#she's not exactly the pinnacle of health either

[agoldengalaxy]

A Team

read on Ao3

words: 1862

“Fine, then. Give me the body, Marc.”

“No. You sleep, if that’s what you want to do.” He throws open the cabinet above the counter, fumbling for the bottle of pills.

Steven scoffs. “Oh, c’mon, mate. Haven’t you ever been sick before?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Steven?”

“Right now, yes, I do! You’re not exactly the pinnacle of health, are you?”

--

It’s Marc who wakes up, but he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

His head pounds as he pulls open his heavy eyelids, the room spinning into view before him. With a long groan, he realizes his face is pressed against the mahogany wood desk in their flat, books piled up near his outstretched arm. Placing both palms against the desk, he lifts his foggy head, blinking fervently as he feels askew glasses against his nose and dried ink beside his arm.

Steven fell asleep doing work again, he thinks with a sigh, reaching to grab the overturned ink bottle and cork it, despite the fact that it was most likely dried out by now. Tossing the glasses onto the desk, he closes his eyes. He can feel it now. Steven is asleep, though for how much longer, he doesn’t know.

Marc pulls himself to his feet somewhat unsteadily. Something feels wrong, but it’s surely nothing he can’t handle. He’s been stabbed, burned, and shot at before, and he’s always been fine. A little headache is nothing.

Shuffling toward the kitchen, he accidentally bumps his hip into the doorway. He barely notices. A note on the fridge tells him that Layla went out to the store, and he wonders foggily how long she’s been out. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop worrying about her, and that’s incredibly frustrating.

He rubs his eyes roughly with one hand and fumbles for the coffee pot with the other, clumsily bumping into every other thing Steven has on the counter before finding the handle. He grumbles to himself, but it comes out as a croak. A hand flies up to his throat, which suddenly burns as though it were impaled by a hundred tiny knives, and before he can process it, he sneezes loudly and without warning.

His headache gets worse.

Letting go of the pot, he throws open the fridge door and fumbles for a bottle of water, struggling to uncap it for a few seconds until he tears it off, tossing it onto the counter. Putting it to his lips, he drinks until he’s out of breath, water dribbling down his chin and the bottle more than half empty. His chest heaves and he looks at his reflection in the fridge door.

His hair sticks up every which way and his stubble is even more prominent than normal. He can’t tell if it’s just the fridge’s distortion or if he’s actually this pale, but either way, he doesn’t want to look anymore. Turning away, Marc scoffs at himself and caps his water bottle, moving forward to resume making coffee.

He hadn’t been sick since he became Khonshu’s avatar, but now…well, he tries not to think about Khonshu much these days. Sniffling loudly, he lets out another long groan and leans against the fridge while the coffee brews. The metal is pleasantly cool against his warm face, though a shiver runs down his spine as it touches his skin. When he opens his eyes, he looks at the metal pot, seeing his reflection, distorted and upside down. It opens its mouth and talks.

“Coffee…really?”

“Shit!” Marc jumps, immediately annoyed that he was startled by Steven . It’s also frustrating that he seemed to be so disoriented he hadn’t even felt him wake. He ignores how congested he sounds.

“Not pleasant, innit? Being scared?” Steven responds, and though his tone is somewhat smug, the upside-down reflection looks concerned. Marc’s headache grows worse. He huffs and walks toward the sink, looking at the window instead. Steven continues. “Cold shoulder, eh? Look, I’m sorry, alright? I dunno how we got sick.”

Marc sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “If you didn’t work yourself so hard, maybe we wouldn’t be in this position,” he argues, glancing back toward the desk he had woken up at, but he bites his tongue when Steven doesn’t reply. “…I’m sorry. I can’t blame you for this.” And he can’t, not really. There were plenty of opportunities where they could have caught this cold. They just have to deal with it now. “Look, I’m fine. We’re fine. We’ll just take it easy today.”

Steven laughs, though it dissolves into a cough. Marc wonders why the feeling of worry begins blossoming in his chest, and decides not to dwell on it. “Take it easy? Your version of ‘take it easy’ is different than most, Marc. I hope you mean staying in bed.”

And of course, Steven knows him too well. He can’t actually read his mind, but sometimes Marc feels like he can. “I have things to do,” he says after a brief pause, “and weren’t you going to look for another job?”

“Job? Are you bloody kidding? Look at us. If I even got an interview - which I haven’t yet, by the way - they’d tell me to leave so I don’t get them sick, too.” Steven coughs and the sound ricochets through Marc’s head. He has to grip onto the counter to stay upright, and he wonders if being sick has always been this bad, or if it’s multiplied now that he has Steven. “Go to bed.”

Marc closes his eyes, shaking his head. “No. I’ll just take some pills and I’ll be fine.” To waste the day just to sleep? He’d rather do anything else. It’s not like sleeping comes easy these days, and he knows Steven feels it too. Steven is terrified of the new world he was thrust into. Marc…is terrified of something else happening. Something worse that he can’t protect them from.

“Fine, then. Give me the body, Marc.”

“No. You go, if that’s what you want to do.” He throws open the cabinet above the counter, fumbling for the bottle of pills.

Steven scoffs. “Oh, c’mon, mate. Haven’t you ever been sick before?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Steven?”

“Right now, yes, I do! You’re not exactly the pinnacle of health, are you?”

Marc looks at the pills he poured into his palm, letting out a heavy sigh. He might have been annoyed if he had any energy left to be annoyed. His voice holds little to no conviction as he tosses the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry. “You’re the one who passed out at the desk, not me.”

He can feel Steven stumble for a moment, trying to think of a retort, and he can’t help but grin as he pours a cup of coffee. “Hey, stop it!”

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.”

“Looking so bloody smug…of course you’re proud of yourself for that one.” Steven huffs a sigh, and his reflection in the window turns his back. “…Look, we’re both not very good at this, are we?”

Marc looks down at the sink. He can’t bear to see the defeated look on Steven’s face, which almost startles him. He’s not sure when, but at some point, Steven switched from being a burden to someone Marc wants to protect. He has a need to protect him, which is where his fear comes from. He sighs, the sound rattling in his chest. “Guess not.”

Steven turns around, and Marc looks up. They lock eyes, and Marc wonders if he’s imagining the deep shadows beneath their eyes. He knows he probably isn’t. Steven holds out his hand. “Give me the body, Marc. Let me handle it.”

As much as he wants some relief from the pounding in his head and the fire in his throat, he still doesn’t budge. “…How do you feel?”

Steven is clearly startled by the question, but he answers nonetheless. “Erm…warm. Heavy. Like my chest might explode.”

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” Maybe some extra rest wouldn’t be so bad, but he’s not doing this for himself. He’s doing it for Steven. He straightens up and takes a breath. “Go on, take it.”

“Cheers!”

Marc closes his eyes.

Steven opens them, and he immediately feels ten times worse than he did on the inside. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, glancing up at the window reflection. “And you wanted to go out like this?”

“Oh, shut up. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” he replies with a groan, arching his back. “Mum would have your head, you know.” Marc scoffs in reply, but Steven turns away from the window and walks, moving to tidy up his desk area.

“…Steven?”

“Oh, you’re still awake,” he says, surprised. “What is it?”

Marc is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m sorry.”

Steven pauses, glancing toward the mirror across the room. Marc won’t look at him and his brow is furrowed quite deeply. Steven lets out a breath and approaches cautiously. “Sorry for what?”

“…Do you ever have dreams, Steven?”

His lips part in surprise. He thinks back to the very beginning, when he thought all of the crazy things that happened to him were dreams. Things only got crazier from there. Unwillingly, he thinks about Harrow. A shiver travels down his spine, and he doesn’t think it’s because of the fever.

The truth is, he does. He knows a lot more than he knew months ago, and he’s seen a lot of things he wishes he could unsee. Most of them aren’t good things, and quite often they would visit him subconsciously.

He knows there’s no use in lying to Marc, so he nods, somewhat hesitantly. “Yeah. I do.” Most often it’s Harrow returning to torment him. Sometimes it’s Khonshu’s terrible screaming, and sometimes it’s Layla, inches from death…

“I’m sorry. I wanted to protect you.” Marc’s voice pierces through his thoughts.

“Protect me…?”

“You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Steven looks back at the mirror, stepping closer. “Hey. Look at me.” Marc reluctantly does so. “We’re a team, you and I. It’s not fair to expect you to shoulder everything yourself, you know.” They both cough, but Steven continues. “We can’t change the past, but I wouldn’t even if I could. You’re allowed to rest. I’m more capable than you think.”

The words hang in the air between them, and finally Marc turns away. “I know you’re capable, Steven.”

“You’re just used to handling it all by yourself, eh?” he sighs. “Well, you don’t have to, ‘kay? I’ll always be here.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably. It’s getting harder to stay standing. “Go to sleep now, Marc.”

Marc seems to hesitate, but thinks better of it. “…Okay. Night, Steven.”

“G’night.” Steven lets his shoulders sag a little, watching the reflection in the mirror relax a little until it’s just himself again, and things are quiet. Quickly, he reaches to grab a tissue just in time to let out a loud sneeze. “Off to bed with me as well,” he murmurs, swaying a little with the lingering force of his sneeze. He stumbles toward the unmade bed and falls forward onto it, quietly reminiscing about the sand and the brace he used to have to use.

He closes his eyes and smiles against the pillow. Marc’s a right idiot, he thinks as he begins to drift off. But he wouldn’t change him, and the words he had spoken were the absolute truth: they’re a team, and they’re in this together. Through sickness, and through everything else.

#marvel #mcu #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #oscar isaac #whump #sickfic #I love them.... #take care of each other <3 #my writing #agoldengalaxy #my post

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 06 | t. jefferson

title: freedom of the press 06

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

words: 15k

warnings: implied sex, suggestive jokes & teasing, thomas has astoundingly shitty timing, lafayette is a huge fucking cockblock, hella fanservice, v v v tender quality time, and then some more implied sex

desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudywlw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow  @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98— hope i didnt miss anyone; lmk if you want to be added!!

By the time Y/N woke up, the sun was hardly up, the streets were plowed, and the bed was warm. She didn't try to leave it, instead curling further into Thomas's warm embrace when he pulled her close. Huddled alongside him, his skin against hers, she didn't bother to fight the fatigue that still ebbed at her mind, instead letting herself drift peacefully in and out of consciousness. She could feel Thomas's quiet laugh rumble in his chest when she made no move to get up. She didn't process it enough to react when his lips brushed against the crown of her head.

By the next time she woke up, the sun was high in the sky over Washington D.C., the streets were still plowed, but the bed was cold.

She frowned as she pushed herself to sit up, leaning back on a hand as she rubbed her bleary eyes. He'd left without saying a word.

She knew as she peeled the covers off herself, still damp in places with sweat from the previous night, that she shouldn't have expected him to stay.

Why would he have? He was a busy person; it was already... Shit, how had it already reached 2 PM?

She slouched into the bathroom, feeling like a wreck as she wiped the smeared mascara from her face, tied up her wreckage of sleep hair. She couldn't bring herself to take off his undershirt she'd donned the previous night, too cold to sleep in nothing but too exhausted to find some real clothing. (He'd laughed at her for it, but all the same, he didn't give much resistance before offering up his shirt.)

Regardless, they'd done nothing more than sleep together. He had no commitment to hang around any longer. If she were him, she probably wouldn't have stayed either. Still, it would've been nice for him to have said goodbye.

She tried to blink the sleep from her vision as she padded to her kitchen on bare feet; she would force herself to eat something before getting dressed and having to go down to another shift at the diner that evening.

Dry cereal might not have been the pinnacle of health for her just then, but it was easy, and she was in no mood to fight her cravings. When she pulled down a bowl, though, a flash of purple in the corner of her vision gave her pause.

She closed the cabinet absentmindedly as she turned, eyeing the post-it note dubiously from a distance, glancing around her apartment to confirm she was alone. (There hadn't been much question about the matter, but she couldn't be too careful.)

It was a moment later still when she approached it, stifling a yawn, and plucked it from where it'd been stuck onto the countertop.

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Y/N raised an exasperated eyebrow at the scrawled note despite the smile she fought back. The handwriting wasn't hard to recognize; not after she'd run her fingers over matching pen marks through a few hundred pages of Byron poetry -- not to mention the fact that there had only been two people in her apartment all night, and she certainly didn't remember writing that.

She shook her head lightly as she went to recycle it, but that time, it was the writing on the back of the paper that made her freeze.

For the next time you need some ancient literature, or for the next time you lock me out in the cold.

[phone]

Perhaps it wasn't such a gloomy afternoon after all.

------

Unknown Number: [Attachment: 1 image]

Unknown Number: nerd

Thomas grinned down at his phone where it was tucked halfway into his pocket. He'd been in meetings since noon, but after the night he'd had, he was struggling to focus on fundraising numbers and campaign strategy, most of it going in one ear and out the other as he waited restlessly for his phone to buzz. He'd begun to think by then that she wasn't going to reach out.

thomas 🙄: kinda harsh to say that abt someone who's been dead for 200 years

Y/N 🍑👀: ah yes because i was definitely referring to byron

Y/N 🍑👀: not the person who carries around purple sticky notes just to paste byron quotes in people's kitchens

thomas 🙄: you insulting my stationery?

Y/N 🍑👀: just your taste in literary quotes

thomas 🙄: don't be mad just cause i'm right

thomas 🙄: it didn't even wake you up when i left in the morning

thomas 🙄: at that rate you were gonna spend a lot more than a third of your life asleep

Y/N 🍑👀: wouldn't have still been asleep if you hadn't had me up past 4 am

thomas 🙄: is that really a complaint, now?

Y/N 🍑👀: uh??? yes, it is????? i have to deep clean my sheets and my mattress now smh

thomas 🙄: as though it wasn't worth it ;)

Y/N 🍑👀: wasn't worth the cost of the five gallons of bleach i'm gonna need to get the smell out

thomas 🙄: don't even pretend

thomas 🙄: you didn't seem to have any problem last night when i started ruining your sheets

thomas 🙄: you really gonna act like you don't want me to ruin them again?

Y/N could almost hear his voice in the messages, could picture his self-satisfied smile, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she read and re-read the text.

Y/N 🍑👀: you're paying my laundry bill

thomas 🙄: worth it to me

Y/N 🍑👀: or maybe we'll just have to ruin your sheets next time

Thomas inhaled sharply; his eyebrows shot up. Next time. He wouldn't have thought that just two words could turn him on quite that much.

"Thomas?" His head snapped up, his eyes wide; he'd somehow managed to forget entirely where he was in the few minutes since Y/N had texted him. Thankfully, it was only James who seemed to have noticed.

"Hmm?" He blinked, staring up at James's expectant stare. His gaze flickered across the conference room, and while James was clearly on the border of annoyance, everyone else looked to him curiously. "'M sorry, James, I spaced out for a second thinking about... your proposal for the fundraiser?"

That was the last thing he remembered hearing, and James didn't look impressed. "Right," he said dryly. "Anyway, I was asking how you felt about doing another town hall in D.C."

"Yeah, alright." He nodded, hardly processing the words, and James cocked a brow.

"Really?" He folded his arms. "I'm surprised you're giving in that easily. Last I remembered, you wanted to move your next few town halls up further north."

Thomas shrugged. His palms were sweating as all eyes turned to him for an answer after he'd spent the past ten minutes thinking about something very different from his supporters. "You make a good case for it."

(The fact that he hadn't caught a minute of the advocacy was irrelevant.)

James hadn't bought a word of it, and Thomas could tell from a single glance at him. He made a mental note not to pick someone who could see right through him as a running mate next time.

However, he fabricated a smile, much to Thomas's relief, having no desire to confront him right there or then. "I'm glad. I had a couple venues scouted out, but I'm open to any more suggestions."

"I think we need a new type of place. The same locations again and again get monotonous." Thomas struggled to resist rolling his eyes; he had to remind himself he'd only hired Charles Lee because he was donating more than twice his salary to the campaign.

"So what do you suggest?" He met his eyes skeptically from the other end of the table.

"What about a café?"

"A café?" Another of his campaign staffers who he couldn't identify by name spoke up -- Noah? Nate? Nathaniel? Thomas couldn't help but agree with his incredulity.

"It would be good for you to actually get to know your voters instead of... preaching to them from on high." As Lee continued, his voice close to a sneer, Thomas had to force himself to control his expression. "It would be much more personal for you to finally sit down and meet them."

"I'm runnin' a campaign, not speed-datin' the voters." Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw James purse his lips to repress a laugh.

"It's actually an excellent idea." Really, now? He glanced disbelievingly at the woman to his left. "The most common criticism you receive is about thinking yourself above your voting base. It'd be a good chance to lose some of your aristocratic reputation."

Hurtful, but not inaccurate. Thomas nodded, though he knew the skepticism was still clear in his gaze.

"If we do go through with this, where in the city do you propose we hold it?" James didn't seem to appreciate his fundraising proposal being derailed into a meet-and-greet, and by Charles Lee of all people. Thomas was right there with him, his annoyance only compounding when Lee shrugged unhelpfully.

"It's the Jefferson campaign, not the Lee campaign." Charles did make a good point with that. Thomas only wished he'd have thought of it before he decided to wedge his opinion into James's plan like a Republican jigsaw puzzle.

The question gave him pause, however. Were he to be perfectly honest, he didn't know more than five restaurants in the city by name, four of which wouldn't exactly earn him any points as a 'man of the people.' The last, however...

It was probably a poor idea; he'd known that even before he considered it. But it did seem to fit what they were looking for. It was in a low-income neighborhood, run by a family of immigrants. It had a bright atmosphere and an abundance of seating. However, the most tempting part to him wasn't how it'd look to the voters, but being able to see one person's expression when she learned he'd rented the place out for an entire evening.

It might've been a poor idea, but he had to put his campaign first, and the benefits were more than defensible.

He grinned. "Think I got a place in mind."

------

Y/N spent the next few days overthinking the fact that Thomas had left her last text on read. God, why'd she have to go and put the idea of a 'next time' out there? She was sure he didn't want commitment any more than she did, so she must have scared him off.

She hated how tumultuous the past Friday night had left her emotions.

Thankfully, when she arrived at work the following Monday, it didn't take too long for the distractions to come pouring in.

"Y/N!" Her head snapped upwards, her eyes wide as she saw Ashley marching into her office. She wore a smile, but her eyes were narrowed, and Y/N couldn't help the sense of dread building in her stomach.

"Ashley." Her response was wary.

"So your article got a decent bit of attention last Thursday." The words were nice enough, but they were altogether devoid of energy.

"... Thanks?"

"No, that's definitely a good thing; take the compliment." As Ashley circled around to take a seat on the edge of Y/N's desk, however, she tensed in her office chair, trying not to noticeably grip the armrests. "But a lot of it was controversial attention."

"How?" she asked, taken aback. Her brow was furrowed; it was likely the most unbiased article she'd written about the election.

"A lot of our readers seem to think you're siding with the Jefferson campaign toward the end of it." So this was why Ashley had entered looking so skeptical, and Y/N was sure her disbelief was written plainly across her face.

"Seriously? Because I mentioned that they're turning away funding from super PACs, you mean?" Ashley nodded, and Y/N let out a huff of incredulous laughter.

"You don't need to hold back on your critiques, alright? You can go after whatever information you uncover." She either didn't notice the annoyance growing in Y/N's eyes, or she didn't seem to care. "Don't be afraid to use what you uncover."

"And if what I uncover is entirely unrelated to the election?"

"Nothing is unrelated to the election, Y/N. That's exactly what you don't get." Something akin to excitement flashed in Ashley's gaze as she leaned forward toward Y/N, but the hint of vindictiveness gave her pause. "For you, the people are readers, not voters. You're not the one in an election."

Though she shifted further away in her rolling chair, Y/N said, "I'll keep it in mind, but for the time being, it's all been pretty mundane. Haven't found any skeletons in his closet."

"Then make some."

A beat passed; Y/N could only stare up at her boss in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes when Y/N didn't seem to be on the same page, which only elicited more worry. "You, as a writer, have grown to national visibility. You have the power to sensationalize things if you want to keep people hanging onto your every word."

"I'll keep it in mind, thanks." Ashley narrowed her eyes further at the bite behind Y/N's words.

"I'm serious. If you want to go further as a reporter, you can't just state facts. You need a narrative. There's a reason no one watches C-SPAN."

"Pretty sure I can spin a narrative on the election without stooping to the level of a gossip column." With Y/N's hard stare, Ashley seemed to realize she wasn't getting any further with the conversation, and after eyeing Y/N for another moment, she sighed heavily.

"You'd better show me a good narrative." Y/N had begun to tune her out as she pushed herself off of her desk, instead turning back to the article she'd been drafting. "I trust your judgment as a writer, so I'll let you take this however you want it. But people want to know who they're reading about."

"I have a feeling everyone knows who Thomas Jefferson is by now," Y/N responded dryly.

"I mean know him, know him." That elicited a raised eyebrow. "He's a person, not just a candidate. That's what America wants to see."

Y/N couldn't help the strange sense of pride that curled in her chest, tried instead to suppress it alongside the inexplicably conceited mantra Ashley's words elicited: she knew Thomas Jefferson in a way America never would.

When Ashley raised her eyebrows, Y/N realized she'd let the silence stretch on a moment too long. She swallowed her thoughts. "So you want me to air his dirty laundry?"

Y/N's eyes widened at the grin that broke through Ashley's unimpressed demeanor.

"Finally, she gets it." With that, Ashley turned to go, ignoring how dumbfounded she'd left Y/N. She glanced back with a well-pleased smile.

"If you need dirt, never be afraid to dig up whatever it is he's left buried."

-----

Unfortunately for Y/N, the distraction that was her boss's scarily cutthroat mentality only weaved itself into her racing thoughts about her most recent encounter with everyone's favorite Republican frontrunner. The next few evenings at the diner were slow, which she couldn't necessarily complain about -- being rushed and nagged by half of downtown D.C. over the course of a week wasn't quite her paradise. However, it only gave her time to spiral under the weight of everything she'd learned.

To her conflicted relief, coming in earlier in the afternoon on Wednesday provided a welcome diversion. It would've been her afternoon to herself after leaving her office at the Post, but when one of their baristas called in sick, the money for an extra two hours was too tempting for Y/N to turn down.

Despite her early shift, it wasn't until around 7:30 that her evening hit a bump in the road.

"Prosciutto roll for Belle?" she called out as she reached the end of the counter, putting the tray with the finished order and the receipt on the end of the counter. She pulled a paper cup out of the stack by the divider for the drink that was ordered. She was about to dash back to the kitchen after checking over the food, when--

"Excuse me."

She was sick of overly-familiar voices interrupting her workday. She froze on the balls of her feet where she'd begun to retreat, before turning with forced positivity permeating her demeanor. Couldn't her two jobs stay separate, at least most of the time?

"James! Hey. Congrats on the Super Tuesday win." His surprised smile put her at ease as she reached where he stood.

"Oh... Y/N. Thank you," he said, tone hesitant, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. "I didn't know you worked here." She only shrugged.

"I just started two weeks ago. Not surprised you haven't noticed me around."

"No, I don't mean..." She raised an eyebrow when he trailed off, before he chucked to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is my first time coming here. You being an employee just... explains a few things, is all."

"Glad to provide some clarity... ?" With any context, his insinuation would've been painfully obvious; however, completely ignorant of the previous Saturday's meeting, Y/N was absolutely oblivious. She pursed her lips.

"You have my gratitude for it." James's knowing smile explained nothing for her, however.

"Right." She glanced at the growing line over at the cash register, anxious to keep the flow of customers going smoothly as the place filled up. "Anyway, what can I do for you? If you're here for dinner, line starts that way."

She nodded to the other end of the counter, but he shook his head.

"I'm not looking for food, actually."

Y/N cocked an eyebrow. "I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but I'm starting to think you're in the wrong place."

"No, no..." He plucked a takeout menu from the stand toward the end of the counter and nodded, eyeing the diner's logo. "I'm where I'm supposed to be."

"You're sure?" Her skepticism was still blatant.

"I'm sure." He glanced up from the menu with a smile. "May I speak to your manager, just briefly?"

That was when she paled. Eyeing his nonchalant expression, she prayed none of her assumptions about his motives could possibly be true, especially as they grew stranger and stranger. Her new spiraling was beginning to tie back to her previous spiraling -- could James have found out about the past Friday? Would Thomas have possibly told him? Why would that mean he showed up at her family's diner to talk to her manager about it? Could he have been trying to--

"Why do you look so nervous?" Her alarm only seemed to amuse James, and she huffed, leaning against the counter.

"James. You're a politician who showed up at my place of work, rejected food, and requested to speak to my manager." She looked up at him with a flat gaze, and he only chuckled, shrugging in acquiescence. "There isn't some new health code no one told us about, is there?"

"Not this time. Check back in a week, though." She rolled her eyes. "In all seriousness, may I speak to whoever's in charge? I assure you I'm not here to shut down your café."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. "How generous of you. Give me a second."

He nodded as she turned away, laughing when she took only three steps before aggressively yelling "Orlando!" in the direction of the kitchen.

The man in question emerged with his brow furrowed, wiping his hands on a dishtowel with his brows furrowed. "What's wrong, mija?"

"Nothing yet." She glanced between him and James, her stare inquisitive. "Someone wants to speak to you about the diner real quick."

"You get us into trouble again?" Orlando raised a playful eyebrow, and Y/N couldn't help her wry smile as she rolled her eyes, batting at his arm.

"No, Orlando," she huffed.

Her contrived annoyance hardly buried her amusement before James decided to pipe up. "'Again'?"

She turned to James with a playful glare, and he grinned. "You stay outta this." She pointed a reprimanding finger at him, but he didn't appear at all fazed. "Gonna get me fired before you have a chance to shut us down, at this rate."

"You got us shut down?" Orlando gasped, but when Y/N saw the mirth behind his playful shock, she groaned.

"No, Orlando." James's and Orlando's grins mirrored one another as she looked between them, exhaustion settling into her tone. "I need you two to take each other off my hands, now. I have drinks to make."

"Of course, Y/N." James wasn't too hurt by the final glare she sent him before turning away.

As she fell back into her rhythm fulfilling orders, Y/N couldn't help but keep an eye on the two men, especially not when Orlando emerged from behind the counter to talk to James, trying to stay out of her way but also moving just out of her earshot. She knew the glances she kept sneaking toward them weren't as subtle as they should've been; she knew Orlando could see her watching them. As James continued on, Orlando's entire demeanor went from skeptical to welcoming, his body language opening up in turn. (Y/N tried briefly to read their lips, but something gave her the feeling that 'sent out the minors' wasn't quite true to their conversation.)

She had to force herself to turn her focus back to the customers as the unfinished drink orders began to pile up, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the mounting line of cups to her right with names and orders, but with a distinct lack of coffee. A few more minutes passed as she struggled to keep up, finally holding pace with the ever-growing demand when Orlando shook James's hand, passed off a business card before the two parted ways.

At the risk of making just a few customers lose their heads, Y/N followed Orlando into the kitchen, her curiosity overriding her work ethic.

"Hey, what was that about?" She caught him just as he was tying his apron back on. How pleased he looked had her skeptical.

"Oh, nothing very big. Don't worry." He withdrew his plastic gloves from the front pocket, pulling them on with a shrug. "He asked me about renting out the diner for a night for an event with Thomas Jefferson's campaign."

That stopped Y/N cold. "He did?"

"Mhm." He nodded, and he didn't seem to notice how stunned Y/N had suddenly begun to look. "I told him yes. I didn't think Mira would be thrilled if I turned it down. He offered us a lot of money for it."

"Oh, did he now?" She let out a shaky exhale, glancing back at the front of the diner to see James just exiting through the glass doors. "And did he say why he wanted to do it here, of all places?"

Orlando shrugged. "I didn't ask."

Why wouldn't that be your first question? Despite her moderate angst, Y/N tried not to let her frustration show. "Is Mira around? I need to talk to her."

"Aren't you in the middle of a shift?" He gave her a pointed look, and it elicited a dramatic, drawn-out groan from Y/N.

"Orlando," she whined, folding her arms. He gave her a mocking pout.

"Y/N." She rolled her eyes. "You're losing us valuable customers and valuable time as the line gets longer. Go back to making drinks."

Despite her scowl, she nodded. "After I close tonight, you're gonna get a piece of my mind."

------

As it turned out, it wasn't Orlando who was given a piece of her mind that evening.

2 New Messages, 10:38 PM

Thomas raised an eyebrow as his phone vibrated. He sat at his own dining room table, the sound coming from just inches to the left of where he was working on his laptop. Who would be contacting him that late?

Y/N 🍑👀: tell me it wasn't you who came up with the idea of renting out mira and orlando's diner on the only night when i work all evening

Y/N 🍑👀: please for your sake blame james

He grinned. The draft reports of the campaign's funding allocation he'd been typing up could wait just a few minutes.

thomas 🙄: i feel like you're just tryna get me to lie so you can slander me in the papers for it

Y/N 🍑👀: thomas i stg

Y/N 🍑👀: are you just planning your campaign around what's gonna annoy me most????

thomas 🙄: that's a heavy accusation, i would never

thomas 🙄: just wanna make sure you don't get too lonely without me

Y/N's scowl held no real anger as she read the texts.

Y/N 🍑👀: oh of course

Y/N 🍑👀: if this is your way of trying to get laid again, it's a flawed strategy

thomas 🙄: what happened to ruining my sheets "next time"? :)

Y/N 🍑👀: you still owe me for all the bleach i had to buy

thomas 🙄: don't avoid the question

Y/N 🍑👀: don't avoid the cleaning bill

thomas 🙄: if you're still tryna ruin MY sheets next time, it won't be your problem

Y/N 🍑👀 is typing...

Thomas rolled his eyes when the typing bubble disappeared and he didn't receive another text. Y/N, on the other hand, was biting her lip, her fingers hesitant on her keyboard as she read his text to herself. Her heart rate was picking up as flashes of the past Friday played in her mind.

thomas 🙄: did you really just stop typing on me??

Y/N 🍑👀: can we return to my actual question???? why the fuck did you decide to rent out the diner for your campaign?????

thomas 🙄: wasn't my idea to hold a meet and greet at a restaurant

Y/N 🍑👀: there are literally hundreds of restaurants in dc tho

thomas 🙄: and??

Y/N 🍑👀: and you just happened to rent out the diner i work at during the entirety of my shift???

thomas 🙄: pretty sure i mentioned a while back that i was gonna learn your schedule

Y/N 🍑👀: i'm not sure how good it's gonna look for your campaign when i file a restraining order against you

thomas 🙄: you mean you don't miss me? :(

Y/N 🍑👀: oh c'mon you're just asking for it now

Y/N 🍑👀: you almost make it too easy to mock you

thomas 🙄: i'm so hurt

Y/N 🍑👀: already?? i haven't even started mocking you yet

thomas 🙄: we'll see who's mocking who when you're stuck with my campaign for five hours this friday

Y/N 🍑👀: five hours??????

thomas 🙄: don't get too excited now

Y/N 🍑👀: fuck you

thomas 🙄: only after you get around to changing your sheets

✔ Read, 11:03 PM

------

Try as she might, Y/N failed to find a way out of her evening shift the following Saturday. She pleaded with her co-workers (no one else was available); she faked sick (Jac marched up to her apartment just to call her out); she was about ready to find a fake ID and leave the country when a better idea occurred to her.

Mailto: [email protected]

Hi Mr. Adams--

(No, too informal.)

Vice President Adams:

(.... Passable.)

I hope this email finds you well. This is Y/N L/N of the Washington Post, to whom you gave your email address a number of weeks ago at President Washington's gala.

(She prayed she was using 'whom' correctly.)

As you know, I've been assigned to cover the Jefferson campaign up until this November's election, and I'm reaching out for any timely information you would be willing to share on the current relationship between Secretary Jefferson and yourself, as the projected Democratic nominee. I was hoping to find out--

(What was she hoping to find out? Her mind was still attached to Ashley's most recent ominous wisdom -- don't be afraid to dig up what he's left buried. But how could she ask the vice president for dirt without erring on the wrong side of collusion?

Backspace just a little.)

I was hoping to give my readers a somewhat more personal perspective on Jefferson's time holding office as Secretary of State. Is there any chance you'd be available for an interview? Please let me know; I look forward to hearing from you.

Regards,

(Was regards too stiff? Backspace.)

Best regards,

Y/N L/N

She'd been hesitant to actually use the email address he'd given her; she bit her lip as she pressed send. She might not have been able to find a way out of five hours of the diner being full of nothing but Jefferson supporters, but if Ashley was looking for dirt, eavesdropping and an opposing perspective could go far for her. Despite her writing prospects, she spent the entirety of her Saturday dreading its end.

James was the first to show up. The diner was cleared of its usual patrons, but that night, it'd be operating at capacity.

"So should I assume your presence means this whole 'meet-and-greet' wasn't an elaborate hoax just to deepen my frown lines?" Y/N was looking up at him with somber resignation as he entered the diner wearing a wide smile.

"Your input and documentation are valuable to this campaign, Y/N. We would never target you like that." She rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off the counter, despite how amused James appeared. "In other words, you have a long evening ahead of you."

"Y'know, I'm firmly convinced you're just trying to make my life Hell until I stop covering the election," she accused him, and he laughed.

"Have a little faith. I wasn't even made aware that you work here."

"Yeah, you weren't."

"What are you implying, exactly?"

"Take a shot in the dark." She glared at him, but it had no real anger in it. "Now, I'm not sure why Thomas is so fixated on antagonizing me, but you'd better tell him--"

"James, hey, you ready to get set up?" It was at that moment the front door of the diner flew open, and it was only a moment of silence that passed before Thomas looked up from whatever he was so absorbed in on his phone, and when he caught sight of Y/N's exasperated expression, a grin split his face. "Y/N? You workin' here, now?"

"Don't even start."

"Aw, c'mon, what d'you possibly mean by that?" His hands were stuffed in his pockets; he wore a shit-eating grin, and Y/N just scowled.

"I have too many hours left in my shift to deal with you two this early." She pointed an accusing finger between the two of them as she threw down her dishrag. "I'm getting Mira and Orlando."

"Some hospitality," Thomas pouted as Y/N began to turn, pausing to give him the stink eye, and he failed to mask his entertainment under his feigned offense.

From there, the evening went about as well as she could've hoped. Mira, as expected, was beyond overjoyed to see Thomas, didn't waste even a moment in helping him set up, and when the floodgates opened at 4:30 PM sharp, Y/N's feet were sore even thinking about scurrying back and forth for five hours on the tile floor she'd already spent her morning polishing. (So much for that polish, anyway. It was less than five minutes before layer after layer of bootprints wracked the shining ceramic with an avante-garde collage of brackish slush and sidewalk gunk.)

Demands were ringing in her ears. She struggled to distinguish between her rather lifelike migraine and the surrounding frenzy of voters and journalists alike -- the voices all sounded the same. A disembodied shout requested an extra tub of honey butter, and she tossed one onto the end of the counter without thinking twice. Two dozen hamburgers over the next thirty minutes seemed a small price to pay to no longer be working the cash register.

She'd begun to count how many viruses could fit on the surface of each dollar she collected in tips with a strained smile, retreating back to the kitchen to wash her hands every time she stuck one into the pocket of her apron. Considering the crowd, she considered herself lucky she was making tips at all.

The money was an undeniable result of the wandering eyes of a number of middle-aged men in the crowd, being to various degrees of seedy -- her skinny jeans seemed to be a hit. Though he wasn't one among the crowd stuffing wadded bills into her hand with a sleazy grin every time she came around to bus tables, there was one man whose wandering gaze she kept meeting. (He'd rather have provided a much different type of gratuity, and she suspected that went beyond subsidizing her trip to the laundromat to wash her bedsheets.)

She had to put it out of her mind every time she caught and subsequently broke his stare. The wolfish smile he watched her with had her feeling more vulnerable than she'd have liked; every time she noticed it, she couldn't help but pale and duck away like a mouse dodging a trap (no matter how tempting the bait might've been). Not to mention it was distracting her from her job. She shook the thought from where it weighed down on her shoulders, instead scurrying back to the register to deal with the line.

"Alright, what can I get you?" The words were breathless as she rushed to the counter, having just made seven lattes in the span of approximately five minutes and ferried forty kilograms of dirty dishes back to the kitchen -- she wasn't looking forward to washing them at the end of the night. Her tired eyes snapped open when she realized who stood before her. "Lafayette! How long have you been here?"

"Standing in line, or in ze restaurant?" His smile was just on the right side of jeering, and she rolled her eyes.

"I didn't take that long to get here; I don't wanna hear it."

"Of course not, chérie." He eyed the menu posted above her as he spoke. "I arrived 'ere nearly two hours ago, but I 'ave only just now come to get food."

"Been avoiding me?" she teased.

"Can you blame me?" Her scowl was all but involuntary at how self-satisfied he looked, choosing to avoid her annoyed gaze. "Any recommendations from ze menu?"

"Whatever's most expensive." He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she shrugged, holding her hands up defensively. "What? Like you can't afford the New England stuffed lobster?"

He pursed his lips as he looked back down at her, but his eyes were all smug amusement. "Fine. I will 'ave zat and ze agave lemonade."

"My paycheck appreciates it," she said. "That all?"

"Zat will be all for me." The devious smile he wore as he leaned in a fraction of an inch had her on edge. "But with 'ow he 'as been ogling you all night, I daresay Thomas may want something more."

"Lafayette!" she scolded him, stepping back from the counter to glare. "Why has that become the first thing you bring up every time you see me, now? I am at work."

Her seething was in a hushed tone, and he only shrugged, leafing through his wallet with a smug smile. "Remind him of zat, not me."

____________

It was nearing eight o'clock, and Y/N refused to remind herself that she still had more than an hour and a half to go. She'd deigned to wash the dishes by that point, actively avoiding the crowds in the dining room between Thomas's wolfish gaze and Lafayette's knowing smile -- she wasn't sure when her family diner had become a lion's den.

The yellow latex gloves she'd been forced to sport were an occupational hazard, she supposed, as she reached up to return her latest stack of side plates to their rightful place in the cabinet above her. When she turned back to the sink--

"Thomas!" She jumped back, holding the edge of the counter behind her. She hadn't heard him come in.

He raised an entertained eyebrow as she pulled off her thick rubber gloves, throwing them down onto the counter with a thud before reaching over to turn off the water. "What are you doing back here?" she huffed, "You can't be here."

He shrugged, and she could feel her heart rate rising along with the blood to her cheeks. Him cornering her, alone in the kitchen at her part-time job after all the texts they'd exchanged over the past week, had her feeling increasingly vulnerable.

He plastered on a mock pout, folding his arms as he leaned against the side of the counter. "Oh, nice to see you, too, Y/N. I'm great, thanks so much for askin'."

Y/N scowled. "Don't pretend I'm the one out of line, here."

"You aren't happy to see me?" His brow creased as he held a hand to his heart, and though she rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips twitched upward. "You're hurtin' my feelings. Figured it'd be a welcome surprise."

"Oh, of course, based on how thrilled I was to hear you rented the place out for the night?"

He grinned. "Exactly."

She huffed at his audacity, shaking her head.

"Anyway, what d'you want?" she asked as she moved to go back to where she'd been at the sink, shooing him away. However, entirely undeterred, he took a step toward her, and she took one back, nearing the corner of the room. Her eyes were wide.

"Thomas," she said hesitantly, and he took another nonchalant step toward her, slowly backing her against the kitchen wall. Her voice was shaky, her heart pounding in her ears like a warning bell. "What are you doing?"

"Well, sweetheart," he began matter-of-factly, his gaze hawklike. Her breathing stopped for a moment as he closed in on her, one hand landing on the wall beside her head and the other on her waist. His grin broadened. "I seem to remember being promised a 'next time.'"

At that, she couldn't help but let out a surprised laugh, the sound breathy. "Seriously? And you think now is a good time to cash that in? I'm working."

"So am I."  He shrugged. "Makes it more fun, doesn't it?"

"No, it absolutely does not!" Her reprimanding was losing its bite, though; his smile was apparently more contagious than anything she was going to pick up from touching the used cutlery of his unsavory voters. He leaned in toward her with a mischievous eyebrow raised. "Thomas."

"Y/N," he echoed mockingly before he dipped down, lips finding the side of her cheekbone, trailing down toward her jaw.

"There's a window in here," she reminded him, despite tilting her head to give him access to her neck. "We're in plain sight."

"Not from this corner." She could feel his grin against the side of her face. "Really think I didn't think this through, sugar?"

She let out a skeptical hum when his mouth reached her collarbone, running her hands up his chest, arching up against him despite herself. "This is a bad ide-- Ah!" She squeaked when he nipped at her skin, and his grip on her hip tightened.

"Whatever you say," he murmured into her neck.

"We're going to get caught." She let out a soft gasp as his hand on her hip traveled south.

"By who? Mira?" He pulled back to look her in the eye, a playful shine to his gaze. "She gonna fire you for stealing the attention of her favorite customer?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, pursing her lips to push back the grin that threatened to break hef stony facade. "No, she's gonna fire me for whatever health code violation this constitutes." She shoved him lightly by the shoulder, but it only prompted him to anchor her to him by the waist.

"I won't tell." The hand that rested against the wall threaded itself into her hair, tipping her head back to look her in the eye. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of reaction in the affirmative. She bit her lip.

"My kitchen shift ends in less than half an hour." His expression visibly deflated, and she gave a small, sly smile. "So you'd better be quick."

Delighted surprised flashed in his eyes; she squealed when he hitched one of her legs up to his waist, tightening her hold on his shoulders. "Well, I can't turn down a challenge, now, can I?"

With that, he reached over and flicked the sink's faucet back on, the water drumming loudly on the underside of a saucepan. She furrowed her brow. "What are you doing?"

"Drownin' you out."

His lips returned to her neck with increased fervor, and he tugged aside the collar of her shirt, biting softly into her skin. "Fuck you," she moaned, and he laughed.

"Right here, in plain sight?"

She was about to rebuke him, eyes narrowed and mouth ajar, before he began sucking a hickey into the skin of her shoulder, and he felt her whole body relax in his grasp as she let out a groan. "You're unbelievable."

"I do my best." Her eyes began to flutter shut as she lost sight of her initial task, the small tsunami of dishes becoming hardly a wave in the distance. His hands trailed further downward, and she could feel her chest heaving as she dug her nails into the thick material of his suit. She bit down on her lip, trying to remain quiet, desperate not to draw any attention, when the door opposite them flew open.

Y/N squealed, shoving Thomas away from her, but the damage was done when she met the intruder's eye.

"Lafayette?" she asked breathlessly, "What are you doing back here?"

"So it is only a problem when I come into ze kitchen?" He gave Thomas a pointed look, who glanced to Y/N guiltily. She yanked her shirt back over the reddening mark halfway across her shoulder with a huff. "I was only coming to ask where ze bathroom was, but I fear ze two of you may need it more zan I do."

"Out. Both of you." Y/N glared at Lafayette, who looked spectacularly amused by the scene he'd walked in on. Thomas, however, looked nearly as put-out as Y/N. She walked over to pull her rubber gloves back on, turned the water off in the sink. "I need to get back to work."

"It seems you should do ze same," Lafayette commented to Thomas, who straightened his tie, scowling.

"Thanks for the reminder." He brushed past Lafayette on his way to the door before he turned to leave, casting Y/N one more burning gaze that left her palms sweating.

Y/N turned back to the sink and grabbed the next dish from the stack, expecting Lafayette to follow Thomas out, but he only raised his eyebrows, joining her near the sink as she picked up a sponge and returned to scrubbing a spot of yellowish crud from the edge of a plate, grimacing when she realized it was crusted over.

"So," he started, and she looked up at him warily, not abandoning her task. "I take it my hunch as to where you disappeared to at ze fundraiser last week was not misguided?"

She closed her eyes to take a deep breath, pausing for a moment, thoroughly displeased with the hubristic smile he wore. She didn't give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. "What d'you want, Lafayette?"

She glanced in his direction as he pulled his lips into a dramatic pout. "Is my company not good enough for you to 'ave here? You hurt me, chérie."

"Right. No agenda there," she said dryly, and he shrugged, unable to contain his self-satisfaction.

"So, 'ow long have you and Thomas been carrying on in secret?"

After the momentary pause the bluntness of his question gave her, she rolled her eyes. He came around to the drying rack on her other side, apparently ignoring her peeved sarcasm. "We aren't."

"Non? Then what, exactly, did I just walk in on?"

"Give it your wildest guess." As she turned to add a plate to the stack, she watched Lafayette hoist himself up onto the counter to her left. He gave her a sly look.

"Why did you not tell me about your little liaison? It is not like it was difficult to figure out."

"'Liaison'," she snorted. "Is there anything you don't know how to make sound pretentious?"

"Do not avoid the matter at hand."

She could feel her cheeks beginning to heat as she turned the faucet back on, and it wasn't just the steam coming from the scalding water. "It's not like that, Lafayette. Seriously."

"'Ow far 'ave you two gone?"

"Lafayette!" She turned with that to glare at him, his nonchalance about her embarrassment only compounding upon it.

"What? Do you really not want someone to confide in?" She paused at his words, though her scowl didn't relax, and he took that as an invitation to continue. "I can only assume you 'ave not been 'aving zis conversation with Alexander. I can picture quite clearly how 'e would react."

She let out a huff of bitter laughter as she returned to the dishes. "Can't argue with that one. He thinks the hickey I came back from Detroit with was from you."

"Non!" His eyes shone with mischief, despite his contrived incredulity. "I am your cover story?"

"It's his theory; I didn't even give him the idea." She added another plate to her pile. "Though, a lot of my friends seem to think you're a whore, now."

"Mm, and why should I not go and tell them ze reality of ze situation?"

"Don't you dare!" she said. "What do you stand to gain from that?"

"Protecting my reputation, apparently," he said mildly. "Or, you could simply tell me what 'as been going on."

"Are you blackmailing me for gossip?"

"Think of it as an exchange."

She scoffed, turning her head to look at him. "You really are shameless, huh?" He shrugged, folding his arms as he turned to look at her expectantly, his knee bumping her pile of silverware. She sighed. "Fine. We screwed. You happy?"

"Delighted." He wore a small smile as he shifted her dishes out of his way. "'Ow many times? Only once? When was zis?"

"Lafayette!"

"What?" he asked innocently, but the exhaustion written across her face made him laugh. "Come on, Y/N; we are friends, non?"

"Seems like I'm stuck with you, so sure."

"Zen why do you not feel like you can speak freely with me?"

When she met his eyes that time, the words seemed to be in earnest, not even mocking in the slightest. He wore a small smile, and he broke her gaze after a moment, eyeing the layout of the kitchen.

"Alright. If it'll get you off my back." She sighed, shooting him a dirty look, and he nodded, pursing his lips to suppress the grin that was bursting at the seams. "It was a week before Friday. Only once. And, to be honest, I have no idea where to go from here."

"Thomas seems to have some idea where he wants to go." When she gave him a dead stare, he laughed. "I am not making fun of you, zis time. Truly."

"This time," she repeated bitterly. "I'm just... not entirely sure what I want. The whole thing feels risky."

"It certainly is risky if you are trying to get lucky in public during his campaign event." He gave her a scandalized look, but her scowl was unwavering.

"Thanks for the advice."

Her sarcasm left him undeterred. He shrugged. "But if you are careful, what is ze harm? I assure you, even the papers zat care enough to cover Thomas's sex life do not 'ave the resources to find out who is ending up in his bed."

She hesitated a moment, considering his words.

"No, you're probably right." She sighed. "The thing is... I don't know. It feels like it could become a problem."

"Ah, is there... something more you want out of zis?" The sidelong look he gave her was more concerned than she expected it to be. She shook her head, giving a light laugh.

"No, no, nothing like that." He'd begun moving the dishes to his other side by then to maintain his spot on the counter. Y/N rolled her eyes when she noticed. "My career just complicates things, is all."

Before he could respond, she took a step back from the counter, peeling off her rubber gloves despite the looming load of dishwashing she'd still have to do before the end of the night. "And as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I need to get back to making sandwiches. Head back out to the dining room."

She jerked her chin toward the door while retying the strings on the back of her apron. Lafayette frowned.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Not trying to. Kicking you out." She gave him a flat stare as she turned toward where she stood. "Some of us have bills to pay. C'mon."

He scowled as he hopped off of the counter and she waved him away, following close behind to herd him out the door. He glanced back over his shoulder at her when she did, though, and his gaze looked once again as smug as it had when he first realized what he'd walked in on. "If you insist, chérie. I understand that you must do away with me before you can carry on with your little affair. Do not let me get in ze way."

Y/N rolled her eyes at how pleased he looked with himself as he strolled back into the seating area, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. However, when she returned to the kitchen counter, she couldn't help but scan the room through the front window; who she was looking for went without saying. She found him already looking at her, and she swallowed hard.

Nothing articulable was conveyed in his heavy stare, nor in the barely-there smile he wore, arms folded as he watched her shamelessly. She bit her lip. The three seconds she held his gaze felt like hours, and when he finally winked and broke eye contact to turn to someone who'd just approached his table, she felt her stomach turn. This wasn't over.

------

Thomas's rally ended at nine, but it wasn't until closer to nine-thirty that he'd persuaded the final member of his constituency to call it a night. Mira, Orlando, Jac, and all their miscellaneous employees had gone home when their shifts ended at the official end of the event, but Y/N was stuck on the clock for another hour or longer until she finished cleaning up the mess left behind from the evening. Unfortunately, his event running over time meant that he didn't start clearing out his campaign setup until around five minutes after the diner was empty, and that his posters, decorations, and gaudily-colored buttons weren't actually gone until closer to nine fifty.

Y/N was clearing the kitchen counters all the while, knowing she couldn't begin to mop up the grayish mess of liquified dirt and matted grass scattered across the floor until they were both gone. When they seemed to be on the last load of red streamers and campaign merchandise, she emerged back toward the front counter to lock up behind them. Thomas was still out in the back when James approached her, his final box of t-shirts resting on his hip.

"Is there anything else you need from us before we leave? I don't want to take up too much more of your time."

Y/N smiled at the concerned look he wore. "Depends; have you paid Mira in full for all our troubles?" Despite her exhaustion, her tone was light, and the tension in James's brow relaxed.

"I gave her the check before she left."

"Then you're good to go." She shrugged as she went to collect another basin of dirty dishes from under the side of the counter; her annoyance at it couldn't even rise, not after the mountain of plates she already had waiting for her next to the sink. "I've got everything else under control."

He nodded. "Thank you for letting us rent out the venue. All our attendees seemed more than happy with it."

"If it was up to me, you wouldn't be here, but I'll take the credit if you're offering it." She raised a playful eyebrow, and he wore a tired smile.

"The credit's all yours."

"My gratitude is beyond words." Though the words were mocking, he let out a light laugh, and she couldn't help her wry grin.

"I'm always glad to hear it." He took another glance around the place, checking for anything that might've been left behind, before turning toward the back exit Thomas had just re-emerged from.

"What else do we still have to box up?"

James paused on his way out. "You're welcome to do a final sweep, but I believe we have everything."

"Yeah?"

"I'm fairly certain." He looked back toward where Y/N stood behind the counter once more, leaning down on the bakery case. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Bye, James." Her sleepy voice has a singsong lilt to it that made Thomas smile as he searched the dining room a final time. She'd started toward the kitchen once more to retrieve her broom, but Thomas's voice stopped her.

"Anything else I can do before I head out?"

She turned on her heel to face him, wore a soft smile when she saw how earnest he looked, eyebrows raised and his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants. "So long as you’ve gotten everything you brought here, there’s nothing I need from you."

"You sure?" When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged casually. "Just hate to leave this place a mess from our campaign event. Don't wanna leave you with all the extra cleanup."

She pursed her lips when her smile threatened to broaden. "That's sweet, Thomas, but really, it's okay. I'm on the clock for a while longer anyway. I think I can stick it out, considering I'm the one employed here."

"Feel like I remember hearin' somewhere that your shift ends at ten." He furrowed his brow, walking toward the counter where she stood. She didn't quite get his point until she turned to the clock above the doorway: it was nine fifty-eight. "'S there really nothin' I can do to help out?"

She snorted, folded her arms. "Not unless mopping the dried coffee off of the floors is your idea of a good time." When his expectant expression was unwavering, her eyebrows shot up. "You're not seriously offering your services as a janitor, are you?"

The corners of his lips quirked. "Only if it's welcome, sweetheart."

"You're wearing a full suit." The disbelief in her eyes was rigid despite his conviction.

"Don't mind. Long as I can throw my jacket somewhere." He cracked a grin. "Unless, of course, you just wanna get rid of me."

She eyed him skeptically, but he didn't seem to be joking just then. "If you're serious, I'm not turning down free labor."

"Or an excuse to spend more time with me?"  His tone was playful, and she couldn't help her spiteful laugh as she re-entered the kitchen.

"So that's your ulterior motive? Hope you don't think you're getting any when it's eleven o'clock and I'm half asleep from my seven hours here tonight."

"As, c'mon now, why's there gotta be an accusation?" he called after her, and she could hear the teasing frown in his voice. "Can't I just wanna lend a hand?"

"I'll believe it when I see it." She emerged not a minute later with a broom and dustpan to see him having shaken off his jacket and undone his tie. She quirked a brow.

"Hey, anywhere I can throw these?" His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms as he slid his tie out of his collar, popping open the first few buttons on his dress shirt, and Y/N bit her lip. The suits he wore didn't quite do justice to his physique; his jackets may have fit tighter around his upper arms, but his shirts were practically molded around his biceps just above where the veins bulging in his forearms disappeared into his sleeves. She was sure the few extra inches of visible skin below his collar were meant to draw her wandering eyes, only hinting at the toned chest she knew lay beneath the starched fabric.

When she looked back up and caught his eye, he looked predictably cocky. He wore a wide, smug grin, and she rolled her eyes before he even spoke. "You're starin', sweetheart."

Y/N shrugged, wearing the smallest of smiles. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Anything you wanna see again?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow, and she laughed.

"Tempting," she said, and when surprise flashed in his eyes, his interest piqued as he started toward her. However, she stopped him at arm's length, a hand on his chest. "But you know what would be really sexy?"

His delight in the turn of events was obvious. "What's that?"

She leaned her broom against the counter and took a step forward, pushing herself onto her toes until her lips brushed against the skin just below his ear, and his hands ghosted down to her hips. Her voice was just above a whisper. "Watching you disinfect all the dining room's high-touch surfaces."

She pulled back with a broad grin when he let out a disappointed groan. "Seriously?"

His frustration was obvious, his brow furrowed as he looked down at her, deadpan, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, yeah. Free labor really gets me going."

"Tease," he grumbled, and Y/N gave him a skeptical stare.

"Don't you gimme that; I'm not the one here under false pretenses," she reminded him, and he folded his arms.

"Now I dunno what you could be refferin' to." She raised a dubious eyebrow when a grin split his phony discontent. "But there's nothin' wrong with mixin' business and pleasure."

"Don't you dare try to derail me after taking up six hours of my time, Jefferson." She prodded his chest with a scowl. "If you're sticking around, I'm putting you to work."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." When he did grab the broom, he glanced back toward the kitchen, wearing an inquisitive frown. "I'm gonna go stick my jacket in a cupboard; is that alright? I'll only be a minute."

"Oh, yeah; do you want me to take it? We have a coat closet in the back."

"Nah, 's alright. I can find it."

Though she gave him a skeptical once-over, Y/N nodded. "Have at it."

When he wasn't back a few minutes later, her train of thoughts managed to run a full 5k -- what could he possibly be spending that much time in the back for? Was he really still trying to find a coat hanger, by then? How hard was it to find a closet in exactly two rooms? Or, really, was he just hiding out until she'd already gotten the worst of the grime off of the tile?

She eliminated her final guess when early-2000s pop music began blaring through the diner's sound system. Though she groaned loudly enough for him to hear it from where he'd located the aux input, she couldn't say this was really a downgrade from Orlando's dusk-till-dawn smooth jazz. When he emerged from behind the kitchen's swinging door and caught sight of her dead stare, he laughed.

"Hanging up your jacket, huh?" Her annoyance was contrived; the way the corners of her lips twitched up gave her away.

"Hey, I can multitask." He bit his smile back, giving her a serious look, brow furrowed. "I said I'm here to help, didn't I?"

"How is this possibly helping?"

"'Cause you need to liven up a little bit," he said matter-of-factly, and Y/N rolled her eyes. "Cleanin's only boring if you make it boring."

"You'll be singing a different tune when you start wiping down the bathroom."

"Hey, how'd I end up on bathroom duty?" he pouted, and she shrugged, turning to the shelves at the back to hide her growing smile.

"As the only one of us who actually works here, I've elected myself the de-facto CEO." She hung her dishrag up on the rack next to the sink before looking back at him over her shoulder, shrugging. "Hate to break it to you, but you're on my turf."

"But I'm a volunteer!" he protested, and she grinned.

"My point exactly."

"Now, what if I refuse to do it?" Though she was busy restocking all the cups that she'd finished washing earlier in the day, she could hear Thomas's footsteps approaching where she stood behind the counter.

"Then you don't, and you finally leave so that I can be productive."

"Sounds like I'm really the one with the power, here."

"Not when I have something I know you want." She looked up with a suggestive smile when he hoisted himself onto the counter beside her, and he raised his eyebrows, folding his arms across his chest.

"And now what's that?"

"Three guesses, Thomas." She had a feeling he'd only need one of them when his gaze began to wander down the length of her body, eyes shining.

"I dunno how unpaid this labor is, sweetheart."

"Well, you won't quite be making minimum wage," she said, turning back to face him as she leaned against the counter opposite where he sat. "But I think the employment benefits will make it worth your time."

"That so?" He pushed himself off the counter's edge, hardly having to take a step forward before his arms landed on either side of her on the counter's edge, caging her in, and she inhaled sharply. His grin was wide; his hips pressed into hers as he leaned in, and she swallowed roughly, leaning back on her hands which rested on the linoleum countertop.

"I'd like to think so," she breathed, as he dipped down, wasting no time as his lips met the tender skin below her jaw.

"Mm, I think I'm gonna need to decide that one for myself," he murmured against her neck, and despite how tempting it was when his hands gravitated to her waist, falling slowly further as he bit down softly on her earlobe, she pushed him away the minute she found her last shred of willpower.

"Uh-uh." Thomas scowled as he pulled back, hands planted on the counter at her sides. She folded her arms. "I'm not gonna make even more of a mess of this place that I'll have to clean up. When the diner's shining, I'd be happy to revisit."

One of his hands rose to her jawline, lifting her chin up ever so slightly to look him in the eye, and she raised a skeptical eyebrow. "After the place is spotless," he murmured, his voice hard and his gaze fixed on her lips, "Hope you know how much you're gonna regret leadin' me on like this. You won't be tryin' it again."

Despite her effort to remain unaffected, Y/N's breath caught, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she struggled to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. Her eyes were wider than she knew, and he seemed to be reveling in her reaction, wearing a wolfish grin.

After a moment, she swallowed, took a deep breath, her voice shaky. "Last I checked, I'm still at work."

"And I wouldn't dream of hinderin' your career." Thomas winked as he took a step back, going for the broom where she'd discarded it before, acting as though nothing at all had happened. Y/N was left reeling.

Thus began the next ninety minutes of her life. Though, to Y/N's surprise, Thomas did end up cleaning the bathrooms, putting up little resistance, he'd also managed to convince Y/N to help him. Despite there having been two of them, every subsequent task took twice as long as it otherwise would've. She'd have denied it, but Thomas's presence was a more-than-welcome distraction.

About half an hour later, he'd managed to drag her away from her Lysol bleach and her old rags in favor of taking a break to dance with him (apparently, she was underappreciating the wonder that was Outkast's greatest hit). She rolled her eyes at the suggestion but grudgingly obliged, and Thomas couldn't help but call out the small, growing smile that broke her grumpy facade. He'd seemingly done the impossible by getting her to let herself go for an evening. Neither of them was quite sure how the floor had gradually become spotless between their distracted banter, nor when exactly they'd managed to wipe down every surface in the kitchen as his playlist seamlessly ventured through every one of Britney Spears's wildest phases.

She'd just about forgotten about her fatigue as Thomas repeatedly soaked the ankles of her jeans with his mop, claiming that her being in his line of sight was just too much of a distraction for him to do his job properly. She scoffed every time, but the fact that her cheeks had grown sore from smiling made her annoyance marginally less convincing.

He eventually took off his shiny black oxfords after having spent the evening trying to hide his concern over some of the chemicals in her soaps ruining the varnish; she didn't bother to argue with his insistence that it absolutely marked a milestone in their progress that he wasn't afraid to step in any greenish gunk or black mold -- if they hadn't missed any, what was the harm? However, she did reprimand him for ransacking their fridge when she left for three minutes to put the mop away. She didn't stay mad long.

Wiping down the glass of the bakery display case took too long for her liking. As it turned out, it was difficult to focus after teasing him for the expected mediocrity of the John Mayer impression he claimed to be impeccable, as he immediately decided it needed to be proven. However, she didn't regret provoking him when the result had her sides beginning to hurt from laughing. She was just glad that they'd nearly finished cleaning.

Much to his dismay, Thomas had to cut the music after the sweet old lady who lived above the dry-cleaners next door came down, banging on the back door to chew them out. The fire behind her threats to file a noise complaint with the cops died down pretty quickly when Thomas offered her a beignet and a cup of tea, sending her on her way with a winning smile, a to-go box, and a Jefferson campaign button. (Y/N proceeded almost immediately to scold him for just giving away the fruits of her hours of labor behind a deep-fryer.)

But as the music was revoked, their animated evening of slacking off began to wind down. The only thing left for them to do was to finish the dishes, and Thomas proved to be much more helpful with this than Lafayette had been earlier in the day.

All was quiet as he washed the dishes and she proceeded to dry them, silence split only by his sporadically humming the best of the Black Eyed Peas. It was comfortable, just being together as the warm air wafted from the cooling oven not too far behind, as their hands brushed every time he passed her another plate. Her lips were pursed in a feeble effort to hide how endeared she was every time she glanced to him, his sleeves soaked past the elbow while he remained unbothered. If he noticed, he didn't mention. Finally--

"How are you so good with people?"

"Hm?" He turned his head toward her with a raised eyebrow, and she had to ignore the flecks of foamed soap that clung to his curls and his shirt. Y/N shrugged.

"I just mean..." Her smile was shy; she didn't meet his eyes. "I don't get how you do it. Mira absolutely dotes on you; you've befriended half of our staff after one night here. You just talked to my crankiest neighbor for literally all of five minutes, and suddenly, she's part of your voting bloc."

He just watched her for a moment. His stare was soft. "Can't help it if people find me irresistible."

Her loud, disbelieving scoff made him grin, but she looked far from annoyed. "That's your secret? You were just born with it? It isn't Maybelline?"

Though he laughed quietly, when she turned to him with her eyebrows raised, he shrugged. Her question seemed to be in earnest. "I dunno, sweetheart. Don't think it's anything special. People seem just as drawn to you, anyway."

"Sure, 'cause I have a nice ass, and I'm wearing tight jeans. Not the same thing." How frankly she spoke made him grin, and he shot her a wink, passing off another bowl to her.

"Can't argue with that." She rolled her eyes as she began drying the next dish. He bumped his elbow lightly against hers, gaze teasing yet soft. "But you know that's not what I meant."

She sighed. "Alright, fine, but I'm not forty-points-ahead-in-the-polls charismatic. I just... can't figure out what it is about you that people seem so drawn to."

As she concluded moments later, the uninvited smile she wore when he flashed her a warm grin could've contributed to the reason. She turned back to the plates before her, feeling her skin warm under his heavy gaze. "So you're tellin' me people don't follow me strictly 'cause of my political framework and field experience?"

"Oh, I'm sure every one of your supporters has invested hours into reading the 174-page pdf of fiscal policy your campaign published." Another stack of cups went into the cupboard below her.

"People really don't care about how taxin' it was for me to write all that? And here I was, thinkin' every American voter was out there doin' their homework." He looked with disappointment down at the salad plate he was scrubbing at present, but Y/N wasn't buying it.

"Thomas," she groaned as she turned to meet his phony pout, her stare flat. Her mild annoyance only served to amuse him further, and though she scowled when he laughed, he leaned over to gently kiss the crown of her head. She could feel herself flush despite how chaste it was; the casual affection left her more thrown than if he'd tried to rail her in the middle of the kitchen.

"'M only kiddin'," he defended, voice heavy with mirth, making her roll her eyes.

"Aren't you always?" she asked, wiping off the inside of a cup.

"'Course not." He frowned, and she deadpanned as she turned to him, arms folded.

"I'm not sure we've had a serious conversation since I met you."

"Now, that's just not true."

"Isn't it?" He put down the saucepan he was rinsing out to turn to her, matching her demeanor.

"It isn't. I know I tease, but I've never been anythin' but one-hundred percent authentic with you, Y/N."

A moment passed where neither said anything. The corners of Y/N's lips quirked at how sincere he sounded as he waited for her to react. Finally, she turned back to the dishes before her with a tight-lipped smile.

"Maybe this is what it is."

"Hm?"

"Why people like you. This whole endearingly earnest act you've got going on. I could see that being pretty appealing to voters."

"Hey, what d'you mean act?" He bumped his shoulders into hers, offense written across his face, and she laughed.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know what I mean. Traipsing around from state to state like some type of charismatic golden boy. Making everyone feel all special and appreciated. It's a good tactic; don't get me wrong." She shrugged as she shelved the last stack of bowls. Just a few more things to wash, and they could officially consider the diner spotless. She didn't think much of her own words, but he hung onto them. It was inexplicable as to why he took so much pride in her all but admitting he made her feel special.

"My bein' all kind-hearted and charmin' isn't some scheme," he said after a moment, plastering on a scowl, and she raised an eyebrow as he passed her a fork. For a brief moment, she was worried she'd crossed a line, but when his eyes met hers, his gaze was playful. "'M just a nice person. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Her mouth fell open in surprise, indignant but hardly disguising her smile, and she let out a huff. "I was joking, you asshole!" When he only snickered, she pursed her lips, shoving him away from her with the little comparative strength she had.

"Hey, now!" His reprimanding had very little bite to it with the laugh carried in his voice as he stumbled a step to his right, tugging the faucet head along with him. He scowled at Y/N's self-pleased smile, flicking his wrist to turn the spray of water from the sink onto her.

She yelped, jumped back from it, but he'd already managed to drench the front of her shirt. She wore an expression of disbelief as she paused a moment, watching him return to the dishes as if nothing had happened despite his entertained grin. It was then that she struck back, lunging toward the sink to retaliate, and he wasn't quite quick enough to stop her.

He could only do damage control once she'd already managed to spray a line of water across his chest, and she gasped when he pushed her back to her part of the counter.

"You're more trouble than I was expectin'," he laughed, and she folded her arms.

"You're no walk in the park yourself."

"But you're the one who decided to let me stick around, sweetheart," he retorted, giving her a pointed look, and she shrugged good-naturedly.

"You might be a handful, but you're worth having around once in a while."

He laughed at how matter-of-factly she spoke, and for once, she wore an unabashed grin. "Now you're just flatterin' me," he teased.

"Oh, of course, such high praise; you aren't always awful."

"Hey, that means somethin', comin' from you," he defended, prodding her in the side, and she squealed, jumping away.

"Hands off, Jefferson. I'm at work."

"Aw, 'm sorry. Didn't mean to disrespect your professional boundaries."

"Check yourself next time," Y/N scowled, but there was no heat to it. The pair caught one another's eyes, both wearing the same, gentle smile, and it seemed too soon when he broke her gaze, returning to the last couple pieces of silverware. She watched him another moment until he turned to pass her a ladle. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed her gaze hadn't strayed.

She only turned back to the counter when she took the ladle from him, drying it off and sliding it back into its place in the drawer. All was quiet, and though they could both feel the chilled air of the spring night drifting in through the poorly-sealed back door, where they stood, it felt perfectly warm.

He glanced at her. "'S nice to see you like this."

The comment was offhanded; he didn't wait for a response, only returned to washing the spoons, but Y/N furrowed her brow.

"Like what?"

He turned back to her with a raised brow, mildly surprised at the curious frown she wore, and he shrugged, still wearing his faint smile. "I dunno." She didn't fill the silence, and he continued, "With your guard down. Always feels like you've got some kinda walls up."

She swallowed; for a split second, her gaze was absent. Ultimately, she sighed. "I guess I'm just cautious," she said quietly, and Thomas frowned at the defensive lilt that had returned to her tone.

"I get it." He reached over to finally turn off the water, and she put away the final fork he handed her. "'S not always worth lettin' people in."

His smile was tiny, barely there, but understanding, and when she met his eyes, it felt like he was seeing right through her. "It just makes it too easy to get hurt."

He nodded, eyes kind. "'M glad I make you feel like you can relax."

She hardly shrugged as he turned to her, leaning on his hand on the countertop. "Yeah." A small smile graced her lips as she eyed his expression, and she bit her lip. "I guess there are worse things, huh?"

His laugh made her nervous gaze soften. "Aw, sugar, you're too kind," he said, the mocking sarcasm in his voice balanced out by how gentle his grin was. She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she said softly, and he plastered on a mock pout. "I'm not building up your ego any more, alright? I'm not sure it has any room to grow."

"I wouldn't mind you makin' me just a little bit more conceited, now."

She finally turned all the way to him, putting down the dishcloth she'd been using for drying, and despite herself, the affection in the way he was looking back down at her made her heart flutter. "If you're looking for blind adoration, you should've figured out by now that I'm not the girl for that."

"No, you really aren't, are you?" Though her words had been pointed, had come with the intention to knock him back down a peg, his low voice was far, far from contemptuous. Her eyebrows jumped when he took a step toward her, taking her chin in his hand to lift her face to his before bending down to meet her where she stood, his confident lips gentle against hers. "You're so much more than that," he murmured, not pulling away enough to even look her in the eye, their noses brushing together.

Though she hesitated, it was a moment later that Y/N took a step forward to meet him halfway, her tentative touch rising up the stiff material of his shirt and to the back of his neck. He wrapped an arm around her waist. She pushed herself up onto her toes, and their lips met once again.

The patience in his every move was new to her, inconsistent with the raw desire that usually governed his actions. When he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, her mouth parted in a soft moan, and he took the opportunity for what it was, wasting little time in pressing his tongue teasingly against hers. He was holding her close, but she was arched fully up against him regardless of it, wanting to feel the movement of his body against hers. Both her arms looped around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her.

The kiss was deep, intimate, but not harsh, and when his mouth moved to the skin of her neck, she tipped her head back, eyes closed with her silent sigh as his hands moved down to grip the backs of her thighs. She couldn't help her surprise at how effortless it was for him to pick her up, to lift her onto the counter she'd been standing in front of. She groaned when his lips found a particularly sensitive patch of skin, all but going limp in his grasp.

"Thomas," she whined, wrapping her legs more tightly around him to anchor his hips against hers, grinding against his hard body.

"Come home with me," he muttered into her neck, and though she gasped at the feeling of his teeth scraping against her, she pulled back to look him in the eye, raising his head to hers with a hand in his curls.

"What?" she whispered, chest heaving, and he pressed another soft, chaste kiss to her lips.

"Come home with me," he repeated, looking into her wide eyes.

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows at her hesitance, and she took a deep breath. "Thomas, I live upstairs; if you wanna stay, I... I definitely wouldn't mind that, but--"

She cut herself off at his skeptical hum, and he said, "Listen, I almost got caught tryin' to sneak outta here in the morning last Saturday, and I'm not tryna have a repeat of that, alright? Just come back to my place." One of his hands lifted from her thigh to weave itself into her hair, holding her head by her nape as he kissed her, more intently that time. "Promise I'll make it worth your while."

She swallowed. "Pull your car around the back."

---------

It was hours later that Y/N found herself lying exhausted on satin sheets, slumped in a penthouse just across the river and high above the city. Thomas hadn't been lying about making the most of her time; his hands had seldom left her skin from the moment she entered his passenger seat, dragging her quickly past the doorman on the first floor of his building, pinning her against the wall of the elevator for a heated, fleeting moment before he'd finally tugged her the rest of the way to his apartment.

She was wrapped in his covers up to her chest, feeling just on the wrong end of self-conscious, but her clothes were rumpled and sprawled across every corner of the rooms they had to pass to reach his bed. They hadn't been overly concerned with where the outfit ended up, just that it wasn't on her skin. Every joint in her body was already sore, and she groaned as she tried to sit up, leaning against his headboard as Thomas returned to her with a glass of water.

"Thanks," she said, and he couldn't help but grin at how hoarse she sounded as he handed her the cup.

"'Course, sweetheart." He came to sit beside her as he pressed a kiss to her temple, and she took a long sip of the water, nearly draining all of it in one gulp. "You alright? Everything still feeling okay?"

"I'm exhausted, and my ass hurts like a bitch," she griped, but when he raised an eyebrow, she nodded. "But I'm all good. Might have to bill you for the truckload of concealer I'll need to cover up all these fucking marks, but I'm fine."

"Good." He squeezed her thigh lightly when she leaned against his side, her legs bent and knees pulled in toward her chest. When she rested her head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against himself with a small smile.

"Can't believe I didn't know you live in the same building as Lafayette, though," she mumbled, and he looked down at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, he actually lives just across the hall. When he came back from France lookin' for a place to live, I thought it'd be fun if we were neighbors, and he took me up on it pretty easily."

She hummed her acknowledgment. "So that means, when Lafayette showed up half an hour late to your lunch date and I was there instead, that it would've taken you all of five seconds just to go home?"

He laughed. "Now, what exactly are you accusin' me of?"

"Being a pain in my ass two weeks ago," she grumbled, and he shrugged, wearing a small, self-contented smile and not bothering to argue with her.

"You didn't seem to mind me bein' a pain in your ass last night." He raised a smug eyebrow, and she scowled, turning her head to break the eye contact. She disregarded the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks.

"You say 'last night' as though we didn't get back here less than four hours ago."

"Don't pretend you don't get the picture."

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips quirked when he kissed the top of her hair. She looked down at the cup she held against her chest. "Is it cool if I stay over?"

"'Course. I don't want you gettin' in an Uber with some creep in the middle of the city at this time of night."

"Mm, but you had no problem with me getting in a Bentley with some creep in the middle of the city four hours ago?"

Despite the teasing bite to her words, he grinned. "Hey, now, I'm just sayin' you gotta be selective about which creeps you're lettin' drive you around at all hours."

"I mean, you haven't killed me yet, so I'd call that a point in your favor." She yawned, reaching over to put the glass he'd given her on his bedside table. "We should get some sleep. It's late, and I'm sure you have somewhere to be tomorrow."

"Alright, sweetheart." She pushed herself forward from the headboard, laying back onto the pillow she'd been leaning on, holding it close to her head as he reached over to turn off the lamplight before joining her under the covers. "G'night."

"Night, T."

They fell asleep almost immediately in one another's arms.

------------

5:17 AM

From: [email protected]

Y/N--

I’m glad you reached out. Your writing’s excellent as always, but if there’s information you want, you’ve very much come to the right place. I’ve worked with Thomas for years, and though they left me dismayed, I’ve become quite familiar with the not-so-shining moments in his background.

I’d rather not put anything in writing should someone find this communication. Let’s find a somewhat private place to meet. Be sure to bring a recorder and a notepad. Believe me when I say you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.

John Adams

#hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamilton x reader #hamilton x reader imagines #hamilton x reader imagine #hamilton oneshot #hamilton oneshots #hamilton scenarios #hamilton imagine #hamilton imagines #hamilton on disney+ #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson fanfic #thomas jefferson imagines #thomas jefferson fanfiction #thomas jefferson fic #thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson x reader drabble #thomas jefferson x reader smut #thomas jefferson scenario #thomas jefferson scenarios #lafayette x reader #daveed diggs x reader #daveed x reader #hamilton smut #lafayette #lafayette imagines #daveed diggs imagines #lafayette x reader smut #freedom of the press

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

Finally watched Hello Future Me’s video floating around my recommended feed, and halfway through his excellent analysis struck a spooky thought! Here’s a theory for the girl in red.

Sane at the Time of the Finale:

Azula’s Downfall Was in Spiritual Revenge

The poetic justice of Zhao drowned by the moon spirit’s other half, Ozai’s power stripped by a full-fledged Avatar... part of what makes Azula’s defeat so unique is her crumbling sense of self, an introspective enemy instead of an outside one. Katara, whose confidence and network of support are pointed out as the mirror image of what Azula could have had, finally gains the upper hand and pins her down.

From birth, the princess endures an environment that perfects and hones her nature to the shattering point. Plenty of signs point to her devolution: the betrayal of Mai and Ty Lee, getting sidelined by her own father at the literal crowning moment, and her irreversible childhood at the center of the snowball effect. But how ‘bout I do anyway, and tie in the mechanisms of the spirit world with Azula’s last moments? The connection is far from obvious, but well and present. The role of another world in weakening such an iron-fisted character visible in the first GIF itself.

I. “Taking you down is the Avatar’s destiny.”

The spirit world is one fundamental half of the Avatar. Its guidance and power are endowed to a messiah-like figure, who masters the four bending disciplines in order to restore and keep balance. It’s constantly reinforced that the Firelord is meant to be brought down by him, that a century of bloodshed is repaid when the warlord’s life is taken, and the end of his corrupt regime is the beginning of a fuller, more peaceful era.

“Aang, you must defeat the Firelord before the comet arrives.” (Roku)

“Your destiny! This is incredible. You will be involved in a great battle, an awesome conflict between the forces of good and evil.” (Aunt Wu)

“I should have seen this war coming and prevented it... But I believe you are destined to redeem me and save the world.” (Roku)

“Because I know my own destiny. Taking you down is the Avatar’s destiny.” (Zuko)

“Everyone, even my own past lives, are expecting me to end someone’s life.” (Aang)

A seemingly inconsequential detail is that the Firelord at the time of the final battle is not Ozai - it’s his daughter. By then, the title of Phoenix King is exchanged for her coronation. The nail on the head isn’t nitpicking terminology, but that Aang already suffered defeat at Azula’s hands. She herself plays a masterful and instrumental role in the war, literally her father’s will embodied. She’s there to hunt the Avatar, lead the massive drill against Ba Sing Se’s walls, orchestrate a coup, oversee the takeoff of the airship fleet, suggest the annihilation of Ba Sing Se in the first place. It’s a long time before we see Ozai at the warfront in the flesh, and even then, the damage dealt by Azula in Book Two and Book Three resonates. Keeping all this in mind, jump to Aang’s death.

“I went down! I didn’t just get hurt, did I? I was gone! But you brought me back.” (Aang, to Katara)

At the end of Book One, when a spirit is killed and revived, balance is reduced to moonless havoc, and all hell descends on the guilty party. The Avatar-slayer would be far from an exception to this counterbalance. So what we witness in “Into the Inferno” - Azula, gruesomely unmade - may just be the most brutal act of vengeance onscreen, and as a direct consequence of this:

While Aang is not directly responsible, it’s safe to assume the spirit world often acts of its own volition. Notable spirits possess harsh views on modernization, and lash out at humanity for its flaws: Wan Shi Tong’s disappearance, the ocean spirit’s wrath, the aye-aye spirit in LoK antagonizing any human presence, the Mother of Faces admonishing vanity and disrespect.

In this vein, the Avatar spirit remains a powerful source of Aang’s strength, weaved into the very outcome of greater forces such as fate and salvation. In the crystal catacombs, Azula threw a wrench into a universal narrative - for an instant, the world really was lost.

And, truth is, we’ve already watched as an entity descended from the Avatar’s power - one who Azula identifies repeatedly as her lifelong plague - haunts her to the point of systemic delusion. Ursa herself, granddaughter of Roku.

II. “You’ve turned my own mind against me...”

Time to reconcile show canon with the comics!

There’s no one who ties more into the tragedy of Azula than her mother. Hello Future Me dredges “The Search” and “Smoke and Shadow” for panels where her condition is exacerbated by fear and animosity. She’s obsessed with the idea that Ursa was pitted against her from day one, and even claims her influence strangled the loyalties of her friends and forced Ozai to “break free of her control.” The possibility of the slightest truth to Azula’s more elaborate fears raises a host of alarming implications. Especially when acknowledging her character is as sharp as a tack - a dulled edge when madness factors in, to be sure, but not negligible.

Is it logical to develop the belief that Ursa was an agent of evil in the royal court? The death of Azulon and her subsequent disappearance... It wouldn’t take long for Azula - aware of Zuko’s fate at the time, and her mother’s resignation to prevent it - to connect the dots. Ursa’s blood relation to the same Avatar that rivaled Firelord Sozin is another thorn in the side of trust. Whether Azula was aware of it or not, the strife born in Zuko, the eternally entangled red and blue dragons, exist to her biology as well. This makes it difficult to ignore a spiritual side to her illness, which draws primarily from Ursa’s “ill” intent.

Azula is also seen embracing the idea that spirits risen solely to take revenge can derail lives, legitimacy, and loyalty. The comics give us a chance to absorb the hidden subtext at face value.

The Kemurikage were born when robbed mothers abducted the children of others as punishment. Fear of the spirits crumbled the warlord Toz’s support and ended his cause. The masquerading dissenters in “Smoke and Shadow” are able to undermine Firelord Zuko’s authority, create a divide between Mai’s family and her father, and sow widespread fear. Curfew, searches, and interrogations shape the beginnings of a “ruthless” rule, eerily evocative of Azula’s much more rapid descent...

So how do Azula’s visions of Ursa, conjured unconsciously or from a little something more, and her steep debt to the world and Avatar link together - forge the ideal weapon and circumstances for retribution?

^ Just like that.

This only covers Ursa’s side of the family, the redoubling of spiritual balance after Aang’s fall like the snap of a rubber band. Azula’s complete undoing has to do with the lashing out of both families.

III. The blue dragon

Now, what was it about that first GIF?

Azula’s health begins to spiral right as she’s slated to become Firelord. Her identity is unraveled and called into question - Ursa made manifest slips through the chinks in her armor, prying at insecurities. Her inner turmoil admittedly makes her a poor candidate for ascension, and at the pinnacle of Fire Nation victory, - the crucial, final stages of the Hundred Year War - past rulers would look down on Ozai’s decision to usher her onto a seat of absolute power. Sozin’s Comet itself is an event that imbues firebenders with enhanced abilities, and it’s been theorized before that the “acting up” of royalty during the finale could be explained as such. The phenomenon may have also caused the reemergence of imperial spirits... and it isn’t too far of a fetch. More on that shortly.

It’s made clear that Azula’s destiny is far from holding royal court. The comics throw around that word, “destiny” a lot, but it’s a given signpost for any projected arc in the world of Avatar. And it ties in nicely with the will and workings of spirits.

Roping predestination with the probable dissatisfaction of the lineage, we finally have a whole picture. The combined force of an upended natural order, demanding the Avatar-slayer’s penance, and a royal bloodline destabilizing her reign in its infancy... planting mistrust and paranoia, and causing rash decisions. From a cherry pit to five minutes’ tardiness, Azula’s clarity and self-assurance are hacked away.

This is inviting the subversion that it wasn’t all in her head. That the Azula who readily accepts the Phoenix King’s declaration is rattled and isolated at best, but far from the composure that took just one afternoon to shatter. Zhao and Ozai face justice at the hands of the spiritual. The third main villain of ATLA might not have escaped due consequence either.

Finally, this scene. Azula, ensconced in blue flames. Is there any suggestion of the presence of spirits?

Azula’s fire is blue for purposes of flaunting her skill and sheer drive for perfection. The hottest temperature is blue in color, exactly her achievement. The technique isn’t bothered with because it saps extra effort, and so Azula’s signature symbol of power is hers alone. Fitting. But the fact remains: after leaving her hands, the fire quickly cools to orange. See below:

This color change isn’t seen in Azula’s throne room. The fire surrounding her is definitely detached from her body.

Now, it’s obvious why the animators didn’t suddenly decide to give the iconic blue a rest... but it’s incredibly intriguing from the imperial spirits angle. If Azula herself wasn’t keeping up the blue flame, then at the time of “Into the Inferno”, we’re staring into the faces of invisible devils on her shoulder, supplying the driving energy from the beyond. Onis whispering unseen evils down her ear that cause her, inevitably, to snap - the voices of Sozin and Azulon, a hundred sprawling generations. The cherry on the top is Ursa, descendant of the liaison between mortal and spirit that Azula personally killed, who torments her long after she’s relieved of the crown.

“Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way.”

Hello Future Me describes Azula’s personality as a Machiavellian type, named after the guy who coined “It’s better to be feared than loved.” Watching her escalation unfold, it’s sad to wonder how someone as fearsome as her responds to being the recipient of that fear - when her own weapon turned on its hilt cuts too deep.

IV. End!

I think the scene above - the girl who opens with this directly after the demise of an admiral who engaged the incarnate of the tides (and swiftly lost), is a bit telling of her fate.

*To clarify, my framing of Ursa’s appearance as spookier than just a figment of Azula’s imagination - *cough* possibly the personified revenge of the Avatar spirit - is NOT meant to demonize Ursa herself! It just offers up an alternative explanation to what Azula hears and sees. Their bond is a poignant standalone, and I don’t mean to hate on the real Ursa/Noriko. Neither does any part of this discredit the impact of Azula’s childhood and history of neglect on her future.

That is all. Thank you for entertaining my theory!

#atla #avatar the last airbender #azula #atla theory #it’s 3 am no regrets

[darkmindsotome]

Risque Rouge pt6

Tagging: @umbralaperture​ @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly. 

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 6

When he arrived at the performing house, he could already sense something was terribly wrong. The building was as silent as the grave which felt like part of his ominous premonition from before had manifested itself. His body propelled through the building at high speed, his coat billowing behind him as he ran. His keen senses could smell the same scent in the air as back at that building and he felt his stomach and heart lurch.

Emotions were still a deciding factor for life, even for the immortal. It could make a smart man dumb or the bravest turn coward. He could get angry and vengeful to the point where the fury he had inside him could be felt rolling off his calm exterior in waves. Very few had seen Comte in righteous indignation and the ones that had, no longer spoke of it. The cool calm gentleman transformed into a biblical judgement as he struck down opponents without breaking his stride.

Still, in all the centuries of his life, he was always reminded of how powerless he was in the face of fear. It made him feel slightly ridiculous. In truth, there was little for a pure blood to be scared off. They were at the pinnacle of the predatory evolutionary scale. Death would be a release if it should even find them. Injury was temporary, fleeting like the life of a human in the expanse of eternity. Naturally, should the injury result in loss of limb they were no reptile or creature capable of regrowth. Even the frozen stasis of their bodies had limitations. Fear, however, that was a universal thing affecting all be it human, animal or vampire.

Stubbornly creeping up his spine, that familiar sense of dread probably had a much better name for itself. It was a cool chill coursing through his veins, a desire for answers and also a wish to remain ignorant. Fear really was a strange force to conjure with. Even with centuries of experience to draw on, it still knew how to give a good fight.

Repressing a curse under his breath he pulled back the curtain revealing the truth. It was a nightmare that would have fitted perfectly in the scriptures of any horror novel. Raven black hair curled in a tangled curtain covering in part some of the sight. The scent of blood filling the air had his mind reeling and as he pushed back against his own instincts, he noted the debris on the ground. The medicine destroyed and it was then he noticed the identity of the figure in the Princess’s arms. Le Comte was not a stupid man he could make an educated guess as to what happened and his own blood boiled thinking of how differently the events might have played out.

“Evie?” The young woman’s head moved, detaching herself as she looked towards him with a sound crossed between a groan and moan emitted from her. The clarity of those eyes made even him gasp, their pinpoint focus and depth were disarming.

It was true he had known what she was, although it had taken a couple of visits to confirm his suspicions. The same instinct that had drawn him to Leo when he discovered him in Italy, was playing a part here as well. The only difference was Leo knew exactly what he was and this woman didn’t seem to have even that basic knowledge. He felt guilty for his selfishness as he looked at the scene of the horrific tableau. He had avoided telling her, questioning and second-guessing his own decision, not wishing to cause her distress. He had soothed his worries with a promise he would make a more appropriate time to discuss such matters and focused on simply discovering more about her as a person. Nothing in his wildest dreams could have produced the vision in front of him.

The feral predator, both as deadly as it was beautiful. Her elegant fingers coated in dark glistening blood and her lips stained in the same. The demure and delicate poised figure from before had become a reflection in a black mirror and her capabilities were on full display. There was a low grumble that might as well have been from the pits of hell, neither of them moving.

"Are you alright ma Cherie?" His voice was as tender as ever. No judgement, no hatred as he patiently waited to see if she would manage to regain herself. They remained in a stalemate as they each regarded each other, two predators alone in the night. Hunger could do some terrible things and bloodlust was not something easy to fight. It drove the vampire to the brink of madness and threw them weakened into the abyss. Comte was worried for the girl as she had been weakened for so long, but her strength of mind was sound enough that he believed she could recover from this. He hoped she would recover.

“C- Comte?” The soft frail voice that answered him made his chest hurt. The angular shape of her body wrapped around her pray relaxed along with her expression as the predatory mask fell away. He felt himself give a small sigh of relief and some of the tension of his own body evaporated as well. Evie looked down at the weight leaning on her and yelped, hurriedly pushing the figure off her and scurrying backwards on her knees. “What have I done?”

She looked down at her hands in horror at the red painting her skin, the smears of it up her arms. The more she examined herself the deeper she felt herself slip into stunned terror. The cream coloured nightgown that clung to her sweat-soaked skin was ruined with torn buttons and fabric dyed in blood. She ran the tip of her tongue tentatively over her lip, finding more of it, her mind went blank realising what she had done. Her body started to shake violently and all the tears she had failed to shed before came out like a burst dam.

“It can’t--, I… I’ve never done something like that be-before.” Her voice was so quiet as if she was speaking only to herself but Comte heard every word uttered and felt the weight of grief in each one. He slowly stepped over the corpse on the floor and crouched down next to the young woman. Her face looked up at his, blood-stained and wet with tears. Her twin emeralds shimmering under a lake of moisture as she sobbed. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, rocking in place as she tried to reconnect with her own sanity. “What is wrong with me? I’m a monster, aren’t I?” She averted her gaze and looked at the bloodied mess she had created. It was everything she didn’t wish to see again but knew she would always remember.

“Shh… My dear sweet girl. Hush ma petite.” He gave little care for the crimson that might also paint him in the same shade as her. Comte wrapped her small frame in his arms, easily moving her with him as he carried her to her bed and sat with her there on his lap. Her arms latched on to him like he was the only solid thing in her world. Stroking one hand soothing up and down her back as he cradled her head against his chest. He felt her trembling and the dampness of her tears as they soaked through his shirt. Once more his chest gave a painful pinch as he held the trembling girl in his arms silently trying to calm her.

---

Time lost all concept while he held the trembling woman in his arms. Seconds turned to minutes, that bled into hours, and the only thing he was aware of was that when she finally stopped shaking the sky outside was painted in ribbons of sunlight and muted dawn shades.

She felt the exhaustion in every part of her body as it stilled and her tears finally stopped. Her eyes travelled back to the elephant in the room unable to place the feeling she had inside her now. It was a form of uncomfortable acceptance that made her feel guilty as sin for the apparent numbness she now felt. Was it a form of shock or had something else come to fill the gap in her mind to prevent her from delving headfirst into madness?

“Mon pauvre petit. Ca va?” The warmth from the man she had clung on to, in what was left of the night, brought her mind back to his presence. His large hands rubbed up and down her back once more as if trying to chase away the thoughts that would drag her back into herself. He still sounded so comforting as he enquired after her which presented new problems.

They were in a room with a dead man, covered in blood and the performing house would soon see the return of its people. It was a situation that failed to show how any of this could end well for either of them as they sat on her bed. She believed she deserved whatever fate she would be given to atone for her actions but what of the caring Comte?

He was innocent in this. No doubt someone would argue a case for his complicit assistance. He had failed to raise an alarm or attempt to stop her. There really did seem to be no end to the consequences of her cruel actions. Her heart sank at the thought of him doomed to be tarred with the same brush that would have her locked behind bars for life. When his only crime was being kind enough to care for her.

“Your kindness may be your undoing. I don’t scare you?” She muttered not daring to make eye contact for fear of what she might see reflected there. The sight of her flinching in his arms softened his expression more. She was like a scared little animal and it was almost unbearably endearing.

“Why would I be scared of you, ma Cherie?” She gasped and looked at the man still holding her to him in his arms. Did he not notice the dead body? The blood staining him where it transferred from her? He couldn’t have missed the fact that she was the one to do something so horrific. How could he be so calm? Stunned and at a complete loss of words she looked at him in complete disbelief. “You did not answer me. Are you alright Princess?” He made no attempt to pull away as he rephrased his question, pressing for an answer.

“I think so?” She nodded still dumbfounded and he patted her head, moving her off from his lap as he stood up gracefully.

“Mm, well that will do for now.” He walked over to the horrific diorama and gave a light tap to the dead man’s foot with his own. The warm toffee brown eyes were glazed over with a look similar to cataracts, the spark of life they once held gone. The lingering warmth she felt from him near her seemed a million miles away as she watched him now acting in such a detached manner. “I don’t suppose you would have a measure of rope in here?”

“Rope?” She became curious enough that she slipped from her bed and used objects around her to aid her attempt to walk. Every part of her body felt alien to her as she attempted to stand, stumbling like a newly born deer to his side. The marks she knew were on the body caused by her mouth had faded into obscurity, little more than bruising on the flesh. The sickening look of rapturous euphoria on the dead doctor’s face had her feeling queasy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen…” Death was a concept she was familiar with but never had she been this close to it. Her words trailed off as she stole a glance at le Comte and guiltily clamped her mouth shut.

“You are still young. If you have no rope then we have to make other arrangements.” Saying this he gave her a reassuring smile and moved over to one of the windows. His calm and collected behaviour had her tipping a balance between awe and curiosity. Was he so used to such things that this was nothing to him? After opening the window to check for casual pedestrians he tied a scarf around it and used his elbow to punch out the glass.

“What on earth are you doing!?” Evie cried out rushing to his side in time to see him remove the scarf and scattering its contents on the sill and her bed.

“Hush now, Cherie.” Comte put a finger to her lips before raising it to give a small bop on the tip of her nose and continued to do whatever he was doing in her room. “If we cannot remove the evidence, we have to find a way to explain it. I might not be a great detective or an impossibly brilliant inventor but I have learnt a few things in my long life. At least enough for this.” He paused in his actions and glanced back over his shoulder at her. “You might want to freshen up a little.”

She looked at her reflection, the ornate frame of the dresser mirror surrounded her image like a terrible painting. Her face had tear-stained rivers through darkened dry blood and puffy red eyes. Bringing her hands to her face as if she couldn’t believe the reflection was her own, she wondered how she had not noticed the aftermath of the night clinging to her till now? She dashed to the basin and tipped some freshwater into the bowl. Dipping a cloth in she began to scrub and dab away the rotten mess. With a last douse of clear water, she felt a bit better and turned to find the macabre scene from before had changed.

If she hadn’t known better, she might have said it now looked like more of a struggle had taken place. Furniture had been tipped over and the doctor had been moved so his body was now face down pointing towards the door. With the addition of the broken glass and window, some more of her clothes had been removed from their hangers and now lay haphazardly around adding to the disorder.

“That should be enough.” Comte nodded and looked over to her giving her a reassuring smile before they were disturbed by a familiar figure tunelessly whistling as they entered carrying a tray of food.

It was a thing of perfect comedic timing had the situation been less grim. The small black eyes of the owner moved between Evie and le Comte, questions clearly forming in his mind before they dropped to the floor and his hands released the tray with a clatter.

“Oh My Lord! What in the --?” The owner cried out as his voice trailed off. His jaw hung open mystified as he tried to process the scene. His face drained of colour as he failed to remove his gaze from the scene he had just walked into. A corpse in the room, blood spatters and broken glass, the whole place was a complete mess.

“There was an incident last night.” Comte answered calmly with a slightly apologetic look on his face.

“I can see that.” The owner answered automatically, the way someone does when spoken too as they are lost in their own thoughts while he continued to look around the room. His eyes landed on the girl and finally seemed to take in her appearance. “Ah! Evie are you alright?”

Practically tripping over his own feet, and the tray, the owner rushed towards her bundling her up in his arms whilst trying to look her over from head to foot. The strength of his grip had her unable to breathe properly or reply. His eyes were full of concern and the guilt she had inside bubbled up again. Her eyes prickled as she tried to avoid the tears, she had thought to be all dried up and gave an awkward smile with a nod in reply.

“I’m afraid I returned after hours.” Comte spoke a bit louder than needed as he began walking closer to the entwined pair. “I remembered something I had to tell the Princess and stumbled upon… well.”

As she peeked out from the crushing embrace Comte’s golden eyes met hers with a silent request to let him handle this. The owner shifted his body so he too could see the approaching man and when the two men made eye contact, she could have sworn she saw those same golden orbs glow. The tight grip surrounding her seemed to slacken and the probing look on Uncle’s face melted, replaced with a look of relief. It was only for a fraction of a second but time felt slower as what she convinced herself to be a trick of the light made Comte’s eyes even more magnetic.

“Oh, dear Sir! Thank you. I mean naturally, I am not happy that you should think to return with it being so late, but thank the Lord in heaven that you did.” Uncle was acting like he was a little drunk, his focus was clear enough but there was something about his movements that just made him feel different. The owner pulled her tight to him once more placing a kiss on the crown of her head before pulling back and trying to smooth out her hair as if she were still a child. It made her feel embarrassed but in the back of her mind, she just couldn’t seem to ignore the sensation of something being off.

“I was actually about to summon a constable.” Comte continued to speak as he took up a blanket and draped it over Evie, effectively placing a barrier between her and the rest of the world.

“The police! Yes, excellent idea. I er…” The Owner suddenly looked very uncomfortable as he looked once more towards the dead man in the room.

“You would prefer not to involve the authorities?” Comte raised his brow in query a knowing look settling on his face.

“Ah, no it isn’t that.” The man muttered worriedly and looked once more at the young woman. It wasn’t just le Comte that was worried about dangers being brought to their house.

For Comte, it was a fear of a secret existence being revealed and the resulting chaos that would swallow all he knew and held dear. For the owner, he was already operating in a grey area of society, while the libertine lifestyle came with a certain level of romanticism it also held a rather low level of security against the cruelty of the world.

Yes, the desire to protect your household and family can take many forms and sometimes the actions taken to do so came from some questionably moral avenues. The consequences of such things would directly affect more than a couple of others and it was a matter of moving in the right manner to minimise the damage. A simple fact that le Comte was all too familiar with.

“I can appreciate the issue.” Comte nodded perceptively and moved closer, placing a hand on Evie’s shoulder. “Would you agree to place the Princess in my care? I could provide rooms and distractions until this unsettling matter is cleaned up. It would, after all, be nothing if not fulfilling my duty as her sponsor.” The words tumbled from him as naturally as water flowed downhill which did make her feel like this was a prearranged performance. She couldn’t shift the idea that everything could have been a lot more complicated, should have been a lot harder. The memory of his eyes came back to her, the glow.

“My good Sir that would be a weight off my mind.” The owner sighed with sparkling eyes. If a look could be more inappropriate given the situation she struggled hard to think of it. The jump from one extreme of mood to another made her head spin, it was as if someone had suddenly turned on the sun.

Comte’s large hand resting on her shoulder remained in place, his gently grip flexing slightly. Evie couldn’t tell if it was meant as a gesture to tell her to relax or a subconscious movement. The owner took both her hands in his, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I’m sure you had a terrible shock and it pains me I was not here to protect you. I should reconsider relocating my room to somewhere closer…”

“Uncle?” Evie softly called to him. The sight of his kind heart being so fully on display had that gnawing seed of guilt sprouting up inside her again. Struggling to find words she simply squeezed his hands. Even in his rambling state where he could become so flustered, she wondered how he had not succumbed to ill health relating to his nervous disposition. The man in front of her had never once shown her anything but care and kindness.

“Oh, pay no mind to this old fool Princess.” The owner gave a lopsided smile bringing one hand up to her face to smooth out the signs of concern she had there. Releasing her once more he turned away from her again, as if looking at her too long would hurt him after making his choice to send her away. “Still, the police will be here stomping around for a while and we will have to close for a time no doubt. I shall have to redecorate this room as well…” He was running his hand through his slick hair, causing it to become a temporary mess before being corrected once more. His mind clearly running through a to-do list that she had no doubt was growing by the second thanks to his worry.

“Uncle please. You—” Tears she tried to hold back were now running again. Her heart was hurting and she felt like someone was placing bricks steadily one by one on top of her. Everything was her fault and she hated it. All she had ever wanted to do was try to repay him and the others in the performing house for everything they had done for her.

“Ah! No little Princess no need to cry.” Beady black eyes went saucer round when the owner saw her crying. “It’s nothing to worry yourself over but I would like for you to accept the kind offer until this is all in order.” He moved swiftly back to her before realising the coating of pomade on his hands and rubbed them on his trousers before collecting her hands again. “Would you?” He was stooping to try to get a better look through the tears at her face.

The hand of Comte gave a gentle squeeze, and she nodded pushing back down the words she might have said. She was acutely aware of the warmth from both men and their concern for her. Evie resigned herself to do as was requested if it would bring any form of comfort to her fretting guardian. Seeing her attempt to give a weak smile the owner gave a small sigh pulling his face into a blended expression that landed somewhere between apologetic and grateful.

“Excellent! I shall leave my dear child in your care Monsieur. Pardon, I must go and find an officer and you simply must both not be here upon my return. Don’t worry I shall take care of everything. A beintot little Princess, Au revoir Monsieur!” With those few words of advice, the animated man gave a wave and scurried out of the room.

The silence that filled the room afterwards felt oppressive. Everything was like a terrible dream except the smell in the air and the way her bloodstained nightdress was clinging to her told her it was all real.

“We should be leaving.” Comte prompted gently releasing his grip on her shoulder and instantly moving into a perfectly elegant swooping motion to collect her, as the strength in her legs gave out.  She hadn’t noticed that just one single hand of his had somehow been applying support to her whole body, denying it’s failing sooner. “Careful now.” His voice was so close it seemed to shock the tears right out of her. She looked up and gave a very small noise realising how close his face was to hers. “You might want to hold on until we can reach the road and hail a carriage. I promise I won’t drop you, but I cannot guarantee smooth sailing through these halls.”

“You intend to carry me out?” The look of disbelief on her face as she asked her question amused him. Her pale skin of the most delicate porcelain that had been stained with tears and blood now shone with a dusty rose tint courtesy of her freshly acknowledged embarrassment.

“I don’t believe you are in a fit state to argue differently.” His voice came out with a stifled chuckle and a rather ungentlemanly urge to tease her swelled in him seeing her innocent face. “I cannot force you to do as I’ve requested though.”

“Ah!” She cried out and clung on to him as he made a sudden movement to begin walking out the room. His body lurched uncharacteristically for one so graceful and Evie found she was forced to throw her arms around his neck in order to prevent herself from tumbling. “You did that on purpose!”

She wanted to be upset with him. How could an elegant gentleman do such a thing? When she looked up and saw how he laughed she found she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The shame and guilt, all of the emotions she couldn’t begin to name were still surging through her like a roaring tide. She buried her face in his chest, her hands draped around him as he carried her in his arms, wondering if she was allowed to feel this kind of warmth and safety.

---

[tarajenkins]

Given what you've said of Vauthry, about how we're never given any chance to even try and redeem him, help him become a better person, I'd like to ask: how would you go about "saving" him? When he transforms into that Lucifer/Archangel Michael-looking guy, he seems permanently lost, but how would you write out a redemption narrative for him?

I love this ask, I hate the answer I have to give. But it’s gonna be a long response anyway, because context and because you already know I don’t know when to shut up about characters, lmao. 

SO I HOPE YOU LOVE HEARING ME RAMBLE UNDER THIS CUT (but I won’t blame you if you don’t)

I don’t think the in-game narrative allows Vauthry any chance at redemption in the current time, even if he had the agency to take it.  I don’t think we ever saw what he actually could have been. I think what we saw in Shadowbringers was the Lightwarden he’d been carrying finally “awakening”, as Innocence’s Triple Triad card put it. Or, as the X-Files put it in their eighth ep: “We are not who we are”.  

Even if that Lightwarden could be driven out of him (I know an “Aethertech” who would do anything to make that possible cough), I don’t know if he’d regain clarity he may never have had to start.  I’d love to think that he did, a long time ago. The Minstreling Wanderer tells us he can’t say whether or not Vauthry was a monster as a child, when you unlock Crown Of The Immaculate EX.

I believe the Lightwarden’s influence was driving a lot of his brutal acts of “justice”, because that is kinda their whole thing.  As for the man inside the monster?  I have a hunch he was desperate to not be seen as unnatural, and was trying to make sense out of what was happening to him in a way that would not make him a hybrid abomination. Because if he wasn’t a God, if he wasn’t this divine thing he was told he was – then what was he? The way he worded it, “this is why I was born…as man and Sin Eater both…” – it makes me feel he had, at some point in his life, at least once, ASKED why he was born as he was. That he had perceived it was wrong. He needed it to be right. And that was just fuel to the corruption fire.

The talk of godhood actually seemed to be a recent phenomenon, as no other NPC mentions a thing about it – they refer to him as “Lord Vauthry”, and speak of him in mortal terms, apart from his miraculous ability to keep the Sin Eaters at bay. He freely boasted of being a God to the Crystal Exarch, yet we’re to believe he didn’t say a word to his own people, all this time? Or that no one, in turn, would mention to us “Yyyyeah, about this guy….” Mayor Punchable Face may have told him he was a God, but it doesn’t sound like Vauthry bought into it enough to spread the good word for at least twenty years. 

Also consider he called his transformation into Innocence a “trial”. Why would a god need to be tested? And by whom?

By the time we see him in-game, it seemed he was in a rapid decline of sanity, or at least the ability to keep up appearances, and whatever was left of him was fervently clinging to the only purpose he was ever apparently given – which is exactly what that Lightwarden (and Emet-Selch) would want. 

 He was really cynical about the rest of humanity. Given his father, I can see where he’d get that from. Not that daddy told him people suck, it’s that Vauthry probably learned that by his father’s example. Maybe by the rest of Eulmore, too, but I got the impression he was kept seriously isolated from society before his inauguration. He seems to prefer being alone – he only leaves that room when he moves the Sin Eaters against Lakeland. He gives no indication he knows how to socialize, period. You either come to him, or you don’t see him. (He may be keenly aware humes don’t typically reach at least fifteen feet tall. Seriously, look at Cruelty’s size compared to player characters, now look how Cruelty makes a comfy couch for him.)

Cynical, and yet, he wanted to see the people of Eulmore’s “dreams fulfilled, their wishes granted”. Just so long as he was the one responsible, and he was the one recognized for it. He needed their acceptance. 

ANYHOO.  On to stuff I still have zero idea what to make of. 

I should preface the rest of this infodump with the fact I found the Eulmore arc to be the weakest of the expansion, between Vauthry and Ran'jit. Most of the MSQ was given nuance. Eulmore was given a Saturday Morning Cartoon sledge. A -lot- of questions, with no answers, unless Squeenix decides to be generous in a fifty-buck lore book later. (something I hated Warcraft for. I should not have to pony up for a book to understand the main story quest chain in a game.) So, here are some of the questions I’ve got:

- FOOL! THAT WILL NEVER WORK!

They don’t really explain why Emet-Selch thought corrupting an infant was a good plan, as the Sin Eaters seemed guaranteed a win on The First, if only by outlasting the survivors of the Flood. Impatience, maybe? Why not give it to the mayor? That dickpickle would’ve said yes. Maybe we’ll get more answers with the Eden raid. IT’D BE NICE *COUGH*

- The meol thing.  

It’s using Sin Eater’s non-existant flesh to make a bread, and through that bit of Sin Eater, Vauthry could control whoever ate it.  The fanbase loves the “soylent green is people” angle, but it’s done pretty haphazardly, when you think about it like that? Sin Eaters have no lasting corporeal body. They are Light, mixed with a bit of the lingering essence of whatever they originally were – and what they originally were did not have to be humanoid. They dissolve into sparklies in the air upon death – and arguably, they would not have to die to contribute sparklies to somehow mix into food. Forgiven Cruelty lost a whole wing to Thancred when Thancred first took Ryne from Eulmore, and it seemed to have grown back just fine by the time we see Cruelty again. Killing Sin Eaters also would be entirely counterproductive to a nation that devoted themselves to NOT killing them. Also – we are shown the Afflicted, people who are falling to corruption from a SIn Eater attack they’d survived. How is it people who eat meol don’t become corrupted themselves?

Where did the idea for meol  even begin? Vauthry’s father was ousted by the people as mayor before Emet-Selch said hey there, friend, you have a punchable face, let’s make a deal – and Vauthry only took control of Eulmore 20 years ago. He looks a LOT older than 20, or even 40. So his father must’ve rode his child’s coattails before then.  Did Mayor Punchable Face think that was a wise countermeasure against future insurrection? In any case, Vauthry did not exert that control until the WoL and allies were coming to kill the Lightwarden of Kholusia (him), so it did not seem to be a priority of his. Alphinaud confirmed the people were of a free mind until they were made to fight the WoL and allies. (and dialogue stressed it was very noticeable when someone was not of a free mind.) Squeenix: *throws meol into purse* I have to go plotholes came up

- The “Perverted Paradise”.  (I at least giggle every time Alphinaud says this.)

Vauthry is presented as the pinnacle of vice, yet the game does not really show this well – in some cases, not at all.

Gluttony: He isn’t shown to indulge in drink, let alone overindulge. Apart from the meol scene at the end, which was related to controlling the Eater-corrupted citizenry, not gluttony, he was not shown to have so much as a snack. There’s food in his chamber, all of it untouched. But! In the Shadowbringers trailer, Squeenix thought the best example to showcase Eulmore’s decadence was – three thicc'qotes. Having pleasant conversation ‘round a table. Eating fresh fruit.

Not the creepy-ass old patron who thinks that  since his pretty servant can’t sing anymore, she should be “Ascended” as a kindness, although it was implied she could have recovered her health, just not her voice. Not the guy who tossed his servant from a balcony because reasons and wanted us to bring him back. Not even the noblewoman trying to have her servant killed because her lecherous husband put designs on the poor girl.

Three thicc'qotes. Having pleasant conversation ‘round a table. Eating fresh fruit.

We get it, Square, we’re supposed to see he’s fat and think that is bad. Moving on.

Lust: He doesn’t visit the adult nightclub downstairs (the adult nightclub that is shown practically empty and behind closed doors, the lewdness of it all – I clutch my pearls.) He doesn’t  creep on your player character like Magnai did in Stormblood – he doesn’t creep on anyone. He doesn’t want you to be his steed. No interest is shown in the Sin Eaters apart from them fighting for him, as much as some people in the fanbase theorize he is fucking them. (They probably think that Spirited Away is about the sex industry and My Neighbor Totoro is about dead girls, too.) This game is pretty blatant when they intend that sort of thing, see: Yotsuyu, Sastasha, any number of things in Ishgard or Ul'dah. I’ve found nothing here, except the German translation for “Consort Of Sin: Forgiven Obscenity” is “Purified Fornication: Playmate Of The Redeemer”. Since this is not implied in any other translation, I put my trust in Koji Fox and the fact Obscenity’s job seems to be Official Nose Petter to Forgiven Cruelty.

Greed: I am not going to hold his rings and his robes against him, as Urianger has just as much bling (more, actually), The wealthy are made to give up ALL their fortune to be permitted to stay in Eulmore – but that wealth is then used to provide everything for free to those who live there, and the free citizenry are apparently given funds for private use to boot. If they intended to show that Vauthry was using all that for hookers and blow for himself, it did not convey well.

Wrath: If one has broken the rules of the city (or has thrown shade that takes him a full two minutes to catch), Vauthry definitely has this in spades, with a temper tantrum a lot like Philia’s Fierce Beating attack.  But again, the writers don’t really show the extent of the wrath they are trying to tell . Because if you don’t break the rules? Nothing happens, apparently. Trouble seems to have to be brought forward to him, he doesn’t go looking for it.  It didn’t feel any different to me than the Grand Companies, yet this is the one that finally makes Alphinaud do the *GAAAAASP*.

The populace does not seem afraid of Vauthry. In fact, they feel free to pop ‘round to have a word if they think something needs doing. Chai-Nuzz did not seem distressed by his wife’s suggestion she would have a word with Vauthry to soothe the “hard feelings” stirred up in the quest “Emergent Splendor”.  

Pride: He has great pride in his ability to keep the SIn eaters under control, but doesn’t really display any vanity in himself. No portraits, statues, etc. When Alphinaud interfered with Kai-Shirr’s punishment, Alphinaud was told he’d be permitted to stay in the city if he made a painting – not a portrait of Vauthry, but of the city itself.

Sloth: We get it, Square, he’s fat and he sits down, moving the FUCK on.  No actually, hold up, to be honest? As tired and :| as he looked all the time, he struck me as depressed. What guy in Paradise looks that haggard?

NOW moving on.

Envy: If my theory holds, probably plenty of unresolved envy for folks who are not “half Sin Eater”. Otherwise, I can’t think of an example here.

- “Ascension” (Sure thing, Jan)

This is only made reference to in the Weeping Warbler quest chain. “As all know, the sin eaters exist to devour the sinful. But also do they serve to gather the souls of the innocent, and shepherd them unto celestial paradise.”

Sin eaters ate a meal that represents the sins of a household you fool oh wait this is The First

The thing I don’t get here is - why are there obviously limitations on who can be ascended, and when? If the idea is strictly to feed the Sin Eaters, or make meol, or just be an asshole, why is this the only time we hear of it?

It’s like if there are no more mortals, Vauthry wouldn’t have that reassurance he is doing good anymore. Either that, or since he’s never worked in retail, he doesn’t know how to push features.

But I’m betting on the former.

- LASTLY: the hypocrisy of the writer’s narrative (and the fanbase).

Tesleen was our first and horrifying sample of what Sin Eater corruption can do to a human. No matter how strong her will may have been, she was just lost to it. She scratches madly at her face when she uses one of her attacks in Holminster Switch, as though trying to stop herself, or punish herself. But she can’t help it. And we know this.

Titania was a tragedy, had to be stopped. But, a TRAGEDY. Whatever was left of the benevolent ruler was corrupted. There was never a moment where our heroes went “dis binch just evil, they gotta go down”. ( I had many choice words for Titania when I wiped enough times to them, but no actual game dialogue really says it. )

We, the Warrior Of Light, came this close to becoming a Warden ourselves. Somehow it was stalled (convenience!), but there was never a question corruption = bad and out of our control.

Vauthry, on the other hand, is treated as though he is in full control of his faculties, although the corruption before birth makes that questionable at best and he pretty clearly is not? Even as he did that Exorcist neck-twist, no one was like “oh fuck, the Sin Eaters got to another one, damn that poor man”.  (Which would seem a logical conclusion to me, I hate we have like zero real say in our characters’ reactions) Not even a “ahaha okay no seriously what the fuck is going on guys”. Nope. Their reaction was “EVIL”.  Trying to help somehow was never on the table. Watching him die slowly at our feet was.

We saw the Echo of the real circumstance of his birth. It had to come from the Sin Eater that corrupted him, because he wasn’t out of the womb to see that scene play out. Or Emet-Selch. Either way, we saw it, yet at no time afterward do we try to bring the truth out. We just let everyone believe he was evil by choice, and not another casualty of this mess.

And remember earlier, how I said Alphinaud confirmed the free citizenry were not under Vauthry’s control until the fight? Remember the noblewoman whose husband went after their bonded servant, and so she tried to get the girl murdered?

Yeah, we catch up to that noblewoman who tried to murder her servant. She feels really bad about that now.  And what is an option we get to tell her ex-bonded servant when she wonders how she could possibly trust the woman who tried to kill her?

“Vauthry’s society brought out the worst in people…”

Fffffffuck you Square lmao

TL;DR:

In private RP land? In private RP land, where we can back the fuck up in the timeline at will? You are damn skippy that Lightwarden got purged before it took complete hold. (an Aethertech did it with SCIENCE.) And Vauthry is cynical and scarred and bitter and broken and betrayed, but he’s not evil. If anything, he’s actually pretty relatably human. And he’s actually pretty damn glad his father’s shitty legacy is over.

#FFXIV #Vauthry #LONG ASS POST #Shadowbringers #I am so sorry Unna

[foolscapper]

Exploding Head Syndrome: A MCU Post-IW Fanfic | Ch. 4

(READ IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.)

What happens when you pile a bunch of doctors into a medical wing with a catatonic spider-kid? A hell of a lot of things going on at once, it turns out. Bruce can't complain about it, because it at least keeps him focused on anything other than himself; life has been one big roller-coaster he hasn't been able to get off of since Ultron (no, wait, way before that), and all he wants is to sit in a lab and work on anything that isn't his own self-worth and mental capsizing. Two years killing aliens for sport as a gladiator will do that to you. Yeah, he still hasn't figured out how to work with this, so he just went ahead and put all that in a way-too-small box in his brain. Hooray for compartmentalizing.  Back to work. Cho has already gently pulled a sample of Parker's tissue from one of his arms to study his particularly complex cell structure, as is her particularly crucial talent, and Strange has returned from his own collection of ancient texts, Wong hovering at his side to offer whatever knowledge he can in the ways of the soul — to which Bruce knows Tony's grateful, but he also is well-aware that the man is running on fumes by the third day of diagnostics. The genius had been animated with the news of Peter's return, and that scene outside is still fresh in his mind as he eyes the reports that have come back from MRI scans of Peter's brain. There's no damage, no signs of anything that would cause this kind of dramatic loss of self, which Bruce semi-expected with the way Dr. Strange had gone on about the potential effects of the stones on a kid like Peter. There are variables. It's possible someone did this to him — that he was targeted, that maybe Thanos did something specific in the snap that left Peter completely vulnerable to complications. That doesn't too much sense in the grand scope of things, but it surely the madman had some range of control over who stayed and who went. The thing is, Thanos was dead. This shouldn't be a complication. Should it? 

Perhaps it's someone outside of Thanos. Someone from his roster, maybe. But that would also be an odd way to handle payback, especially when the Guardians and Strange were also at their mercy. Bruce didn't rule out the possibility that something from the planet itself might have effected Parker, especially when Titan may very well effect every one of them differently. Strange collected some of the dirt and debris carried over onto the Benatar, and from Peter and Drax's boots, but the results of the study yielded very little. "He's not completely human, that much is certain," Cho says, not unkindly. "If you look at the way his DNA is structured, it is much different than any string I would pull from myself or any normal boy off the street. But if there's a correlation with the way he's reacted to resurrecting, I have not found it yet." Bruce glances at Tony, biting his lip. "His brain scans are clean, too. I've sent everything to Shuri, though, just in case they can find something we don't. Which, you know, is a... pattern... lately..." Tony was up at all hours after the kid had been put to bed, compiling all manner of documents highlighting medical complications and disorders of the mind, and at this point Bruce is tempted to lock him out of the lab (though he's also more than aware he may also be punched in the teeth for it, and the last thing anyone needs is for Hulk to finally decide to pop back in)... Three whole days, though. It's not healthy, and yes, he's not the pinnacle of good mental health himself, but... He twiddles with a pen in his hands, once the two of them are alone (well, Peter is here, too... so they're alone enough). "Hey, we've got this. You're not gonna be any good to this kid if you're passing out mid-conversation." "We've got a bigger problem than that," Tony mumbles, rubbing at the exhaustion all over his face. They're both sitting at a counter near the lounge chairs; why aren't they sitting on the lounge chairs? Bruce is seeing a missed opportunity for comfort here. Peter has the right idea.

Tony adds, "... He hasn't eaten anything."

And okay, that is a pretty important thing to bring up. He'd been putting it off in the hopes they'd find something sooner, to avoid what he figured might have to be done. But even with practically living in the lab with this unresponsive kid, they're no closer to closing in on what's making him tick — or not tick, in this case — and resources are waning. Bruce bites his lip, not happy with what he'll have to say. "He's going to need a temporary feeding tube of some kind, soon. Until we can get any kind of result." "Oh, god." And Bruce sees in his friend's eyes, the slow unraveling that comes with helplessness. He wishes there was something he could say that was any more calming, but the fact of the matter is that Peter is his patient for the meanwhile, and he has to say exactly what's in the kid's best interest, whether it's emotionally draining or not. He's tired, they're all tired, Peter's probably hungry, and nobody wins in this situation. "He's not a typical case, either. His metabolism is too high to do anything different, Tony, I'm sorry. He's already losing way too much weight for just being a few days back, and IV drips are only gonna get us so far. Even if he's not mentally there right now, it's not humane to—" Tony's fist is a sharp, echoing sound against the metal table under his arm. "I know, alright? I know!"  A silence falls over them where they sit, and Peter — as always — only blinks and breathes where he sits nearby. It must be so much, to watch someone you love look like this for so long. Too long. Every glance in the boy's direction is a reminder of just how powerless they can all be, despite their collective minds, their hours and hours of best efforts. Bruce leans back, almost affronted by the simmering heat in Tony's rounded shoulders, tapping his pen to his teeth a few times before he says with a raised brow, "... Are you gonna hulk out on me? Do I need to get the armor out?" It works enough to tame the beast. And maybe even earn a hidden, miserable smile as Tony's face descends into shadow behind his fists. "Ha, ha. Very funny." More softly, Bruce replies, "... It won't be a big deal. It's an hour-long surgery at most, and it's extremely noninvasive and basic, and Cho can do it in her sleep. It's just a little button, practically — you won't even notice anything's any different, and he'll be all the more healthy for it, right? It's for Peter's well-being." Tony cards a hand through his hair, looking at Peter, who is sitting as compliantly as the day he'd been walked in.  "... You're a fucking pain in the ass, Pete," he says.  It's a strained response, and Bruce reaches out to cup one of Tony's shoulders. His doctoring isn't just limited to Peter, and he can see just how drained Tony is; he wears the bags under his eyes like a fashion accessory, and while that's usually all fine and good and expected of someone like him, enough is enough. He can't watch his friend self-combust in front of him."And you need to rest. I'm serious, man. Do you think he wants you to overwork yourself to death here?" "He doesn't want anything right now, because nobody's at the door, Bruce. And I don't know what to do." "Right now? Sleeping is what you do. You're no good to him if you're not at your best." A pause. "I'm getting Pepper." He stands, and Tony looks after him helplessly.  "No, hey — goddammit."

Stephen has met few as stubborn as Tony Stark, but he supposes that's one reason the earth had ultimately been in the best of hands, against Thanos and his unruly power. It takes a few arguments and a hell of a lot of coaxing and an unfair advantage of using a two year old baby, but eventually Tony relents with Bruce and Stephen's promise that they won't do anything until Tony can decide how to approach May Parker about this (this poor woman doesn't even know, she has no clue, and how are they going to explain to this poor woman that her adoptive son is here but not here at all?). Tony also adds an addendum, that he has to be present for every goddamn moment of any surgery involved here no matter how small, 'so help me god'. It's a fair request, one that Stephen gives his word to honor. He consults with Cho and Bruce, and they're in agreement: a percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy, however temporary it is, is imperative for their patient. It would have never been something he would have cared about, in his professional career. He would have not given Peter Parker a second glance in the hospital, would have passed him off to someone else like he had been the most minor of roadblocks. A thoughtful silence falls over them as Dr. Cho talks about their short-term gameplan. Strange admittedly has a lot he should be doing; the Time Stone is back in its rightful place, and the whole world is reeling from the events of the last few years. He'd only given himself enough time to comb through old records at the Sanctum and remind Christine, rather lamely, that he's back from the dead.  She had nearly strangled him in her embrace, but it was a soft moment he wouldn't trade for anything.   "... I'll oversee the surgery as well," he finally speaks, glancing back at Peter. He's been there for every step of the conversation, and part of him hopes that a teenager hearing the word 'surgery' applied to them will make them suddenly spring to life with anxiety, like a kid realizing he's on his way to a dentist. Nothing of the sort happens, but even Stephen is not allergic to hopeful optimism. "I can promise you, he'll be in safe hands," Cho says worriedly, but he shakes his head with a raised hand. "It's not that. I trust you to be knowledgeable; you're a credit to your field. I just want to know for myself as well, that everything goes exactly as expected." If he can't take an hour out of his day to look out for a teammate, then he doesn't deserve to wear the cloak. "We'd love to have you," Bruce says, then smiles a little. "Are you, uh. Close with Peter?" He considers it for a moment, and only a moment, fleeting. For some reason, most of that moment comprises of memories, of one Peter Parker excitedly rambling at him about magic and floating cloaks for an hour prior to crash landing. He huffs a breath, almost a laugh. "Not particularly, to be honest. I'd only met him on an alien spaceship a day before we all were killed. But — his involvement in our timeline can't be overstated. And... the kid did save my life. And helped me avoid a great deal of torment. So I suppose he's a temporary... ward, of sorts. I'm indebted to him. What about you?" "This is the first time I've met him, actually. But... he means a lot to Tony. And..." The doctor grows quiet for a moment with folded, contemplative arms, and Cho and Stephen give him a moment to continue. "And — I know what it's like." Strange cocks his head. Bruce sighs through his nose, eyes darkening with discontentment. A storm of ugly memories, all kept under lock and key; Stephen knows about the Hulk, of course, but he can hardly imagine the sorts of horror shows only Bruce banner is privy to. The man says, "I know what it's like, to be trapped in your own body. Maybe he's not, not exactly, and nothing like how I've been before, but... either way, he deserves to have it back." That's all that needs to be said. Stephen rises to leave after some time and a couple of warm drinks, hearing Bruce speaking effortlessly to Peter from around the corner before he fades further and further from earshot: "Hey kid, you're pretty good at this whole meditation thing; I'm a pro at it, myself. We should go out and get some air, maybe practice on the lawn. You could use some sunlight before you turn into a lab hermit like the rest of us old men." Wong hovers in the main corridor, newly arrived. A good sign. Stephen walks with him.  "Anything from the Sanctum about the stones that might help this?" "Not very much," Wong relents. "What little can be found are based in texts that predate most everything we know as masters. However... I was able to look into what the Ancient One left behind in her many records and found something potentially helpful — and that is not necessarily something about the infinity stones, but about astral projection. I'll have to show you when we return, so you can help me decipher her chicken scratch." Stephen laughs softly, and they enjoy the sound of each other's footsteps. "... Do you have any theories, about what's actually wrong with the boy?" Strange purses his lips, and says at cautious length, "It's all just a theory, but... the woman, Mantis, she had been able to sense him within his body for a short time, even if it wasn't for long. I think more than anything else, it's possible that Peter returned to himself momentarily like the rest of us — and then panicked and let himself sink back into... wherever we all were." "Panicked?" Wong's brow furrows. "Over being alive again?" "... Over the pain of it. Stark had a hard time talking about it, but from what I can gather from his recollections, Peter's death was extraordinarily different from the rest of us. He felt that something was wrong before he'd passed, and it took him much longer than the rest of us to die. If I had to fathom a guess... I think maybe his composition was his own undoing. He's a scared child who couldn't cope with re-living that moment of suffering." "And what is the solution to that? Is there any?" Stephen looks to the side, where Bruce and Peter are resting in the sun, not too far from where the Benatar had landed — with them and bad news. For a moment Stephen worries about the safety of a mentally lost boy and a doctor sorely lacking in control over his green rage-monster, but then he notices the blot of red on the rooftops — Natasha Romanoff, accompanied by a suited-up Sam Wilson, watching with bird-like eyes over the resting figures.  Stephen smiles faintly despite himself. "None that I can offer anyone right now. There may not be a solution. Even the Scarlet Witch couldn't find any foothold in the kid's mind... There's no link that we can find between him and the physical world. But if there's any hope at all, and if all else truly fails... my personal bet is on the Soul Stone." Though maybe — and this is a fluttering, unprofessional thought in the grand scheme of things — the extended hands of Peter Parker's worried team may be part of that solution, too. Stephen makes a mental note to compile as much as he can to give to Stark from the Ancient One's writings. And he gives silent thanks to her, that even after her passing, she's managed to help provide obnoxiously useful words of wisdom, be it in slowed thunder storms or old, time-stained scrolls.

#peter parker #tony stark #bruce banner #stephen strange #mcu #marvel #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #infinity war #mymcufanfic #hurt!peter parker #warning for medical talk #nothing graphic though #ehsfanfic

[sxpiosexualx]

Hi. OK I just had an idea. Everyone wants to claim daenerys isn't mad that it was viserys. We only saw him in season one. Well in show time wouldn't Dany be about his age now? She brings him up upon arrival at dragonstone stating he was cruel stupid and weak. And if he had an army and three dragons he would've invaded kings landing already. Yet Dany uses her dragons against the Lannisters and even goes full tilt drama queen at the dragon pit. Dany is Viserys with teats.

Hi! Before you read any further, this is something I never thought I’d have to write but I thank you for the question all the same.

To me, the Targaryen Madness has always been a sort of Chekov’s gun. Because of the coin flipping line, we’re made to think it should(and most probably would) apply to either one of the last Targaryens going mad. At this point, it’s either Jon or Daenerys. But that aside, we also have to examine the probability of the gene being present. It’s tricky, but simply said, just because there’s a 50-50 chance of a Targaryen being affected by the madness, doesn’t mean that in one household of two Targaryens, only one will be affected. It applies to each Targaryen. 

How the gene works is even trickier because George R.R. Martin didn’t exactly expand on how it develops, he only tells us that Aerys was full of promise and that his lapses were forgiven, and that he later went on to develop paranoia and dance with madness. If any of you at this point, think “why are we discussing how genes work in a fantasy series with dragons?” you should probably stop reading. Martin writes his characters as human. Yes, he’s incorporated fantasy elements and magic, but at its base, ASOIAF characters are complex human beings with moral dilemmas, and are not exempt from being affected by the in-universe diseases and illnesses - particularly not the Targaryens. 

One of the few things we know about Targaryens are that their kin suffer from inbreeding. The effects take shape in stillbirths, high probabilities of infant mortalities, poor health, deformities, and of course, the Targaryen Madness. It’s safe to say some form of science still applies here, because that much has come from the author himself. So when considering the coin flipping line, it’s therefore nonsensical to rule out any Targaryen from being affected until we see them in their later years. A gene can be present in yourself, and remain dormant until such a time where certain stresses may trigger it into fruition. For example, a person may be more likely to develop depression or some form of mental illness if one parent has a history of developing it because we know from research that those genes are hereditary. However that’s not to say that just because it’s present, that you would go on to develop it. That’s what the Targareyn Madness essentially is - a mental illness. With that in mind, let’s take another look at Viserys.

Yes, Viserys grew cruel and he abused Daenerys but I’m of the opinion that it’s a result of his upbringing. I say this because we know from Daenerys that he had once been a true brother to her. He had taught her how to speak high Valyrian, and had an initially fairly warm relationship. The strain begins when he starts to resent her for the death of their mother. He spent most of his life getting mocked, ridiculed and humiliated, going from one place to another, rewarding him the title “the Beggar king.” It’s said that the day Viserys had to sell his mother’s crown to survive, it had taken the last joy from him, leaving only rage. That is an extensive amount of trauma to take on for a boy of 8. Furthermore, he was being used by Magister Illyrio, who filled his head with grand illusions. Consider also the fact that Aerys had kept him close, and it’s no wonder Viserys turned out the day he did. Somewhere along the line, it’s possible the gene had been triggered, and as a result we get the Viserys we see: a disillusioned and cruel man with a lack of concern for others. In this light, the coin flipping line should then be taken differently. As opposed to believing that either Viserys or Daenerys was the one affected, we should see them both as having equal chances of the gene being active and playing out. In a sense, the coin is still in the air, and it hasn’t yet landed. 

Consider then the case of Daenerys. She dealt with verbal and physical abuse at the hands of her brother, who later arranged a marriage for her against her will for a political gain. Viserys was also her only source of information, and he took that chance to fill her with Targaryen propaganda and instilled in her the same sense of paranoia and mistrust of others. She witnesses the death of her brother first hand, and yet is strangely calm, because she believes he was “no true dragon” - an idea Viserys himself fed her. She takes on the “blood of the dragon” mantra for herself, first drawing strength from it, then later as a means of differentiating herself from others, believing that her place in the khalasaar while comfortable enough, would not suffice for the blood of the dragon. This becomes her drive, her purpose, where it once had been Viserys’, and look how that turned out. 

Daenerys showed promise herself, more than Viserys had ever managed. The birth of her dragons was a pinnacle in her storyline because it rewarded her with more agency than she knew how to deal with. It allowed for her to gain a following, and an audience, and furthermore it validated her beliefs of being extraordinary. This is where it all goes downhill, because this is where she carries the burden of wielding three equivalents of nuclear weapons. Instead of dealing with her problems diplomatically, she chooses to make use of her dragons. Heavy is the crown, and even heavier the burden when it’s weighed down with dragons, “I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.” 

She takes on more than she can chew, freeing slaves and then gaining only a herd of mouths to feed, more than she can afford while wandering Essos, until she takes Mereen. Even then, after realising she’s more conquerer than queen, she decides to stay and rule, and she fails - her methods becoming more cruel and ruthless each step of the way. She abandons Mereen and sails for Westeros with three dragons at her back and even more dangerous, a sense of vindication urged on by the people she surrounds herself with: flatterers, loyalists, and followers. By season 7, what does she do when a person tries to tell her otherwise? Give in to paranoia, and accuse them of scheming, and why? Because she was told of the three treasons she would face earlier on in Qarth. There is a reason why Martin included this in the house of the undying. If it were merely foreshadowing, a warlock could have simply said it in passing in a prologue chapter without Daenerys present but she is made aware for a reason - to allow for her to grow suspicious, and she does. She even grows paranoid of the Targaryen Madness taint, which only adds to a sense of inner conflict. So what do we know of her now? That she’s set on the throne, has to be spoken out of burning cities down, and gives in to paranoia. She is far from clear of developing the madness, and I’d agree with you that we’ve begun seeing signs of it.

In conclusion, by right no Targaryen is exempt from the Targaryen Madness gene, it’s only a matter of whether it’s been activated, and whether or not it can be tackled and kept stable. In the case of Daenerys it’s much tougher because she can choose to do as she pleases with her dragons, and she does. Maybe we’ll see a more ruthless Daenerys in the series to come, or it may be that she dies in battle along with her dragons, and the matter will never truly be decided because her death prevents us from seeing it further develop, unless Martin himself steps out and spells it out for us at the end - something I very much doubt he will do. Just my two cents, but it’s nonsensical to decide that she’s spared from it at this point in the game just because Viserys showed signs.

Thanks for the ask! x

#anti daenerys #targaryen madness #viserys targaryen #this isnt really an anti viserys because its just a discussion of his character

[thievinghippo]

Fic Update: The Longest Distance (20/100)

Fandom: The Adventure Zone

Pairing: Barry Bluejeans/Lup

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Time is the longest distance between two places.” - Tennessee Williams. 100 cycles. 100 moments. aka how Barry and Lup’s relationship evolves over 100 years.

Chapter Summary: Davenport tries to find some sun. Lup dresses inappropriately (again). Barry thinks about home. 

Notes: Fifth of the way through the fic! Woo!

(Read on Ao3!)

Cycle Twenty

Once, years ago, before they took off in a panic trying to escape the Hunter, Davenport could step on the bow of this ship - his ship - and be comforted. The development of the bond engine, the construction of this ship, was to be the pinnacle of his career. After a successful two month mission, no door would be closed to him.

He’d be able to do anything he wanted.

Now? He’s not sure exactly what he wants.

That’s not exactly true. Davenport wants to bring his crew safely home. But he doesn’t know if that’s even possible. He doesn’t even know if home exists any more.

He likes to think it does. Bluejeans theorizes that it might have survived. But if their home cycle is still intact, are they twenty years in the future? Or are they reliving each year ago over and over?

Bluejeans doesn’t have an answer for that. And Davenport’s not sure he wants to know.

“Hey Cap’n Port.”

Davenport looks behind him where Lup is walking onto the deck. She’s wearing a bikini and holding a towel. “Little cold for that, isn’t it?” he says, blinking slowly.

“Fuck, yeah, it is,” Lup says with a nod. “But when was the last time we could actually see the sun?”

This world is the cloudiest they’ve ever been to. Every day is just more clouds and rain and wind. And Davenport’s done what he can, moving the ship around to different parts of world, trying to find somewhere a bit sunny. But he’s had absolutely no luck.

He looks up, feeling foolish that he hadn’t even realized the sun’s shining. And that is why Davenport tries to limit the amount of brooding he does. It can make him miss some of the wonders of the day, some of the joy.

Lup’s laying out her towel, clearly ready to do some sunbathing, even as Davenport’s wearing a winter coat. She’s going to be freezing, but if there’s anything he’s learned about Lup over the years, is she doesn’t keep little things like details get in the way of what she wants.

“True enough,” he says, tilting his head and taking a breath. The sun is more of a bluish color this cycle, smaller than either of the two back home. Bluejeans thinks that’s why it’s so chilly and cloudy. The sciences aren’t Davenports strengths, so he’ll take Bluejeans’s word for it. That’s why he was hired to be science officer, after all.

She lays out her towel - a garish green color, definitely not standard issue - and sits down. Already Davenport can see goosebumps on her arms and he wanders how long Lup will actually be able to stay out here.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Davenport says with a crisp nod.

“You can stay,” Lup says with a wave of her hand. “Catch up on some vitamin D. We all need more of that shit.”

“Paperwork rests for no gnome,” Davenport says.

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Davenport takes his time walking to the door; truly, the sun on his face is just about perfect, even as cold as it is. But he has work to do.

“You know what we need?” Lup asks just as he reaches the door.

Davenport turns, curious to hear what she says. Lup’s grown as a leader since this whole journey started. He doubts Lup would say she has, but he sees it. He’s seen how each of his crew has grown and changed during these past twenty-one years.

And he is so proud of each and every one of them.

“What do we need?” he asks, turning to look back at her.

She’s propped up on an elbow, her sunglasses perched on her forehead. “Mental health year,” she says. “Next time we find a just chill world, let’s just take a break. No studying the Light, no worrying about the Hunger. Just a year of kicking back.”

Davenport nods. “That’s not a bad idea,” he says slowly. It certainly has merit. They’re all tired, every single one of them. And when people are tired, they tend to make mistakes. One mistake isn’t fatal, not for them, at least. Too many mistakes, though?

“Course it’s not,” Lup says, settling back down. “I thought of it.”

Chuckling, Davenport leaves the deck and goes back into the ship. His official shift is just about over and there are logs to file and reports to make. While no one might ever read them, just the act of doing the work comforts him.

Maybe one day they’ll find their way home. And if they do, the IPRE will have twenty years of paperwork to go through. Twenty years of stories and adventures. Perhaps they could receive twenty years of backpay?

Davenport dismisses that last thought. The IPRE are cheap bastards. He had to fight to make them include personal quarters for his crew instead of the original three sets of bunk beds they planned.

He walks into his office, the one luxury he insisted on during construction of the Starblaster. Well, not the office itself, but that the office is gnome-sized. Everywhere else, the ship is based on human proportions.

Every meal he needs to jump up into his chair and sit up on his knees in order to reach the table. He hides a stepstool in the refesher so it’s ready when he wants to look into the mirror to brush his teeth. Even his bed is huge, since it’s meant for humans.

But his office? His office is fit for a gnome. Davenport can sit at his desk and his feet actually touch the floor. He’s got bookcases where he can easily reach the top shelf. Even the art on his walls are actually the right size.

Davenport is more comfortable here, in this office, than any other room in the ship.

Except, perhaps, the bow of the ship.

He looks outside, through the small gnome-sized window and sees that the sun is still shining. His paperwork waits on his desk, ready for him to get to work. And he looks out the window one more time.

And with a slight smile on his face, Davenport picks up his paperwork, and heads back outside.

#the adventure zone #the adventure zone: balance #lup taaco #barry bluejeans #blupjeans #hippo writes fanfiction

[edmund-valks]

Ilandreline - Fun in the Sun

(( The Call - A Compound Beginning - Just One Cookie - Soul Food ))

Her limbs felt too heavy, her tongue too large for her mouth.  There was a mild sensation of having been sunburnt over her entire body -- kind of weird, that, given how she never went outside remotely close to naked -- but it probably wasn't life-threatening.  She was very, very thirsty, though.  "Water?"  Even croaking a single word was painful.  Hopefully there was someone around to hear.

For the moment, the only sounds Ila experienced were the dull roar of nothing, like the aftermath of being too close to an explosion.  Again, probably not life-threatening; she knew that sort of thing happened when you were certain kinds of unhealthy.  There was no doubt in her mind that she was in a state of dubious health after her long trip.  She was still piecing memories back together, but the muscle aches suggested she'd been overworking herself for days, possibly weeks.  "Fuhhnnng taimlayshn."  The words weren't quite as intended.  Close enough.

Something was in her mouth then.  Maybe a finger?  Hopefully not a dirty one.  Then a little liquid happened instead.  Water?  Water!  Or near-water; whatever it was felt like a cool drink but also burned all the way down.  Not like alcohol, either, like… cinnamon syrup?  Was that a thing?  She flinched as she swallowed, but the expression was hidden behind her goggles.

"-s that?"  Sound returned suddenly, crystallizing from the static.  "Are you still with us, mortal?  Can you hear me?"

Ilandreline forced her eyes open to slits.  The sky was overhead, viciously bright.  "Fuhhh," she growled, more by reflex than intention.  Her throat hurt, but speech was easier.  Whatever they'd given her was apparently helping.  "I… hear you.  Not dead.  Yet."  Was that a sigh of relief?  And was that some kind of whistling hoot?  Maybe her hearing wasn't totally back.

"Very good.  You did not arrive as expected.  We were very worried, especially as the darkness you emerged from continues to cling to your soul in… unusual ways."  The speaker had a lovely voice, rich and resonant and crystal-delicate.  "You were very lucky to arrive here at all.  How you even survived your journey… that is a tale I would be most interested to hear."

While her eyes slowly adjusted to the constant pain of ambient light, Ila made them focus on the speaker.  They -- she? -- was surprisingly blue, though otherwise humanoid if one ignored the bird wings.  She was wearing white and gold, both too bright to look directly at, in what appeared to be something she'd once heard described as a chiton.  Maybe.  Her knowledge of history was very good for a Glimmerbow child, but they were on the whole not great with the subject since most of their books were centuries out of date or first translations from other tongues.

"Luck," she forced out as her answer.  It wasn't even a lie.  "Nearly… didn't."  Something about all this brilliance made her suspect she shouldn't mention how much blood had been involved.  Or how much hadn't been her own.

She could see the drink now, tilted her head a bit to make it easier on her caretaker.  Whatever it was smelled… antiseptic.  Like viciously unforgiving essence of pine shoved into pure ethanol.  That explained the burning, at least.  Didn't clarify how or why she might actually feel better for having consumed it, but she'd settle for any answers.

After choking down the molten-gold elixir and weathering the unpleasantness of its effects, Ilandreline exhaled slowly.  Time to ask questions.  Almost time, rather; first she had to sit up.  Spots flared through her vision as she raised her head, even more when she propped herself up on her forearms.

"Don't-!"

She ignored the alarm, forcing her body increasingly upright until she was more or less sitting.  It still took both arms to stay there, but she could feel sensation returning to her fingertips.  Good enough.  "Thank you for… helping me."  That was a polite way to start, wasn't it?  "Would you mind telling me where I am, though?"

Shock registered on the azure face.  "You… you're in Bastion.  Home of the sworn and dedicated.  Realm of the Kyrian."  Something about Ila's expression must have shown her lack of understanding, because the winged woman rushed on.  "This is where souls go who will defend the Way and the Purpose, and shepherd others along their path to ascension."

"Uh.  Okay then."  Whatever that meant, it sounded very important to this blue person.  It also sounded like the opposite of a fun way to spend an afterlife.  "What if I don't know what any of that means?  Is that going to be a problem with my… being here?"

"Of course not."  She passed Ilandreline a fist-sized orange-skinned fruit.  "Here, if you can sit, you can eat.  Purian will restore what ambroria dew does not."

The spheroid looked good, but it tickled her nostrils with the faint scents of something left too long.  Slightly rotten, perhaps.  It wouldn't do to offend her host, though, especially when she'd arrived unannounced and mostly dead.  "Maybe… tell me about you and this, uh, Bastion stuff while I eat?"

"Oh, of course.  I am Trenasophe, a forgelite of the Kyrian."  She paused.  "Right, you don't know what that means.  I forget what it was like to be newly arrived here, for I've spent so long emptying myself of all that kept me bound.  Please, though, help yourself to food and drink while I explain."

Ilandreline has little interest in the goods on offer, though she forced herself to consume them.  Starving to death was not going to help anyone, even if having her insides lightly seared and filled with rotten fruit wasn't very fun.  Hopefully there were other dishes somewhere.  Meat would be good, even better if it wasn’t spoiled.

“The Kyrian are souls who serve the order of the Shadowlands and preserve it against those that would disrupt it.  This realm, Bastion, is where we live.  It is here we guide new aspirants on their journey to become what they were meant to be.  The way is rarely easy or swift, but little of value ever is.

“As a forgelite, my purpose is to build and maintain.  The things that surround, shelter, and guard us are not eternal, but with our efforts they will appear so for eternity.  We create and preserve, and what has been broken we seek to repair.  All things have their place in the Purpose, and it is the forgelites who guide them into shape.”

In an effort to ignore the protestations of her stomach, the elf gave these philosophical ramblings more attention than she normally would.  It didn’t make sense in the slightest, but again -- she was a guest.  Saying the whole system sounded like a load of post-processing guano would be the pinnacle of rudeness; she restrained herself to merely thinking it very loudly.  Perhaps the subject could be changed to something more interesting?  “I know some things about building, too.  What kind of stuff do you make?  Any fun machines?”

If she’d been worried there was no emotion among these creatures, that question put her concerns to rest.  Trenasophe’s lips turned up, parting into a grin.   The brightness of her teeth was only matched by the gleam in her eyes.  “I make everything,” she said with a breathlessness Ila could appreciate.  “I have learned what I did not already know and shed the bad habits learned in life.  From the most massive work of stone to clockwork so delicate I cannot hold the components in my own hands, I do it all.  Which is not to say that I have mastered them yet -- there is none among us who can match the Forgelite Prime -- but perhaps someday I will, if that is how I am allowed to serve.  Is that then why you are here?  You have come to trade your knowledge for ours?”

It was a very convenient answer.  She probably should have gone for it.  “Actually, no, I’m here because this is where the road I was on threw me out.  But that sure sounds like fun.  Maybe you can teach me anyway?”

“You… did not know where you would arrive?”

Ila laughed, immediately regretting it as the rawness of her throat flared up.  “I didn’t even know if I would arrive, much less where.  All I knew was I had a pretty good idea I could get to the Shadowlands if I traveled a certain way.  Pretty glad it worked, honestly, because otherwise I’d probably be dead.”

The Kyrian blinked twice.  “If you did not know that you would make it, nor did you know your likely destination, why did you come at all?  How does this fit in with your… purpose?”

“Oh, you know, normal mortal reasons.  My grandmother was concerned about the hole in the sky on our home plane, wanted to make sure the multiverse wasn’t unraveling.  She can’t really travel these days, so she sent me.”  She smugly bit into a new purian without thinking.  Not shrieking as she swallowed took all the effort she could muster.  Doing her best to ignore the sandpaper in her throat, Ilandreline forced a smile.  “We knew there was a thinness in one of the near-planes that had contact with the Shadowlands, so it was just a matter of getting to the right part and, you know, poking a little hole through.”

Trenasophe’s brow furrowed.  “You arrived through the remnants of a planar tear from one of the most devastating assaults Bastion has ever witnessed.  Some of our greatest still bear scars from that time.  How did you survive passing through such a place?”

Shit.  Okay, time to… not lie without being too honest, right?  “It… was pretty much empty when I went through.  Didn’t see a single living thing other than myself the whole time, unless you count the blood-plants.”

“Blood-plants?”

“Yeah, red spiky things, like an aloe, but they’re full of some kind of blood jelly.  They’re not good for much except hurting yourself.”

“I… see.”  She clearly did not, and Ila had no interest in pressing her about the fib.  “How long did your journey take?  You seemed close to death when you emerged.”

She shrugged.  “No idea.  Time doesn’t work right in that place.  I thought I had enough food and water for, like, a week?  Ran out of food real fast, then water a little later, and am not exactly sure I slept other than that one time with the cookie.”

Again the Kyrian made a noise of acknowledgement without understanding.  Ilandreline hurried on before too much thinking happened.  “Anyway, thanks for helping me out.  Really appreciate it, you know, and I’d love to talk about building things just as soon as I pass out for, I don’t know, a month.”

That much Trenasophe did understand.  She smiled, rested a large hand on the elf’s shoulder.  “Yes, rest seems quite reasonable, even if your estimate of the duration is clear hyperbole.  My steward and I shall watch over you, ensure your needs are met.  All I ask in return at this moment is a name to call you by.”

“Vondariel,” she said with a smile.  Nobody outside her family knew her sister’s name -- well, maybe Miss Winford did, but good luck getting anything from her -- so it seemed a safe one to steal.  “But you can call me Von if that’s easier.”

A nod.  “Very well, Von.  Sleep in peace, knowing you are safe at last.  I look forward to helping you achieve your purpose.”

Nothing ominous about that…  Ilandreline’s eyes closed against the awful brilliance, her recuperating body descending into unconsciousness as soon as it was horizontal.

#ilandreline #ilandreline glimmerbow #fence macabre #wow rp #warcraft rp

[grandnincompoop]

Fire Emblem, Design Philosophy, and My Quarrels

Let's harken back to 2001 and the release of Super Smash Brothers Melee. I had an N64 and a Gameboy, so I was familiar with most of the characters. You had Mario and Fox and Samus- I had either played their game or learned about them from the original Super Smash Brothers. I didn't really know you could just go on the internet and look up how to unlock all of the characters when the game came out, and even when I did, we would just look up how to get Mew in the original Pokemon. Nor did I have a Nintendo Power subscription. I had one issue- 2003's Issue 173, probably because it had Star Wars on the cover. So in the daunting quest of trying to discover how to unlock every character, you meet Marth and Roy. As with most of the non-Japanese world, I was left wondering who these two sword guys were. I was 9, so obviously I wasn't in the market for importing untranslated Famicon games. My curiosity wasn't satiated until 2003 with the release of Fire Emblem on the Game Boy Advanced, but I was immediately infatuated.

The Fire Emblem: The Binding Blade is a highly linear game. This was an age long before sprawling open worlds were commonplace in every RPG or shooter. You merely progressed from quest to quest, accumulating an ever growing roaster with each mission. Except for the three missions that include Arenas, there's no way to deviate from the progression of game's 37 chapters. The experience points you can gain are limited, and honestly the game is stronger for that. As much fun as I had grinding Final Fantasy Tactics Advanced, such as the time I trapped a high level Malboro with a cycle of sleep/attack/heal, it diminished from the thrill I experienced with Fire Emblem with its terrifying combat where every critical hit mattered. Simplicity and transparency are core to the experience. Almost like a board game, the game takes a narrow concept- in this case rock-paper-scissors, the adds some elaboration to it to make it flow into a fantasy world of mages and magical creatures. There are stats like strength and defense, and you have health and there's a grid you move on and there's a percentile to hit, all of which are visible to the player. That's about it and the game was better for it.

 The core elements could easily be fitted to a pen and paper experience which is what brought me to believe that the game had a Bottom Up development. I was introduced to this term by Mark Rosewater, the head designer of Magic: the Gathering, who describes it, along with its developmental opposite (Top Down), as "Top Down is subject matter based. I want to capture the subject matter. Bottom Up is mechanical based. There's a tool I want to make use of. How can I best make use of that tool." Not to insult the subject matter of Fire Emblem, but it, like its combat system, isn't complicated. They're collections of sometimes loosely related stories of a prince having to fight some evil in a world with dragons, drakes, wizards, EVIL wizards, undead/possessed/ etc etc. You could play them for their narrative, but most people I know and have read play it for the combat and support system (hold on, I'll get back to that in a moment). Looking at interviews with  Shouzou Kaga, the original creator of the series, his initial intent was to create a "roleplaying simulation", which he describes as

 "A strategy game. But strategy games typically are kind of “hardcore” and dry. (laughs) You only care about winning or losing the battle, and there’s no space for the player to empathize with the characters or story.

I love strategy games like that too, but I also love RPGs. By adding RPG elements, I wanted to create a game where the player could get more emotionally invested in what’s happening. Conversely, one of the drawbacks of RPGs is that there’s always just a single protagonist. Thus, to a certain extent, you can only experience the linear story that the game creator has prepared for you.

I wanted to create a game where the story and game will develop differently for each player depending on the units they use. Thus I added the strategy elements and arrived at this hybrid system."

 This idea doesn't seem to fit exactly into either of MaRo's definitions. Concept isn't exactly subject matter, usually a story or pre-established setting, nor is it strictly mechanical based, although it's definitely closer to that. If we looked at a chart from a 2007 article on Gamasutra titled "Game Design Cognition: The Bottom-Up and Top-Down Approaches:

 We see that beginning at a concept is part of the Top-Down process. So I guess my research proved I was wrong with my assertion when taking a developmental process from a relatively simple process, making a card with rules, and applying it to a highly complicated one, creating a video game.

 The concept is a fascinating one, however, playing with ideas that a modern genre, the grand strategy game, has to tackle with mindboggling amount of complexity. Since the plot is designed to introduce you to the menagerie of personalities they've designed, the writings is. . . charming, but not patricianly nuanced. By no means is the game the pinnacle of writing in interactive narratives. The characters personalities attached to a colorful aesthetic, almost comparable to what Blizzard's Overwatch did in making such a wide spectrum of characters that at least one should be appealing to even the most surly of fans. You'll have a female caviler who is a tom boy or a timed knight who, despite his bulking armor, commonly goes unnoticed. They're archetypes, not fully realized characters like you'll find in more traditionally RPGs with tomes of backstory and goals.  Overwatch and Fire Emblem develop their characters in the same manner- mid-combat dialog. Fire Emblem's greatest development (and what makes it stand out among the other strategy role playing games) is the Support System. Sure, it's fluff, but it evokes the feeling that there was a world before you arrived. Fire Emblems Awakenings main character, Chrom, will reminisce the past with his sister, another solider in your army. Except she can permanently die, unlike the Valhalla fantasy that is Overwatch where they we return to their friends to the next bout. Kaga always intended for your unit's looming mortality to cause shifts in how you view the narrative. "I wanted to make a strategy game that was more dramatic, something where you would really be able to feel the pain and struggle of the characters. That’s why characters can’t be revived once they’re killed, to impart a sense of gravity and seriousness. In turn, I think the result is that the more love you have for your characters, the more rewarding the game is." X-Com, a highly popular western SRPG for MS-DOS that came out four years later, attempted this with randomly generated names, nationalities, and looks for its characters. But unless you're willing to really lose yourself in the game and make your own narrative for the characters, their deaths will only have an impact in the loss of your highest level sniper, not the archer who was currently flirting with your barbarian. The game could create emersion through its characters and their deaths, but instead it becomes what I believe is the bane of  the series. There's a universe where each battle is like a chess match, where you must maliciously strategize your moves so take the least amount of causalities and each critical hit will either make or ruin your day. But we don’t live in that universe. Instead we're plagued with problems twofold: the prevalence of a dominate strategy and the existence of the reset button.  

 "A dominant strategy, in the context of game design, is something that emerges due to game imbalance. A clear example of dominant strategy would be "blocking the opponent from getting three in a row", in Tic-Tac-Toe."

 Fire Emblem is amazingly easy to get into and play, although maybe not to master. Unless you count the tactic I commonly refer to as the "death blob". It's like creating a delicious candy with a hard exterior and gooey center. Looking at another game for a second, Final Fantasy Tactics, you'll send your warriors and knights forward to pick off the prime targets while your mages and archers mop up. (Of course, there's another strategy where you carefully positioning yourself defensively into one corner, but they have means of combating this by starting you on the low ground to make you fight your way to high ground.) You can afford to have one or two units fall in combat because it'll only be moments before the healer arrives to mend any major injuries. It allows for the type of aggressive playstyle the computer utilizes against you, creating "drama". Fire Emblem is the antithesis. Dave Riley of the Fast Karate for the Gentlemen podcast and occasional game reviewer for Anime News Network says about action, "Most of the game is a creeping, careful crawl that moves the entire army in an ironclad block three spaces at a time. Movements are so fraught, and battles so carefully measured, that when the tide turns in your favor it's hard know what to do with the power." Usually your objective is to rid the map of foes that don't tend to move until you've moved past a certain threshold within their vacinity. As such, you'll surround your weaker characters, the mages, archers, the ones you're just now getting to leveling up, with those that have heavier armor or are higher in level. Then you move slowly across the map. And I mean agonizingly slow. Unless there is some sort of pressure on you, like a timed mission or some character you can interact with before the enemy overtakes them, it's three squares at the time for you. They've tried to counter this in some ways by having enemy units spawn behind you if you're taking too long, but that just leads to the second problem. Allowing the units to pair up to increase stats in Awakening was a good solution, but it showed to be highly overpowered when combined with the stats gained from the support system.

The second problem has coexisted with the game since inception. Instead of having gameplay be a carefully planned chess match (similar to the newly released Into the Breach which rewards sticking with failed "timelines" and even has a continent function to undo one turn per mission), we play the game like a speedrunner, resetting innumerous times in leu of missed attacks and unfortunate critical hits until we have such an intense knowledge of the map that we could perform it to lull us to bed. By adding Casual Mode in later games they've done some work to rectify this, and while the game might be more fun to play without having to turn off the console for the nth time, we loses Kaga's initial intent. In a joint interview with Hironobu Sakaguchi, he admits to Kaga that "when I die, I always reset". Even the creator of Final Fantasy has become victim to this pitfall! Kaga notes that "it’s not a big problem if some of your characters die in Fire Emblem; I want each player to create their own unique story. Don’t get caught up trying to get a “perfect ending.” Have fun!" But we just can’t because we have to see how the almost insignificant side dialog between the dark mage and pegasus knight will turn out. Will they become friends? We'll never know if we don't reset because an unexpected arrow saw an end to the purpled haired rider.

 The problem has exasperated even further with adding generations to the games. Awakening saw those cute support conversations to their apex by having them result in children, but not just any children- super soldiers of your own siring. Instead of being something cute you do on the side, a treat if you will, they added mechanics to the system. Depending on the abilities known by the parents and the hidden stat progressions (a thorn in the side of the wonderful transparency of the game), the child might be an unkillable machine of death that gets to move twice after reaping another soul all while regaining any  lost health. Fire Emblem has always had Uber characters. There's always the gallant knight, advisor to the lordling at the beginning of your adventure! (who is there solely to suck all the experience that should be going to anyone else) Then there's the  sweet young lad who starts as the weakest possible unit, needing to be babied for dozens of hours until they've shown their true colors as the harbinger of all lives, capable of taking down armies alone. But the child rearing aspect of the later games really irks me. It makes the game feel like it's become an anime character breeding simulator, where instead of letting love naturally develop on the battlefield as it has, you have to comb through wikias to see what the best combination for a certain child is. For a game that has forgone the grinding experience, it surely got lost in not remembering what made it so great to begin with in its transparency.

 There are aspects of Fire Emblem that reflect actual war. Every character is such: an individual with hopes, dreams, and interests. Taking a little time to get to know them leaves you with a sense of loss when they're lost in a pillar of flame from some nameless enemy mage. These games could be so much more with a little more finesse. The series has gone on for decades now, and this has caused the games to roll up increasing more systems until it has reached the point now that it is hard to see the game for what it once was. The concessions you have to make are never "there's no way I can do this without sacrificing someone for the noble cause" like the newly released Battletech RPG throws at you; the concessions are "time to waste a little more time and reset the game again." I believe the game I want to make can come- they just have to do a little more resetting.

#short essay #fire emblem #writing practice

[onestowatch]

The 15 Most Important Albums of the 2010s

From emo lofi vaporwave to another genre category that I cannot tell if Spotify is making up just to mess with me, music in the 2010s sounded more varied than ever before. Artists, mainstream and bedroom-produced alike, gave way to strict stylistic and genre conventions, ushering in a generation of music that is best described as multi-hyphenate. So, rather than end the year and decade fighting amongst ourselves as to who did what best, we wanted to take the time to reflect on a collection of albums that stood out amongst their cohorts.

These are 15 of the most important albums of the last decade. Without them, the 2010s would have sounded and looked a whole lot different. 

Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp a Butterfly

The idea of choosing a single Kendrick Lamar album as his most important body of work can at times feel like a fool’s errand. How do you deny the raw, unfiltered power of Section.80? The haunting reality of good kid, m.A.A.D city? The beauty found in the unexplored notes of untitled unmastered.? The life lived and lost in DAMN.? Maybe it is a fool’s errand, but To Pimp a Butterfly arguably saw Lamar at his peak, reigniting hip-hop’s long-held love affair with the sounds of funk, soul, and most notably, jazz through a story that explores themes of African-American culture, institutionalized discrimination, and racial inequality.   

Mac DeMarco - 2

By no means did Mac Demarco invent indie music, but modern-day indie music would likely not sound or look the same without him. The release of his 2012 sophomore album 2 arrived as a collection of lofi soft rock jams, but it was the standout single “Ode to Viceroy” that really cemented his place as indie music’s cool uncle. And while albums like Salad Days and Another One would see him refining his trademark sound and exploring weightier themes, it was 2 that paved the way for both DeMarco and for indie music to flourish in the coming years.

BTS - Love Yourself: Tear

A lot came and went with the 2010s, but few things brought as much staying power as K-pop. Now one of the most successful commercial genres in the world, it was BTS that served as the initial test to see if K-pop could really leave its impact on Western audiences. First making their debut in 2013, it was their 2018 concept album Love Yourself: Tear that would earn them their first spot atop the US Billboard 200, as well as making them the first Korean act to ever have an album top the Billboard charts. BTS kicked off K-pop’s global takeover in glorious fashion.

Kanye West - YEEZUS

By all accounts, YEEZUS is not Kanye West’s best album, of his career or this decade for the matter. But what it is, is the start of a figure who, for better or worse, grew beyond the realm of rap superstar and into a larger-than-life figure. YEEZUS was the beginning of a decade that would see West pushing the boundaries of his artistic genius, his role as a public figure, and questioning whether society was willing to and should separate the man from the art, the genius from the person.

Flume - Flume

The 2010s marked an electronic music boom. With festivals, from Coachella to Lollapalooza, booking more and more DJs each year, skeptics hailed it as a bubble soon to burst. In reality, it was more of a fizzle that saw EDM carving out its own seemingly-permanent niche in the music landscape. Amidst that boom, we were introduced to one Harley Edward Streten. More popularly known as Flume, his 2012 debut solo project launched his career and ushered in a wave of more subdued, adventurous future house.

ANHONI - HOPELESSNESS

No album touched upon the atrocities of our war-torn reality quite like ANOHNI’s 2016 debut album HOPELESSNESS. Produced by Oneohtrix Point Never and Hudson Mohawke, HOPELESSNESS is a dark experimental electronic project that does not shy away from its difficult subject matter. Rather, it parades them for all to see in haunting, angelic fashion. A world on the brink of an environmental crisis, drone warfare under the Obama administration, capital punishment, and constant government surveillance all lay the groundwork for one of the most provocative and important protest albums of the 2010s.

Frank Ocean - Blonde

Plain and simple, there is no creative out there like Frank Ocean, and his sophomore album Blonde may just be the best album of the decade. Blonde saw an Ocean unrestrained, freed from an unsavory record label deal and genre conventions. Not quite an R&B or pop album, Ocean’s sophomore effort is akin to gently floating through the inner-psyche of this idiosyncratic creative. From unexpected voicemails to space-age melodies that drift into nothingness, Blonde is Ocean’s best work to date and a high point for music as a whole.

Lil Peep - Come Over When You’re Sober, Pt. 2

The world has not been kind to emo rap or its brightest stars. 2017 saw the loss of Lil Peep. 2018 saw the loss of XXXTentacion. And most recently, 2019 saw the loss of Juice WRLD. Come Over When You’re Sober, Pt. 2, the first posthumous and final album from Lil Peep, is a heartbreaking portrait of the star that could have been. More than anything, it sounds like the beginning of a dialogue we need to start having about how do we help and protect artists at their most fragile and broken?

Grimes - Visions

Grimes gave credence to the term bedroom pop before it become a hackneyed blanket term for indie pop as a whole. Before she was an art pop purveyor or dating a tech mogul with dreams of space travel, she was an artist out of Montreal who found her footing going viral on Myspace. Blending the leftfield pop approach of Björk, experimental electronica honed during her time spent playing raves in Canada, and a knack for Logic, we were gifted with Grimes’ 2012 breakout project Visions and its alien hit “Oblivion.” It is difficult to imagine 2019’s wave of bedroom pop and anti-pop existing without Grimes’ Visions to demonstrate the worlds you can create within your cramped bedroom walls.

Tyler, the Creator - Flower Boy

If not for the release of IGOR, Flower Boy could have easily stood the test of time as Tyler, the Creator’s magnum opus. An earth-shattering project that saw Tyler examining themes of isolation, identity, and his own sexuality, it felt like listening to the birth of a whole new artist. And in many ways, it was. Flower Boy was Tyler’s first step into exploring the limits of his creative depth, sonically and artistically. This was the birth of one of the most innovative and fascinating creative minds of our generation.

Billie Eilish - WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP WHERE DO WE GO?

Billie Eilish may just be the most famous person on the planet. The pop prodigy had the eyes of the world on her before she turned 18. Suffice it to say, it would be an understatement to say that the pressure and expectations surrounding her debut album were monumental. The result? An immaculately produced piece of dark pop that saw a Takashi Murakami collaboration and proved pop stars are getting younger and younger and better and better.

88rising - Head In The Clouds

Hybrid management, record label, video production, and marketing company 88rising is bringing Asian voices into the mainstream. A powerhouse of creatives that features the likes of Joji, Rich Brian, NIKI, Higher Brothers, AUGUST 08, and more, 88rising is a veritable cultural phenomenon. That growing phenomenon was captured in full on their debut crew album, which demonstrates the collective’s range across R&B, hip-hop, and beyond. Head In The Clouds is an embodiment of the exact kind of Asian representation we need to be seeing in the music industry at large.

Beyoncé - HOMECOMING: THE LIVE ALBUM

Beyoncé’s Lemonade may be her opus, but HOMECOMING is her raison d’être. Recorded live at Coachella in 2018, the live album signaled a landmark in black excellence. HOMECOMING: THE LIVE ALBUM is the sonic telling of the black college experience, the story of the first black woman to ever headline America’s largest music festival, and an ongoing chapter of the power of black feminism. Beychella was awe-inspiring and nothing quite captures the historic experience as excellently as HOMECOMING: THE LIVE ALBUM.  

Chance the Rapper - Coloring Book

There is no denying that streaming is king. Whether that means the end of artists being able to make a living from their music is still out for debate, but one artist in particular who has benefited from music’s streaming globalization is undeniably Chance the Rapper. Releasing all of his projects either free on Soundcloud or as digital-only mixtapes, Chicago’s native son may just be the only reason the aforementioned Soundcloud still exists. And while Acid Rap first illustrated exactly what Chance could do on his own, it was Coloring Book that finally made the music industry at large pay attention, netting him the first-ever streaming-only album to ever win a Grammy.

BROCKHAMPTON - SATURATION III

The Saturation trilogy is the story of how a group of teenagers went from meeting online over a shared love of Kanye West to becoming America’s favorite boyband. It is a trilogy of unabashed creativity paired with an unmatched drive that showcases BROCKHAMPTON at their highest and lowest. The pinnacle of this journey arrives in the conclusion and ensuing climax that is SATURATION III, which turned the cult sensation into an international one. Now, with 2020 around the corner, the departure of Ameer Vann, who adorns the cover art of each part of the trilogy, Saturation stands as a crystallization of the journey BROCKHAMPTON has taken to make it to this point.

Additionally...

Various Artists - 7-Inches for Planned Parenthood

The most important albums are those that leave their mark long after a single listen, whether that be in their lasting influence or through a salient, real-world impact.

This project is a chance for artists and fans to take meaningful action to protect access to health care for millions of women, men and young people. We hope to further Planned Parenthood’s mission to build a world where we all have full control over our own bodies and can determine our own destinies - regardless of race, immigration status, socioeconomic status, gender identity, or sexual orientation. It’s writers, artists, musicians, comedians, visual artists, and other public thinkers - all making something together in support of health care and human rights.

#billie eilish #brockhampton #chance the rapper #beyonce #88rising #tyler the creator #grimes #mac demarco #lil peep #flume #anohni #bts #kanye west #kendrick lamar #planned parenthood

[somewhereapart]

BIn41 Sneak Peek, by request...

I had a CuriousCat request to post a BIn sneak peek, so here ya go:

Robin texts her on Friday around noon, when he finally wakes up: Hope you got some sleep last night. Dreamt of you all morning.

She answers a few minutes later, telling him, I did. Thanks.

Robin frowns. That was a bit… short, particularly for someone who'd had him balls deep inside her last night. Then he remembers just why, and that she’d said she needed a few days to work off her anger, so he texts: Still pissed?

Mmhmm. It’ll pass.

He sighs, and tells her, I’ll leave you to your work then. Call if you need anything.

He considers it a small consolation that she replies at all, even more so that she tells him, Thanks, I will. And thanks for last night.

So not all bad, then, he deduces with a little smile, unable to resist the urge to text back: Your knickers were thanks enough luv, with a devilish little emoji as punctuation.

Speaking of… He rolls over, fishing her thong from the pocket of the jeans he’d left crumpled on the floor when he’d fallen into bed early this morning, then flops back onto his mattress with a sigh just as his phone buzzes again.

It’s another text from her, three words that make him laugh out loud: With. Your. Life.

On my honor, I swear to protect them, he shoots back and then he tosses the phone aside, and lifts the little scrap of fabric. He hooks a fingertip in either side of the waistband and holds them up, finally getting a good look  – he hadn’t really had much of a chance last night, now, had he?

It’s just a small triangle of pale grey, not cotton, something softer than that, with lavender lace along the waistband. Her bra had been lavender, too, come to think of it – quite possibly this exact lavender, and lacy, just like this. It occurs to him then it was probably a set, and no wonder she hadn’t been keen on parting with them.

Alas, too late now, he thinks with a smirk and very little remorse.

She has such a bloody tiny waist, he muses, giving the lace a little stretch and turning her knickers around to appreciate the back side – or lack thereof. God, she must have looked bloody incredible in this; he almost regrets not taking her skirt off altogether so he could enjoy the view.

Almost.

Not quite.

The view had been pretty spectacular as it was. Really, incredibly fantastic.

He’s just settling in to enjoy the memory of it, of her on top of him, all wild and fierce (and yes, angry, but it appears it’s an anger that will blow over, so he’s willing to overlook that for now), just starting to mull over the lovely details, and feeling his cock start to stir when he hears the pounding scamper of feet up the stairs, and a voice calling his name – “Robin?”

His heart lurches when he realizes it’s Henry, and he has just enough time to shove the boy’s mother’s knickers (Christ, she’d absolutely murder him) under his pillows before his door swings open, and Tuck comes bounding in, Henry behind him.

Nothing has ever killed a boner faster. Thank God he’d still had his shorts on.

Henry skids to a stop and scowls at the sight of Robin still in bed, asking, “Why aren’t you up yet? It’s lunchtime.”

“For you, maybe,” Robin tells him, sitting up and hoping he doesn’t look nearly as panic-stricken as he feels. “Some of us work late and sleep late.”

“Oh,” Henry remembers, with a look of regret. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was awake,” Robin assures him, swinging his legs off to the side and pulling on those same jeans, because, well, they’re there, and they’re clean enough. He spies the open condom wrapper that he’d pocketed on the floor where it must have slipped free at some point, and sends up another prayer of thanks, this time for the fact that Henry is on the other side of the bed.

“What did you want?” he asks, as he toes it surreptitiously under the bed and fully out of sight.

“I was bored,” Henry shrugs. “I thought maybe you could show me some new stuff on the guitar. Or we could go to the park or something.”

One of those sounds like it takes a bit too much brainpower for his newly awakened self, the other a bit too much energy. So Robin suggests instead, “How about we start with some lunch?”

.::.

The flaw in this whole lunch plan becomes apparent as soon as they get to the kitchen. He and John are, to put it plainly, shit at keeping a full fridge. With John away so often for work, and Robin eating half his weekly dinners at the bar, they don’t need to keep a whole lot of food in the house – not proper food anyway.

And he’d meant to do some shopping today on his day off – refresh their stores of white bread and cold cuts and cheese. Pick up some proper fruit and veg for the weekend with Roland, and restock his supply of mac and cheese, maybe get some hot dogs to throw in, or one of those ready-made rotisserie chickens.

But as he’s just rolled out of bed, he hasn’t exactly had a chance to do that yet, so they’re left to fend for themselves with what they’ve got: a tomato that’s starting to wrinkle a bit, some eggs, a carton of milk he pulls out and takes a whiff of – and then regrets with a wince, setting it back on the shelf with a stern reminder to himself to dump the little that’s left down the drain later. Some three-day-old take-out pork lo mein, and a lime.

Well, then.

Robin zeroes in on the eggs, suggesting, “How about some fried egg sandwiches?”

He has enough bread, and there’s a half-spent jar of ketchup in the fridge door. It’ll do for lunch.

And Henry is game, tells him, “Sure,” with an agreeable shrug, so Robin reaches in and pops open the carton to find one lonely egg resting inside.

Right.

He looks at Henry and asks, “I don’t suppose your mum has eggs?”

She does – of course she does – so they head next door, dog in tow, and take advantage of Regina’s decidedly fuller fridge.

She’s down to the last egg in the carton as well – but there’s another full dozen resting underneath it. The ketchup he pulls from the door is organic, the bread they find in the breadbox is a hearty seven-grain – not ideal if you ask him (there’s something nice about the bland, pillowy softness of WonderBread when it comes to an egg sandwich) but it’ll do.

She’s also got a crisper full of apples, a half-full carton of raspberries, two cartons of milk (a quart of skim that he imagines is hers, and a half gallon of 2% for Henry), a small pyramid of yogurts, some fresh-from-the-deli shaved turkey, and a packet of pork chops. There’s one of the plastic cartons of ready-made mixed greens for salads, a carton of cherry tomatoes, and a cucumber.

It’s a well-stocked pinnacle of health that puts his paltry bachelor pad selection to shame, and he’s half-tempted to beg her guidance for his own shopping. But then, half of it would probably just go bad on the shelf, and that’d be a waste, wouldn’t it?

And it’s neither here nor there at the moment, so he puts the thought aside, and gets to making their eggs.

Henry watches, and helps, pulling out four slices of bread at Robin’s urging, and cutting up a couple of apples for them with this corer-slicer thing that is handy enough Robin makes a mental note to look into getting one himself for Roland’s snacktime.

Before too long they’re settled at the table, munching away at their sandwiches and apple pieces, Robin occasionally tossing Tuck bits of that turkey from the fridge (he and Henry have sworn a pact of secrecy about feeding table scraps to the dog).

Two bites in, Henry declares, “This is really good,” and Robin discovers the boy has never had a fried egg sandwich before in his life.

“You’re joking,” he tells him, and then he decides, “No, you're probably not, are you? Now I regret making it with fancy bread – you should have had a proper one.”

“Mom says that white bread is a waste of calories, unless it’s homemade or from France,” Henry tells him, and Robin snorts a little laugh.

“That sounds like something your mum would say,” he chuckles, adding, “I bet she’d have a stroke if she saw my fridge.”

“Probably,” Henry shrugs munching away. “Why don’t you buy better food? Or more food.”

Robin smirks and tells him, “To be honest, I’m rather a lazy git, or at least – when it comes to food only I’m going to eat, I don’t care as much. I was going to go shopping today – for Roland. But during the week, I don’t really cook all that much, so I don’t need a lot of food.”

“If you don’t need very much, then you should buy better stuff than just eggs and beer,” Henry tells him, and Robin snorts.

Touché.

“Maybe I’ll ask your mum for some pointers,” Robin tells him, taking a bite of his sandwich after he adds, “She seems to have things pretty put together.”

Henry answers, “Yeah,” but then he’s frowning into his plate a bit, something clearly on his mind.

The boy’s never had trouble speaking his mind, though, so Robin waits him out, lets him gather his thoughts. After a few seconds, Henry says, “I’m worried about her.”

“Your mum?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “She hasn’t been, y’know… Mom the last few days? We had a bad weekend, and then she had that headache, and she looks kinda sick. And last night, she went to bed before I even did.”

“She’s having a hard week,” Robin tells him, adding, “She’ll be alright, though; she’s tough,” before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Henry just frowns at him, and then asks, “How would you know? You were here for like five minutes on Tuesday.”

Robin freezes mid-chew.

Right.

All their other visits were a bit more… nocturnal. Henry has no idea – nor should he – that he’s seen Regina nearly every day this week.

He half-finishes chewing, then swallows heavily, and tells the boy, “We text sometimes.”

“You do?”

“Mmhmm,” Robin confirms. “About you, most of the time – if she needs me to take you for a bit, or has a question about your lessons, or whatever. But sometimes just about… life. How our days are going, what’s on our mind. Stuff like that.”

Henry lets out a surprised little Huh, and takes a bite of his own sandwich.

He seems to leave it at that, so Robin counts his blessings, and takes another bite of his own – and then nearly chokes a bit when Henry asks, “Are you my mom’s best friend?”

#breaking in #sneak peek #breaking in sneak peek #somewhereapart writes

[montrealroleplay2]

INDIGO ADDAMS

Age & Birthdate: January 9th, 1987 (30) Birthplace: Ontario, Canada Location: Mont Royal Occupation: Personal Trainer/Self Defense Instructor at Gym Gender: Female Sexuality: Bisexual Length of Time in Montreal: From ages 0-17, and now only for a few days Faceclaim: Olivia Wilde

trigger warnings: – alcoholism, drug use, death, car accident Born in the late 80’s, Indigo is the daughter of the late Cedar Addams and Clover Addams, a couple that had met at a Woodstock festival in 1985, when her father was only 18 years old, and her mother 16. Instantly the couple had fallen in love during the rise of the War on Drugs, and found common interest of their use of marijuana. Cedar had come from a family of wealth from the city, while Clover had traveled in hippie vans and lived a nomadic lifestyle most of her life. A year later, Cedar had escaped his life in the city and joined Clover; the two were married months later and a year after that, gave birth to their first child, Indigo. In order to provide for their growing family (Indigo’s little brother Ziggy joining them only five years later), the couple began to cultivate their own hemp farm, eventually using it as a business tool to keep their bills paid when they decided to settle in a home in Mount Royal.

Growing up, Indigo would consider her childhood rather enjoyable. She grew to learn that the bloodshot eyes and genuine laughter of her parents were to be expected and not feared; and at the young age of twelve she began to smoke marijuana with the assistance of her parents. She attended music festivals and Woodstock with her parents, constantly being surrounded by good music and even better energy. By the age of thirteen, she could out-roll those more experienced than herself simply by watching them, getting used to the motions and beginning to make herself quite useful for her parents business. Despite the presence of drugs in her home, Indigo was very much in good hands with her parents and had one of the most loving childhoods a child could ask for. Once her little brother was born, Cedar and Clover bought a summer home in Washington, where the family would travel every summer in order to create memories that would last forever.

As the young girl matured, Indigo seemed to become rather popular among all genders at school. This wasn’t exactly an issue - her parents had always taught her that it wasn’t what was between a person’s legs, but rather between their ears and underneath their rib cage. Following this mentality, Indigo found herself romantically involved at the ripe young age of fourteen, and eventually losing her virginity to a girl at the age of fifteen. She’d maintained relationships throughout her life if she so desired, but Indigo much preferred to keep things casual between her partners. During her second year of University (she had been granted admission into Columbia, majoring in Psychology with a minor in History), Indigo had developed an emotional, as well as physical, connection with her Political Science professor; a man that 'just seemed to have his life together.’ It took Indigo months to pursue him, and even longer for him to respond to her advances due to his devotion to his wife and family. Eventually, Indigo had cracked him - the two continued a romantic as well as sexual relationship up until the last few months of her sophomore year, when he abruptly ended the relationship and transferred schools. Indigo never heard from him again. She was devastated. Two months following her and Liam’s breakup, Indigo’s parents were hit at an intersection by a teenage boy who had run a red light because he was looking at his cell phone. At the age of twenty, Indigo and her brother had become orphans. The boy behind the wheel was sixteen, and was given a two year sentence in a juvenile detention center, then transported to a prison for a nine year sentence for vehicular homicide, with a required six months of parole.

Indigo didn’t know what to do. Her entire world came crashing down around her, all that was left was Ziggy; who was only fifteen at the time. Quickly and in a blur, Indigo fell into alcohols trap. She’d dropped out of Columbia soon after receiving the news, moving back home to be with Ziggy - legally she wasn’t allowed to leave him now that her parents were gone. Soon, it wasn’t a normal day unless Ziggy came home from school and found his older sister blacked out in the kitchen or bathroom, or in his parents old bed. He’d spend hours cleaning vomit rather than doing homework. The amount of alcohol bottles that stacked up in the garbage or around the house was enough to warrant Indigo’s rehabilitation when CPS showed up two months later to check on how she was doing raising her little brother. Ziggy fell into the foster care system, and Indigo was sent away to a facility. Or rather, four or five. Nothing could keep her sober as the ghosts of her parents constantly haunted her - she just wanted to get away. Once he was old enough to drive, Ziggy frequently visited Indigo while she was in care. During this time Indigo also learned that she was unable to have children; she had polycystic ovary syndrome.

Eventually, by the age of twenty-two, Indigo slowly but surely began to sober up. She returned to school, remaining sober for a year and half before she had spiraled out of control yet again, her relapse including her getting behind the wheel and crashing, landing herself in the hospital in critical condition. Remaining in rehab for the remainder of her college years, Indigo completed online courses for her degree and again left rehab to join society; returning to Columbia for one last year to complete her masters before taking up a position as a health teacher at a school for misguided youth in Oregon. There, she met her best friend and current love of her life, Aspen Whitlock (soon to be Addams).

Indigo and Aspen had met by chance when Aspen had been a TA at the same school, and had been instructed to drop off a textbook in Indigo’s classroom. From there; their story wrote itself. They had agreed on something purely physical at first, but that agreement had burned into something much stronger that neither woman could explain, until those three little words fell from Indigo’s lips (and Aspen’s a few days later). Before either knew what was happening, they had left Plath Academy together, Indigo landing a job at a university in Washington. Aspen went back to school to earn her degree at the same school, and suddenly their relationship was, in a word, illegal. That didn’t stop the pair from moving in together, settling in Indigo’s family’s old summer home in Washington, along with (now) their golden retriever puppy, Pinnacle. Two years into their relationship, Indigo proposed to Aspen, and was heartbroken when the blonde rejected her; though the couple remained together.

Recently, Indigo’s Visa expired, so the couple is making their way back to Indigo’s hometown, Mont Royal, where they are settling in Indigo’s childhood home. Indigo has been one year and eleven months sober, her two year anniversary coming up on February 12th. She plans on proposing to Aspen as soon as she can, because, hey, what else does she have to lose? The couple still keeps in touch with Ziggy and his wife, Yasmin, who both live in New York while Ziggy pursues his career writing for Vogue. Indigo is personal trainer and self defense instructor, and she continues to re-cultivate her parents old hemp farm as a side business.

❝ the edge; there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

Indigo’s most prominent trait is her compassion for others; nothing matters more to her than the comfort of those around her and their well being, and this goes especially for Aspen. Many people who meet Indigo would tell others that their first impression of her was 'flirt.’ She’s incredibly confident in herself and her looks, so she knows people find her attractive and she uses it to her advantage. (This is also a trait used by her girlfriend, Aspen.) All in all, she’s a very enjoyable person to be around, especially once one gets to know her and be on her good side. For those who aren’t, Indigo is a fierce friend and lover, and will do anything for those she loves. She is not above getting revenge on people, and she’s got an incredibly wicked tongue when it comes to verbal arguments. 

#female #all #olivia wilde #mont royal

[duncepatrick92]

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#Premature Ejaculation Oils Wonderful Cool Tips #Premature Ejaculation Medicine Homeopathy

[garbageivereleasedintothevoid]

02-22-20

I just realized typing out the date that tomorrow is my mother's birthday.

Anyway. I realized something while listening to nightblossom ASMR. I... Learned at a very young age to keep my reactions silent. I cry silently usually. It is rare for me to make noise while crying. I have to feel ridiculously safe for it to happen with any regularity (Yeah, Sara heard me cry when I needed to. I know. Her again. It's always Sara.). Usually it's just me tensing up and tears. And often with me staring into empty space. Because noticably crying at home got me yelled at. And noticably crying at school got me laughed at. Or sent to the counselor. And that wasn't ideal, either.

How do you tell a school counselor the reason you're crying is because you hate yourself and you don't even know why? Especially when you put on this persona that doesn't care what anyone thinks. Unaffected, unafraid. And how do you explain that you feel like a failure because you don't have the motivation to do the things your peers do and that you feel weird calling them your peers because you're obviously not like them. You're different than them. And you know this but to everyone else, different is a dirty word. I learned to hold back noises. I just cried. If I sobbed, I sobbed silently with occasional hiccup like movements. I was a stoic. And honestly? I'm mad that no one saw that I had a deep trauma. That they ate up what my mother served and presented as the truth. These were the so called professionals? Why couldn't they see what was happening? I didn't even know what was happening but I had been tricked into believing it was normal and correct for me to be treated that way. They knew better and they did nothing.

How do you tell your new teacher at your new school that she's not seeing reality and to stop trusting her eyes. Especially when you don't even realize that yourself. How do you get help when you're being raised by someone who doesn't truly care about your emotional state of mind? And your health is only a tool to get her the attention she craves? How do you cope with that. When you can't leave? And the reality is that you believe leaving is a bad option. You think you're best off just kind of existing like this until you die. I didn't truly live until I broke free. I just kind of existed. I didn't experience anything. I just witnessed a body experiencing it. That's why I think of myself before getting kicked out as a past life. Because honestly I couldn't be more different than that person. I have all her memories and I felt all her feelings. I sensed all the things she sensed. But that wasn't me. Just something controlling my shell. I've broken free. I've taken back control more than ever before. I've made it through the hard shit. But adjusting to actual life as a regular human being has been my greatest challenge. It's foreign to me. It's basically like learning a language that uses everything the exact opposite of English. As an adult. On your own. By experience alone. Sara did help a lot with that though. Did the step by step instructions with me a lot. Super grateful for that. Like sincerely convinced me to do a lot of shit I didn't want to do.

Learning to actually effectively and healthily communicate was like... The weirdest thing. And I still struggle to understand body language quite frequently.

I didn't understand simply asking for something. My first three weeks at Ruth's House were weird because they were going to write me up for not showering and I was like "I showered though??" And they showed me footage of me going into the bathroom and coming back out like ten minutes later. And I was like "Okay? I showered. What's the problem?" And they were like "You didn't bring a towel inside." And I was like "I don't have a towel." And they were like "What? We give everyone towels when they first get here." And that story I told you about the rain and the fire alarm. I told them about that and suggested they may have forgotten in the chaos and the house manager was like "Why didn't you ask?" And I shrunk into myself and said I was sorry and that I just didn't want to bother anyone. And she dismissed the write up. Which would have resulted at the time with me being kicked out because she specifically had a zero tolerance policy on not showering which is frankly, awful. So I almost got kicked out because I was too afraid to ask for a towel and also wouldn't have used a towel anyway. I don't like towels. I don't use them very often. It's not my preference. And I showered every single day. And it was bizarre. Also I had like two days of clothes at any given time and I was only allowed a load of laundry a week. And I had to have clean clothes on. Finally was able to get Natasha to get me over to my parents to get some of my stuff from them. It was awkward. My mom played nice and pretended to care about me. But I knew it was bullshit. And I was like "She's never been that nice to me before." After Natasha and I left and she was like "Okay then. Maybe she just wants you to do well." And I just said no and dropped it. It was an act. That's how my mother is. The moment she gets alone with me, it's bitch city. But around others, she's the Pinnacle of Motherhood. "Oh, I'm just so worried about her." "My pronouns are they/them and I'm standing right here."

*disappointed scowl quickly covered up and moved past with a change of subject*

She just... She played the perfect game. She would adjust her behavior to who she was talking to. Like her behavior around you would be more strictly controlled and cheery. She'd probably laugh more and try to deflect a bit or just flat out lie to you. Her behavior around Sara would be passive aggressive bordering on hostile. Because Sara takes exactly zero shit and will say as much. She'd probably yell at Sara. Which I would then be obligated to whoop my mother's entire ass. Because it's one thing for Sara to have a random patient become angry with her. That's part of her job. But if my mother said one thing out of line, I'd ream her out. If she started yelling, I'd get physical probably. I know you know this but I feel pretty protective of Sara. If the choice between letting my mom yell at Sara and whooping my mother's ass arose, I'd whoop her ass into the ground. She'd hear some shit first but if she didn't leave, she'd be a bloody paste after I was through. Idk how to explain this but I have imagined my mother confronting Sara with extreme dread every day since I met her. Because my mom is a caustic bitch. And if she ever said anything mean to Sara I'd whoop her ass..

[universeinform-blog]

Famous parenting blogger Jill Smokler is divorcing her gay husband

New Post has been published on https://universeinform.com/2017/03/11/famous-parenting-blogger-jill-smokler-is-divorcing-her-gay-husband/

Famous parenting blogger Jill Smokler is divorcing her gay husband

Just due to the fact your soulmates doesn’t always imply you’re in love.

This blogger become the case for the founder of Horrifying Mommy blog Jill Smokler and her husband Jeff when the pair introduced they’d be gay getting a divorcing after three kids, 17 years of marriage and “23 years of togetherness”. The purpose for their divorce — Jeff is homosexual. Jill took to Fb on Saturday to announce the split explaining “that is a truth which we’ve confronted collectively for many years. And, for a totally long time, the deep love we had for each other sustained us through the greater tough moments that our increasingly more diverging sexuality created.” And, even as they not “love each other as husband and wife” the couple hoped the experience “interprets into elevating empathetic, caring and open-minded children who discover ways to include their differences … And appreciate and appreciate that which makes others one-of-a-kind, too.”

And today, her husband Jeff decided to pen his own version of their story on Jill’s blog calling the heartwarming piece ‘while Love Isn’t Enough: Divorcing My Soulmate’. Jeff gets candid about his realization he changed into homosexual “4 or 5 years in the past”, admitting he “constantly knew he turned into exceptional”. “When you meet your soulmate While you’re 18 years old — best 5 years older than my very own daughter is now — and that person is a female, you actually suppose ‘thank God then, I will be homosexual’,” he wrote. After Jeff realized he turned into a gay, he knew he had two picks, which he says should’ve been.

The first became “to die” from his “intentional neglect of his health and health” or, to pop out and “desire to be surrounded by using the affection of my pals, circle of relatives, wife, and kids”. Despite believing it to be a smooth preference, Jeff chose The first alternative for years and allowed himself to “slip into dangerous behavior and depression”. The same day of writing his piece, Jeff and Jill bumped into each different at Target where they “laughed out loud and hugged”.

The previous couple, Jeff writes, have been “a million kilos lighter from the disclosure of our fact”. “Are you as happy as I’m?” Jill asked her former accomplice as they shopped for things for his or her new houses. And, he becomes. Jill genuinely loved the story, tweeting “I Simply love this publish from my homosexual husband. (What a freaking weird sentence to write.)” The couple has also obtained an amazing quantity of help on account that their respective posts which Jill said helped her to do not forget why she “fell in love with blogging first of all”.

Jill, who is also a The big apple Instances great-selling author for her parenting books, began her Scary Mommy blog in early 2008. 9 years on, the enterprise is now one of the international’s most famous parenting websites and boasts extra than three.five million followers throughout its social media channels.

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Running a blog is one of the first-class matters that you can do to bypass your time. It is able to easily growth your know-how and understanding on a particular situation. There are so many sorts of blogs like creative, historical past and humanities blogs that you’ll write. For this motive, there are also many tricks and Hints that may be used to get your profile raised within the Blogging enterprise or marketplace. The essential in addition to powerful Suggestions for appropriate Blogging were explained as under.

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The blogs you write should be something that the readers will value. which means you have to provide them some thing in return for spending time analyzing your weblog. Your weblog will in no way be a success in case you are not offering something of the price. 5 Pinnacle Questions Earlier than Divorcing A Passive Competitive Husband

Are You Considering Divorcing Your Passive Competitive Husband?

The choice to divorce anybody is a totally hard one, however, It could be in particular hard in case you are married to a passive Aggressive. Because one day he is appearing great to you, and seems as loving and nurturing as the day you married, after which the following day, he is making your existence hell, It can make you query your selections approximately divorcing your husband.

Today, we’ll be sharing with you the Top 5 questions you need to be asking your self.

How Do You make Your selection?

The word that those questions are troubles you need to answer order to prepare for what occurs after divorcing him:

1. How a lot Ache Do You have to suffer To Have the ability To say “Forestall, No Extra”?

Within your passive Competitive marriage, you have been giving up your personal goals to fulfill your husband’s child-like need for guide and attention. Whether out of affection or worry, you discovered to Forestall speaking about the matters which you desired, as it made him jealous and indignant.

Not only that, you have lost your dignity, via having to be a mother and a wife for your husband. You’ve needed to squash your personal thoughts, critiques and ideas to hold “the man of the house” pleased and calm – it is either your dignity or peace, and peace is what maintains an own family collectively, proper?

Except that, while your dignity is trashed, and When you cross permit together with his recreation of passive aggressiveness, he forces you to surrender your self-admire, as well. Remember the fact that he’s passive Aggressive – he won’t just take your 6ba8f6984f70c7ac4038c462a50eeca3 and self-respect, he’s going to make you provide it up willingly, which is all of the More heart-breaking.

How lots Is Sufficient? Is Today Enough? whilst Will Or not it’s?

2. Wherein Is yours?

Divorcing your husband requires a little 6ba8f6984f70c7ac4038c462a50eeca3 – You need to experience that you deserve equal treatment Before disturbing it. You may not be complete of confidence for a while (it will take the time to heal), however, you could get on the right track by using searching at how your husband has harmed your and the way divorcing your husband will help you get you again.

How do you realize which you have dwindled? You don’t accept as true with your ideas or gut feelings, you look forward to permission/affirmation from others about movements, you second bet choices approximately what’s excellent for you and choose terrible alternatives, you do not think that you can make a great life for you or your kids without someone else’s assist. All of those want to be diagnosed in yourself so you can see how deeply entrenched for your husband’s recreation you’re. You want to interrupt of the mentality that “I cannot stay with out this man as my husband.” you may, and you have to reveal him that you may.

3. How are you going to Avoid Feeling Responsible?

In a wedding In which gender roles are strict, or if you come from an own family In which you were taught to be a “proper” girl, being invited to recognition on your self and your existence purposes could make your experience Guilty. They advised you that you had been on this lifestyles to take care and serve others (particularly your husband), and specializing in making yourself satisfied can experience a horrible issue to do.

In the meantime, your husband has advised that you aren’t capable of continuing to exist without others supporting you (making you a psychic cripple). he’s going to do some thing he can to make you sense like you’re “leaving behind” a “loving” husband, a “best” circle of relatives, your youngsters, your livelihood, your dignity, or some thing else Inside attain he can throw at you.

How are you going to Keep away from his guilt experience, or that of society? a good area to start is questions 1 and a couple of. Evaluate what the guilt-trippers say to what you actually realize. Is there any possible logical motive, at all, that you ought to sense Responsible for leaving an abusive husband?

4. How will you Detach From Him Before Leaving?

Here’s a risk involved with divorcing your passive Competitive husband: your husband, understanding exactly what you’ve got been ready all those years to have (a loving, knowledge associate to share lifestyles), will now promise that all with the intention to appear. And a part of you thinks: what if I leave now and he was, in the end, going to deliver the answer to my desires? it is like anticipating a capturing big name to bypass: you have not visible one, but you are haunted via the idea that one will skip simply as you shrink back.

That is what you need to be organized for. What have to your response be? Tell your self the reality. Ask your self, why is he telling me this? What has been looking ahead to, if he is honestly capable of it? Realize that his speech is a verbal mirage that he is weaving to keep you here (without requesting Extra and or leaving, Because you will now wait patiently). He knows what you need and wants flawlessly; he has been manipulating you all this time (dangling the “satisfied marriage” carrot in the front of you), telling you that he may be the character you want.

Inform your self that it is a false promise; either he can’t or will No longer supply that form of relationship.

To detach Before divorcing your husband way looking reality inside the face and Inform yourself: “Anything he says, he turned into unable to deliver Earlier than, and he cannot supply this in the future. I ought to Not be lured by means of false guarantees; he’s doing this to break my resolve, knowing rattling properly what I’ve been wishing for and looking forward to all our married lifestyles.”

5. What will My New existence Appear like?

Imagining your new existence, Pain-free, abuse-free, is extremely crucial. Perhaps you’ll pursue that university degree you in no way acquired, or the placement at paintings that calls for you to transport to a brand new metropolis. Perhaps you are going to spend Greater time with the children or with some remote family. Some thing it is that your passive Aggressive husband has been protecting you again from, now is the time to seize it and Realize that you can eventually do it.

Your husband will try to trap you lower back with the aid of conjuring up pix of your “best marriage” and the “correct lifestyles” you’ve got together, about how he’s a “superb issuer” and a “loving partner.” You can need to rehearse a speech, or deliver playing cards, or have some thing different reminder with you that will help you recognition on what you’re absolutely attempting To mention: “You have harmed me, and that I might not let you do it anymore. I cannot stay with you.”

Your street to divorcing your passive Competitive husband can be a bumpy one, and you need a manual that you could accept as true with. Talk to our marriage teach, Dr. Nora, to get personal remarks to your scenario and in-depth relationship training on how to tell your passive Aggressive husband that you want a divorce. Homosexual Courting – How to Write A Splendid And Appealing Homosexual non-public Advert

The first step is to enroll in a Homosexual Dating singles web sites. There are two outstanding free ones if you don’t need to spend any money. When you grow to be a member of 1 or two Homosexual Dating websites it’s time to create your profile.

Firstly You need to consider you are Gay private Ad as an enterprise. The reason I say this is you’re in competition with the dozens or loads or Perhaps even lots of different Gay non-public commercials in your nearby region. Making your self Appealing in your very own profile is both essential and difficult. You want to ensure you entice the men you are interested in but on the equal time, you need to make sure you repel the ones you may not be interested in.

Such a lot of singles profiles say some thing very commonplace like ‘single Homosexual guy looking for any other Homosexual man’. Yea, with a view to working, it will get you tall dark-haired Homosexual single guys, it’s going to get you short bald single men, and the whole thing in among. With any luck, you are a little More selective than that.

Understand what you need – The primary and maximum important tip is to recognize exactly what you’re looking for. Consider there’s a paranormal Gay genie status Before you and he’s going to supply your dating desire. You have to describe to him exactly who it is you’re seeking out. The Greater specific you could get the higher. if you’re having the issue with this then consider what you certainly do No longer want. Memorable display screen name – That is quite a great deal The primary thing any other Gay unmarried at a Relationship web page will see about you is your display screen call. Make your display call a combination of 3 or so words which you suppose would great describe you in three phrases. I know that can seem very tough but do your first-class. also to make your screen call less difficult to study and to make it stand out Greater make The first letter of every of those three words capitalized. So as an example BodyBuildingHunk or HikingOutdoorGuy Profile Pics – One large mistake that many unmarried Gay guys make when uploading Snap shots to their profile is importing nude or semi-nude Pictures of themselves. Is that this clearly The primary influence you want to make? Except you’re simply seeking out a one night time hookup this gets men inquisitive about you for the wrong motives. you are No longer going to discover Mr. right with this type of photo in your profile. The fine Photographs show your face sincerely conducting a hobby which you are passionate about. in case you’re into trekking and feature a very good image of you scaling the face of the mountain. In relation to personal commercials your screen call the subsequent thing they see is your photograph. When it comes to your Courting profile of image is well worth 1,000,000 words.