Venti Addiction! Don’t ask hypocritical questions like this, Windblume!

Footnotes

[1] In issue 16th, we’ve discussed badass Venti, and we remember how gobsmacked you were when you found out that Venti knows archery. Venti has a keen eye and you know, do not judge the book by its cover! The Anemo Archon may look gentle and delicate, but he has a history for slicing mountains!

He was one of the best archers during the Windblume Festival. He’s a proficient marksman. Stick arms, yes, but we recommend Windblume to at least touch his biceps once in a while~

Some Authors’ Notes:

We’ve actually read your comments. We are also proud of Venti’s development, too. If you’re wondering why he’s so responsible now, well, the answer is: it’s because of you. He’s doing this all for you because he loves you. It’s always been you.

Venti’s love can’t be measured, unfortunately, but we have an estimation: it’s beyond us.

You’re bound to him for eternity (if that’s what you want, and y’know, Venti wants that, too.)

Anyway, we hope to see you again in the next issue! Happy Birthday to Venti!

#CW: suggestive #again this post is suggestive and FLUFFY #lots of kisses #house hubby venti for the soul #very self-indulgent #venti x reader #i regret nothing #tomaytow experiments with her writing once again!#if you squint it's actually a modern au #i think #tomato.writes

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sarah-denial-cq · 1 year

Note

You said JuNo is just around the corner. Can you explain what that means to anybody who doesn't know?

Oh of course!

JuNO is a conceit where people (I usually see mostly girls and femmes participaitng, for whatever reason - Locktober and NOvember seem to be more popular with men and mascs - but obviously it's not a rule and ANYONE interested should participate!) do not cum for the entire month of June, and often also commit to a specific program of edging - for example, at least three edges per day, or at least two thirty-minute edging sessions, or whatever. It's how I got started with denial in 2020 (hence the name of this blog, which is frankly probably overdue for a change).

I found that having a specific set of goals and responsibilities was really helpful for me, especially as this was my first real intentional engagement with denial. It also (at least in 2020) had a bit of a community feel to it - you weren't going it alone! I'm always happy to be supportive for other people who are in denial, encouraging and teasing and holding each other accountable.

I'm not going to tell anyone who chooses to try out denial in June *how* they have to do it, but for me, three edges per day, and at least two "pushes" to something I normally wouldn't do per week, made it a really fun time for me.

I added the #juno2020 tag to this post, which has all my entries for back when I was doing my first JuNO. Hope all that helps, and feel free to ask me anything else about it!

#juno2020 #writtenwhileedging #denied #lesbian #femaleorgasmdenial

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scotianostra · 3 months

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Archibald Campbell, 9th Earl of Argyll was born on February 26th 1629 at Dalkeith.

Campbell was an energetic supporter of the royalist cause during the 1650s. His father was executed for treason in 1661, and although he was imprisoned, the new earl was released and restored to his titles and estates.

A member of the Scottish Privy Council and an Extraordinary Lord of Session,he was condemned to death in 1681 on a highly dubious charge of treason and libel, he escaped from prison in an almost comical way, that any fool could have saw through, leading me to believe that the guards were possibly bribed.

His daughter-in-law, Lady Sophia Lindsay, obtained permission to visit him in his confinement. She brought with her a servant who, she claimed, had recently been in a rather serious fight, resulting in severe facial injuries. That of course explained the bandages in which his head was entirely swathed, completely obscuring his identity. If you can see where this is headed, you are more astute than the entire garrison of Edinburgh Castle! The naïve-seeming scheme was to have Campbell swap clothes and wigs with the servant, wrap his head in bandages, and simply walk out of the building with Lady Sophia after her visit.

The Lady, demonstrating what must have been Oscar-worthy acting ability, left Campbell's quarters in floods of tears, and was escorted by her "servant" back to her coach. Outside, Campbell ingeniously climbed onto the back of the coach rather than into it, preventing anyone from realising that he was a member of the aristocracy by proving that he could maintain a grip on a moving vehicle. Once outside the Castle's bounds, he slipped quietly off down an alleyway to a friend's house, from which he was smuggled under the name "Mr Hope" down to London.

After his escape, the Earl disappeared for much of his remaining life. Naturally, as a fugitive (and now actively engaged in resistance to the coming succession of James), his location was kept a closely guarded secret, although a few letters revealing his general location and activities remain.

However, he returned to Scotland in style in April 1685, at the head of an invading army supporting the Monmouth Rebellion against James II/VII (who had taken the throne in February, following Charles II's death). He made several raids, which varied in success between "fleeting" at Inverary and "utterly pointless failure" at Greenock.

His forces gradually dwindled until he was left with only his son John and three friends. After being refused shelter by an old servant, they were arrested in June 1685.Campbell was immediately re-tried and sentenced to die exactly as his father had, beheaded at the Mercat Cross in Edinburgh twelve days after his arrest. Surprisingly, he was again allowed a visit by his wife and daughter-in-law prior to his execution, although this time there was presumably someone on hand to check that neither of the ladies leaving the premises after their visit were other than they appeared.

#scotland #scottish #history #mobility #rebel #executed

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stillwintering · 2 months

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All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Chapter 9

One run became two. Then, before she knew it, Nesta found herself training with Cassian three times a week. Even when they returned to DC, they continued to run together.

They fell into a natural routine, meeting up after their workday at a major landmark on the National Mall, like the Lincoln Memorial or the Washington Monument. Cassian, evidently a seasoned runner, would lead her on beautiful routes around the Potomac. Although Nesta had spent many years in DC, she had never taken the opportunity to visit any of its cultural sights.

"The Lincoln Memorial is best viewed early in the morning, at first light," Cassian had remarked once when they met at the white granite steps to begin their run. He knew full well that Nesta wasn't the type to rise at such an ungodly hour for exercise.

"Dusk will have to suffice for us," he had said with a wink.

Nesta soon discovered that Cassian maintained a rigorous schedule, rising each day at 4:30 am -- a vestige of his years in the army, he told her. She quickly grew to appreciate the fierce discipline beneath the easygoing demeanor with which Cassian approached his work and life.

"Old habits die hard," he had confessed with a small smile.

Nesta surprised herself by how much she looked forward to her sessions with Cassian. He had been an excellent coach, helping to correct her running form and improving her strength training. She liked Cassian's carefree laugh and how he constantly challenged her to be a little faster and stronger during each workout.

Despite spending entire workdays together -- except when campaign commitments called him away to the early-voting states -- Nesta never felt overwhelmed by his company.

She was seeing a lot of Cassian. But she couldn't bring herself to mind.

As spring gave way to summer in Washington, Azriel joined the two of them on their evening workouts. Azriel's presence was a stark contrast to Cassian's boisterous energy.

Where Cassian was fire, Azriel was water -- quiet, steady, an intensity that lay beneath the surface.

In the sticky heat of DC summers, Cassian and Azriel often completed their runs without a shirt. The appreciative looks and naked ogling from passersby had not escaped Nesta's notice. She had caught many women (and some men) staring slack-jawed at their beautiful forms.

But she had been surprised the first time -- a rainy, humid June evening -- when she saw that they bore complimentary tattoos, intricate black patterns swirling across their chests and backs. She didn't think that it was appropriate to inquire after their provenance.

It was clear that Cassian and Azriel considered each other to be true brothers in everything but blood. And like bickering siblings, they brought out a vicious competitiveness in each other.

There were numerous occasions where Nesta found herself stepping aside so that the two men could engage in additional physical trials as a means to settle scores that only they seemed to keep track of.

Sometimes, Cassian and Azriel would spontaneously challenge each other to sprint races to some designated landmark. Other times, they would engage in impromptu strength contests, seeing who could complete the most burpees or hold the longest plank, with Nesta often roped in as the reluctant judge.

Once in July, the competitive edge between Cassian and Azriel escalated beyond mere athletic feats and into outright hand-to-hand combat. At the end of their official 8-mile route, Cassian and Azriel had challenged each other to a sprint towards a secluded patch of forest by the Tidal Basin, leaving Nesta to catch up to them.

By the time she found them again, they were circling each other with lethal intensity, ready to strike. It was as if all that crude competitive energy between them had finally boiled over.

Cassian eyes flickered to Nesta, marking her arrival to their patch of the forest. Azriel, taking the opening, struck first, his fist launching towards Cassian, who blocked quickly. Nesta observed the ensuing sparring session with a mix of horror and carnal fascination. It was as if their bodies spoke a language of their own, a dialogue of feints and parries, blocks and counters.

It was clear that they'd sparred before, and Nesta wondered whether this was another vestige of their shared military days.

The sight of Cassian's beautiful, muscled body, taut and rippling with every forceful movement, stirred something primal within her. His physical dominance was undeniable. It was like witnessing a live sculpture in motion, each muscle group defining itself with remarkable clarity under his sweat-slicked, golden skin, igniting an urgent warmth in Nesta's core.

Azriel, with his lithe, agile form, displayed a different kind of power. His movements were liquid poetry, each twist and turn highlighting the lean, sinewy muscles beneath his tanned skin. The grace and precision with which he moved were tantalizing, a seductive dance that drew Nesta's eyes to the swell of his back muscles, the curve of his biceps, and the hardness of his abdomen.

Finally, Azriel executed a swift, well-timed strike that connected solidly with the right side of Cassian's face. Cassian staggered back slightly, momentarily dazed, and then raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay," Cassian chuckled, rubbing his jaw where Azriel's blow had landed. "You got me, Az."

Azriel, however, didn't relax his guard. His attention remained sharply focused on Cassian, his body still coiled and ready. "No appetite for a knockout today?" he asked, challenge lacing his voice.

"A knockout? You wish," Cassian answered, playful. "You're in top form today -- I'll give you that."

Azriel's stance finally loosened. The corners of his mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. "Someone has to keep you on your toes, Cass."

Nesta folded her arms across her chest. "Really, you two?" Nesta admonished, her gaze shifting between Cassian and Azriel, still squared off against each other. "Has no one taught you to use your words first before resorting to violence?"

Cassian looked over Azriel's shoulder to where Nesta stood. "Az, here, never got over the fact that I beat his rucking record during basic training," he teased.

Azriel turned while rolling his eyes. "By three minutes," he reminded him drily.

"Rucking?" Nesta asked.

"It's a timed test used by the Army to assess physical fitness," Cassian replied. "Twelve miles in unforgiving conditions while carrying a 45-pound rucksack, along with your standard equipment and rifle."

Nesta arched a brow. "Dare I ask where the record stands?"

"One hour and 28 minutes," Azriel supplied.

Nesta couldn't help but give Cassian an assessing once-over. He flashed her a cocksure grin, loving how her eyes traveled up and down his body. She immediately felt her cheeks flush.

"Don't encourage him, Nesta," Azriel smiled, too aware, "My brother's ego is large enough as it is. It'll be unbearable for all of us if it gets any bigger."

Nesta forced out a frown, self-conscious. But she couldn't tell if she was embarrassed by their brutish behavior or by how she was caught blatantly gawking at Cassian's muscled chest.

"Next time you two feel the urge to engage in a childish, testosterone-fueled pissing contest," she said disapprovingly, face still red, "Please leave me out of it."

Cassian swung an arm over Azriel's shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate side hug. Azriel had visibly relaxed against Cassian -- whatever score between them settled.

"Don't worry, Nes," Cassian laughed, a deep rumble. "Next time, Az won't be getting the better of me."

Azriel knocked against Cassian's shoulder in displeasure, but his eyes were mirthful. "Are you saying you want to go for a second round already?"

Cassian eyed his brother with a wicked glint. "We can move this to a boxing ring."

Azriel took a beat to consider. "Name the time and place."

Nesta shook her head sternly. "I'm going home," she announced.

Sparing one last look at the two half-naked men, Nesta tamped down the flutter in her stomach as she walked away, suddenly feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush.

---

Thankfully, Amren did not assign Nesta to join Cassian on his frequent trips to field offices across all the early voting states. Now that the Iowa offices were up and running under Baz's leadership, Cassian shifted his energy to New Hampshire, South Carolina, and Michigan. But Nesta remained Cassian's primary partner on most projects. While he traveled, she stayed in DC to work on media strategy, messaging, and provided logistical support. They were constantly together or constantly on the phone with each other. She would have been annoyed to depend so heavily on a colleague, but she found Cassian to be resourceful and frustratingly competent.

Nesta was also thankful that Amren refrained from putting her on projects that required her presence in Velaris at the home office. Azriel had been charged with that particular assignment.

Feyre was in and out of DC all summer, primarily to accompany Rhys to important fundraisers. Nesta resolved to build a firewall between her work and personal lives. So, she made a point of keeping her interactions with Feyre purely professional. The last thing she needed was to lose focus when the big political battles were looming ahead.

Sometime during the summer, Nesta decided that she loved her job -- campaigning suited her. She found a profound sense of purpose in shaping Starborn's policies and moving the debate among the candidates. Now that Sean Hybern was the Republican frontrunner in all but name, Nesta felt an exigency in what they were doing that she had never felt before: she was willing to do everything in her power to ensure Hybern didn't win the presidency.

She could tell Cassian was also driven by the same fear. Occasionally, she would catch glimpses of a burning intensity in his eyes while he was in the middle of some task, whether it was on a conference call with the field offices where he would direct their operations with canny efficiency, or it was in the heat of a brutal discussion with Rhys and Amren over campaign priorities. It was the same deadly intent she saw when Cassian and Azriel sparred.

And Nesta wondered what it would be like to have all that military-honed lethality trained on her. It gave her goosebumps.

Every now and again, she could feel that he was watching her in the office. But whenever she caught his eyes, that burning intensity immediately dissipated into something softer and yielding towards her.

It felt like a mask. Like he, too, had a firewall.

---

Like their evening runs, Nesta and Cassian fell into an easy routine at the office.

"So, the Iowa State Fair," Nesta came to sit on the edge of Cassian's desk one late July afternoon. She had been going over the list of Rhys's campaign appearances for August. The Des Moines Register hosted a Political Soapbox event for all presidential hopefuls at the Iowa State Fair -- it was an essential campaign event. Nesta had been helping Rhys hone his interview answers for weeks.

Cassian looked up from his laptop. "What about it?"

"You're not going with Rhys?"

He cocked his head. "No, I have to be in Michigan that weekend."

Nesta smiled coyly. "I just thought that..." she bit her bottom lip in the way she knew would get his attention. "That was the sort of thing that you enjoyed. The reason you liked traveling for the campaign so much."

After all this time spent together, Nesta had finally mastered the art of their repartee. She learned the contours of Cassian's humor, the tempos of his day, and most importantly, the buttons she could press to elicit a reaction.

"What?" He looked dazedly at her face, gaze lingering on her lips.

"Don't you want to see the butter cow?"

Cassian snorted. "Do you want to see the butter cow?"

"You understand it's a life-size cow made entirely of butter," Nesta replied seriously.

He shifted back in his chair. "I'm not going," he said again. "But you are welcome to go and see the butter cow yourself, Nes."

"There's also a butter Elvis and a butter Last Supper which has, I swear to God, Cassian --"

"Butter on the table?" he provided with a wide grin, falling into the rhythm of their now familiar banter.

"It's got butter on the table right there between butter James and butter Peter." She widened her eyes for effect and then leaned toward him so that she was only a few inches from his face. "It's an almost mind-blowing vortex of art and material that dares the viewer to recall Marcel Duchamp," she finished breathlessly.

She watched Cassian swallow. He often became slightly flustered when she entered his personal space unexpectedly. She waited for him to recover.

Up close, she could almost make out all the golden flecks in the hazel of his eyes -- a glimpse of that burning intensity peeking through.

"How do they keep it from melting?" he asked after a beat too long. His expression shuttered, eyes guarded again.

Satisfied, she pulled back. "How, indeed," she said with a wink and returned to her desk.

---

Rhysand's summer calendar was a tightly packed itinerary of political fundraisers from the East to the West Coast. Nesta knew it was essential for candidates to amass the financial resources necessary for the upcoming primary season. But the process troubled her, how much politicians depended on their donors.

When Nesta was still reporting, she was never allowed to attend a high-level fundraiser; they were strictly closed to the press. Now, in her senior role on the Starborn campaign, she had been fielding invitations to various breakfasts, lunches, and dinners around the DC area. She was finally given a look behind the proverbial curtain, and she wasn't sure she liked what she found.

The beginning of August marked Keir Hewn's summer fundraiser for the Democratic National Committee, a blockbuster event among the Beltway elites. With all the high rollers invited, the party was expected to raise millions in one night. Nesta reluctantly agreed to go along with the rest of the senior staff, even though these events always left her feeling greasy afterward.

The sprawling grounds of the Hewn Mansion had been transformed into a spectacle designed to dazzle the crème de la crème of political society for the evening. Fairy lights wove through the foliage and above the walkways, creating an illusion of a starlit canopy that mirrored the clear night sky. A candle-lit path led guests through the manicured lawn to a series of outdoor gazeboes. The large flagstone terrace was set with tables dressed in blue and silver linens, the DNC's colors, with centerpieces of lilies and roses.

Nesta slipped into the garden from the North entrance, careful to avoid crowds gathered near the mansion doors. She remembered the layout of the grounds well from the spring charity gala.

After taking a lap around the terrace, she found Mor and Azriel by the bar.

"Nesta, you must tell me where you found your dress!" Mor exclaimed as soon as she was close enough.

"My friend owns a boutique in Alexandria," Nesta replied, allowing Mor to pull her in for a kiss on the cheek. "I can send you the address. She'd love to dress you."

"Please do," Mor said. "This fabric is absolutely divine!" Mor ran a hand down Nesta's side, feeling the soft grey silk of her gown. She clearly had a lot to drink already. Mor was partial to red for formal events, and Nesta was sure that tonight's red tulle number was made of a material far more luxurious than her own.

Azriel handed Nesta a glass of wine. "Chenin Blanc," he said and leaned in for a kiss as well. "If I recall correctly."

They've attended enough open bar events together now that Azriel knew her preferred drink orders. "Thank you," she smiled.

Taking a sip, Nesta surveyed the assembled guests from the rim of her glass. It seemed like the entire higher echelon of the Democratic Party was in attendance. She spotted Rhys and Feyre on the lawn speaking with the House Whip and Senate Minority Leader. Closer to them on the terrace, Thesan Morgenstern was huddled with Keir Hewn, Speaker Beron, and, from the expensive cut of the fourth man's suit, a high-dollar donor.

Mor sniffed. "Don't worry," she said, following Nesta's gaze. "My father holds another fundraiser in September for the GOP. We Hewns are, if anything, equal opportunity lobbyists."

"Is your father backing Thesan for the Democratic nomination?" Nesta asked.

Mor frowned, picking up another glass of red wine from a waiter. "My father hasn't made a decision yet," she replied, voice low. "My father would never bet on only the favorite when it is possible to bet on all the contenders. He will guarantee that the winner be indebted to him in some way or other."

"No family loyalty?" Nesta arched a brow.

Mor laughed. "It's business," she said simply. "Now, what do you say that we go find Cassian and see about turning this snoozefest around?"

Mor linked her arms between Nesta and Azriel and pulled them towards the candle-lit lawn.

---

Cassian was talking to a bald man Nesta didn't recognize beneath a sprawling elm tree just below the terrace. The soft illumination from the lights weaving through the branches highlighted the perfect angles of his face as he spoke. The other man was older and seemed intensely interested in whatever Cassian said, but their conversation seemed stilted.

Cassian had been gone for campaign business for the last week, and it was already as if she were seeing him for the first time. When their eyes met, everything around them seemed to fade, and the chatter and laughter in the air became muted hums. Cassian shook the man's hand goodbye without looking at him, his attention solely on Nesta as she walked up to where he was standing.

She drank in every inch of him: his broad shoulders, his dark hair styled just so, and the unyielding strength in his posture. Her heart thrummed a frantic rhythm against her ribs; it had been doing that a lot in his presence this summer.

Cassian wrapped Mor into a brief hug, moving as if on autopilot; his eyes remained focused on Nesta the whole time. Mor returned to her conversation with Azriel. Cassian remained still as a statue.

"Nesta Archeron," he finally breathed, voice low and husky. "You are lovely."

A blush crept up her cheeks, her usual retort dying on her lips. Instead, she allowed herself to luxuriate in the burning intensity of his gaze. He felt like a vision from a dream she rarely allowed herself to indulge in.

Then, she blinked -- the spell broken. "I wasn't sure if you were going to make it back from New Hampshire for tonight."

"I couldn't miss the social event of the summer."

"When did you get in?"

"A few hours ago," he admitted, looking down at the drink in his hand. When he looked back up, his eyes glittered. "Did you miss me?"

Nesta scoffed. "I'm much more productive without you around the office to distract me."

"That's not a no." The corners of his lips twitched.

“It’s not a yes, either. We talk every day on the phone,” Nesta took a drink from her glass. “How long are you back for?”

“I’ll be flying out to South Carolina by Monday,” he replied, looking away and then back at her. "Admit it, you missed me.”

“I miss having a reliable running buddy," she finally conceded with a small smile. "Mine is constantly out of town.”

He leaned against the solid tree trunk, studying her like a puzzle. "Sounds like you might need to get a new running buddy," he finally said.

All these months of close proximity, orbiting each other like binary stars, yet he always pulled himself back, never letting himself get too close.

Did she want him to cross that boundary between them? She didn't know what she would find on the other side.

"Perhaps," she murmured, stepping close so she could press her free palm against the tree beside him. She marked his eyes drop and linger on the low cut of her dress. "It's terribly rude of him to always leave me high and dry while he is away."

He swallowed. "What would you have him do then?"

This close, she could make out all the notes of his cologne: black truffle, patchouli, and ylang-ylang. She would bet all the money she had in her wallet that he smelled even more intoxicating if she leaned into the skin of his neck, right below his ear.

Nesta took a small step back. "Who were you talking to?" she asked instead, changing the subject.

"Ted Marcus," Cassian replied, his posture stiffening. "Hollywood executive, big-time donor."

"Ah," she acknowledged. "Is he one of Rhys's supporters?"

"I imagine so," Cassian said. "But I haven't figured out what he wants yet."

Nesta turned away, her discomfort palpable amidst the buzz of political strategizing and the clinking of expensive glassware. She forced herself to concentrate on the faces in the distance.

"Is there anyone here I should be talking to?" she asked, reminding herself that this was a work event.

Cassian stepped into the spot beside her, so they faced the same direction, towards the terrace. He lowered himself so his face almost touched hers, their eyes exactly level so he could see from her vantage point, following her gaze into the crowd.

"Well," he spoke softly. "Lauren Shelby," he gestures towards a woman in a black dress, "from OMB is crucial; she knows everything that is happening with the major bills. Ryan Pierce, clerks for the Chief Justice. You'll need Senator Arnold Vinick's support to pass anything in the upper chamber." He pointed out each guest to her.

Then, he stopped and waited for the throngs to shift. If she moved even a little bit, she would brush against his temple. She held her breath.

"Roger Salier," he finally pointed out. "Owns half the newspapers on the East Coast. But I suppose you probably know him already."

She nodded. "Only by reputation."

Cassian moved away, straightening to his full height. She almost sighed at the loss of heat from his proximity.

Mor had been watching them out of the corner of her eye. "Would you like an introduction?" she asked.

"What?" Nesta pivoted, almost forgetting that Azriel and Mor were nearby.

"To Roger Salier?" Mor smirked, her eyes glinting with an emotion Nesta couldn't place. "Perhaps you can convince him to part with some pocket change for the campaign. Or grant Rhys a meeting with the editorial board of The Washington Post."

Nesta studied the man in question. He stood on the edge of the party -- he looked young with energetic eyes -- speaking to an older man with a grey beard. His suit was extremely flattering, perfectly tailored to his tall, lithe frame. The fabric and lines were so exquisite that even from far away Nesta was sure it was from Savile Row.

"He's newly single, too," Mor continued. "A very amicable breakup. It wasn't a serious relationship -- if the town gossip is to be believed. Definitely the most eligible bachelor here, I'd say."

Cassian's expression became perfectly neutral, although he clutched his glass so tight that his knuckles turned white.

Nesta only blinked, surprised by the conversation's turn. Mor took Nesta's pause as affirmation.

"Okay, Az, you've got to do the honors," Mor squealed in delight. "I already gave Roger the whole campaign spiel earlier tonight. It would be too conspicuous if I made the introduction. Az will escort you over there. He can divert Myron," she indicated to the bearded man standing next to Roger, "while you make your entrance."

Azriel shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "I am not --"

But Mor was already blazing with unabashed glee, her cheeks pink and eyes bright -- it reminded Nesta of Emerie when she got particularly worked up over some scheme.

"Off you go!" She practically shoved Azriel and Nesta together with a self-satisfied grin.

Azriel gave Nesta a conciliatory shrug and hooked her hand around his elbow. "Sorry," he said softly as he tugged her away. "It's easier to just go along with it. Mor loves to play matchmaker."

Nesta sighed. "Oh, all right," she conceded; after all, she came tonight to primarily socialize for professional gain. She allowed Azriel to escort her back towards the Mansion.

When Nesta looked over her shoulder, she gave Cassian a wan smile, a little disappointed to leave him behind. Cassian's expression was unreadable. Mor talked giddily against his ear, but he didn't move -- his eyes were hard as stone as he watched Nesta walk away.

Azriel was saying something to her. Nesta nodded along but had yet to hear one word. Her mind was churning. She was almost sure of Cassian's interest in her -- he flirted with her constantly. Yet, a nagging puzzle piece refused to fit: his relationship with Mor. Were they, or had they ever been a couple? Or was it Azriel who was Mor's lover?

The questions lingered like specters in her thoughts, and the ambiguity clouded her judgment.

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