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so-long-soldier-writes · 5 months

Text

The Agreement

kai parker x reader | requested by @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie back when i asked for fluffy prompts bc i was having a hard month

summary: helping kai adjust to a normal life has its ups and downs, but he, of course, always wins in the end.

tags: domesticity, adjusting to normal life, lots of comfort & cuddling, gemini coven lore, minor indirect mention of abortion where kai's being a dick, but he's mostly soft in this fic, bartender!kai, mentions of alcohol, minor bar fight, minor mention of assault, accidental murder, protective!kai, protective!damon, bonnie is kinda mean in this one, damon secretly wants to be friends with kai, angst & fluff ish

word count: ~9.9k

a/n: this is so cheesy and somewhat choppy but bare with me 😅

You, Damon, and Bonnie have made a deal. Neither will kill Kai, as long as you can help the witch settle into a new life in Mystic Falls. Those are the terms made, and boy, are they hard to get.

“You can’t fix him, Y/N. He’s beyond fucked up,” Bonnie scoffs, “and I don’t want to be partly responsible if I were to make some crazy deal with you that goes wrong.”

“I just want him to try and have a normal life, Bon. He spent twenty years in an abusive household and another twenty years in isolation. He has no idea what normalcy is.”

“By the sound of that, he’s too far gone for you to even try.”

“Just give me a chance to work with him!”

“I don’t even like you being with him! He’s going to hurt you, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I haven’t given him a reason to hurt me, Bon.”

“He doesn’t need a reason. He just does things.”

“Well, in that case, I’ve given him a reason not to hurt me. I’m the only one willing to try and help him adjust.”

“Y/N-”

“I see the point you’re making, Y/N,” Damon interrupts his best friend, “but are you really going to put all this work in for him? Seriously?”

“Yes! I don’t get why you guys are so against this. I’m helping you out; I’m giving you one less person to worry about that could raise hell in this town.”

“He already has-”

“Bonnie, please.”

“It would be easier to just kill him.”

“Bonnie!”

“Look at him! He’s plotting right now! No one is quiet for that long unless they’re plotting something.”

You sigh and turn to follow her gaze. Kai is sitting on a barstool, in the room of the boarding house that’s surrounded by windows, watching snow fall.

“He’s just observing!”

“Sure he is.”

“And he’s probably trying to tune out this conversation, too. I’d be, if people were talking about me, and two of them wanted to kill me.”

Bonnie gives you a hard glare.

“Four months,” Damon says suddenly.

“What?”

“You have four months to get him settled.”

“Don’t give me a deadline. It took you longer than four months to stop killing people when you got back to town. And the only reason you did is because Elena finally fell for you. But then every time she dumps you, you kill people again.”

“Thanks for the summary.”

“My point is, I might need longer than four months. I can start with the killing stuff first, teach him he can’t do that, but getting him on his feet might be some work.”

“Easy. Pull the chair out, he’ll figure it out.”

“Damon-”

“I know what you meant. Fine. Six months max. If he’s still (A) killing people, (B) in my house every time I come down for a cup of coffee, or (C) a complete and utter basket-case, by that time, then he’s,” Damon makes the gesture of a throat being slit, “done. No more killing, no more kidnapping, no more terrorizing. Got it?”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes at his insistent face. “Got it.”

“In return, I, nor Bonnie, will kill him unless you take longer or he goes off the rails.”

“You guys do you know you can’t kill him, right? If he dies, so does Jo, so does Liv. Alaric will never speak to you ever again.”

Damon hesitates, but Bonnie already seemed to have an answer to that prepared. “Don’t think I won’t toss him back into 1994, or make a new prison world entirely, if I need to.”

“Bonnie-”

“But if you think you have him under control, you don’t need to worry about that now, do you?”

You sigh, then look over to Kai. He’s still turned towards the window, but you don’t doubt he’s listening. “No, I don’t.” You straighten your posture. “And you won’t need to worry about him, either.”

“Alright, Ms. Confident,” Damon mocks, “guess we have a deal. You have six months to get that weasel somehow adjusted to real life, and we won’t kill him, or throw him in a prison world.”

“Nor will you antagonize him for fun, Damon, which I know you like to do.”

“I do not-”

“Mason Lockwood. John Gilbert. T-”

“Alright! Fine. Bonnie and I will stay out of your way while you work on your little project.”

“I’m going to prove to you he can be good. Just mind your own business while I do it.”

“Fine.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

Two minutes later, you gather Kai and hurry out the door.

“Did you hear all that?”

“Yeah. I’m on thin fucking ice.”

“Mhm.” You then grab his arm before he can slip on real ice right outside the boarding house.

The pair gave you a rather strict set of rules to follow, and Kai’s surprised you didn’t give up on him just hearing the terms. He makes sure to thank you on your way to the Grill, where you’re headed for coffee. He hopes he sounds genuine, but still tends to struggle with that stuff sometimes. You, being the loving person you are, give him a smile and a kiss to the cheek in return. You then walk hand-in-hand to the restaurant, where you plan to carefully explain a few places you’ll help him start.

Two coffees and a lava cake later, you catch his attention.

“So, this is a bad example.”

“What do you mean?” He looks up at you, chocolate syrup dripping from the side of his lip.

You reach out to wipe it off, then lick it off your own finger. Kai then wipes off the rest with his napkin, the little that you missed. He smiles at your lack of hesitancy to reach out to him.

“It’s like, five o’clock-ish, and our dinner shouldn’t be dessert-”

“This is your influence. I fed myself properly when I was locked up.”

“Oh really?” You ask with a sarcastic tone.

“Yeah, actually, I did. And in fact, the first time I met you, you were in this very same seat, with Caroline, eating a lava cake.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Fine.”

He smirks at his win.

“So you cook. You need somewhere to do it.”

“Like?”

“An apartment, maybe?”

“I can just move in with you.”

You bite your lip. You love Kai, but you’ve only been dating for three months. Of course, he’s spent days and slept over before, but it might be too early for the ‘moving in together’ stage. “You could,” you start, “or we could find you an apartment close-by. So you can get a little bit of autonomy, figure things out for yourself. Have a place to get away, if you need.”

“I don’t think I’d need to get away from you,” he chuckles.

“I certainly hope you won’t, but, I don’t know, I think it’ll be good for you to have your own place. Just for a little while.”

“Do you not want to live with me?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying! I’d love to, but it might be just a little too early for that. And I really think you’d benefit from having your own space. I’ll help pay rent for the first few months. Well, unless you want to go to college? Live in a dorm?”

“At Whitmore?”

“Anywhere.”

“But you live here.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not in college.”

“No.” You’re not sure where he’s taking this.

“I don’t want to be away from you. I don’t even want to live away from you.”

“You live away from me now.”

“That’s different. At least in the boarding house, there’s people.”

“People who have no qualms about killing you, Kai. What’s this actually about?”

“I don’t want to be alone!” He finally admits. A few people look over from the shout, but you wave them off. “I was alone for eighteen years, I can’t take it anymore!”

“Kai, there are other people in apartments, too.”

“But not in the same room! They’re all in locked doors. I’ve seen plenty of shows. Besides, what if the time away makes you not want to be with me anymore?”

“What?!” You ask, genuinely surprised.

“You’re the only person that cares about me. What if space apart makes you not?”

“Baby, that’s not going to happen. I’m not going to stop loving you just because you move into an apartment.” You lower your voice, recognizing your conversation has an audience of three old men. “We’re apart now,” you repeat, “and I still love you. A couple minutes apart, even less time than our distance now, isn’t going to change that.”

“I still don’t want to be alone, Y/N.”

“Tell you what… we’ll find you one in the same building that I’m in, maybe even the same floor. We’ll be two minutes apart at most. You can come find me at any time; I’ll give you a key.” You reach out to take his hand. “When we’re dating for longer, we can talk about moving in together, but for now, I really want you to try living on your own. Please? We have to prove to Damon and Bon that you can, or you know what they’ll do. Do it for me, so I can keep you safe, okay?”

Kai bites his lip. “Okay. Same floor.”

“I think the woman across the hall is moving out anyway.”

He nods.

“Besides, I don’t want you too far from me, either.” You wink. “Who else is going to cook for me?”

He smiles at your first comment, but at the second, pushes your hand playfully. “See, you admit I can cook.”

“Never said you couldn’t!” You pause. “So that’s a definite ‘no’ on the college thing?”

He nods. “First of all, you wouldn’t be there. Second, I don’t care for the college experience that’s so hyped up in movies. Third, I’ve read thousands of books while being locked up. If I wanted to study one thing really intently, I either already have, or I would’ve.”

“Okay then.” Obviously, his mind is made up. “Sounds good.”

You both eat a few more bites of the cake, then he crinkles his nose. “I know you’re gonna say it sooner or later, so I might as well ask now… are you gonna make me get a job?”

The cynical look on his face makes you want to laugh, but you manage to hold it in. “Yep.”

“Crap.”

“It doesn’t have to be something crazy. Hell, you could work here. Be a bartender or something.”

“Do I have to work with people?”

“I thought you just said you want to be around people?”

“Not stupid people, though. Y’know, like the what-you-call-Karen types that would make me want to wring their neck.”

You chuckle. “Baby, that’s a type of person difficult to avoid. Any job is gonna have its fair share of annoying people. Unless you deliver mail, or something.”

“What’s that require?”

“Valid driver’s license.”

“I have one of those.”

“Valid?”

“Made it myself, but it got me through airport security.”

You sigh. “Can you drive?”

“Yes. Taught myself.”

“Would you pass a test?”

“I don’t know. But I drove BonBon from Mystic Falls to Portland without killing her.”

“Lower your voice when you say stuff like that!” You warn again, waving off a man.

Kai seems to ignore you. “Though half of that trip, we did fly…”

“You flew a plane?”

“Had eighteen years to learn!”

“Okay. Let’s get off this topic. You spend so much time in this grill, it might be a good place to start. As long as you show up, do your best, and don’t,” you lower your own voice, “spike people’s drinks for fun-”

“I would never!” He fakes offense.

“-I think you’d be good.”

The boy takes a sip of his coffee. “Fine. Just for you, I’ll try it.”

“Great! I’ll talk to Matt.”

“Ugh.”

“And don’t mention that you killed the manager, because they never found out who did that.”

“Noted.”

“And he’s besties with the Sheriff.”

“Great. You don’t want me to work here for an extra set of eyes on me, do you?”

“No, ‘course not. You’re my sole responsibility, I don’t want Matt involved at all. I just think you’d be a good bartender.”

“Okay.”

“And you like it here, so you might be more comfortable here.”

“What are the odds you could work here, too?”

“I have a job.”

“You could quit it and work here.”

“Kai…”

“Fine. Talk to Matt.”

“Okay.” You stand up to find the other boy. “Stay here.” You kiss his head as you pass him, then head to the bar.

Kai stares into his coffee while you wait by the bar. He likes the Grill, but doesn’t know about working in it. The customers around him are often annoying, and he doubts his ability to remain patient with them. Still, you made a deal to keep him safe, and if his two little prison world friends are going to uphold their end, the two of you have to keep yours. He sighs, then turns to find you. You’ve caught hold of Matt, but as you seem to explain the situation, he rolls his eyes. Kai bites his lip. He has to make this work, for you, even if he doubts his own ability to fit into the world.

As you turn to look at him, he looks away abruptly. A minute later, you return to your seat.

“How’d it go?”

“He’s gonna give you a chance… on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“If I’ll work here, too.”

The boy’s eyes light up. “Really? I thought you said I should do it myself.”

“Well then scratch that. It’ll be more fun together anyway.”

Kai smiles before growing serious again. “So apartment, job… anything else to cover?”

You’re quiet for a moment. There’s a lot more to cover, but you’ve just tackled two of the biggest factors when it comes to normalcy, and you don’t want to overload the poor boy. So instead of bringing anything else up, you shrug. “We can tackle it later. For now, let’s finish this cake.”

Grateful, he nods. He knows, not only from Bonnie and Damon, that there’s a lot more expected of him than just housing and working. He’s lucky he has someone that understands that. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you reply back.

*****

For the next couple nights, Kai stays with you until you can secure a room for him in your apartment complex. Turns out Ms. Mary White had moved out just recently - wanted to find a complex with fewer stairs - and Kai would be able to move in by the end of the week.

Of course, that process doesn’t come without its own issues. A key piece of information required for renting an apartment is proof of one’s identity. When Kai is asked to present his, he stares blankly at your landlord.

“Uh, I think my father has it in the attic of my childhood home.”

“Well can you call him?”

“He probably burned it,” Kai mutters.

Your landlord’s eyes quickly widen at the same time yours do. Your boyfriend’s blunt honesty is quite fatal for the situation; your landlord does not need to know about his abusive childhood, nor the crimes Kai had committed over twenty years ago. One Google search could quite possibly open a whole can of worms you aren’t ready to contain.

In the following two seconds after that, you dial Caroline’s number.

Luckily, the vampire comes to your aid. She compels the man into forgetting both the conversation, and his need for any proof of identity. She seals his spot in the apartment, and simultaneously, in his new life.

As Caroline then helps the two of you settle in, Kai catches her attention.

“Why did you help me?”

The blonde faces him. “Well… for one, Y/N cares about you. If she sees good in you, and the ability to change, to be better, then I trust her. Two, I do owe you for helping my mom. She’s healing, slowly, ever since you siphoned the vampire’s blood out of her system, and I never fully thanked you for that. And third… I know someone like you. Someone who came to Mystic Falls, and wrecked absolute havoc, but for some reason, he had a soft spot for me. I was used in all of the plans they would make to distract or ‘neutralize’ him, and with time, it worked. He got better. He’s an ally now. A friend, even.”

“So Y/N is like you, and he’s kinda like me. You see that happening? You can see me getting better?”

“Klaus did.”

Kai swallows. It means a lot to hear someone other than Y/N have faith in him. “Thank you.”

“All I’m saying is prove them wrong. Damon’s an ass sometimes. And remember, he was the villain too, a while back.”

“I heard some stories from them back in the prison world.”

“Well they probably didn’t even cover half the stuff he did. Trust me, Damon has no room to judge.”

Kai nods.

“Text me if you guys need help with anything else. Kai, good luck. Treat Y/N well.” With a smile, she’s gone.

“Klaus,” Kai repeats.

“You’re not half as bad as Klaus,” you inform him, “killing-wise, I mean. That thing is a thousand years old and has killed probably five times more people than his age.”

“She said he got better.”

“He did. Still kills, obviously, but he is a friend to us now.”

He nods again, processing the information without replying.

You spend the rest of the evening settling him in with the little stuff he has. Most of his belongings are clothes, and whatever else is either from 1994 or stolen somewhere along the way. You have some extra furniture in your apartment, and earlier that day, bought him a comforter. It’s enough to live, and he seems fine with it. Besides, you both know he’ll be in your apartment most of the time, anyway.

*****

A couple days after that, you start your new jobs at The Grill. You’re only part time, considering you’re already a dedicated employee elsewhere, and Matt’s fine with that as long as you “watch him” at least most of the time. The boy is clearly not excited about the reformed serial killer joining his work team, but at the same time, Matt’s not one to turn down anyone looking for a fresh start.

At first, he keeps Kai in the back, away from people. A smart move while he still adjusts. He’s mostly tasked with filling drink orders and cleaning up, and only after he’s been working in the restaurant environment for a week is he actually allowed to hand people their orders. So far, he’s incident-free, but you can tell Matt is just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

His heart almost stops the day he sees Damon enter on a day he has Kai serving drinks.

Matt rushes to the back, trying to find you to take over before the vampire can saunter over to the bar.

“Bourbon. Neat.” Damon says to no one in particular.

Kai swallows hard at the sound of the man’s voice, but then stands up to pour him the drink. As he passes the glass to him, Damon’s attention turns from the distant game of billiards to the unidentified bartender.

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise. “It’s you.”

“Yep, I am working here now.” Kai enunciates every word, still in disbelief that he does.

“Gotta say I’m shocked. Had any urges to kill anyone yet?”

“No, it’s been mostly tame. There was one lady the other day who was so drunk, she fell out of her chair, but that was more amusing than anything else.”

Damon snorts. Part of him wishes he could have witnessed that, but he’ll be damned if he admits that to Kai. “And her inconsiderate ways didn’t have you tempted to toss a glass at her head? Maybe you are improving.”

Kai bites his tongue. He knows Damon’s just trying to get under his skin, and the bar is too busy for him to react. Besides, one wrong move and the vampire will call off their deal.

Luckily, a heartbeat later, you pop around the corner from the kitchen.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Your little pet served a drink.” He takes a sip. “Ten points to Slytherin for getting my order correct.”

“Be nice, Damon. I’ve never seen you attempt to get a job.”

“Why would I need a job? I’m a vampire, if you haven’t forgotten. I don’t need money, and I don’t need to buy food-”

“Because you just eat people? Right. And you do buy food, let me remind you, and drinks, on a daily basis, which requires money. But since your nephew - whom you killed - was rich, you don’t need to work for anything. So no, you don’t need a job, but if you were born into a less rich family, you’d certainly need to, to support your hobbies.”

“Touché.”

You shrug. “I’m just sayin’.”

Damon glares at you, sips the rest down in one gulp, then spins the glass back to Kai. “Refill.”

Knowing you’ve won, you give your boyfriend a kiss to the cheek as he pours another glass. You’re halfway back to the kitchen when Damon clears his throat,

“I could report you for PDA.”

“Try me.”

He doesn’t.

That night, you praise your boyfriend for keeping his cool under the unexpected presence of Damon. Truth be told, you hadn’t even considered the man’s frequency at the restaurant when you spoke out for Kai to work there; you only thought about where he’d be most comfortable. Kai admitted he started pushing buttons, but your interference diffused the situation immediately. You give him a kiss, then snuggle into his chest, legs over his as you sit in his lap. Kai grabs you before you can get too comfortable, turning your cuddling into a make-out session. Unlike his shift at the bar earlier, things escalate pretty quickly.

*****

Weeks pass of coaxing Kai into a normal life. He’s doing well despite the cards handed to him, and you’re sure to tell him how proud you are each night. There have been a few instances where he’s yelled at customers who’ve yelled at him, and then he had to muster up an apology to them. On two occasions, you’ve traded places with him, seeing either Damon or a crowd of college kids approaching the bar. But though he’s had a few mistakes, he’s received compliments, too.

One woman, a regular, and very picky about her cocktails, told him she’s impressed with his ability, especially given his age, and that he makes some of the best drinks she’s had. She always leaves a good tip, and has made sure to tell the manager what she said to him.

Kai only gave a dimpled smile and a polite, “thank you,” and decided not to tell her he’s actually in his forties, and had nothing better to do for eighteen years than craft cocktails.

“See,” you then said to him, “I knew you’d be a good bartender. I didn’t even know you could make cocktails.”

“I couldn’t tell if she was hitting on me by the end of the night,” is all he replies.

You scrunch your eyebrows, but then widen your eyes at the fifty percent tip. “Yeah, maybe just a little.”

*****

As much progress as he’s made, he’s not done yet. Kai’s had about three months of getting on his feet, and now he has to address a big issue that both of you have been avoiding. On a calm night neither of you had work, you decide it’s now or never to bring it up.

So, laying across his lap again, you fiddle with the ring on his finger as a show you’re half-watching runs in the background. Tension builds in your shoulders as you try to form a good question. Within minutes, he can tell something’s up with you.

“What?”

“I have something to say, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Spill.”

“So… You’ve fought hard against the fate chosen for you by your father. He didn’t think you were capable of leading the coven, so he cast you out. Made you feel like you were less of a person; of a witch, because of the way you were born.”

“Point?”

“Against all odds, you came out on top. You broke down the barriers, literally and physically, and became the leader. Now,” you pause, “you gotta lead.”

Kai swallows as if he hadn’t anticipated this aspect of his choices. That, or he never expected to get this far, and therefore, never thought about any way he’d do it. “I am,” he finally says.

“How?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“You’re telling me your father never had any specific duties he’d have to perform as leader? No responsibilities? No expectations? Nothing?”

“He had to find a wife and have a set of twins.”

“Kai-”

“I know what you mean,” he sighs. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to lead a coven! What the hell do they do? Do I have to feed them? Give them water?”

“They’re not plants, Kai. Th-”

“I know!” He pauses the TV, but luckily doesn’t try to get off the couch. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that myself. I saw my dad do some of it; he’d go to meetings, and set the standards, and was there to congratulate every stupid baby ever born-”

“Kai,” you warn.

“Sorry. I just… they hate me. How am I supposed to lead them when they hate me, and frankly, I hate them, too.”

“You’re just gonna have to do your best. Don’t do exactly what your father did, but use his leadership as a guideline - whether that's what to do or what to not do, that’s your choice. Try to co-exist with them, and follow whatever rules are absolutely required.”

He bites his cheek. “Will you help me?”

“Of course.” You kiss the side of his face he’s biting to make him let go. “I told you before, I’m always gonna be here for you. If that includes helping you make decisions in regards to your crazy coven, then so be it.”

*****

You’ve never seen anyone from his coven aside from his immediate family, so seeing more of the group that you’d ever anticipated was terrifying, to say the least. The whole plane trip across the country, you’re both having trouble sitting still. As he consumes mini pretzels at an abnormal rate, your tapping foot is probably peeving the passengers around you. Still, he tries his best to prepare you for what den of lions you’re about to face.

“So… meetings are usually just comprised of “elders” and their wives, plus anybody else deemed important enough to attend, or anyone who has something important to share. The elders are the decision makers, and now that includes my dad - elderly, and a past leader.” You snort at his choice of word, but then remember Kai’s actual age and realize the man probably is elderly. “So he’ll certainly be there. Jakob’s had it out for me since day one. I’m assuming he’s still alive, and he’ll be filled with piss and vinegar to see me in person. Leon’s fine. He carries the siphon gene and hasn’t had children because of it. His great uncle is rotting in a prison world somewhere, and I only know that from reading the journals from when I was in ‘94. Patrice is… unimportant,” he says, not knowing what else to say about her.

“Jeez… is anyone in your family actually pleasant?”

“My Aunt Maisie.”

“Oh, so one person.”

He nods. “She’s where Jo got ‘Laughlin’ from. You’d think if she was trying to hide from me, she wouldn’t pick the one name I’d immediately recognize.” He doesn’t say anything else on the matter, but there’s clearly more to it. You don’t push. His childhood isn’t something he wants to relive, and going to this meeting is doing exactly that. Instead, you change the topic.

“So I got us a hotel for the night, and a flight back the next morning. Partly because I know you don’t want to be here, and to be honest, I don’t want to be here, either. And, partly, because when you took off yesterday to prepare for this stupid thing, Matt texted and said Jenny missed your cocktails.”

The comment makes him smile. Even though the grill regular definitely flirts with him most nights, he’s come to enjoy her presence.

“Though I told him you’d need tomorrow night off, too, because this is going to be mentally draining, on top of the plane trip that crosses several time zones. And maybe Saturday, also.”

“Thank you,” he says genuinely, relieved that you understand him in such a way. He leans over to kiss you five seconds before the plane hits turbulence.

*****

On top of the four elders Kai mentioned, his father included, six others were also in attendance. Three were present when he was a kid, though Kai deemed them of lesser importance - they’d rarely speak, and usually only vote - and three had been elected sometime post-1994. He knows them from biannual gatherings and special occasions, but had never really spoken to them. And that reason is, of course, because he was rarely allowed out of his room for those occasions.

When he first enters the room and meets their eyes, small chatter fades to complete silence. Breaths are held as they look the boy up and down. They stare at him, then at you, and a little at your clasped hands. One-by-one, they address him, all by his full name, making his eyes twitch.

Joshua is the last of the elders to greet the new leader, being the most recent to join the council. He looks down disapprovingly before finally spitting a welcome.

“Where’s A-” Joshua turns on his heels and walks away before Kai can ask the question.

His sister then stands before him. “Aunt Maisie passed away in ‘99.”

Kai’s throat dries. “Why are you here?”

“I’m carrying the next set of twins, of course I’d be here.”

You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. He bites back a reply, but you can feel the anger coursing through his body.

Nothing important happens in the actual meeting. Jakob, as Kai predicted, shouts most of the time at no one in particular. Everyone knows he’s mad at Joshua, though, and you later learn that he originally wanted to kill the siphon boy at a mere eight years old. This time, Kai squeezes your hand to calm you.

A couple minutes is spent talking about the future of the coven. Patrice points out that although Jo is pregnant, her husband isn’t the leader. Something in her tone hints that the leader’s girlfriend should be the one to be pregnant and to bear the next set, but she’s instantly overridden by everyone shushing her about not wanting to continue the siphon, nor Kai in particular’s, direct bloodline.

In summary, you and Kai flew all the way to Portland just to be annoyed for three hours. That night, you cuddled him on the hotel bed, massaging your hands through his hair. He put up a strong, confident front to prove his ability to lead, but melted the moment you coaxed him into your arms in the privacy of the room. He’s quiet for a long time, and you’re the one that finally breaks the silence.

“I’m proud of you.”

His shoulders relax but tone hardens. “Why?” He wants to believe you, but doubts himself so much that he can’t yet.

“Because you stood up to them by coming here. You’re making an effort to prove your worth to them. Not like you should have to do that, but they’re a bunch of assholes who think you do. But regardless of that, too, it took a lot of strength to face the people who’ve done nothing but cause you pain. You handled both Jo’s and Jakob’s hostility well.”

He exhales, racing mind beginning to ease. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course. Thank you for braving this step and showing them you’re more than capable to lead.”

“They’ll never think I am.”

“That doesn’t matter. They have no say in it; you’re already doing it.”

“For twenty-two years. Until whatever is germinating in my sister’s womb pops out.”

You bite your cheek to keep from laughing. His back rests against your chest, though, and there’s no way he didn’t feel at least a chuckle. “Well then that means we have twenty-two years to figure out something else instead.”

“Pennyroyal tea?”

“No!” You say quickly, unsure if he’s joking or not. “I mean more like, I don’t know, whatever that one woman was saying.”

It takes him a moment, but then his eyes narrow. “You want to have twins?”

“Better me than Jo to have the set that will eventually take over. Even if I’m a couple years behind, they’ll have to accept the current leader’s set over his sister’s, right?”

Kai shrugs, having no idea. It sounds true, given what was hinted before the elder was shushed, but he doesn’t know. Regardless of the answer, he sighs. “You wouldn’t want that kind of tie to my coven.”

“I’m dating you, I kinda already have it.”

“Yeah, but that level of ‘in it’ is something you can’t get out of.”

“I’d do it for you.”

He swears his heart stops. You would marry into his coven and produce a set of in-line twins just for him. Kai is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you’re dating him, not to mention you’d suffer a coven meeting for him, but to also go that far… just because you love him? He can’t process it.

He wonders… maybe, he misheard you. “Did you say-” When he turns to face you, he realizes you’ve fallen asleep. Your hands remain to hold him, though you’re no longer playing with his hair. He watches your breathing for a moment, still bewildered. At some point, though, his racing mind and tired eyes drive him to exhaustion, and he finally falls asleep in your arms.

*****

Joshua’s presence at your terminal prevented you from never mentioning the conversation, as you were already late to catch your plane. The salt and pepper haired man had a few last, weak words for his son, as he tried to thank him for attending the meeting, but still shame him for winning the merge at the same time. When he made a spiral hand gesture in search of the right thing to say for the fifth time, you snapped your fingers to speed up the process, and finally then did he spit out something half-meaningful. You got on your plane with two minutes to spare and had, for the time being, completely forgotten about your earlier talk.

*****

You’re nearing the fifth month mark in your agreement with Damon and Bonnie, but to be honest, you aren’t worried about it one bit. They have no reason to punish Kai; he’s done nothing but make good progress since the deal was made.

That is, until one night at The Mystic Grill goes horribly wrong.

*****

A rather impatient series of knocks has you opening the door with your eyes rolling.

“What now?” You swing it open, expecting the pizza man. The last time, the man was so terrified of the neighbor’s dog that was barking, he was quick to hand it over and leave, forgetting his tip in the process. “I promise, the dog isn’t getting out. He’s just-”

Instead, Damon stands on the other side. “What dog? I’m not-”

“No.” You try to close it, but he stops it with his foot.

“Wait, Y/N.”

“What do you want?”

“Can’t just check up on a friend?”

“I still have time to work with Kai. And for your information, he’s doing great. We don’t need your commentary.”

“I’m just curious.” He tries to look past your shoulder into the room. “Where is the little weasel?” Unfortunately, he spots him on the couch and offers a wave.

“He has his own place down the hall, we’re just having dinner together. Got a problem with it?”

“Kai Parker has his own apartment? Wow!”

“Shut up, Damon. And why are you really here?”

“Jo told Alaric, who told me, that Kai’s been going to coven meetings lately.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Just seeing if it’s true! So what made him go?”

“He’s the leader; he’s taking up the responsibility. Like a leader does.”

He scoffs. “No influence from you?”

“Of course I’m helping him, but I’m not making decisions for him.”

“Really? This apartment, a job at the grill, being there for his family, that’s not you telling him what to do?”

“If didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t. I don’t know if you know him, but Kai doesn’t do anything unless he wants to. Sure I’m guiding him, but he has the ultimate say in all of these decisions.”

“Yeah, except if he doesn’t follow the rules, we’re gonna kill him.”

“If you can catch him,” you challenge, “because if Kai decides he doesn’t want this life, I’m prepared to run with him.” You watch Damon’s face before continuing. “But the thing is - he does. He does want to fit in, and he does want his life to have meaning, and he doesn’t want to waste it. Contrary to what you all think, he’s really trying to start something here.” Damon stares at you. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d butt out and go away.”

The man clicks his tongue, but then ultimately leaves. “See you later, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you mutter, joining him on the couch.

“You didn’t mention the guy at the bar.”

“Didn’t seem relevant. Damon makes mistakes, too.”

“What if he finds out?”

“I won’t let him hurt you. You’ve been making such good progress; you’ve been a downright angel most of the time. One bar fight in my defense isn’t going to erase all that.”

“Y/N, I killed him. He’s going to send me back to a prison world. I can’t go back there.”

You take his shoulders gently and pull him down into your lap. “He’s not going to hurt you, Kai. I promise. Rest your little head, okay?”

He nods. “And you’re sure you’ll leave with me if it comes to that?”

After the incident, he had a meltdown, fearing for his life, and almost preparing for Bonnie to burst through the door and send him away. You promised that if she were to come for him, you’d abandon this life and run with him, even if that dissolves the terms of your agreement with the pair. You had then admitted, too, that if Kai decides he doesn’t adapt well to domestic life, even without the incident that had occurred, you’re prepared to leave with him. Damon knowing that little contingency plan probably wasn’t the best, but you doubt the man believes you anyway.

“Of course. I promise.” You assure him.

*****

At nearly midnight, one week later, you hear a banging across the hall. After a moment, you poke your head out and see Damon at your door.

“The fuck do you want?”

“I thought this was your door?”

“I’m with Kai.”

“Ooh, in his apartment?”

“Did you think I was lying?”

He shrugs. “A little.”

“What do you want, Damon?”

He comes up to you with a piece of paper in his hand. He reads, “obituary of forty-two year old Patrick Johnson. Died in a bar fight last week. Split his head against the countertop. No arrests have been made,” he looks up, “happened at the grill.”

“So?”

“Sound familiar?”

“No arrests have been made.”

“Well I didn’t do it. Stefan didn’t do it. It could’ve only been Enzo, or your little “reformed” sociopath in there, and I think we both know who’s to blame.” You roll your eyes. “It’s easier to just tell the truth, sweetheart.”

“So what if it was? What are you gonna do? You’re not invited in; you can’t touch him.”

“Just tell me what happened, Y/N.” He makes a push against the boundary, but it doesn’t budge. “Look, Bonnie hasn’t seen this yet. Just tell me, and I can make it go away.”

“Why would you do that?”

“The goodness of my heart?” You snort. “Come on, Y/N.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I can go show this to her then,” he points his thumb in the other direction, “because I can promise you who she’ll point the first finger at, and considering Enzo’s been so busy sticking his nose in my brother’s business lately, odds aren’t in your favor.”

You hesitate. “Fine.”

Kai watches from the couch with bated breath. Damon gives him a little wave as he notices him. “Hello, Malachai.” You glare at the man, who then half-apologizes. “Sorry. Explain.”

“There was a fight one night when we weren't working. Matt wasn’t working either. Kai had nothing to do with starting the fight, but unfortunately, we were sitting right in the middle of it. We got up to leave, but then some man grabbed me and reached down my shirt, and Kai lost his cool.”

“Details, please.”

“He pushed him into the bar but the man kept fighting back. He spit in Kai’s face and made attempts to pull at his clothes. All the while, yelling all this shit about what he wanted to do to me, screaming profanities. Made comments about other women, too, but when he specified that he had been watching me all night and was waiting for Kai to leave, Kai pushed his head down into the countertop. He still fought. After a couple of blows to the counter, we heard a crack. It wasn’t his fault, Damon, don’t hurt him, please.”

The man stares for a moment, then at Kai. “Y’know… I’m surprised you even made it this far. I had no faith in you.”

“Damon-”

“But, I have to say, I’m impressed by your progress. Y/N here wants you to be better, and clearly you love her enough to be better for her.”

“He’s doing it for himself, too, Damon. All he’s ever wanted is to be accepted, and-”

“Save the speech. I admire the progress you’ve made, and I’d honestly hate for all of Y/N’s hard work to go to waste. Now, Bonnie hasn’t seen this yet, and you’ve toned down your menacing almost one hundred percent, and I can agree that this incident isn’t your fault. So, if you promise not to repeat it, and don’t ever speak a word of this to Bonnie-”

“She doesn’t even talk to me anymore.”

“-we don’t have to let her know it happened. I’ll go Liz, clear your name from it. She can put the blame on someone else or claim it was an accident. Just tell me that you won’t let this happen again.”

Now you’re the one staring at Damon, wide-eyed with surprise. “I-I promise.”

Kai nods, agreeing. “I didn’t mean to get in a fight, and I certainly didn’t mean to kill him. I just couldn’t let it go and he wouldn’t stop.”

“I’d do the same if it were Elena. Hell, I’d do it for Y/N, too. What’s one less douchebag in this world?”

The boy half-smiles. “Hey, Damon?”

“What?”

“If Bonnie does find out, or if she has a suspicion, what do we do?”

He shrugs. “Tell her what you told me. He wouldn’t stop. It was an accident. You were protecting Y/N.” Damon looks at you. “I know you two used to be close, so even if she’s mad about it, she’ll understand. I won’t let her do anything in terms of the agreement, I’ll, as Elijah always says,” he says with a smirk, “keep my word. And hey, you might even win brownie points for defending her.”

“Thank you.”

“Just don’t let it happen again. Next time someone starts shit, call me to compel them away, or call Liz.”

“Okay,” you reply.

“Speaking of compulsion,” he adds, “how’d you get this apartment?”

You’re quiet for a moment, then admit, “Caroline helped.” He laughs. “Don’t tell Bonnie.”

Damon puts his hands up as if to surrender. “Not a peep.”

“She said I remind her of someone named Klaus,” Kai offers.

“Ah. Yes! Baby Klaus.”

You shake your head, offended. “Not at all!”

“I’m kidding!”

“You’re a jerk.”

“All kidding, sourpuss. Alright, off to Liz.”

“Thank you again.”

“Hm. Be good.”

The death was ruled an accident the next day.

*****

Six months on the dot, Damon summons you and Bonnie back to the boarding house to rule if Kai can stay, or if Bonnie can boot him back to a prison world. The boy is nervous, despite you promising him he has nothing to fear. If anything, she should be the one anxious, upset she can’t go through with her little plan to trap him again.

The two of you show up right on time, and to your surprise, Elena’s the one to open the door.

“Hi,” she smiles. You two haven’t seen much of each other lately. Bonnie’s been adamant about her friends avoiding both you and The Grill, and many of their nights have been spent at the Scull Bar instead.

“Hi,” you greet her back. Kai gives her a smile, too, but nervousness twitches at the tip of his lips.

“I’ve been seeing the other Parker so much, it’s refreshing to see a different one,” she references Liv and her salty-ass attitude. “Hey, Damon’s said you make a mean cocktail. Put it to the test?”

Damon’s been keeping a secret eye on Kai and reporting everything back to his girlfriend. She wants to believe he’s changed, Caroline, too, and asks the question as a small way to test it. When he gives her a more confident smile and steps inside the house, she takes it as a good sign.

You follow them inside.

“Y/N!” Damon welcomes, arms open wide. He pulls you into an unexpected hug, but then whispers in your ear, “careful, she’s bitter.” The hug suddenly makes sense, and you thank him for the warning before hugging back. “And where’s the little weasel?”

“In the kitchen with Elena. She wanted a cocktail.”

“Ah. I may have told her he’s built up a little fanbase at The Grill. Jenny the Drunk is no longer his biggest tipper.”

“So I’ve heard. All the milfs want my man.”

“Well, he is closer in age to them than you.”

“Shut up.”

“Y/N,” Bonnie’s voice interrupts your banter. She smiles at you from afar, eyes clouded with mixed emotions.

“Hi,” you reply with a similar tone. Not cold, but not exactly warm, either. “How’ve you been?”

“Okay. Been studying a lot. Been helping Jo with… I’ve been busy.”

You nod. “She’s close.”

“Yeah. You know?”

“She stopped coming to meetings.”

“Meetings…?”

“Coven meetings. They’re in Portland, so we have to fly, and she’d always be there, too.”

“You’ve been going to coven meetings?”

“Kai’s the leader, he kinda has to.”

She gulps, as if not expecting him to be so productive in the six month time span. Before she can say anything else, though, Caroline comes out of nowhere with a bright yellow cocktail and a bendy straw.

“Mhm! You have to try these, they’re so good! Who’d think Kai could make such a good tropical drink? I wouldn’t until thirty seconds ago.”

You laugh. “Where’d the bendy straw come from?”

She shrugs. “Found them in the cupboard, probably Damon’s secret stash. Bonnie, you want to try?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She retreats back to the kitchen, promising she’ll bring you one.

“Did he learn that skill at The Grill? Matt taught him?”

“He learned in the prison world. They only had to train him on the more modern drinks.” She doesn’t answer. “He’s really been trying. Not only trying, but doing really well.”

“What about-”

“Guys, come in here! Damon’s summoning you,” Caroline calls.

You share one more glance and then follow her voice to the kitchen.

“Decision-making time,” Damon announces, fighting with his tongue to find his straw.

“Preferably before we get drunk,” his girlfriend agrees.

Bonnie looks less than thrilled. “This agreement was made between Y/N, Damon, and I, and only the three of us will actually be making the decision.”

Her slight attitude makes the room silent.

Caroline’s the first to speak up. “That’s fair, I guess.”

“Thank you, Caroline.” The girl looks back down at her drink. She made input to keep the peace, not to argue on the behalf of one side or the other. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“You mentioned Kai’s been going to Gemini meetings. Anything else he’s done?”

“Yeah, well, we started with the apartment, then the job. Felt like The Grill would be a good place since he was a regular, and that he’d be comfortable there. With time, I helped him ease into his coven role, and we go to Portland monthly for meetings. Nothing important ever really happens, they all just argue.”

“You mentioned you’ve seen Jo. She’s around eight months now. That hasn’t been a problem?”

“She wasn’t at the last meeting. Her father said he nor Rick wanted her flying. And no, it hasn’t been a problem.”

“He’s not worried about the next set of twins taking over in twenty years?”

“We’ve discussed it, but no, it’s not a problem.”

“What do you mean ‘discussed it’?”

“That’s actually none of your business, Bonnie. The only people who should be concerned with that are those in the Gemini coven, and considering you’re not, you don’t have the right to ask. And, actually, Jo got pregnant and engaged without even consulting her coven, too, so frankly, that business only belongs to Kai and I.” She blinks, not used to being told off so directly. “We’re not concerned about Jo, nor the twins. Besides, that’s over twenty years away, and not worth worrying over right now.”

“Fine. So he’s adapting well?”

“Yes.”

“Bonnie,” Damon starts, “I know we were skeptical, but I think they’ve proven us wrong-”

“One more thing.” You gulp, knowing exactly where she’s headed. “A couple months ago, I read an article where a local bar fight turned deadly. The man’s death was ruled an accident. Do you know anything about that?”

“That was-”

“And don’t you dare lie to me because we both know-”

“I wasn’t going to lie,” you snap back. “If you’d let me talk, I could explain.”

“Oh, so you do know about it? I want to hear it from him,” she nods to Kai.

Kai’s nervously chewing his lip. When you give him a gentle tilt of your head, he begins to explain. “Okay, yes, that was me. I was defending Y/N. I-”

“We told you no more killing people. The deal’s-”

“Let him explain, Bonnie,” the vampire interrupts.

“You’re defending him?!”

“Just hear him out first.”

Kai looks to Damon, then back at the girl. “The guy got physical with Y/N. He was yelling all this profane shit about her and grabbed at her shirt. When I got in the middle of them, he started hitting at me, and spitting. Every time I tried to shake him off, he’d come back for more. It was a complete accident; I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“So you did kill him.”

“Did you not hear me? I said it was an accident; he was trying to get to Y/N. I wasn’t going to let him touch her.”

“Think about it, Bonnie. If you were there, you would’ve given him a magical headache, and if his brain burst, oh well! The only difference is that Kai didn’t use magic. If anything, it’s better that he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused. Why are you defending him? And why do you seem to know about this?!”

“I did know about it, okay? And I’m sorry for not telling you, but this is why. He was defending Y/N and I can’t blame him for that. C’mon, Bon. You’ve always been worried about her getting hurt, but he keeps her safe. It’s crazy, even for me to admit, but he does.”

“So you’re okay with him staying? You’re serious?”

“Look, he hasn’t been bothering us. Hasn’t been bothering Jo. This is the only person he’s killed and it was in Y/N’s defense. He makes great cocktails. Let’s just put this whole thing behind us.”

“Bonnie, I’ve missed your friendship these last couple months, and if you give Kai a chance, you’ll see he’s really put in a lot of effort into building a life here.”

She glares at the both of you, then back at him. She even looks to her friends for support. They shrug. “Fine.” She holds up a finger, “but if he falls back into old ways, he’s gone.”

“Thank you, Bon.”

Kai offers his thanks as well, and a second later, you jump at the feeling of his lips on the back of your neck. He apologizes for startling you, but then wraps his arms around your waist. Bonnie watches, both at how unafraid you are of him, and how in love he is with you. She fights the urge to smile, wanting to keep up her cold exterior for a little longer.

After some time, plans are made to get together for real. There’s a lot of work to be done in rekindling your friendship, but you’re on the path to getting there. As for her negative feelings about Kai, she’s just going to have to see his change for herself.

*****

That night, you’re curled in bed together when something suddenly harbors in his mind. He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he wants to bring it up; if you even remember it happening, but then curiosity begins to fester in him.

“Can we talk about something, Y/N?”

“What’s that?”

“I was reminded earlier, when you were talking about Jo to Bonnie… in the hotel room after the first meeting, did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“What you said about, like, having twins? That you’d do it for me?”

You backtrack your mind several months to that conversation. It happened a little like this one - you holding him, him being a little weary about the day’s events. Ah. “Yes.”

He perks up. “Yes, you remember it, or yes, you meant it?”

“Both. I do remember that conversation. And yes, I would give you a set of twins if you wanted to keep your bloodline in the leadership.”

“Why?”

“Why?” You repeat his question, glancing at him to see if he’s serious. His face is riddled with confusion - definitely serious. “Because I love you. And they might have doubts about you, but I have faith in your ability to lead, and I believe you’d be a good father, too.”

Now he crinkles his nose. “Why?”

“Well the man who raised you barely did at all. He isolated you, and hurt you, and treated you like crap just because you were born differently. And despite that, and despite a few bumps along the way, you’ve proven you’re capable of deep, gentle love. You prove it to me daily, and you’ve proven patience at your job and with Bonnie, and understanding. You’ve managed to survive despite the circumstances you’ve been given, and all those things are traits I know you would teach a child, because you’d do everything to prevent raising them like your father raised you; to make sure they grow up in a loving environment, like one you should’ve been given. And, you’d teach them how to survive in this coven, because unfortunately, as leader, you’re still tied to them, but you would teach them how to remain strong. And even if we ever happen to have twins and they’d need to merge, you’d still make sure their lives are meaningful before it.”

Kai’s quiet for a while. “If we did that, I wouldn’t want it just for the benefit of the coven. It would be out of my love for you, and if we have a desire to have kids. Not like Jo, where it was an accident, but not like my father, who only needed a leader.”

You kiss his head. “I agree.”

“So you would be okay with that? If we did, at some point?”

“Of course. When the time comes for that, we can talk about it more, but yes.”

“Good, because I’m not ready now.” He relaxes, but then stiffens again. “But wait, Jo… if we’re trying to beat her to this, don’t we need to do it now?”

You choose your next words carefully, unsure if they even hold any meaning. “Well… if I’m understanding it correctly, the leader’s twins would be next in line, regardless if there’s another set in the family. So even if Jo’s are, say, nine or ten, if we have a set, wouldn’t they be next in line?”

“But they don’t want to continue my line because of the siphon gene.”

“Yes, but you’re still the leader, so maybe we can argue that when the time comes. Besides, we can’t do anything about it now. She’s eight months and I’m, obviously, not even in the same playing field.” You rub his arm comfortingly, or at least, hoping it’ll bring him comfort in light of your next few words. “Maybe… okay. First off, I don’t think Jo wants to participate in the merge with her future kids. She’s already tried to escape this family once, I doubt she wants her kids brought back in it. So maybe if we have a set, she’ll just let them take over.”

“But she might merge them just to prevent my line from continuing in leadership.”

“Or, she might welcome kids raised by you and I to lead instead, if we can prove to her we can raise good kids,” you half-joke. He nods. “Because as much animosity as she has towards you, I really don’t think she wants her kids following in coven tradition. Even so, if she does merge hers, we can just follow right up with ours and take it back.” Kai lets out a small chuckle. “But even if hers do take the leadership, I don’t think they’ll try to hurt you. By then, you’ll be settled in, and we’re already far away from your father. Jo trusts me, I think, and we can continue to make peace with her. We’ll be okay. You’ll be safe, I promise. As long as you’re with me-”

“-I’m safe.”

“Exactly.” You kiss him. “And if by somehow there’s a huge falling out and the coven does get violent again,” you shrug, “we’ll just become vampires.”

At first he laughs, but then grows serious as the words hit him. “You’d really do that with me? Transition and live forever just to keep them from killing me?”

“Mhm. I would live a thousand lives as long as I have you with me in all of them.”

#kai parker x reader #malachai parker x reader #kai parker oneshot #tvd fanfiction #tagging this was so hard

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sparkles-and-trash · 8 months

Text

dabihawks drabble

Keigo is good with people.

This he knows. He’s been trained for it most of his life, and the fact is, he just likes people.

He likes talking to them, hearing their stories, learning what he can about these people who’s in an out of his life in a flash.

It might have partly been him trying to replace something he never had, but it also was something he genuinly felt like.

Touya’s not like that, and Keigo understands.

It’s not until the two of them encounter a lost child when they’re out and about that Keigo realizes there’s a pretty significant gap in his people skills.

He’s dealt with children before, of course, but that was different.

When he’s Hawks, the hero, he always had a clear protocol to follow, and kids were so amazed by being saved by a hero they forgot to be too scared or upset.

But now, as he looks down on the little girl gently pulling at his sleeve with her big, worried eyes cast down and her lower lip wobbling a little, he realizes he has no clue how to proceed.

Why did Touya have to be inside a bakery right this minute, leaving him to deal with this all alone??

Keigo looks down at the little girl with his friendliest smile, and when he focus, he’s barley able to listen to her quiet explaination that she can’t find her mother, and that she doesn’t know where to go.

Keigo smiles reassuringly, or at least he hopes he does, but as he looks into the scared, sad eyes of the little one he cannot help but feel her emotions shake up his own, but he tries to move past it.

«So, where did you last see you’re mom, huh?» the winged man asks, still smiling.

The girl sniffles.

«I don’t know.»

Keigo’s not deterred.

«Well, do you know which direction you came from?» he asks, and the girl shakes her head as she averts her eyes to the ground.

«Hmm..» Keigo mumbles to himself, tapping his chin thoughtfullly.

Then he hears it; little hiccups.

Oh god.

The little one is crying.

Hooo boy.

«Hey now little chick, don’t freak out now yeah?» he says hurriedly as he looks around desperatly.

«I’m sorry mister,» the girl says between the sad little hiccups, and Keigo’s heart shatters.

«Nonono, please don’t apologize!» he pleads as he crouches down to her level, and the scared and sad look on her face is enough for tears to form in his own eyes, but just as the situation was getting dire, the bell on the door of the bakery dinged.

«Hey Pidgeon, they didn’t have any strawberry mochi left but I got you -,»

Touya’s voice trailed off as he took in the scene before him.

His boyfriend crouched on the ground in front a little girl, four-five years tops, both of them looking equally distressed.

Touya sighs and gets down on their level as well.

«That’s an aweful lot of tears just for some strawberry mochi you guys.»

Both pair of eyes turn to look at him, and the little girl smiles softly at his words as she moves to wipe her eyes.

«I guess we got a little carried away…» Keigo mumbles, and Touya raises his eyebrows at him.

«You think so?»

Keigo smiles sheepishly as he blinks away the stress induced tears that had been brimming in his eyes.

«I do really love strawberry mochi tho,» he says with a wink towards the little girl, and she giggles again.

Touya turns to her.

«Do you like strawberry mochi?» he asks.

The girl nods.

«Yeah, but my favorite is matcha,» she says quietly, but will a small smile on her tear stained face.

Touya gasps.

«What? No way!»

The girl giggles, and Touya gets up and pulls Keigo with him.

«That’s actually crazy, that’s my favorite too!» he says brightly, and the girl gasps softly.

«Really?» she asks, and Touya nods.

«Yep.»

The girl opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets to, a women comes running at them with panic in her eyes.

«Kaori? Oh sweetheart there you are!» the woman gasps and she throws her arms around her daughter.

«Mommy!» the girl, Kaori, exclaims happily.

After giving her a quick check to make sure her daughter is okay, she looks up to Keigo and Touya with teary eyes.

«Oh thank you, thank you so much for staying with her! What you must think of me…»

Touya waves her off.

«Oh please ma’m, I grew up with three younger siblings, our parents lost us more times than you can count. It happens.»

The woman smiles wobbly for a second, and Keigo feels a rush of affection for his boyfriend.

«He likes matcha mochi too,» Kaori pipes up as she points to Touya.

Touya grins at her as he holds up the bag from the bakery.

«Would you believe me if I told you I had some right here, fresh from the bakery?» he asks dramatically, and Kaori gasps as her mother smiles and nods at Touya when he gives her a questioning look, and he hands Kaori the plastic bag.

«For me?» she gasps, and Touya nods.

«For being so brave.»

At first the little girl is beaming up at him, but the her face falls a little as she looks over to Keigo, who tilts his head at her.

«I’m not sure…» Kaori mumbles, and her mother looks at her with a confused look.

«Kaori, it’s rude to say no to a gift!»

The little girl bites her lip worriedly.

«But… I don’t want the nice bird man to cry again…» she whsipers, and Touya snorts loudly.

Keigo blushed furiously as Kaori’s mom hides a smile behind her hand.

«I wasn’t…» he starts, and Touya cuts him off.

«Keigo here likes strawberry mochi, remember?» he says with a hard stare at Keigo, who nods furiously.

«Yep! So you’d actually do me a favor by taking these!»

That seemed to be enough for Kaori, and after a million more thanks from her mom, the two finally walked off.

«Well,» Touya said with a grin at his boyfriend, «you handled that well.»

Keigo can’t help but laugh.

«Shut up.»

Touya takes his hand and interlace their fingers.

«Never,» he says merrily, and Keigo rolls his eyes with a smile.

«So, kids aren’t your thing, huh?» Touya asks.

Keigo shakes his head quickly.

«I like them! I’m just not used to them, I guess?»

Touya hums.

«Makes sense.»

They walk in silence for a while, before Touya smirks again.

«It’ll probably be different with ours tho, right?»

Keigo hums, before he stops in his tracks.

«What?» he squawks, and Touya raises his eyebrows.

«When we have kids, they’re gonna be cute as hell right? You’ll be fine with them.»

Keigo’s face is all pink and his wings is flapping like crazy, but he manages to nod a little as he hurries after his boyfriend.

«Yeah,» he smiles to himself as he laces their hands together again.

«Cute as hell.»

#dabihawks #Hawks #Dabi #Keigo takami #touya todoroki #Hawks x Dabi #Dabi x Hawks #toukei #hotwings #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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inkdrinkerworld · 1 year

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idk if you're currently taking requests or if you've already done this idea before but I just thought about it and directly thought of you anyway

what if reader's dealer is currently out of city so they send her to get whatever thing she usually takes to one of his trusted dealer friends, the og dealers friend being dealer!remus and like reader doesn't know bc it's the first time she buys from him but turns out she's the sister of one of his friends (idk which one it free for you to choose lmao) and obv she doesn't want her brother knowing abt her little drug secret so she makes a deal (like agree to go on a date w him or smth)with dealer!remus so he doesn't snitch on her.

I hope that was clear enough cuz in my head it sounds as clear as day but k just realised this request is so messy I'm so sorry luv u xx

i get what you mean babe! it isn’t messy at all! cw: bbf!dealer!remus, a little bit of anxiety,

you can’t believe your luck when you get to the dispensary and see remus.

your belly is swimming with anxiety but you know you can’t back out now. you’re the only one in and his soft, “i’ll be a second.” is making your heart race.

“fuck,” you whisper, fingers wringing each other as you approach him. “hey remmy.”

he turns around with record speed and shakes his head at you.

“you’re not here to pick up the cookies are you, dove?”

you really wish you weren’t right now.

“if i say ‘no’, will you still give it to me and not tell sirius?”

remus gives you a gentle smile. out of all of sirius’ friends, you and remus were the closest. he always had your back and was always interested in what you did.

you watched a new movie? remus would love to hear about it. read a new book? give remus a review so he can read it too.

you were almost a little bit closer than him and sirius but that was partly because you and remus danced around the fact that you liked each other more than friends.

“do i get to know how long you’ve been partaking?”

you sigh, digging at your cuticles making remus frown. he reaches for your hands and squeezes them.

“about two years? maybe a little longer?”

he only nods, not wanting to say anything that can be interpreted as judgement.

“but no one knows rem. siri can’t find out- he’ll lose his shit.” you say and remus sighs.

sirius might lose his shit. he might not. he might lose his shit specifically if remus sells to you.

“we can make a deal okay? so he doesn’t find out.” you nod, hands shaking in remus’ and he really feels bad that your other dealer bailed.

but he also feels like this is a good time to act on his feelings for you. this predicament gives him an easy way into confessing and he can’t deny the opportunity.

“what kind of deal, remmy?”

he kisses your knuckles, “we’re gonna go out tomorrow night. someplace nice, just me and you. okay?”

you frown. “what kind of deal is that remmy? you don’t really get anything from that.”

remus chuckles, “of course i do, dove. i get the evening with you, in that pretty dress you bought last week.”

you give him a bashful smile and remus knows he’a on the right track.

“just me and you? and you don’t tell anyone?”

“my lips will be sealed. oh, and another thing,” you wait with baited breath as he leans over the counter into your space a little, “no going back to your other dealer.”

you nod, your eyes flitting to remus’ lips and then his eyes again. “no going back to my other dealer.” you repeat and he smiles, kissing your cheek before pulling away.

“let me bag up your cookies, dovey.”

#dealer!remus #dealer!remus lupin #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x black!reader

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allwaswell16 · 5 months

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All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in December 2023. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #57 | ko-fi | fic recs

— Louis/Harry —

⊹ Heart Beat by @allwaswell16

(E, 33k, kid fic) When Harry returns to start a music academy in his hometown, he finds himself face to face with his high school crush—and his charming daughter who wants to learn to play the drums.

⊹ Snow In Love by @lululawrence

(NR, 33k, fake relationship) An advent fic featuring childhood friends, fake dating turned actual dating, really horrible secret keeping, and a winter weather surprise.

⊹ You Ain’t Gotta Feel Fear Just Mingle by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 32, coworkers) Harry has been at his dream job for less than three months, and he knows two things for sure; first, his project manager doesn't know what he's doing, and second, someone in the office is apparently pure evil, and no one will tell Harry who it is.

⊹ 'tis the damn season by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 17k, girl direction) Harry returns to her small hometown over the holiday season and starts to think about the road not taken.

⊹ The Lonely Dance of My Despair (series) by The_Halcyonic_Lachesist / @chai-hat-tea

(G/T, 11k, Eroda) Louis lives a lonely life until he might find something that shows him that he might not be alone in his misery. Or did he?

⊹ Ride My Sleigh Tonight by @kingsofeverything

(E, 9k, sugar daddy) In exchange for free food and drinks at Liam’s office holiday party, Harry pretends to be his boyfriend. But this is not that story.

⊹ You smile all the time ('cause how can you not show it?) by thebreadvan / @thebreadvansstuff

(E, 9k, dentist/patient) Harry never liked dentists, until now.

⊹ don’t let the fire die by @nouies

(E, 8k, fantasy au) Harry makes a long trip to take back what is his.

⊹ I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm by @haloeverlasting

(NR, 7k, neighbors) Louis' heat is out, Harry's a terrible upstairs neighbor, and an empty Christmas tree is the perfect excuse to fall in love.

⊹ Unleashing Adoration by hazzahtomlinson / @itsnotreal

(E, 6k, songwriter Louis) Louis’ schedule has gotten a bit busy lately, so he trusts that Niall will find someone who can take care of his dog, Clifford, a few days a week.

⊹ I Want You to Linger by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 6k, omegaverse) A friends-to-lovers fic in which oblivious alpha Louis courts his best friend, nests with the gifts he gets him, and is faced with the reality that sometimes telling someone you love them doesn’t go to plan (but turns out better in the end anyway).

⊹ Red by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 4k, exes) Louis is wallowing after the breakup. He's never felt this kind of heartbreak before. All he wants to do is lie on his couch and listen to Taylor Swift alone.

⊹ Perfect, For Now by @parmahamlarrie

(T, 4k, omegaverse) Moving to a new city is always hard, being away from home, finding your new community - none of it is easy. Dealing with all of this while being touch deprived is even more difficult.

⊹ Oh Little Town of BATHlehem by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 2k, Christmas shopping) Louis Tomlinson needs a small pink bathtub. He needs it.

— Rare Pairs —

⊹ Jump! by @reminiscingintherain

(M, 15k, Louis/Tommy Longhurst) “I absolutely know what this means, lad,” he replied, his voice gentle and supportive. “The way you’re reacting to being out there? That’s exactly why I chose you for the support slot.” He gave a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve this, okay?”

⊹ softer than satin by cinnamons / @sunbellylou

(E, 4k, Louis/Joel Miller) “Wanna go back to bed,” Louis whispered languidly, voice partly muffled by his boyfriend’s lips on his.

⊹ One by @allwaswell16

(E, 4k, Louis/Tommy Shelby) When omega Louis Tomlinson becomes pregnant after an unexpected encounter, he decides his only option is to flee his pack. But Tommy Shelby, pack alpha of the Peaky Blinders, might not be willing to let him go so easily.

⊹ Daydream by @allwaswell16

(T, 2k, Zayn/Louis) Every Thursday, Louis nods hello to her fellow regulars at Horan’s Cafe, one of whom is the woman of her dreams.

⊹ Baking Memories by @haztobegood

(T, 2k, Louis/Jack Cochrane) After a long day of songwriting, Jack convinces Louis to bake mince pies together.

⊹ Chaos by @haztobegood

(M, 100 words, Louis/OMC [bodyguard]) Against the barricade, it’s complete chaos.

#28th appreciation #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #trackinghome #hltracks #ficsfor4am

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aivic-bleps · 8 months

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Teruko was always meant to be the one to kill Fukuchi

Now I’m probably not the only one to theorise this, but I’m using this as an excuse to ramble about Teruko. Not sure what this is, but it’s probably not coherent enough to be called an analysis.

First of all, I know many people have already theorised that Fukuchi had asked Teruko to kill him if Fukuchi couldn’t. Immediately after she stabbed him, he apologised to her. Because there was ever an ‘if’. Fukuchi knew that Fukuzawa “I would wish for the strength to protect those closest to me” Yukichi would never be able to do it.

And Teruko might not have realised that until she saw Fukuzawa fail to kill him.

And hence:

“You’re a coward!”

You’re a coward for letting me think that there was even a slight chance i wouldn’t be the one to kill you. You’re a coward for pushing this responsibility onto me. You’re a coward for not having the guts to tell me that I was always part of the plan. You’re a coward for making me clean up after your messy gay divorce.

And maybe even partly directed at Fukuzawa: You’re a coward for not killing him yourself.

Fukuchi knew that Fukuzawa wouldn’t do it. But he also knew Teruko would.

She understood that if they didn’t see the plan through, every person Fukuchi sacrificed, and every irredeemable action he took to make himself the villain, would have been for nothing. While not to the same extremity as Fukuchi, she’s certainly far closer to Fukuchi’s wavelength of “for the greater good” than Fukuzawa is. We know she’s capable of killing and torturing people. As a Hunting Dogs, she’s willing to sacrifice her body — and perhaps also her feelings:

“This isn’t fair! You knew how I felt!”

It isn’t fair that I have to choose between my feelings and world fucking peace. It isn’t fair that i have to shove my feelings aside to become a placeholder for someone who couldn’t fulfil their own role in the plan.

The plan hinged on Fukuzawa killing the ‘big bad terrorist’ and assuming control of One Order. Teruko had to step in and do what he couldn’t, then shove the sword into his hands.

“You killed him. That’s your line.”

Is it better or worse that she couldn’t even take responsibility for his death? Did she resent Fukuchi for the things he did and the people he hurt? Did Fukuchi think that would make her more wiling to kill him?

“I would sacrifice no more than 500 lives. …Is that a bad deal?”

By only revealing the truth to her last minute, she had no choice but to help see the plan through. But had he told her from the beginning, before all the damage was already done, would she still have worked with him?

Personally, I don’t think so.

I’ve seen quite a few theories that speculate Teruko to also have had involvement in the Great War, which would make her potentially quite sympathetic to Fukuchi’s cause. But she’s been shown to have very strong sense of justice, and refused to hurt civilians, even ones that were literally attacking her.

Global terrorism? Framing an innocent detective agency? Hurting her own teammates? I don’t think she would be willing to go so far just to place the entire fate of humanity into the hands of Fukuzawa, someone she barely knows. She does not have the same faith in Fukuzawa that Fukuchi does.

Fukuchi perhaps came to the same conclusion. Therefore, while he had always intended for Teruko to be the one to kill him, he would only tell her after it was too late for her to oppose him.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd teruko #posting this at 3:30 am bcos im so normal about this #kind of an analysis #but most me just going insane about teruko #bsd fukuchi #bsd fukuzawa #bsd spoilers #my posts.

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dixonsgirl93 · 7 months

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What I think the Harry Potter men’s type of partner would be:

(I tried to be as realistic as I could with HCs that people might not like. But remember this is just for fun so if you don’t like it, just scroll. Thank you)

Draco Malfoy

- I think Hogwarts era Draco would be more likely to date a Slytherin girl mostly because he would be afraid of his father ridiculing him. I feel like his mother would just be happy to see Draco happy but he cares a lot about what his father thinks.

- I don’t think he would care about their hair colour, he wouldn’t have a preference but he would be hesitant to date someone with red hair. Partly because Lucius would make a big deal of the image of the Malfoys and mention their children being gingers and how much he’d despise that and also for the similarity of the “blood-traitor” Weasleys.

- I think his personal preference of body type would range from very slim to midsize. Whether because of his upbringing or what, I just don’t think he would date a plus-size or larger girl.

- Adult Draco wouldn’t care so much about their blood status but having been brought up with racist views, that kind of ingrained mentality would be hard to shift.

Sirius Black

- I don’t think he cares about their body type. Skinny, midi, larger, whatever. As long as you get on well and find each other attractive then he’s happy.

- He prefers more boisterous women, who can match his energy and put him in his place. The type who rather rebellious but also intelligent and kind.

- I’d say he’s also heteroflexible to a degree. He enjoys kissing men and doesn’t care if people think he’s gay but he definitely prefers to date only girls.

Lucius Malfoy

- His type? Basically Narcissa. Pureblood, slim, intelligent. Someone who can also put him in his place but respect him.

- For him, he wants someone equal to him, someone he can proudly show on his arm. This also means she has to be pretty and slim and well groomed.

- He’s grown up with the ideals and racism that Draco faced but leaned into it rather than away like Draco wanted/tried to do.

Severus Snape

- He’d perhaps want someone who matches his energy. I think he’d want someone happy-go-lucky to suit his more serious personality. Someone patient and kind. He hides it but he has a delicate heart.

- Looks-wise I’m not sure he could date someone with red hair, her reminding him too much of his first love. She would have to really wear down his walls before he would consider letting her in. Otherwise he wouldn’t have a preference.

- He wouldn’t care about their blood status if he felt a true connection with someone. At the end of the day he wants someone kind.

- He’s a sucker for brown eyes and freckles.

Remus Lupin

(I know he’s with Tonks but let’s say if she wasn’t in the series, what would be his type?)

- He’s a smart, bookish guy so I feel like he’d want his partner to be similar. He’d someone he could debate with about world topics and literature.

- He’d prefer if she was well dressed but if there was a genuine connection he wouldn’t care so much if she wore hoodies or something all the time.

- He goes more for personality than how pretty someone is, but he is a sucker for long, wavy hair (that was until Tonks came along and he realised he didn’t even care about hair).

- He would either want someone who was rather opposite to him in terms of out-going and more interested in movies than books or someone who’s more bookish.

- He would like someone he could settle down with though, who would be serious about him. Family is a big deal to him.

Alastor Moody

- As much as I adore Moody and want to just write that *I’m* his type, he’s actually pretty hard to write for. He’s a very stoic person, very serious and paranoid.

- I think he would just be surprised if someone desired to get close to him and didn’t care about his scars or missing body parts. He’d be paranoid at first, assuming the worst but presuming this…

- He wouldn’t really have a preference of how they look. More so that they take care of themselves and present themselves nicely etc. That sort of thing.

- Now, if I am to picture Moody with a partner. I imagine a woman in her mid-late 40’s (youngest), smartly dressed, maybe a secretary or manager, brunette, sophisticated.

- However, do I think he would date someone younger? Like half his age? (If we are to assume he’s in his 60’s). It’s possible. He’d be very hesitant though so you’d need to form a strong bond first which could take years. He’d be worth it though.

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wzrd-wheezes · 3 months

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The Wolf's Arms: Part One. Marauders x Reader

This is a purely self indulgent fic about two things that I love. The marauders and the pub. This will probably turn into a series of fics that don’t really link because I have so many ideas for it. It’s not set in a particular time period, mainly like 70’s ish but there might be some modern things sprinkled in along the way just for shits and giggles. Sorry if that’s annoying but I love creating my own time period so I can have things exactly the way I want them haha. Please let me know if this fic is hard to understand as I know there will be a lot of references to UK culture things along the way (not in this part I dont think) – feel free to drop me an ask if there’s anything you don’t understand/want me to explain. This is a platonic!marauders x reader fic

Friday night pub nights had become a monthly occurrence for them now. It was any excuse really. Sad? Pub. Celebrating? Pub. Hungry? Pub. Traumatic life event? Pub. The four of them had become regulars now. Every time sitting at the same table in the back. The landlord often joked with them that the pub would go under if they ever stopped coming.

It had taken them a while to choose a pub. Their pub. It was a meticulous process that they all took very seriously. They had spent countless nights doing pub crawls throughout the city, trying to find which pub suited them best. Best beer on tap, best prices, within walking distance so they could stumble back home.

“That one’s my favourite so far.” Remus decided one night as they left the third pub on their pub crawl.

Sirius barked out a laugh, slinging an arm around Remus’s shoulders. Partly in mock affection, partly to steady himself after the few drinks he’d had. “You’re only saying that because it’s got the cheapest pints so far.”

“You’re easily swayed, Moony.” James shook his head at him, leading the group to the next pub along the street. Just as they rounded the corner onto the next dimly lit street, Y/N interjected.

“Speaking of sway, did anyone else notice the shady bloke in the corner?” a grimace contoured her features, “I swear he was selling meat from his jacket.”

“Hah! The infamous Hog’s Head Meat Man!” James exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. “Sure, he’s a dodgy one, but he’ll give you a good deal on some bacon if you’re brave enough to ask.”

“Yeah. I don’t really fancy eating some blokes pocket meat, thanks though.” Sirius scrunched up his face in disgust, “Where to next?”

Undeterred from the last shady establishment, they pressed on, venturing into a number of different pubs, until finally, they stumbled upon one that felt like home. It was tucked down a narrow alleyway, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

The inside was dimly lit from the mounted wall lights, casting soft shadows against the exposed brick. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and spilt beer – a scent which sounds disgusting but made the four of them nudge each other and grin as they stepped inside. The actual bar spanned about half the length of the room, polished mahogany adorned with rows of brass taps, their labels worn and faded with age.

Mismatched tables and chairs filled the space, ranging from rickety wooden stools to worn, plush armchairs. Each table, although being scratched from rigorous cleaning, still had the infamous sticky sheen to it that all pub goers will be familiar with. Much to their delight an old jukebox stood proudly in the corner of the room, Remus immediately fumbled in his pocket for some change.

“Typical Moony. Straight to the jukebox instead of straight to the bar.” James teased as he leaned over the bar to survey the selection of beers on tap. Remus, who had already begun to select songs, looked up momentarily only to flip the bird at James.

While James got the round in, it was left up to Y/N and Sirius to decide what table the group would settle on. After a quick once-over of the pub, they decided on a table in the corner, nestled beneath a dimly lit lampshade, and much to Remus’s delight, only a few steps away from the jukebox. With a nod of agreement, they made their way over to claim their spot.

Precariously trying to carry four pints in only two hands, James returned a moment later, putting the glasses down on the table with a soft thud, some of the liquid sloshing over the edge.

“Cheers, you lot.” Remus exclaimed, raising his glass. The group, a few pints deep and sporting glassy eyes and wide smiles, joined in, clinking their glasses together.

“What’s the verdict on this place?” Sirius asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Well-” Remus started.

“Ah, ah, hold it right there.” Y/N interjected, “After your last ‘gem’ turned out to be the Hog’s Head, I think we should put your pub-picking privileges on probation.” she punctuated her remark with a playful jab to Remus’s ribs.

“Hey! It had character!” Remus feigned offense, “and besides, it’s not my fault that they had a creative idea of what hygiene is.”

“Creative? I’m pretty sure that I saw two rats shagging in the corner.” Sirius retorted, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“Alright, alright.” Remus conceded, holding his hands up, “the Hog’s Head was a bit of a shitter, but this pub’s a winner, yeah?”

“Agreed,” James chimed in, raising his glass once again, “To new beginnings and hopefully less questionable pubs!”

“To less questionable pubs!” the others chorused, once again knocking their glasses together before taking a large swig of their drinks.

“I feel like we should have toasted this pub. Just because I’ve decided that this is the best one.” Y/N said, looking around thoughtfully, “Although, I didn’t actually get a look at the sign before we came in, so I couldn’t actually tell you what it’s called.”

“The Wolf’s Arms!” a voice called out from the other side of the room. They all snapped their heads round, curiosity piqued, and their eyes fell on a lone man seated at the bar. His cheeks were flushed from the booze, and a cigarette dangled from his lips.

“To The Wolf’s Arms!” they echoed, toasting for the third time that night.

#marauders x reader #platonic marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #platonic marauders x reader #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #marauders era

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tossawary · 1 year

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I forgot how fucking funny Shen Yuan is. He’s such an unreliable narrator (at least in my interpretation of him) partly because he’s genuinely oblivious to some things and partly because he’s sometimes intentionally ignoring problems like his own trauma, but also because he’s just cracking jokes all the time. It’s hard to know just how seriously he’s taking things sometimes or whether or not the situation is genuinely Like That, because there’s often a chance that Shen Yuan is exaggerating or underplaying the situation in the noble pursuit of 1) The Bit or 2) dunking on Airplane.

Couple of my favorite random, mundane examples of him being hilarious at the beginning of SVSSS:

Shen Qingqiu was an easygoing person.

Since his residential address had already been changed to Proud Immortal Demon Way, and since he’d already kicked the bucket in his original world, he figured he might as well try making it work here.

He’d arrived in a cultivation setting, received a body with decent martial ability and swordsmanship for free, and was also part of a famous righteous sect. If he wanted to stand out, he could stand out, and if he wanted to lie low, he could hole up on Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s Qing Jing Peak and be a recluse. What was there to complain about?

The only slightly difficult thing would be finding a girlfriend. In this sort of male power fantasy stallion novel, any woman inevitably belonged to the male lead, as long as she wasn’t ugly. Everyone knew this.

Still, Shen Qingqiu was a man of few needs; he would have been satisfied just idling away to a ripe old age. In that way, it wouldn’t be that different from how his previous life had been going.

- SVSSS, Vol 1, Ch 1

Shen Yuan cracks jokes rather than deal with any grief over dying (handwaves over the whole thing, we don’t get to see his quiet moments in the beginning), optimistically acknowledges landing in a very sweet situation for his new life even if the character role isn’t good (kind of reads to me like he’s telling himself he doesn’t have a good reason to complain, so he’s telling himself not to be sad), and then cracks a joke about how hard it’ll be to get a girlfriend.

I read the next bit as him dunking on stallion novels slightly, although I do also think Shen Yuan has some unexamined misogyny going on even if he’s a good guy. He reads as a little sexist at the same time that he brings up problematic elements in the writing in Proud Immortal Demon Way. This flaw feels realistic to me for a young man who reads these kinds of stallion novels and I enjoy it.

And then he jokingly dunks on himself for not having a girlfriend in his past life and is up front about the fact that he doesn’t really want one anyway. A lot of the SVSSS characters give off asexual spectrum vibes for me personally, but Shen Yuan really, REALLY gives off asexual spectrum vibes. It kind of reads to me as Shen Yuan making a joke like, “Lol, imagine what I’d be complaining about if I was the type of person to care about getting a girlfriend! ‘Oh, no! I’ve died and landed in the role of a scum villain and there’s a digital tyrant refusing to let me act out of character! How will I get a girlfriend now?!’ Priorities, am I right?”

The second bit is when Shen Yuan is at the Chen Estate in Shuang Hu City, hunting the Skinner Demon. Ning Yingying has just come to his room to ask him to escort her to the market and he has to turn her down.

At the same time, how could he not want to go out and play? Up until now, he’d been hunkered down inside Qing Jing Peak’s Bamboo House, forced to fake being an awesome master of arts and literature, meaning everything he did had to be done “blandly”: blandly speaking, blandly laughing, blandly practicing the sword, blandly being a poser - bland to the point that he often had the urge to scatter a handful of salt over his head! What a damn pain!

And now when he finally got a break to take a trip down the mountain, he was still trapped in his room because of the System’s stance that “the original Shen Qingqiu liked quiet and would be unwilling to mingle.”

Shen Qingqiu didn’t even want to pretend to meditate, so he lay on the bed, just pretending to be dead.

- SVSSS, Vol 1, Ch 2

Shen Yuan has been going stir crazy, unable to talk to anyone properly, and he just wants to be loud and undignified and enjoy himself by playing the tourist for an afternoon! He calls himself out for faking everything! He admits that he doesn’t know what he’s doing! He doesn’t like being cold and calm and collected all the time. He sounds like he’s desperate for some friendly company and a distraction from his own thoughts. He wants to be nice to people.

The OOC function won’t even let him chill and chat with people. Which is a little funny because when Luo Binghe was being bullied, Shen Yuan said, “Fuck the System!” and anonymously interfered with flying leaves because he couldn’t bear Luo Binghe’s suffering, even though it lost him a bunch of points. He got the points back, but he didn’t know that when he interfered! For all he knew then, he was bringing himself closer to a risk of death. He also later invited Binghe to ride in the carriage with him after another bullying incident and argued with the System as to why his actions weren’t out of character. If Binghe is involved and suffering, then Shen Yuan can’t help but rail against the OOC function.

Shen Yuan calls himself out for “pretending to meditate” before now (he knows he’s kind of a hack! He so lost and he’s doing his best anyway) and just... lies on the bed “pretending to be dead”??? It’s not stated whether he’s lying facedown or facing the ceiling, but it’s funny either way. Shen Yuan is so fucking done with the System’s micromanagement with the OOC function that he just sprawls on the bed for the day. He sounds so depressed.

#tossawary svsss #tossawary rereads svsss #shen yuan

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theculturedmarxist · 4 months

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If you talk to an ordinary American, or, in my experience, if you talk to an average Israeli, for that matter, they don’t know anything about who the Palestinians are. They don’t know where they come from, they don’t know how they live, what they believe, and they don’t want to. Right? Because that just complicates things… – historian Sam Biagetti.

Last month, The New York Times conducted a series of interviews with a number of American Jewish families and the way they have been dealing with what the paper calls a “generational divide over Israel.”

The Times notes a trend that has been developing for a long time—younger American Jews becoming markedly more critical of, sometimes downright hostile to, Israel than their elders. The piece looks at “more than a dozen young people…[who] described feeling estranged from the version of Jewish identity they were raised with, which was often anchored in pro-Israel education.”

One such person is Louisa Kornblatt. She is the daughter of liberal Jewish parents, who grew up experiencing the cruelties of anti-Semitism in suburban New Jersey. Her grandmother “had fled Austria in 1938, just as the Nazis were taking over.” Partly as a result of this legacy, Louisa Kornblatt “shared her parents’ belief that the safety of Jewish people depended on a Jewish state” as a child.

However, her views began to shift once “she started attending a graduate program in social work at U.C. Berkeley in 2017.” As she recalls it, “classmates and friends challenged her thinking,” with some telling her that she was “on the wrong side of history.”

While in graduate school, “she read Audre Lorde, Mariame Kaba, Ruth Wilson Gilmore and other Black feminist thinkers,” who further made her re-think ingrained assumptions. Eventually, “Kornblatt came to feel that her emotional ties to Jewish statehood undermined her vision for ‘collective liberation.’”

“Over the last year, she became increasingly involved in pro-Palestine activism, including through Jewish Voice for Peace, an anti-Zionist activist group, and the If Not Now movement.” She now goes so far as to assert, “I don’t think the state of Israel should ever have been established,” because “It’s based on this idea of Jewish supremacy. And I’m not on board with that.”

Also interviewed are the parents of Jackson Schwartz, a senior at Columbia University whose education there has significantly altered his outlook on Israel:

“The parents of Mr. Schwartz…said they listen to him with open minds when he tells them about documentaries he has seen or things he has learned from professors like Rashid Khalidi, a prominent Palestinian intellectual who is a professor of modern Arab studies at Columbia. Dan Schwartz said his son helped him understand the Palestinian perspective on Israel’s founding, which was accompanied by a huge displacement of population that Palestinians call the Nakba, using the Arabic word for catastrophe.”

“It wasn’t until Jackson went to Columbia and took classes that I ever heard the word Nakba,” Dan Schwartz said.

These interviews are hugely instructive for two reasons. For one thing, they demonstrate very clearly why power centers are so critical of higher education, especially in the humanities: They are afraid young people might actually—horror of horrors—learn something, particularly something that challenges the status quo.

American culture overflows with accusations from parents that their kids went off to college only to be “indoctrinated.” But at least in these instances, the opposite is what happened—far from being brainwashed, the kids read books and learned history, and were forced to think hard about the implications. In other words, higher education did exactly what it is supposed to do—forced students to encounter and engage with perspectives and thinkers they otherwise never would have.

In reality, most parents (and certainly media outlets) who complain of indoctrination are actually worried about education—that is, that their children will develop more nuanced, critical and informed views of the world after engaging with unfamiliar viewpoints. Such aggrieved elders don’t see it this way, of course, largely because they themselves never shook off the propaganda of their youth. Indeed, they likely are not even capable of perceiving it as such. But that is what it is.

The interviews from the Times piece also demonstrate what Sam Biagetti refers to in the quote that sits atop this article: the phenomenon of older Americans who profess attachment to (and presumably knowledge of) Israel, displaying aggressive—no, fanatic—ignorance about basic Israeli/Middle East history.

That Mr. Schwartz had never heard of the Nakba until his son learned about it from Rashid Khalidi speaks volumes about the way young people in this country are “taught” about Israel, as well as how much their parents actually “know” about it. It is the equivalent of a German father professing fierce attachment to the German nation-state, but never hearing the word “Holocaust” until his child tells him about it after learning the history from a Jewish professor.

The new documentary Israelism explores this issue of younger Jewish people raised to reflexively identify with Israel and to view it as a “Jewish Disneyland,” but who changed their minds (and behavior) upon encountering the brutal realities of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza.

It is a powerful film, one that takes a look at the too-often ignored indoctrination regarding Israel taking place in many Jewish day schools, the way younger people are starting to de-program themselves from it, and where they go from there.

Directed by first-time filmmakers Erin Axelman and Sam Eilertsen, Israelism largely follows two protagonists whose experiences mirror those of the filmmakers.

The first protagonist, Eitan (whose last name is never revealed), grew up in a conservative Jewish home in Atlanta. Typical of such an upbringing, he was steeped in pro-Israel PR.

He recounts that “Israel was a central part of everything we did in school.” His high school routinely sent delegations to AIPAC (the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, also known as the “Israel lobby”) conferences.

Outside of school, the PR continued. He describes going to Jewish summer camp, where each year the staff included a group of Israeli counselors, brought in “to connect American Jews to Israeli culture.”

This included having the children playing games designed to simulate being in the Israeli military, including the use of actual Israeli military commands.

The film intersperses interviews of its protagonists with interviews of prominent individuals who promote this Israeli PR.

For instance, Rabbi Bennett Miller, the then-National Chair of the Association of Reform Zionists of America, asks with a laugh, “does [my] average congregant understand that I’m teaching them to become Zionists? Probably not, but it is part of my madness, so to speak.”

Enamored with what he saw as the glory of military service, Eitan told his parents that he was going to join the Israeli military rather than go to college. He had always thought of Israel as “my country,” and learned from numerous childhood visits there that he “fit in” better in Israel than in the United States.

During basic training with the IDF, he was trained as a “heavy machine gunnist” [sic] with an emphasis on urban warfare. After seven months of this, he was deployed to the West Bank. His life in the IDF involved operating the various checkpoints which comprise the apartheid system, as well as patrolling Palestinian villages on foot in full gear with a bulletproof vests. He recounts that on such patrols, the mission of his unit was to make their presence felt, in order “to let them know that we were watching.”

His encounter with the occupation changed him forever. “Even though Israel was a central part of everything we did in school,” he recalls, “we never really discussed the Palestinians. It was presented to us that Israel was basically an empty wasteland when the Jews arrived. ‘There were some Arabs there,’ they said, but there was no organized people; they had really treated the land poorly. Yeah, there are Palestinians, [but] they just want to kill us all…” Furthermore, “It was always presented to us that the Arabs only know terrorism.”

His role as an occupier made him see things rather differently. He witnessed IDF soldiers needlessly abusing captives, who were blindfolded and handcuffed, thrown to the ground, kicked and beaten. He despairs that he “didn’t even speak up,” something he is visibly still struggling with. And, he says, “that’s just one of many stories that I have from my time in the West Bank. It took many years to really come to terms with my part in it. Only after I got out of the army did I begin to realize that the stuff that I did [from] day to day, just working in checkpoints, patrolling villages—that in itself was immoral.”

After great difficulty, Eitan has begun to publicly speak out about his experiences, though he notes that it took a long time, and that on his first attempt, he was not able to make it through without crying excessively. Since then, he has gotten better, and continues to pursue this necessary work.

Israelism’s second protagonist is Simone Zimmerman. Zimmerman’s grandfather settled in Israel; he and his immediate family were some of her only relatives to escape the Holocaust. Zimmerman herself was raised in a staunchly pro-Israel household, attending Hebrew school from kindergarten through high school. While in high school she lived in Israel for a period as part of an exchange program, which was just one of many visits.

These organized stays in Israel routinely involved her and her friends dressing up in Israeli army uniforms and pretending to be in the IDF. She participated in Jewish youth groups and summer camps which, like Eitan, immersed her in a steady diet of pro-Israel propaganda. Summing up her childhood experience, Zimmerman explains that “Israel was just treated like a core part of being a Jew. So, you did prayers, and you did Israel.”

Like Eitan, she was familiar with AIPAC: “AIPAC is just the thing that you do. Like, going to the AIPAC conference is just sort of seen as a community event.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, almost ten percent of her high school graduating class ended up joining the Israeli army, and many of her summer camp and youth group friends did as well. This is the power of effective propaganda instilled from a young age, Zimmerman observes. “The indoctrination is so severe, it’s almost hard to have a conversation about it. It’s heartbreaking.”

Israelism contains footage of this indoctrination in action inside Hebrew schools.

Scenes of teachers excitedly asking classes of young children, “do you want to go to Israel too?” and the children screaming back, “YEAH!!!” are reminiscent of the similarly nauseating kinds of religious indoctrination made famous in an earlier era by films like Jesus Camp.

Some of these scenes can be glimpsed in the trailer for the film. Older students are seen reading copies of Alan Dershowitz’s book The Case for Israel, which was famously exposed as a fraud by Norman Finkelstein years ago. Zimmerman herself gets to look at some of her old worksheets and art projects from her elementary school days, all of which in some way revolved around the Israeli state.

Other than enlisting in the IDF, Zimmerman had been told that the other major way to be “a good supporter of the Jewish people” was to become an “Israel advocate.” Choosing the latter path, Zimmerman became involved with Hillel, the largest Jewish campus organization in the world, when she began attending the University of California at Berkeley. Hillel, too, worked very hard to instill pro-Israel beliefs in her. She describes being trained in how to rebut “the ‘lies’ that other people [were] saying” about Israel.

The film explores the nature of Hillel’s work fostering pro-Israel activism at college campuses across the country. Tom Barkan, a former IDF soldier and “Israel fellow” at the University of Connecticut’s Hillel chapter, says, “name a university in America, we probably have a person there.” Barkan’s mission is to turn Jewish college students into either Israel advocates or military recruits. While he warns eager students that joining the IDF will not be easy, he wistfully tells them that it will be “the most meaningful experience that you ever go through.”

Former Jewish day school teacher Jacqui Schulefand works with Barkan in her role as Director of Engagement and Programs at UConn’s Hillel branch. Her love for the State of Israel is inseparable from her identity as a Jewish person, which she proudly explains. “Can you separate Israel and Judaism? I don’t know—I can’t. You know, some people I think can. To me, it’s the same. Yeah, you can’t separate it. Israel is Judaism and Judaism is Israel. And that is who I am, and that is my identity. And I think every single thing that I experienced along my life has melded into that, like there was never, you know, a divide for me.”

Schulefand describes joining the Israeli armed forces as “the greatest gift you can give,” and notes that “we actually have had quite a few of our former students join the IDF—amazing!” But her demeanor sours when she is asked about criticisms of the country. In a tone combining incomprehension with a hint of disgust, she laments that “somehow, ‘pro-Palestinian’ has become ‘pro-social justice.’”

It was this sort of pro-Israel advocacy network that organized Simone Zimmerman and other students to oppose what they perceived to be “anti-Semitic” activities such as student government legislation favoring the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement against Israeli occupation, and other measures critical of Israel.

To prepare for such confrontations, she was handed talking points that told her what to say—accuse critics of being anti-Semitic, of having a double standard, of making Jewish students feel unsafe, etc. Describing her feelings about BDS and the Palestinian cause at the time, Zimmerman says that “I just knew that it was this bad thing that I had to fight.” She remembers literally reading off the cards when it came time for her to make the case for Israel.

However, such work inevitably brought her into contact with people who challenged her views. She encountered terms like apartheid, ethnic cleansing, and illegal occupation. “I thought I knew so much about Israel, but I didn’t really know what anybody was talking about when they were talking about all these things,” she said.

Growing up, she was barely taught anything about Palestinians, much like Eitan: “The idea that there were native inhabitants who lived there [when settlers began to arrive] was not even part of my frame of reference.”[1] To the extent that her upbringing provided her with any conception of what a Palestinian was, it was that a Palestinian was someone “who kills Jews, or wants to kill Jews.” But now she was dealing with actual Palestinian students and their non-Palestinian allies, who told her things she found alarming.

Zimmerman went back to Hillel, embarrassed that she and the other pro-Israel advocates were not doing a good job refuting the information they had been confronted with. When Zimmerman asked what the proper responses were to specific criticisms directed at Israel—other than shouting “double standard” or “anti-Semitic”—no one provided her with any. “That was really disturbing for me,” she says. She was flabbergasted that “there are these people called Palestinians who think that Israel wields all this power over their lives and don’t have rights, don’t have water. What is this? How do I respond to it?” “How is it that I am the best the Jewish community has to offer—I’ve been to all the trainings, all the summer camps—and I don’t know what the settlements are, or what the occupation is?”

This anguish led Zimmerman to see the occupation for herself, the summer after her freshman year. This was her first time “crossing the line” into the West Bank. The film movingly details her experiences there. She listened to Palestinian families describe routine instances of being beaten by the IDF, and the harsh realities of life under military rule.

She befriends Sami Awad, Executive Director of the Holy Land Trust, who works to give Americans tours of the territory. An American citizen born in the U.S., Awad describes encounters with American kids who have joined the IDF, people “who just moved here to be part of an army to play cowboys and Indians.” He remarks on the absurdity that “Somebody…comes here from New York or from Chicago, and [claims] that this land is theirs.”

Awad’s family was originally from Jerusalem. His grandfather was shot by an Israeli sniper in 1948, and the rest of his family were evicted by Israeli forces soon after during the Nakba. They have never been allowed to return, and have lived under occupation ever since. Nevertheless, Awad is an extraordinarily empathetic person, having made a career out of trying to teach Westerners what life is like in the West Bank, in the hopes that they will use what they learn to effect positive change. He recounts visiting Auschwitz, and says that the experience gave him an insight into “inherited trauma” and how it shapes the conflict today. In the film he comes across as optimistic:

“I really believe that there is an emerging awakening within the American Jewish community…From American Jews, coming here, and listening to us, and hearing us, and seeing our humanity, and understanding that we are not just out sitting in bunkers, planning the next attack against Israelis, that we do have a desire to live in peace, and to have our freedom, and to walk in our streets, and to eat in our restaurants, and like we – I mean it’s crazy that I have to say this, that we are real human beings that just want to survive and live, like all other people in this world.”

Zimmerman also meets Baha Hilo, an English speaker who works as a tour guide with To Be There, another group that helps people understand the reality that Israel imposes on the West Bank. His family was expelled from Jaffa in 1948 during the Nakba. They were forced to settle in Bethlehem, sadly believing that they would eventually be able to return to their homes.

Hilo discusses his frustration that Israelis get to live under civil law, whereas Palestinians like him must live under the humiliating military law of the occupation: “When an American goes to the West Bank, he has more rights there than I have had my entire life!” The film takes care to note that Americans play a major role in such realities: “Of the roughly 450,000 [illegal] Israeli settlers living in the occupied West Bank, 60,000 are American Jews.” Some readers may recall the famous viral video of an Israeli named Yakub unashamedly stealing Palestinian homes while conveying a breathtaking sense of entitlement.

Hilo laments that, “From the day you are born, you live day in and day out without experiencing a day of freedom.” His astonishment at the audacity of Israelis, particularly those who are also Americans, mirrors Awad’s: “What makes an 18-year-old American kid who was given [a] ten days’ trip for free in Palestine, what makes him want to come in and sacrifice his life? Why would a foreigner think it’s ok to have superior rights to the rights of the indigenous population? Because somebody told them it’s [their] home.”

While happy to make such friends, Zimmerman nonetheless says of her time there, “I don’t think I realized the extent to which what I would come to see on the ground would really shock me and horrify me.” This experience often changes people. The filmmaker Rebecca Pierce is interviewed on her own visits to the West Bank, and her reaction is in line with Zimmerman’s. Pierce had always been opposed to using the word “apartheid,” but once she saw the reality of the situation, she changed her mind immediately.

The protagonist of With God on Our Side (a 2010 documentary critical of Christian Zionism), a young man named Christopher, had a similar reaction, specifically at the behavior he witnessed from the Israeli settlers. Each year a group of them converges on the Arab section of Old Jerusalem to celebrate Israel’s capture of East Jerusalem in 1967. Christopher witnessed the festivities, which featured a massive crowd of settlers wrapped in Israeli flags, shouting “death to Arabs” repeatedly as they danced through the streets.

A large group identified an Arab journalist, surrounded him, began chanting at him and flipping him off, to the point where the police had to be called. Christopher was visibly shocked at all this, glumly remarking that he “felt ashamed to be there.” This same celebration is also seen in Israelism, and the Israeli chants are as deranged as ever: “An Arab is a son of a bitch! A Jew is a precious soul!” “Death to the leftists!”

Zimmerman’s experiences led her to become a co-founder of the If Not Now movement, a grassroots Jewish organization which works to end U.S. support for Israel. They have engaged in activism targeting the ADL (more on them in a moment), AIPAC, the headquarters of Birthright Israel, and other organizations which directly contribute to the perpetuation of Israel’s occupation. “We decided to bring the crisis of American Jewish support for Israel to the doorsteps of Jewish institutions to force that conversation in public,” Zimmerman says.

Israelism contains powerful scenes of younger Jewish people engaging in this work. Many come from similar backgrounds as Eitan and Simone. Consider Avner Gvaryahu. Born and raised in Israel, Gvaryahu also joined the IDF. His combat experience ultimately turned him against the occupation. His whole life in Israel, he had never been inside a Palestinian home, but was now being tasked with “barg[ing] into one in the middle of the night.”

By the end of his service, he had routinely taken over Palestinian homes and used them as military facilities. No warrants were needed, and no notice was ever given to the families who were living there. He reflects back “with shame” on how violently he often acted toward the residents in such situations. Gvaryahu is now the Executive Director of Breaking the Silence, an organization of IDF veterans committed to peace.

“There are a lot of Jewish young people who see a Jewish establishment that is racist, that is nationalistic,” Zimmerman explains. Jeremy Ben-Ami, the President of J Street, agrees. “They’re really, really angry about the way they were educated, and the way they were indoctrinated about these issues, and justifiably so.”

While such courageous individuals often receive quite a bit of hatred from their own community (Zimmerman says, “The word I used to hear a lot was ‘self-hating Jew.’ Like, the only way a Jewish person could possibly care about the humanity of Palestinians is if you hate yourself”), their numbers are growing, and one hopes that this will continue. Israelism was released a few months before the terrorist attacks of October 7th and Israel’s genocidal response, events which make the film timely and important.

Since October 7th, we have seen many of the tactics and talking points used to justify Israel’s crimes that the film depicts return with a vengeance. Chief among them is the by-now ubiquitous claim that calling out Israeli atrocities is somehow anti-Semitic.

Zimmerman is anguished that “so many of the purported leaders of our community have been trying to equate the idea of Palestinian rights itself with anti-Semitism.”

This applies to no one more than Abraham “Abe” Foxman, who until his recent retirement was the long-time head of the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), an organization masquerading as a civil rights group but which is really a pro-Israeli government outfit which has long sought to redefine anti-Semitism to include “criticisms of Israel.”

These efforts have borne fruit—“The Trump administration issued an executive order adopting” this definition of anti-Semitism “for the purposes of enforcing federal civil rights law,” Michelle Goldberg notes in The New York Times. Foxman says in the film that “it hurts me for a Jewish kid to stand up there and say ‘justice for the Palestinians,’ and not [say] ‘justice for Israelis’; it troubles me, hurts me, bothers me. It means we failed. We failed in educating, in explaining, et cetera.” Many Israel supporters seem to share Foxman’s horror that Jewish people sometimes care about the well-being of people other than themselves.

Israelism explores this deliberate conflation of anti-Semitism with anti-Zionism. Sarah Anne Minkin, of the Foundation for Middle East Peace, is deeply bothered that “The way we talk about anti-Semitism isn’t about protecting Jews, it’s about protecting Israel. How dangerous is that, at this moment with the rise of anti-Semitism?”

Indeed, the film contains footage of the infamous Unite the Right rally featuring hordes of white supremacists marching through Charlottesville, Virginia, with torches, screaming “Jews. Will not. Replace us!” over and over, as well as news footage of the aftermath of the Tree of Life Synagogue mass shooting.

One of the chief tasks of Israeli propagandists has been to conflate such acts with anti-Zionist sentiment. Genuine anti-Semitism of the Charlottesville variety is (obviously) a product of the far right—recall that President Donald Trump famously referred to “very fine people on both sides” of that incident, an unmistakable wink and nod to such fascist groups.

People who comprise such groups, the type who paint swastikas on Jewish homes, are not the same as peace activists marching to end the Israeli occupation. This should not be difficult to understand. But the Israel PR machine has done a marvelous job confusing otherwise intelligent people on this issue.

Also quoted in the film is Ted Cruz, who like Trump is a regular speaker at AIPAC events, and who like many Republicans pitches his political rhetoric to appeal to the very reactionaries who espouse genuinely anti-Semitic sentiments. This does not stop him from having the audacity to refer to criticisms of Israel as anti-Semitic, shamelessly insisting that “the left has a long history of anti-Semitism.”

The American right wing has been hard at work lately, trying to convince gullible people that the rise of actual anti-Semitic incidents is the result of critics of Israel. The New York Times’s Michelle Goldberg reports that “Chris Rufo, the right-wing activist who whipped up nationwide campaigns against critical race theory and diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives, told me he’s part of a group at the conservative Manhattan Institute workshopping new policy proposals targeting what it sees as campus antisemitism.”

Such efforts apparently convince many liberal-leaning people to agree with UConn Hillel’s Jacqui Schulefand, who as noted above believes that “Israel is Judaism and Judaism is Israel.”

If you believe this, it is understandable how you might come to see criticizing a government’s policies, or the political ideology (Zionism) undergirding them, as anti-Semitic. I do not often profess gratitude for President Biden (indeed, I am really hoping the “Genocide Joe” label sticks), but it was nice to see him publicly state that “You don’t have to be a Jew to be a Zionist. And I’m a Zionist.” This pronouncement clarifies something that the Israel Lobby likes to obscure—that Zionism is a political ideology, like “conservatism,” “socialism” or “libertarianism.”

As such, critiquing it is not racist or anti-Semitic, even if the criticism is inaccurate.

It is always important to consider the ways in which assumptions held uncritically can lead one astray, especially assumptions ingrained from a young age, before people possess the capacity to sufficiently question what they are being told. Israelism is a powerful, thought-provoking film that does this spectacularly. And it does so for a topic that does not get as much attention as it should. Discussions of Christian propaganda are fairly common (again, think of Jesus Camp, or even With God on Our Side), as are denunciations of the kind of Islamic fundamentalist propaganda that comes out of places like Saudi Arabia.

It is almost too easy to go after the Mormons or the Scientologists. But the indoctrination taking place in many Jewish schools gets comparatively little attention. I have written previously of my admiration for people, like Naomi Klein, who frankly discuss the troubling fact that Israeli PR defined much of their early schooling. It is important to have an entire film devoted to the subject. People might not like what they see, but they need to see it.

Israelism is streaming here until January 31st.

#israel #israelism #documentary #palestine #anti defamation league #aipac #zionism #antisemitism #nakba

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fancifulplaguerat · 11 months

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Clara/the Changeling and Daniil have possibly my favorite dynamic in all of Patho. Just the setup of Daniil being a doctor bound to stop the plague and the Changeling being he plague herself is unmatched to me. Especially because the Changeling often refers to herself as Death, so Daniil/Clara interactions are like Daniil having to deal with death itself, in a way. I think the game does play with this a little, such as Clara imploring that Daniil catch her ‘sister’ because “She’s scared of you! She knows you’ve already almost killed her...” It is delightful to me. I think my absolute favorite is when Grace tells Daniil that Clara’s going “To fool the doctor. Said the doctor’s not so smart... That she fooled everyone and she’s going to fool him too. Turn his needles into hooks so he won’t prick her hands.” I love the imagery of the Changeling manipulating his instruments into her own. Like needles and hooks are what Daniil and Clara use to literally and figuratively get under people’s skin and decipher what’s going on with said person in their quests.

I also adore when Clara characterises Daniil’s ‘role’ in the game—in the Bachelor Route she says, “As you can see, you’ve fit into it perfectly. Bravo! Encore! And your persona was... ‘the smartest and the fairest’. Others would have been less convincing.” And in the Changeling Route: “You’re that learned fool from vulgar comedies. Try repeating all of that in Latin; you might bring down the house.” And speaking of personas. I find it delightful when Daniil confuses Clara’s for his own:

Tragedian: [The play] only has bold Masks, just Masks, and miserable Masks...

> What is the play about?

> I've only seen two Masks so far: the miserable one... and the bold one, I presume? It has a remarkably bold beak. *

Tragedian: [...] No, Bachelor; you've seen the Miserable Mask and the Just Mask—that is to say, the punishing one. The Bold Mask is you.

I do find Clara and Daniil incredibly similar, whether intentionally or not, and that’s partly when I find their dynamic so compelling. In typical Patho-doubles fashion, they feel like two sides of the same coin, with similar motivations but different conceptions of said motives. For one, they are both highly motivated by justice. Even if Clara is more led by her heart, in being the plague she is framed as divine judgement, and justice remains a strong thread throughout her character. Then Daniil is, of course, Dr I Will Find Answers and Justice Will Be Restored, and I find this overlap especially tasty because both the plague and doctor see themselves as bearers of justice. Their stories are also driven by their respective attempts to break the Law/achieve the miraculous, and Clara even has a slight utopian flavor in how she talks about the future she intends to create with the Commander.

I feel Clara’s similarity to Daniil really draws out how he can be his own detriment when it comes to miracles. As I’ve thought more about Daniil, it does seem that he stifles his own imagination and dreams with logic. His obsession with truth further seems to constrain him; I think his pursuit of truth is partly an extension of his need for rationality. He disregards the irrational and contradictory, because contradiction is incompatible with truth. As he tells Clara, “I don’t believe you, Changeling... You cannot be trusted because you always contradict yourself.” I feel that Daniil tries to organize reality neatly into what’s true and what isn’t to form a logical and ‘correct’ understanding of a situation, but it’s to his detriment because people and life are inconsistent, some things don’t make sense, so to disregard all that as lies robs him of a more complete understanding of the world. Like Clara tells him, “you have reconstructed a picture of the whole Universe and found the root of what happened, but your picture is austere and barebones... You have merely come to understand the mechanics of the events. You are generally a mechanic of medic.” From a meta standpoint, I think that playing as Daniil definitely offers the most bare-bones understanding of Patho, or at least the most ‘rational’ explanation of events that doesn’t communicate the richness of the world that you get with Artemy and Clara. This makes sense, of course—it allows the player a thorough introduction to make the next two routes more comprehensible. As Clara, the player can also say “There are no bachelors and no towns here, blind man! There’s just you and I. And you are my past. Meaning that, technically, there’s just me and I.” Which God I love it from a meta standpoint because presumably the player has done a route as Daniil, so he is the player’s past

A last thing I wanted to touch on is their diverging conceptions of fate. Daniil professes that he doesn’t believe in it and that it’s just a tool for excuses, such as telling Georgiy, “Categories like ‘time’, ‘nature’, and ‘fate’ deprive man of responsibility for what goes on around him. I was taught to avoid this worldview.” As I’ve said before, I feel that Daniil has a very internal locus of control, and sees everything as driven by actions, consequences, or coincidence. Clara largely does believe in fate, describing herself as bound by a set path and spending much of her route manipulating fate—not just her own, but deciding others’ as well. And in my opinion only Artemy manages to claim autonomy from it because he’s just. “No thanks I’m me actually fuck off.” I don’t think Daniil or the Changeling manage to escape it, but by stealing Clara’s fate, the Changeling still achieves a victory over the Law that Daniil (arguably, depending) does not.

Also, I couldn’t justify putting them anywhere but I have to include these dialogues because I love them so much

Bachelor: What, you and Maria talk to each other? Unbelievable. Maria denounced you as a Changeling and said that if you came to her again, she'd have you thrown into the Gorkhon to see if you'd sink or swim. Does this mean you've swum?

> No! *

> Quit fooling around! Let me into the Cathedral.

Bachelor: So you sank? That makes you a non-witch; but then you must be a revenant, and I don't know which is worse. Shame that the bullets in my revolver are leaden and not silver. But perhaps they'll do too...

Bachelor: Blimey! Look who's here, the demon huntress... I hope you've got your stake of aspen wood with you... And silver, lots of it.

> You're still a slave to your worldview...

> That last part sounded oddly covetous. *

Bachelor: Could be... I'm not the one without sin here. That would be you.

Just how Daniil is vehemently “the supernatural DOES NOT exist” 😡 and then says all this to her. Clara telling him to stop fooling around. Everything about the second one. kisses him kisses him kisses him

#pathologic #daniil dankovsky #clara saburova #patho.txt

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sillyrabbit81 · 2 years

Text

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood Part 3

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Three Summary: Lori meets the Brothers.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 4 k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Three Warnings:

Masturbation, caught in the act, flirting, smutty thoughts, embarrassment, angst, fluff.

Authors Note: Thanks to @henryobsessed for beta reading.

I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Two Part Four

Lori

We had only been on the highway for a few minutes when I heard the other bikes. They drew up in formation and briefly took up all four lanes. Each rider was wearing their colours and full-face helmets so I couldn’t get a read on any of them, other than they all looked to be close to Sy’s size and build. Well, except one, who seemed a little slimmer, but was at least as tall as the others.

One of the riders signalled something to Syverson who inclined his head in response. Then two of the bikes pulled ahead while two others fell behind and they stayed that way for the rest of the journey.

The problem with being a pillion on a motorcycle, especially on a long stretch of highway, was that you didn’t have much to do except think.

It wasn’t something I normally had a problem with, I was fairly comfortable with my own company for the most part, but I had a lot on my mind and not a lot of it was pleasant.

There was one incessant thought, one that wouldn’t leave me alone despite how often I tried to ignore it. It was inescapable considering my arms were currently wrapped around the subject of those thoughts.

Syverson. He was a complication in my life that I didn't need right now.

The first problem was that he was attracted to me.

I shouldn’t be surprised really. Not because I thought of myself as remarkably good looking, but because he’s a biker and I’d heard the phrase “any hole is a goal” uttered too many times by guys like him to take his attraction as anything more than a passing interest.

When I realised he was checking me out, my first thought was that I should take advantage of it because if I got him on my side it might make dealing with him and the rest of the Brothers easier. So I played up the innocent girl act by biting my lip and looking wide-eyed. But if I'm honest with myself, it had only been partly an act.

The truth was I found Sy to be ridiculously hot.

And funny.

And honest.

And kind.

And sweet Jesus, when he swept his thumb over my lips I almost moaned.

Which was my second problem. I was attracted to him too.

Sy might appear a little different to most of the bikers I knew, but in the end, he was in the life and that meant he was not a viable option as a romantic partner. I’d seen too much heartache and too many failed relationships to go down that road.

I loved my mother, but I didn’t want her life. A life walking around a clubhouse wearing a patch that read “Property of ….” so other assholes don’t try to touch you, always being worried about his fidelity and the social stigma that comes from being associated. Not to mention the constant stress of knowing your partner could end up in jail or dead.

Still, there was no harm in flirting with him, right? Who knows how long I was going to be stuck with them, so what was the harm in having a bit of fun? I’m sure he’d be up for it. I've yet to meet a biker who wasn't keen for a bit of no strings attached sex.

No, not a good idea. Not with Sy anyway. I liked him too much already. He had made me laugh for God’s sake. After all the shit I’d been through, it only took one perfectly imperfect wink for me to melt. If he'd tried to pick me up in a bar and he wasn't in the life, there's no doubt in my mind I’d go home with him.

No. Hooking up with Sy would be too risky. The last thing I wanted was to catch feelings.

I concentrated on ignoring how hard his body was, how good he smelled, how blue his eyes were, and how cute his dimples were when he smiled.

Fuck. Maybe it was already too late.

After a couple of hours of fixating on Sy and arguing with myself, I finally found something that took my mind off it.

I was freezing.

The icy wind of the Arizona desert cut right through my jeans. My knees were starting to ache and my leg muscles cramped.

I huddled closer to Sy, leaning my head against his shoulder to use his huge form as a windbreak. It worked, mostly, but my hands were unprotected, my gloves were no longer enough to keep my fingers from growing numb. I started making fists, trying to keep the blood pumping, hoping it would warm me up.

I felt Sy take my hands, one at a time, and slip each into his unzipped pockets in the front of his jacket. Instantly they felt warmer, and once again I was surprised by his kind gesture.

I tightened my arms around him, hoping he’d realise I was trying to thank him. He seemed to understand and gave my knee a gentle pat. He left it there for a few moments, and I could feel the warmth of him heating my cold knee through his glove.

Ever so slowly, he moved his hand down my calf and rubbed it gently, as if he were massaging heat back into my cramping muscles, before he worked his way up again. I held my breath as he patted my thigh and I squeezed him tight again, this time tightening my thighs as well.

I suddenly didn’t feel quite as cold.

I was not going to fall for him, I was not going to let his tender gestures fool me. I was not going to be seduced by a few moments of sweetness and a nice smile and a strong body and amused eyes so clear and blue they were like the sky on a cloudless day.

No way. Not worth it.

As soon as the cold ebbed away, a sudden wave of weariness hit me and I felt tired. Dead tired.

The rumbling sound of the v-twin between my legs, its gentle vibration at this speed, and the smoothness of the road became a soothing lullaby, and I found myself dozing, suspended in the twilight between being awake and asleep. It made the final hours fly by and it wasn’t until we turned off the highway that I was able to stay awake.

By the time Sy and the other riders pulled into a motel it was very late, well after midnight, and I felt a little sorry for the other guests. Not many people can sleep through the sound of one set of aftermarket pipes, let alone five.

When Sy killed the engine, I groaned as a muscle in the bottom of my foot tightened. It was gonna take a minute for me to get off the damn bike and I was a little embarrassed as the others were already lifting their long legs over their rides and Sy was waiting patiently for me to dismount. The guy who had signalled Sy on the highway headed towards hotel reception immediately, not even taking the time to remove his helmet.

I took a deep breath and willed myself to clamber ungracefully off the bike. My legs protested, but I was able to clear the bike before they gave out and I stumbled into a firm body that caught me by the shoulders before I ate pavement.

“Ooft! Easy sweetheart.”

I looked up at a man with a beard similar to Sy’s, but his hair fell around his face in thick curls, almost like a cherub from an old painting. His blue eyes were serious and a little stern, even as a smile split his face and his voice was unexpectedly warm. My breath caught in my throat, he was gorgeous.

“Has Syverson already worn you out?” he asked in a gentle voice with a soft and polite English accent.

His hands held my upper arms, straightening me until I was standing again. My legs still felt like jelly, and not just because of exhaustion. I was right when I thought the other riders were as big as Sy, this guy was at least as burly. But unlike Syverson this guy had the appearance of a cranky grizzly, having little of Sy’s playfulness despite his smile.

“Ease up, Marshall,” Sy said. I looked at him gratefully and one side of his mouth turned up in a smile in return.

“She’s fine,” Marshall said, and I turned back to him.

He was staring at me, his head tilted to the side showing off a large black and grey rose tattoo on his neck and a small gage in his ear. He looked like he was studying me, and from the wolfish grin on his face, he seemed to like what he saw. My heart started to race, thundering so loud I thought there was no way he couldn’t hear it.

“Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

I nodded slowly and Marshall tentatively let me go, keeping his hands close as if he thought I would fall again. Once he was satisfied I could stand on my own accord, he loosened the straps of my helmet and gently took it off before smoothing my tousled hair. He tucked the helmet under his arm while he helped me take my gloves off and shoved them into the helmet.

Two more bikers flanked Marshall. Both were unbelievably appealing too. One of them drew my attention immediately because of his unusual and striking appearance. He had silvery-white hair pulled back into a braid which isn’t unusual in itself but his face wasn’t that of an old man; he looked to be in his late 30s. The other was younger, probably my age, no way was he over 25. He appeared to have a youthful enthusiasm that I hadn’t seen in the others.

I stared at all four of them with my mouth no doubt agape. These weren’t bikers, these were models, each one more attractive than the last.

“I’m Mike,” the younger one introduced himself, grinning broadly.

He was cute and cheerful, his blue eyes seemed to sparkle as if he knew something you didn’t. He had a barbell piercing through his eyebrow and a small stud in one of his ears. There was a glimpse of a tattoo that poked above his jacket and up his neck, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

I instantly liked him and returned his affable smile. In a way, he reminded me of my brother before the drugs and the club sucked the life out of his eyes. I stuck my hand out to give him a shake, but before I could introduce myself, he threw his arms wide and wrapped them around my waist. He squeezed with a groan and lifted my feet off the ground. I yelped but started to giggle; I was not expecting this level of flirtation within seconds of meeting him. I liked it though, his flirtations came across as playful and fun rather than sleazy.

“Mike,” Sy barked.

“Fuck, alright.” Mike put me down but not before he whispered in my ear, “He never lets me have any fun.”

Mike planted a quick kiss on my cheek and let me go. Marshall must have seen because he smacked the back of Mike’s head.

“Fucking creep,” Marshall reprimanded.

I was worried that it would go further than that, but Mike just chuckled and rubbed the back of his head like it was something he was used to.

Sy stood beside me and laid a heavy arm lightly around my shoulders, directing my attention to the other biker.

“This old man is Geralt,” he said, smirking.

Geralt gave Sy a weary look from beneath lowered brows before he offered me his hand with a half-smile. I took it and I gasped as I looked at his eyes, I had never seen such bright amber eyes in real life before. They were beautiful and appeared to shine even in the darkness of the car park. I opened my mouth to tell him my name when I heard another voice behind me.

“Syverson.” A set of keys were thrown at Sy, which Sy caught easily in one hand. “Take the client to her room, you take the first watch.”

I turned to the guy, he wasn’t looking at me, his eyes were on Marshall, throwing him another set of keys.

“Marshall, you’re with Mike, second, third shift. Geralt, you’re with me, fourth, I’m fifth. Any questions?”

I felt Sy stiffen, seeming to bristle at the orders. This last Brother was obviously in charge and when he finally looked in my direction, I could see why.

He took my breath away. He was just as attractive as the others but he had a next level aura of danger that the others couldn’t compete with. He shouldn’t be so good looking; by all rights his Tom Selleck moustache should look ridiculous, but it somehow didn’t.

“Walker,” he said simply.

“Lori,” I managed to mumble. There was something about Walker that simultaneously made me feel hot and cold. He wasn’t tattooed or pierced the way the others were, but he was far more intimidating than the rest of the Brothers.

He smirked and raised his eyebrows as he looked me up and down.

“She’s pretty,” he said, while still appraising me, and obviously not addressing me, “but I don’t get what all the fuss is about.”

Heat rose to my cheeks as anger and embarrassment swirled within me. I was tired, sore, and been through hell in the two weeks since my parents had been killed; the last thing I wanted to do was get into an argument in a car park. But I knew if I was going to get any respect from this guy I couldn’t let his rudeness slide. I knew guys like Walker and I couldn’t let him get away with shit like that or he’ll think he can walk all over me.

I was also too exhausted to fight, too tense, so I snatched the keys and my bag out of Sy’s hands and made my way to the room.

“Jesus, Walker,” Sy said behind me. “Do ya always have to be such an asshole?”

If Walker replied, I didn’t hear it.

I opened my room and slammed the door closed, locking it behind me. I went straight for the bathroom, dropping my pack carelessly on the bed and stripping off my clothes as I went.

The room was basic but clean and well maintained, however the bathroom left a lot to be desired. I took one look at the showerhead and knew it wouldn’t be the best shower of my life.

When I turned the water on, the pressure was so hard I had to cover my nipples before I could stand to be under the spray. But the water was blessedly hot and was exactly what I needed to soothe away the aches and pains of the ride.

I leaned my forehead against the tiles and took advantage of the harsh spray, letting the water massage my back. It felt good, real good, and as my thoughts started to drift, a familiar need began deep in my core as my body cried out for my nearly nightly ritual before I slept.

My hand moved slowly over my breasts, nipples hardening under my fingers, I turned around, the water pressure no longer hurt, the stinging pain only served to heighten my arousal. I pressed my back against the cool tiles as my hand drifted lower, the competing temperatures made my skin feel electrified, sensitive to every touch. My fingers danced slowly over my belly, getting lower, and lower until they slid over the small patch of hair on my mound. I shivered as the pads of my fingers ghosted over my clit, seeking the warmth and slick of my throbbing heat.

A moan escaped my throat as I slid two fingers inside me, curling them deeply, feeling for that smooth spongy spot. It was hard to reach at this angle, so I widened my legs, curled my spine and groaned as I found it.

I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts wander, thinking for a moment of Jake, my sometimes fuck buddy, but quickly my thoughts shifted, and it was no longer his face I saw in my mind.

Images of Sy came quickly, the way he felt as I held him while we rode. How he had caressed my leg sent shivers up my spine as I imagined him touching me like that again, skin against skin.

But that wasn’t all, I thought of all of them, Marshall, Mike, Geralt, wondered how each of them would feel. Would their hands be rough on my skin? Would their lips be soft on mine? Would they grunt and groan? Would they whisper words of praise in my ear? Were they dominant, or primal, or tender, or giving, or maybe all of it at once? I know I shouldn’t let these men invade my fantasies, but God, I couldn’t stop.

Then I thought of Walker with that smirk, that teasing grin that made me want to both slap him and drop to my knees.

“Fuck,” I mumbled as my thighs started to tremble.

“Fuck!” cried a louder, deeper voice.

I froze. I became a deer in headlights as I looked towards the door and saw a figure distorted by the thin layer of condensation that clung to the glass of the shower.

Snapping into action, I swiped an arm across the glass catching a fleeting glimpse of a wide-eyed Sy as he slammed the bathroom door shut.

I turned the water off and grabbed a towel, my breath coming in heaves, my guts churning as my face burned with embarrassment.

Okay. Think about this clearly. He couldn’t have actually seen anything, the glass was too fogged up.

He had heard though, there was no doubt about that.

Oh God.

I had been thinking about him, and the others too. I had left the bathroom door open and everything, he’s going to think that I did that on purpose. But I didn’t, I had locked the door to the room and…

Asshole!

Fury overtook my shame and I stormed out of the bathroom.

“You pervert! I locked the door.”

Sy was standing by the window, peeking through the curtains. His jacket was off, slung over the back of a chair and a silver handled gun was strapped to his thigh. He turned slowly, taking in my appearance and sucked on his bottom lip as he took a few steps towards me.

“It’s a hotel, Babycakes. They have spare keys.”

“My name is Lori and I would have thought a locked door meant I wanted privacy.”

Shrugging, he grinned. “You ain’t gonna get much privacy until we get to the Clubhouse.”

“What? You’re staying in here?” My voice was a little shrill but Sy nodded and I shook my head. “No. I thought you’d wait outside the door. I don’t want to be sleeping here with… men I don’t know.”

I almost said Walker but stopped myself. Oddly he was the only one I didn’t feel like I could trust.

“You scared of us, baby?” Sy asked in a low voice.

The back of his fingers skimmed over my still damp shoulder and down my arm. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, his touch was eerily similar to what I had just been fantasising about, gentle yet deliberate, hot and thrilling.

“Why?” My voice was huskier than I hoped it would be. “Does that turn you on? Is that the kind of sick shit your club is into?”

“Not at all,” Sy replied steadily, smirking, “I like my women willin’.” He cupped a hand under my jaw, lifting my chin higher. “Did ya finish the job in there?”

My eyes widened in shock, I didn’t think he would be so bold as to come right out and say what he saw. He chuckled as his hand slid down my neck, resting on the bare skin of my chest.

“I could give ya a hand if ya want,” Sy said, his voice seemed lower if that was possible, deeper, rougher, deliberately seductive, “Might feel good.”

“Is that a standard service you offer as part of your contract or…?”

I tried to sound disinterested, but my voice betrayed me. I was breathless, my body was a hot, throbbing mess. Sy licked his lips and my eyes were drawn to them. They looked so plush and inviting, and the whiskers surrounding his mouth seemed so soft.

“It’s an optional extra,” Sy shrugged and his fingers traced the edge of my towel, “But for you, I’ll throw it in for free, no charge.”

“No thanks.”

It’s what I said but it’s not what I meant. I said no out of habit, having said no to men like him my entire life. It was a lie and an obvious one. My fingers were already sinking into his beard, and I could feel him clench his jaw beneath my touch and his nostrils flared. Taking half a step closer, I met his eyes. They were hooded, dark and still held a glimmer of amusement. His hand moved to the nape of my neck, the other snaked around my waist, resting on the small of my back.

“Then how ‘bout I eat ya pussy cause I want to?”

He pulled me closer, our bodies met and his fingers slid into my hair. I put a hand to the centre of his chest, I had every intention of pushing him away and he must have known because he held me tighter, pressing his hardness into my hip.

“’Cause I wanna hear ya make those noises again, but this time I want you to make ‘em because of me.”

My core fluttered, no it was more than that, every muscle in my body seemed to quiver with anticipation of his offer, and dear God did he have the confidence of a man that knew he could deliver.

“No thanks,” I managed to utter. Barely.

Sy’s grin didn’t waver as he inhaled deeply and let me go.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug and went back to his position by the window.

It took me a minute to get my bearings. I was completely dumbstruck, still overwhelmed by Sy even though he was now across the room.

I cleared my throat and swallowed hard. Fuck me, was I in trouble here.

Sy glanced at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk.

“You’re really gonna stay here all night?” I asked.

“For a couple of hours, then one of the others will take over,” he said, his voice sounding a little more serious and matter of fact than it had moments ago.

I didn’t like the sound of that. All five of them coming and going in my room while I slept, me not knowing who I’d wake up to?

Despite Sy’s advance or maybe because of it, I felt like I could trust him and would rather he stayed with me than the others. Having to keep an eye on one horny biker would be easier than having to watch out for five.

I took my bag from the bed and dressed in the bathroom, with the door closed. Though I was beat, I blow dried my hair with the shitty hair dryer the hotel had attached to the wall before braiding it.

While I was brushing my teeth I looked at my pyjamas in the mirror, realising now why Sy had chuckled when he saw them. When I packed, I had no idea the Brothers would actually be in my room with me. The tank top was so thin you could see the dark pinkish skin around my nipples.

The thought made my body warm. Part of me liked the thought of them seeing me like this. But I knew it would be a mistake to go down that road. Nope, my pussy would be a barren wasteland for the foreseeable future.

Pointedly not looking at Sy, I went back into the room and grabbed my shirt from the floor, turning it the right way round and slipping it on over the top.

First thing I was going to do when I got to the clubhouse was buy new pyjamas.

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putnamcapital · 8 months

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Deep dive wondering about Sara's backstory (CW: drug / alcohol abuse) (Part 2)

CW Drug & Alcohol abuse by a parent

This is part 2 of a post about trying to figure out Sara's motivations and actions and how they are influenced by being raised in a home with a drug/alcohol dependent parent. Feedback / thoughts very much welcome.

Watching: Frida Argento is an incredible actor, and people often talk about how expressive she is with her eyes. This is partly her, and partly her character: Sara sees EVERYTHING. There are numerous points in the story line where it is literally only us, the viewer, and Sara, who know everything. She sees August upload the video, she sees Stella’s crush on Fredrika, she sees Wille hold Simon’s little finger in the movie theatre, she sees through Simon’s smile the morning after when they’re waiting for class to start. The only thing she doesn’t know in the gun scene at the end of S2 is that Simon gave August the drugs to sell. I could go on. She is -literally- the eyes on this world. And she says almost nothing, until she decides to confront someone (i.e. asking Stella about her crush / asking Simon why he didn’t sleep at home). This is a kind of vigilance you learn when your home is unstable and unpredictable. You learn to watch everyone for clues as to What Is Really Going On Here, so that you might have some hope of anticipating when all hell will break loose. People with drug and alcohol problems are sober a lot of the time, and they might even have various modes of being drunk or high. You learn to put a lot of store in feeling you might be able to predict when the mood will change. If you’re a kid, trying to read these signs gives you a feeling of power in a situation where you are utterly powerless. Everything - the way someone’s lips narrow, a clench of the jaw, the music they’re playing, anything - it becomes a possible sign of the atmosphere being about the change for the worse. Vigilance becomes a way of trying to experience safety. And for Sara, the fact that she does see so much ends up giving her a trump card - the ability to turn August in - in other words, the power she never had at home to finally do something about the bad actor.

Attachment: Sara was bullied at Marieberg. She knows she’s different, and she believes people don’t like her. When Felice does allow her into this secret garden called friendship, she is elated, but also insecure. For example, she gets worried when Felice and Wille become closer in S2, and asks Felice to reassure her about whether they are ‘besties’ still, and Felice says, oh you silly goose, a person can have more than one bestie. But for Sara, the love she shares with others feels intrinsically insecure and conditional: as in, people love her because of a certain tacit deal they’ve struck. This is why she is not just angry when Felice condones selling Rousseau - she is far deeply hurt, it is a betrayal of the highest order, she says she doesn’t even know who Felice is really. It all suggests a world where Sara didn’t experience love as unconditional - instead it was transactional. It’s the kind of backwards-emotional-math that kids can do to try to explain a situation that hurts but is the only thing you know — Dad is drunk again today, it must be something I did wrong; Dad is not drunk today, it must be something I did right; if Dad is drunk he’s not really him and he can’t love me as a parent; ergo, my behavior is the token that gets exchanged back and forth between us that can turn love on or off. Love is never there all the time, it can be withheld based on conduct, and people can be so radically not themselves that it makes the love they profess fake.

Her relationship with August: I think Sara unconsciously falls for August because he is a copy of her father, and she is using him to work out the trauma and disempowerment of growing up with Micke. August is a better version of Micke and, even better, one Sara believes she can control and help. As an additional extra-credit, it turns out he really loves her - in his fucked up way - which is more than Sara believes about her own father. Like Micke, August is drug-dependent. But unlike Micke, he seems to be successful and, until she gets to know him, he seems to have his shit together. It seems like he is powerful: after all, he gets her what she wants - a place at Manor House. Sara is initially uncomfortable about the pills - she confronts August about it. But then August assures her that it’s “only when he needs to perform” and that’s probably all she dreamt of hearing from her father when she was a child. August is the fairy tale prince: an addict who in fact has it under control, an addict who can actually love her. And unlike her father, he is an addict she can help (overcoming a lifetime of powerlessness for her). In fact, the thing that actually kickstarts their relationship is her getting off (literally) on the high of being able to help August when he was having a panic attack. Then, when everything goes overboard, she explains her actions in the way she learned at home: she says she was in love, and she didn’t really know what she was doing, she was not in her right mind … she was, in other words, … drunk / high … but on love. And this explanation is somehow a mitigation for her actions. She can’t be blamed for something she can’t control - which most addicts believe at some point.

#sara eriksson #simon eriksson #young royals #young royals analysis #micke eriksson #alcohol abuse #substance abuse

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pikapeppa · 6 months

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Astarion/Tav: Trouble

The first chapter of my Astarion/Tav fic! You can read here on AO3 if you prefer. ~3800 words, rated M for blood/violence (but the fic on AO3 has a little bit of rated E smut already).

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Brynn Bladetongue was trouble. She had him wrong-footed from the day they met, and he did not like it.

The trouble began a mere few hours after Astarion joined her and Shadowheart’s quest for a tadpole cure. They had just finished pulling an odd and incompetent wizard out of a malfunctioning teleport, and while Gale was nattering to Shadowheart about his adventures dabbling in clerical magic, Brynn sidled up to him.

“So,” she said. “You’re a magistrate, are you?”

“That I am,” he said easily. “But if you’re thinking of calling in any favours back in Baldur’s Gate, think again. A politician I may be, but I’m a scrupulous one.”

“Right,” she said. “And a lower-ranking one, I’ll wager.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The state of your jacket and boots.”

He raised his eyebrows. “My—? Excuse me?”

“Your jacket and boots,” she said. “The jacket’s fancy but faded, and your pretty gilt thread is going in some places. And your boots look like you shine them up regularly, but the soles are wearing thin.”

For a moment, he was tongue-tied: something that rarely happened to him, if ever. But he quickly recovered his aplomb. “If you must know, I’m dealing with a bit of gambling debt at the moment,” he lied. “It doesn’t leave much wiggle room for new finery, as much as I might wish it did.” He gave her a wry look. “I do love a good bespoke suit complete with gold thread and jewels.”

She smiled. “I had a feeling you were the sort of man who enjoys some proper tailoring. But I didn’t take you for a gambler.”

“Well, it takes all sorts, doesn’t it?”

“It sure does. And is gambling your only vice?”

What was it with her and the questions? He smiled at her: a slightly tart smile. “Is there some reason behind all this questioning? I don’t blame you for being interested in yours truly, but it’s starting to feel like a courtroom interrogation.”

She laughed. “Fine, fine, I’ll lay off. But I have one last question for you. One last little bitty question, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He sighed. “Fine, out with it.”

“Are you a vampire?”

If his heart was still capable of beating, it would have stalled for a moment. Without even batting an eye, he let out a rolling laugh. “A vampire? What in the world possesses you to ask such a thing?”

“The red eyes, for one.”

“Ha! Pot, meet kettle,” he said, and he gestured from himself to her face — a slate-complexioned face punctuated by deep crimson eyes.

“Touché,” she said with a smirk. “But there’s also the matter of the bite marks on your neck that look suspiciously like fang marks.”

Blasted fuck, he thought. He’d been hoping to hide the marks with the collar of his jacket for a little longer. He hadn’t yet had the time to charm these people into not attacking him when they found out what he was.

He let out another laugh. “Ah, that’s why you asked about other vices.” He gestured at his neck. “You think this is the result of some delightfully depraved sex practice? Well, you’re right. That’s exactly what it is.”

Her smile widened in a distinctly impish way. “Of course it is.”

He felt a pinch of annoyance. How dare she look at him so knowingly? And how dare she figure out the truth before he was ready to reveal it?

He gave her a look of exasperation that was only partly feigned. “Consider this, then: if I was truly a vampire, how on earth could I be walking around in the full light of day?”

“All right, I’ll admit that piece doesn’t fit together. But still, I have a fun little feeling about you.”

“You minx,” he said coyly. “Enjoy that feeling. Use it to keep yourself entertained.”

She smirked. “Why would I need to do that when I can just listen to Gale instead? Which reminds me — hey, Gale!”

He looked up. “Yes? How can I help?”

“You’re an accomplished wizard, right? What can you tell me about abjuration magic?”

Gale’s face lit up. “What can I tell you? Oh-ho, what can I not tell you is the more apt question! Now, the first thing you need to know about abjuration is that it requires the ability to effectively split your mind between multiple tasks or persons…”

Brynn shot Astarion a quick wink, and he returned it with the most harmless don’t-mind-me smile he could muster. But in truth, he was displeased. And a little unnerved. Damn it, this woman was cleverer than he’d anticipated. He was going to have to seduce her as soon as he possibly could to get her firmly in his corner, while also being on his guard against any other pesky insights she might have. Ugh, why was she so perceptive, anyway? Was it part of her drow manipulative guiles?

In any case, she was trouble, and the best course of action would be to stay pleasantly neutral with her until the opportunity presented itself to lower her defenses by luring her into his bed. Or whatever passed for a bed in this ghastly wilderness.

Unfortunately, what he didn’t account for was the exact thing that Brynn had been needling him about: he did have a vice, in a manner of speaking, and one that had never been properly fed before. Rats didn’t count, after all, and Astarion refused to drink from a rat ever again — not fucking ever. But as the days went by and his only successful kill was a rather small boar, his hunger began to nag at him more and more: enough so that he was having difficulty ignoring the thumping pulses of his companions as they wandered around in the wilderness looking for a lead on a cure.

Then came a day when their little group stumbled into a particularly nasty fight. A group of goblins descended on a trio of adventurers at the gate to some sort of stronghold in the wilds, and Astarion and the others got dragged into the fight by sheer proximity.

The fight was a wickedly messy one. By the time it was done, the ground was liberally spattered with blood: goblin blood, mostly, but human blood too, and a little from Brynn as well. She’d taken an unfortunate arrow-graze to the shoulder, and as Astarion and the others trotted over to join her, he could feel the hunger pooling in his mouth. There was so much blood on the ground — so much delicious blood sprayed everywhere he looked. But Brynn’s blood in particular smelled… gods, so fucking rich. Sweet and tangy in a way that reminded him of the pomegranate syrup he once used to love. By the hells, he was starving.

He kept his wits as they wandered through the druid’s grove, and he managed to be his usual charming self when they made camp that evening. But that night, after the others had settled down to rest, Astarion found himself hesitating before sneaking off to hunt. What was the point of trying to hunt, after all? He knew he wasn’t going to have much luck in this area. All of the nearby animals were protected by those bloody druids.

His eyes strayed to Brynn’s tent, and his mind wandered to the little wound she’d suffered this afternoon. The rich scent of her blood, how brilliantly red it looked against the velvety grey of her skin… Gods, he was practically slavering. And before he knew it, he was tip-toeing over to where she lay on her bedroll.

Stupid, he thought. This is obscenely stupid. But he was starving, and being this hungry reminded him unpleasantly of being back home, and he did not want to feel this way — no, he refused to feel this way. He refused to feel so fucking weak and craven. All he would need was a tiny sip: just a quick little mouthful to coat his tongue and slake his thirst, and then he’d be back to his usual self.

He knelt beside her. Her head was turned to the side, and the vein was thumping at the side of her throat, like a pretty little beacon inviting him in… He swallowed hard, then bent over her. He’d be done before she even knew it—

She inhaled sharply, then sighed and opened her eyes.

“Shit,” he breathed.

She yelped and sat up straight, headbutting him in the process.

“Ow!” He stumbled to his feet and slapped a hand over his mouth: he’d cut his own lip on his teeth.

Brynn scrambled onto her knees. “Astarion! What the fuck?” She rubbed her forehead. “Argh, that hurt like a bitch!”

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed.

“You started it,” she retorted. She lowered her hand and inspected her fingers, then arched a brow at him. “No blood, unfortunately for you.”

Fuuuck. “Wh-what do you mean?”

She smiled: that impish little smile that she wore far too often for his liking. “I was right, wasn’t I? You are a vampire. You were going to bite me!”

He wilted. There was no point denying it anymore. “It’s not what you think. I’m not some monster. I feed on animals — boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get. I’m just…” Damn it, this was awkward, and he did not like it. But humbling himself was the only choice he had right now. “I’m too slow right now, too weak. It’s been slim pickings for the past few days.”

She twisted her lips ruefully. “And I suppose the druids won’t be too pleased if you go around chowing down on their friends since they’ve allowed us into their Grove, however reluctantly.”

“Something like that.”

“Hm,” she said. “So what, you were just going to bite me while I was meditating? Even though it would have woken me up?”

“Ye-es. But look,” he said hurriedly, “if I just had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better. Please?”

She was frowning up at him now: a thoughtful frown, not an angry one, and it was somehow worse than her mischievous smile.

“What?” he said testily.

“Why didn’t you just—”

Without warning, he was awash in memories. Kneeling on the cold stone floor. Cazador standing over him, a cruel smile on his pale face. ‘Eat it, worm.’ The wriggling little body in his hands, squeaking like mad and slick with sewer grime, nausea and hunger warring in his gut — No, stop, stop this, he didn’t want to think about this, stop.

He stepped back and dragged his mind away from her, and she stumbled a little too and rubbed her forehead. “Shit, this fucking tadpole, I — I didn’t mean to…” She lowered her hand and gave him that unnervingly penetrating frown. “That man. Who was he? He made you eat rats?”

Astarion clenched his jaw. This tadpole mind-invasion shit was so unfair. He did not want anyone to see the things he didn’t want them to see. “That man was my master,” he said grudgingly. “I ate whatever disgusting vermin he picked. So you can see why I’m slow to trust you. But I do trust you,” he lied. “And you can trust me.”

She studied him in silence, and his spirits sank a little more. It looked like he was going to have to kill her and the others to get away alive, which was a shame. He really had been finding it useful to camouflage himself among a group. But oh well, such was life.

Then she shrugged. “All right. What do you need?”

He blinked. “I… sorry?”

“What do you need, exactly?” she said. “You said you just need a little blood, right?”

“Uh, yes,” he said blankly. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

“All right.” She settled cross-legged on her bedroll, then gestured at him. “Come on down here and have your little bite.”

He gaped at her. Was she quite serious? She seemed to be. She wasn’t even giving him that shit-eating little smile of hers. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” she said. “But I’ll warn you, if you bite me for too long, I’ll scorch your gorgeous hair clean off.” She snapped her fingers, and a small wreath of flame encircled her hand.

Astarion flinched back. What in the—? He’d never seen her do that before. How was she able to conjure flames without uttering a spell or strumming that harp of hers? He didn’t know that bards were capable of performing magic if they weren’t, well, performing.

She flicked her wrist, and the flame went out. “Astarion, come on, let’s get this done. I’m going to lose my nerve if you just keep standing there like a petrified bugbear.”

“All right,” he said hastily. “Er, thank you.” He kneeled beside her, then hesitated. He’d never actually bitten a person before, and he’d never bitten any creature without the intent to drain it dry. How exactly was he supposed to do this?

She made a little face. “So what now? Do I lie down, or what? Maybe I should lie across your lap? Oh, I know — here, open your legs.”

What? A pinch of reluctance raced down his spine, and he hid it with a smirk. “Open my legs? What exactly do you have in mind here?”

She grinned. “Don’t be dirty. I’m just thinking I can sit between your legs and rest back against your knee while you bite me. If I’m doing this, I want to be comfy.”

“Ah. Yes, that would be best,” he said, with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Come on, then.” He sat back and parted his legs.

Brynn shuffled between his legs and leaned back against his bent knee. “All right, go ahead,” she said briskly, and she pulled her silvery hair to the side.

Her pulse was beating in her throat, like the delicate flit of a butterfly’s wings. Astarion stared at it for a second: that tiny fluttering pulse, the blood that it implied, the rush of heat that was soon to cross his tongue…

He leaned in and grazed her neck with his teeth.

Her breath caught, and he instinctively cradled her head to still her. “Easy,” he murmured, and he pierced her flesh with his fangs.

A spurt of blood washed over his tongue: hot, smooth and rich like velvet, the salt and tang of a perfectly-tender cut of meat. She gasped and tensed, but as Astarion hungrily lapped the blood from her wound, she shivered and relaxed until her weight was pressing against his leg.

Without lifting his mouth from her neck, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her propped up. Gods, she tasted heavenly. He’d not tasted anything this good in fucking centuries. Boar’s blood was fine, especially after two hundred years of nothing but putrid rats. But drinking Brynn’s blood was like the difference between watered wine and aged Amnian port, and he couldn’t get enough. The more he drank, the better he felt: not just stronger, not just like his hunger was being sated, but… good. No, not just good: he felt happy.

Then she lifted her hand and slid her fingers into his hair.

Something in his gut quivered. Why was she touching him? He hadn’t expected her to touch him. Her fingers were just sitting there on his head, her fingertips pressing gently into his scalp, not pulling, not trying to hurt — what the hell was she doing?

She pulled in a slow breath, then spoke on a sigh. “Fangs out now or I’ll turn your pretty hair to ash.”

That actually made him smile. He lifted his head and wiped his chin, then tutted. “Oh dear, you’re still bleeding. Do you have a bandage?”

“In my pack, maybe,” she said. “You’d better get it.”

Her speech was a bit slurred. Perhaps he’d drunk a little more of her blood than he should have. “Sit up and I’ll fetch it,” he said.

She sat upright, and Astarion slipped away from her and went to get her pack. When he returned to her bedroll, she was curled up on her side with her eyes closed, and the blood had trickled from the bite wound in her neck to the front of her throat.

He studied it with interest — ooh, interest only, but not with the same all-consuming hunger as before. Success! He kneeled beside her and shook her shoulder. “Brynn, wake up.”

“Mm?” she mumbled.

He tsked and pressed the bandage-cloth to her neck. “Come now, I didn’t drink that much. You ought to sit up now and have something to drink.”

“Gods, not blood, I hope,” she said. Then she started to laugh.

He scoffed. “Come on, sit up. There’s a good girl.”

She groaned and pushed herself upright, then took over his hold on the bandage, and he rifled in her pack until he found a gourd of apple juice. “Drink this, all right? I’ll be back. I’m going hunting. Away from that damned grove, of course.”

“You’re leaving after all that?” she exclaimed. “At least buy a girl a nice meal after you bite her.” She giggled and unstoppered the gourd.

He smirked. She was going to be dreadfully easy to seduce when the time came. “Remind me tomorrow when we go back to the Grove, and I’ll do just that.” He stood up. “Get some rest, now. Don’t wait up for me.”

She lowered the gourd from her lips. “Hey, before you go: I think you should tell the others that you’re a vampire, too.”

“Technically speaking, I’m vampire spawn,” he said delicately. “Regardless, why would I do that? Unless you think they might offer up their necks, too?”

She scoffed. “Maybe, if you’re lucky. But it’s more that they’re going to figure it out sooner than later. It’ll be better for them to hear it from you than to find out by accident the next time you get a little too peckish.”

He waved her off. “No no, there won’t be anymore midnight surprises, I can promise you that.”

“Still, you should tell them. Why hide it? It’s what you are.”

He gave her a flat look. “You say that as though I’d be telling them I’m secretly a fluffy bunny rabbit. Confessing that you’re a vampire isn’t exactly a nice revelation.”

“But it’s what you are,” she insisted. “Are you really going to spend the next who-knows-how-long pretending you’re just a regular elf? Wouldn’t you rather just be yourself?”

That unnerving squiggly feeling unfurled in his gut again. Where was she even getting these stupid ideas from? “And what would you know about pretending to be something you’re not? Everyone knows you’re a drow just by looking at you. It’s not exactly something you could hide, even if you wanted to.”

She arched a brow. “Actually, the joke’s on you. I’m not a drow.”

He frowned. “You’re…? Yes you are.”

She shook her head. “I’m half-drow. My mother was a wood elf.”

That was a surprise. She looked like she was fully drow. “Interesting. Still, you’re splitting hairs. Half-drow is still a drow as far as everyone is concerned.”

Her smile flickered for a split second: a very brief split-second, but enough that he noticed. Then she laughed lightly. “That’s truer than you know. But it’s also kind of my point. Everyone can think whatever they like of me. I am who I am, and I’m not trying to be anything else. I think you should do the same.”

“Well, thank you for the advice,” he said. “I’ll sleep on it.”

“No you won’t. You don’t sleep.”

“True.”

She grinned. “Is that your way of saying I can shove my advice up my ass?”

He actually laughed at that. “Don’t be so crass, my dear. It’s unbecoming.” He gave her a frank look. “Seriously, though, thank you. This was a gift. I won’t forget it.”

“Anytime.” She tilted her head. “Well, maybe not anytime, but… you’re welcome.”

He smiled faintly, then turned and headed for the woods with a spring in his step. Damn, but he felt good enough to skip. Drinking animal blood had never made him feel this lively.

As he sidled into the shadows, though, he found himself considering her advice. Telling the others what he was, being himself… It was a preposterous idea, really. Brynn might’ve decided to trust him — by some miracle or sheer idiocy on her part, really, since he hadn’t exactly put his most charming foot forward tonight. But he wasn’t so sure about the others. Shadowheart would certainly be suspicious, and that charming Lae’zel would probably threaten to behead him on the spot. Gale, though… Hm, Gale could probably be talked around, especially if Brynn vouched for him, since Gale had a soft spot for her. And what better way to get Brynn to vouch for him than to win her over with a little well-placed sex? Damn, he’d have to make a point of bedding her as soon as possible.

And yet… Maybe she had a point about trying to hide his true nature while he was travelling with a group. Who knew how long it would take to find this Halsin person or the githyanki crèche? Their little group had already been together for a week, and they were no closer to finding a cure now than when they’d met. Did he really think he could keep up pretenses until a cure was found?

But if he did reveal himself, and if the others did accept him without trying to kill him or drive him away… Honestly, the idea did hold considerable appeal. If he could reveal himself as a vampire, then he could feed on the people they killed in combat. He wouldn’t have to feed on animals anymore!

The thought spurred a little wriggle of excitement through his limbs. Damn it, Brynn was right, wasn't she? He ought to tell the others he was vampire spawn. And for reasons that he couldn't entirely formulate, it annoyed him that she was right. How dare she have actual good advice when they’d only just met a week ago? And that was on top of her irritating insights and her whole getting-into-his-memories thing, which was far from ideal.

At the same time, her annoying cleverness could make her quite useful if she was using it against other people who weren’t Astarion himself. Not to mention that hint of powerful magic she’d shown off with that flaming-fingers trick of hers. Once he had her thoroughly tied around his little finger, then he could use her talents for his own purposes. Maybe… Sweet gods, maybe she would come home to Baldur’s Gate with him and help him kill Cazador. Maybe she could help to set him free for good!

The idea was so beautiful that he almost laughed out loud. Ah yes, Brynn Bladetongue was trouble. But Astarion was no stranger to trouble, and if he played his cards right like he always did, he’d be able to make use of her particular brand of trouble before this whole tadpole debacle was through.

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You can read more here on AO3, if you like -- 7 chapters posted to date!

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