at around 9am CST these fuckers tweeted and posted a video titled “MANIA” on instagram that asked chicago to silence its cell phones at 11am CST. on instagram the post included random numbers and what seemed like street names and thanks to @librarian-lost-in-time we know that these belong to cinemas in/around chicago. that would explain why chicago needed to mute its cell phones. at 11am CST, everyone (im)patiently waited for a tweet or a post or some sort of explanation but nothing happened. at around 4pm CST twitter user folie-a-deux-me (love the name btw) posted a video of a trailer that looks like it was recorded in a cinema, the trailer was also titled “MANIA” and it ended with a shot of the ocean saying “FALL OUT BOY 04.28.2017”.
on sep 9 2016, Pete had posted a photo on instagram of previous Fall Out Boy album covers, with the caption “one day we gotta make the purple one… 🔮🔮🔮”
the last shots in the trailer were purple
the initial video that asked chicago to silence its phones was blackish-purple….
so if it is a new album, they have been working on this and planning this shit since september. typical fucking Fall Out Boy
So. Your opinion slash writing prompt. You've written drunk Shiro (rather beautifully, I might add) and sick and injured Shiro (also beautifully), but what about Shiro on strong pain meds/anesthesia? Does he talk? Is he coherent or crazy? Is he more or less fun to be around in comparison to drunk!Shiro? And, most importantly, do the other Paladins (+ Matt) video the whole thing to put on Space YouTube?
I feel like drugged!Shiro is most similar to a mix of drunk!Shiro and dying!Shiro, AKA he suddenly finds himself HILARIOUS and he’s constantly joking about his own death to everyone in range.
Space Doctor: Seems you’re going to survive this just fine, Lt Shirogane
Shiro: Oh, that’d be a first. But I’ll still be dead inside, right?
Space Doctor: ….I suppose so?
When they’re getting him back to his room, Lance suddenly lights up and starts making oh so casual comments on how small and fragile Pidge’s limbs look and maybe she’s cold right now.
At which point Shiro basically drapes himself over Pidge and starts full on hysterical sobbing about needing to protect her because she’s so small and precious, do you need a coat I’ll warm you with my hugs. Pidge glares daggers at Lance, who cheerfully films the whole thing. While it does not go on Space Youtube, it does get uploaded onto the castle, and Lance convinces Hunk to make make reaction gifs out of Shiro’s dramatic wailing and Pidge’s look of utter contempt, and also her awkward attempts to console Shiro. He uses them even when the situation doesn’t call for it.
Also, Shiro inexplicably finds every Space (noun) joke funny. They can just throw the word ‘Space’ in front of something and he snickers into his blankets. It’s nearly cute, but it gets very old very quickly.
Thanks for being awesome about answering requests. Can I get a Mama Baird and son Ezekiel fic where Ezekiel gets really into a case and he massively overworks himself and Eve finds him like 3 days later and he hasn't eaten and he's exhausted and she has to mom him to get him to go to bed? Thanks so much.
This was such a cute idea so thank you! Also, thanks so much for your sweet words <3 constant reassurance that I’m doing at least okay keeps me going, lol ;)
Top 3 Fave Jazekiel Moments (requested by anon)3/3
And, of course, we have this scene from ‘and the Eternal Question’ where Ezekiel ‘doesn’t do punchy’ Jones is able to do all this. Which is mostly being Jake’s makeshift weapon, but still, you can’t convince me they haven’t practiced this before. Also: (Ezekiel’s chest peaking through his shirt. jk. not really tho.)
A) Obviously, there’s the “I can’t do this alone.” “You got me.” “Glad you feel that way.” exchange which was amazing and one of the highlights of this episode.
B) Like, really, we know Jake has been training with Eve, but I feel like Jake’s gone to Ezekiel after a few of their sessions and been like, “Dude, you gotta let me show you how to do this.”
C) That arm-holding-while-running is both really cute and really unnecessary.
In which Nesta gets rip-roaring drunk. Mildly NSFW. There’s a small shout-out to Anne Bishop’s Black Jewels trilogy too. Makes more sense if you read the rest first: 122.534567891011.
Nesta scanned the library shelves. She had about half an hour before she needed to meet with Amren, and wanted to see if there were any books on life magic. Months earlier, she had read what limited information there was on death magic, but none of it had felt like what she had called up that day against the King. Hopefully, she had just been searching for the wrong thing, but she’d spent an hour already with no luck at all. There were stacks of books on Illyrian killing power, and many more on the more generic magics like managing pocket realms and winnowing. None of which she had tried yet. Damn. The silent librarian who escorted her turned into a different set of shelves, pulled two volumes down, and handed them to her. She carried them to one of the desks that lined the circular walls and flipped one open. It was a dissertation on magical theory, reviewing the concept of magic as manipulation of molecules. She didn’t even know what that meant, but it sounded like it might be informative. The second book opened to a gruesome picture of a fae being misted. She’d seen enough of that in person during the war, and it had never called to her power. Closing that one, she lifted the first and turned to the librarian. “Can I borrow this?” The female shook her head, and pointed to the desk, then to Nesta. Okay, then, she could leave it here and come to read it. She set it back down, nodded her thanks and left, realizing as she climbed that she could have verbally thanked the librarian; Clotho was mute, not deaf. Oh well.
Amren had suggested they meet on the roof; it was vacant when Nesta emerged from the House of Wind so she settled into one of the chairs. Cassian had taken Feyre with him to train with Brisa again, so they wouldn’t be working out up there. Her stomach ached from his absence. Or from the memories of the day before. She still felt a twinge of pain at how close she came to plucking his life before she remembered him after returning to her body. Though he hadn’t been nearly as disturbed by the fact she’d nearly killed him as by the idea that she might have stayed in the abyss. Their bond vibrated, and she realized she was sending her thoughts down it unawares. She opened her pathetic, untrained barrier to him and he sent back an image of their return to the apartment the night before. Her lips curled into a smile as she recalled flying back from the townhouse chasing the setting sun, all the colors more vibrant than she had ever noticed before, his arms warm and hard around her, the wind tickling her skin, setting her into a state of arousal yet again. Cassian must have felt it too, because as soon as he landed he lay her down on the chaise in the rooftop garden and they didn’t bother to fully undress before they were tangled with each other again, his wings flared to hide them from any eyes flying overhead. Then he had carried her down the stairs, ignoring her laughing protests, mouth claiming hers as he gently set her on her feet. It felt strange, to return to their apartment after so much had changed and realize they had been gone less than twelve hours. She had been a little worried that Willow would reject or fear her, but the half-grown cat had greeted her as enthusiastically as ever, whole body vibrating with the force of her purr. Then this morning, they had lingered in bed far past his usual sunrise awakening.
The sound of a throat clearing interrupted her reverie, and she looked up to see Amren glaring at her. “Are you ready to work, or am I going to have to deal with newly-mated nonsense all day?”
Nesta bristled a little at the tone, but replied, “Yes” as flatly as she could manage.
The tiny female’s eyes narrowed. “Yes to which one?”
“You pick,” Nesta replied, but got to her feet. “What’s the plan?”
Amren led her over to the door, where she had set a box of plants. “We need to figure out what your magic affects, and you need to practice control.”
Nesta looked down at the box, wondering if Elain would be mad at her if she destroyed a bunch of plants. Or if she was right, and it was life magic she possessed, could she turn the roof into a jungle if she pushed her power the other way? “I found a book,” she said, noticing the crossing of Amren’s arms at the delay, “that talks about magic as manipulating molecules? I don’t really understand what that means, but it sounded brilliant…” She broke off as she realized Amren actually looked a little embarrassed. Her expression changed to bored contempt as soon as she noticed Nesta’s attention. Hmm. Perhaps the ancient female had more talents than she knew, if she was writing books. Though after thousands of years of existence, she supposed writing was just another thing to do.
Amren waved a hand dismissively. “That’s all well and good to read on your own time. Maybe it’ll help, if you can actually understand it. For now, grab a plant and sit down.” Selecting the ugliest plant of the group, Nesta sat at the little painted iron table. “Close your eyes.” She obeyed. “Now, remember what you felt yesterday when you returned and everything was fresh. Breathe in, and let the power flow through you. Then breathe out, and reach out with it. Don’t do anything with it, just feel.”
But Nesta didn’t have to reach out. As soon as she thought of the power, she could feel Amren’s life force flowing, so close to her. The people in the House of Wind behind her as well, servants and librarians and the couple of scholars who had been admitted. She directed her focus to the plant in front of her, but it may as well have been made of the same iron as the table; she couldn’t feel it. Minutes passed, and finally she felt a tiny flicker from the plant. It felt clean, content. Simple. And it was…moving. She opened her eyes and focused on the spot of movement. A small bug was crawling along a leaf. “I can’t feel the plant,” she said, “but I can feel the bug.”
“Can you manipulate its life force?”
Nesta shook her head. “I don’t want to kill it.”
“What?” Amren’s tone was incredulous. “You don’t want to kill the bug?”
“It’s cute. And it’s not going to hurt anyone.”
There was a long enough pause that Nesta looked up. Amren was shaking her head. “The girl who beheaded the King of Hybern doesn’t want to hurt a bug because it’s cute.”
She gestured at it. “Look, it’s got all those little spots on its shell. And the little antennae, they’re…waving. It doesn’t mean any harm.”
Amren’s expression shifted from incredulous to intensely focused. “Can you sense its intent?”
Nesta shrugged. “I don’t know, it just sounds…feels…benign.”
“Have you been able to sense people’s intentions before?”
“I’ve never really tried. I mean, I can feel Cassian’s but, you know, the bond. And he’s remarkably easy to read even without it.”
“Try with me.”
Pursing her lips, Nesta shifted the focus of her power to Amren and just sat for a moment, listening to the complex force flowing under that fair skin. “You’re…sharp, for lack of a better word,” she said, finally. “That’s not an intention, but I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Do you remember how the King felt?” Amren asked softly, leaning in, silver eyes fixed on the swirling gray-blue.
“No,” Nesta replied automatically, then paused to remember. She called up the feel of the King when he sat on that throne of bones, conducting the mindless members of his court, thriving on the dismay of his prisoners, on the pain. Then, when he was readying that Cauldron blast, she had been able to feel his gleeful anticipation at the destruction it would wreak, like a staccato beat. She had thought it was the Cauldron she had felt, but the Cauldron did not have emotions, did not have an opinion about anything outside of itself. Finally, as he had appeared holding her father prisoner, the off-notes that had sounded - she had known he would kill him, regardless of what she did. When she spoke again her voice was trance-like. “Yes. He was dissonant, he wanted to disrupt all the threads. After he died, the chords got more…harmonious. But then the Cauldron was broken, and you and Rhys…” She couldn’t find words for the cacophony that had erupted, hadn’t been able to differentiate between emotion and power at all at that time.
“And the queens?” The words were barely more than a whisper.
Nesta didn’t move or speak for a full minute before shaking her head. “No, I can’t remember. They felt wrong, but I don’t know that wasn’t just because they were so obviously uninterested in helping us.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Nesta watching the bug delicately nibbling a leaf, still listening to its tiny life force humming. There was something soothing about it.
“Well, we know you can’t feel plants and won’t kill bugs,” Amren finally said drily. “Is there a creature you’re willing to practice on? Other than Cassian, of course.”
Nesta shivered at the reminder of her near-disaster the day before. “I don’t know, maybe Elain can point out some pests or something.”
Amren’s mouth twisted. “She and her mate went back to the Dawn Court once it was clear you were okay, so we’ll have to wait a bit if you’re going to insist on that.” Nesta had forgotten Elain and Lucien were on their honeymoon. She wondered briefly why they had come back, how they had known, but Elain must have seen it and asked to return. Sweet Elain. She hadn’t thanked her, or Feyre for that matter. Her history was filled with unspoken gratitude.
They worked for another hour on pinpointing and describing individual life forces. She could easily reach about halfway across the city, but selecting an individual to follow among the crowds was challenging. And exhausting. By the time Mor came to bring them to dinner, Nesta was starving and had a headache brewing between her eyes. The three walked towards the dining room. Mor glanced at her out of the side of her eye. “Looks like I miss all the fun,” she said casually.
Nesta snorted. “Well, I would’ve issued you a formal invitation to witness my trauma, but I just don’t like you.”
Mor grinned, golden brown eyes glimmering with humor. “Given that you apparently came out of wherever the hell you were in a killing rage, I think I’m grateful.”
“Now, now, I wouldn’t go into a killing rage without you to inspire me. I was just a little confused.”
“Remind me to always be crystal clear with you, then.” They slid into their seats at the table, the first to arrive. Mor poured them each a glass of wine. “I’ll tell you what, though,” she said, more seriously, “I felt you from here. When you surged. As soon as I regained my breath I winnowed to the townhouse, but I was told to let you and Cassian be and Feyre promptly dragged me right back here. You’ve got some wicked power there, I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”
“I still think you should talk to Rhysand,” Amren interjected. “He may be able to help.”
The High Lord appeared then as if summoned, Azriel a step behind him. “What can I help with?”
“Managing your sister-in-law’s terrifying power,” Mor chirped, her bright tone at distinct odds with the words.
Rhys inclined his head towards Nesta as he took his seat. “I’d be happy to.” He snapped his fingers and food appeared on the table. “Feyre and Cassian should be here shortly. She said to get started without them.”
Mor frowned. “Everything okay?”
Rhys chuckled and even Azriel gave a dry smile. “Yes, just something has evidently gotten under Cassian’s skin and he needs to blow off some steam before appearing in polite company, apparently.”
Nesta and Mor looked at each other, then back at Rhys. “Where exactly is the polite company?” Nesta inquired mildly.
“That is a very good question,” Feyre answered, entering the hall. Cassian prowled behind her, expression stormy. She dropped a kiss on Rhys’s cheek before slipping into the seat next to him. Cassian threw himself onto his chair, arms crossed, and Nesta pressed his knee with her own. He gave her an apologetic grimace that was probably intended to be a smile and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. Glancing at Feyre did not help her maintain her composure, as her sister’s own lips were twitching. Whatever had been gotten Cassian riled was clearly not of any dire nature. Everyone watched him quietly for a moment while he chewed on his lip.
He finally erupted. “I’m going to wallop her!” His hand slammed onto his table.
“Who?” Mor and Amren chorused, while Nesta asked, “Sabine?”
“Yes!” He fumed silently for another moment before going on. “She had the balls to ask me if I was going to invite her father to our mating ceremony. Of course, she called him our father. Why the hell is she even thinking about the ceremony? How does she even know? You’ve been able to feel the bond for all of a day.”
Azriel cleared his throat and said quietly, “Well, brother, you’ve been engaged for a few weeks now.”
Cassian glared at him. “She had already asked about the wedding, just assuming she’d be part of it. Now she’s trying to shove into the mating ceremony that Nesta and I haven’t even had a chance to discuss.”
Mor raised a hand. “Um, I may have told Brisa about the events yesterday, and I guess she could have told Sabine.”
The warrior whirled to her. “What? Why? When?”
“I ran into her at Rita’s last night,” she said, shrugging. “She asked me if anything exciting was going on. I didn’t realize it was a secret, I’m sorry.”
His brow furrowed and jaw clenched as he looked at Mor, anger darkening his eyes. Nesta wanted to kiss the little wrinkles between those eyes, that muscle feathering in his cheek, but settled for brushing his hand with hers and murmuring, “It’s okay, Cass. Everyone was going to learn eventually.”
After a brief moment he glanced at Nesta, then took a breath and settled back into his chair, turning his attention to the food. Tension still rolled off of him, but he did a passable job of acting normal as they ate and discussed the growing rift the death of the eldest mortal queen had caused on the Continent, and what that might mean for the movement going forward. When the meal was finally over, and Rhys had agreed to join Nesta and Amren the next day, Nesta took Cassian’s proffered arm and they walked in silence to the roof. “Can we go out?” he asked abruptly as he scooped her into his arms.
“Sure, if you want.” So much for going home and finding inventive ways to relieve his tension, but they hadn’t gone dancing in a while, and dancing was often a good source of inspiration.
They landed at the top of a hill unfamiliar to Nesta. Cassian strode down the darkening street, fast enough Nesta nearly had to jog to catch up. She took his hand and he slowed, squeezing hers in a gentle apology. “Why does it bother you so much?” Nesta asked. “They don’t mean any harm.”
He stopped abruptly and turned to her, his free hand moving to her cheek. “Because you and I haven’t even had a chance to talk about this, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them push you into something you don’t want.”
“Oh. So it’s not that you don’t…want…all of this?”
He laughed, loud and long, before taking her face between his hands and answering, “I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of time. I’d be mated or married or whatever you want tomorrow if we could arrange it. But if we let Sabine and Mor and everyone take over, we’ll end up having half the Night Court at the ceremony.” Nesta blanched at that idea, and there was a smile in his voice as he continued, “And since I highly doubt that’s what you want, I’m going to fight like hell to prevent it.” He kissed her thoroughly, and a couple of kids on the street whooped. “Now let’s go dance.”
The club was busy, almost as jam-packed as Rita’s always was, the music just as demanding. “Let’s grab a drink first,” Cassian said in her ear as he steered her towards a booth. Leaving her there with a kiss to her hair, he headed towards the bar.
Nesta’s head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice, and she glanced at him where he had stopped, halfway across the floor. She noted the stiffening of his posture, the subtle tightening of his hands into fists, as a tall, curvy female with large dark eyes and full lips approached. “Hello, Tamirah,” he said warily.
“It’s been ages since I saw you last,” she replied brightly, “I was wondering when you’d come seek me out.”
“I’m not…” he started, then stopped, collecting himself. “I’m with someone.”
She laughed, a high, fluttering sound. “I heard you had someone sharing your bed,” she said, “but that never stopped you before.”
“This is different,” he said warmly.
Nesta smiled internally at that warmth, though her impassive mask did not shift. She pretended to be watching the dancers as his eyes flicked to her, then felt Tamirah’s attention shift to her as well. “Oh, she is lovely, though I heard she’s colder than ice. Well she’d be welcome to join us, you know I’m always up for that. And I know you’ve always enjoyed having multiple females at once as well.” Nesta could feel his flinch down the bond. The tall female moved as if to run a hand over his chest but he snarled at her, viciously enough that all the nearby dancers stopped and stared. She took an involuntary step backwards, then laughed again to cover her confusion. The others shuffled away before resuming their dance, continuing to glance nervously at the warrior.
“You know,” she drawled, cocking her head to the side as she studied Nesta, who still pretended her attention lay elsewhere, “she looks just like the High Lady.” Her eyes moved back to Cassian, a nasty smile playing over her lips. “There was a rumor that you and Feyre had a fling before the High Lord claimed her.” Cassian’s Siphons flared a little, but Tamirah didn’t notice the brief flash of red light. “She certainly has a taste for powerful males, doesn’t she. First the Spring Court lord, then you, then Rhysand…I know you and the High Lord are close as brothers, but I guess he wasn’t willing to share. Looks like you found your own version to play with.”
Nesta had nearly leaped from her seat at the reference to Feyre, but on feeling Cassian’s anger flare through the bond she settled back to see how he would handle it. There was nothing of his usual warmth and kindness in his face; no, he looked truly menacing as he stepped towards Tamirah, towering over her. “If you ever - EVER - insult our High Lady again I will break your fucking neck,” he said, voice low but all the more threatening for it. “It just so happens that Nesta is Feyre’s sister. And my mate. So do me a favor, Tamirah. Since you love to spread rumors, tell everyone you know that I am mated, and to be married, and completely in love with the High Lady’s sister. And get the hell out of my face.”
Tamirah obeyed, scurrying for the door with real fear in her face. Nesta couldn’t help it, she reached a tendril of power out to her. The tall female’s life force was limp, held together by thousands of tiny threads that spread out to others in a huge fragile web. There were no thicker threads to anchor her, no strong connections to anyone. Nesta couldn’t be angry at her, she just felt…sorry. Even when she had herself barricaded behind ice, Feyre and Elain had always kept their bonds strong and now she was tethered to so many. This female had no one really, just the illusion of a lot of someones.
A tug from one of Nesta’s someones drew her focus back to Cassian. He was watching her, expression wary and a hint of sadness in his eyes, and he turned away as she met his gaze. She rose and eased through the crowd which had encroached upon Cassian again, until she was standing next to him, lightly brushing his arm with her shoulder. He just looked down at her, and there was something in his face she couldn’t read, a void where the humor usually underlay everything else. She ran a questioning internal finger down the bond and it came to her - shame. Her chest ached, and she searched for what to say to let him know she understood, that she didn’t care about anyone he’d let into his life or his bed before her.
“So, I take it she won’t be sending us a Solstice card?” His lips twitched but he didn’t reply, and the flash of humor didn’t reach his eyes. She tried again. “We can seat her next to Sabine’s father at the ceremony. I bet they’d hit it off.” A low growl but a slight thaw. “I’ve always wondered what the role of the third person was in a multi-partner situation. It sounds like she’s an expert. Maybe I should go ask her for information. Maybe she’s written a book.” Now he was struggling not to laugh, and she nudged him with her shoulder. “I never thought you were celibate for five hundred years.”
He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I know, it’s just…running into her with you here…”
“Well,” she said, tone practical, “I imagine if we wanted to avoid all of your former lovers we could never leave the apartment.”
He started to protest, but paused. “Okay, you may have a point.”
“And as long as I’m the only one around at present-”
“- then I don’t care.” He wrapped his arms around her then, pressing her into his chest and kissing her temple before resting his chin on her head. She felt the tension he’d been vibrating with leave him. Another question flitted through her, but now was not the time to ask it. She tugged him towards the bar. While they waited for the attention of one the bartenders, she read the various signs that listed the different drinks.
“What’s a Gravedigger?” she asked.
Cassian laughed. “Trouble in a glass.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s some specialty cocktail they make. I had two once and it put me completely under the table, Az had to drag me home.” He laughed again at the memory.
“I want to try one.”
“No you don’t.”
Her eyes flashed. “Are you telling me what I can have?”
“Of course not,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “You want a Gravedigger, that’s fine, I can carry you home. But don’t blame me in the morning.” The female bartender turned to them then, and Cassian raised his eyebrows at Nesta. She nodded. “I’ll have a brown ale,” he said, “and the she’ll have a Gravedigger. And a glass of water.” The golden-haired bartender was grinning, her exotic face alight with humor as she returned with the drinks. Nesta took a cautious sip of hers. It didn’t burn as she expected, but instead a gentle warmth flowed through her. She rolled a second sip on her tongue, savoring the way the sweetness of fruit and honey was balanced by the slight sharpness of the alcohol. A third sip and she felt strong, bold. What had Cassian been worrying about? She drank the rest down and then grabbed his hand and dragged him out onto the dance floor.
They danced forever, Nesta surrendering herself completely to the music, the pulse of the crowd, all those bright lives moving around her, with her. The life force flowed through all, she was everyone and everyone was her. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed, time really didn’t mean anything anyway, it was just a construct after all, when strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her away from the small group she had joined. She swayed slightly and her back hit against something warm and solid. She tilted her head back and found herself looking up a vaguely familiar pair of nostrils. Her focus shifted and there were amused hazel eyes behind those nostrils. She spent a moment going back and forth between nostrils and eyes. Odd that she could control that. Something tickled her face and she reached a hand up to brush it away, but it wasn’t the light feather she was expecting. Instead her hand smacked the face above hers, one finger going into an eye. Ew. There was a deep grunt that reverberated through her back, and the face above hers pulled back. Now she could see a mouth above a strong chin, and black hair curving down around it. “Must you poke my eye out, love?” a familiar voice asked.
“Is she okay?” came a husky female voice from nearby. Nesta turned towards the sound and saw a blur of golden hair surrounding sapphire-colored eyes in a narrow pink oval. She blinked, and the blur coalesced into a face with sharp, exotic features.
“I think so,” replied the voice behind her. “I guess I better bring her home though. I don’t know what you put in that shit, but Mother above…”
There was a warm laugh. “Need help?”
“No thanks.” The face above her swung from side to side, making her dizzy, and she felt herself being hoisted off the ground. She was floating, suspended, and she stretched her arms over her head, bending backwards over the two hard beams that held her up. Other hands brushed hers, and there was a murmuring as she passed weightlessly through the crowd. Then they were outside, the cool air bracing. She gulped it down like water and felt her head clear a little. She knew these arms that held her.
“Cassian?” she asked.
“Yes, love?” he rumbled, as something dark spread behind him. His wings.
“I love you, Cassian,” she said, tears starting in her eyes. How had she never really realized this? How deep this went? How it affected every part of her?
“That’s a relief,” he replied, then kissed her forehead and launched them into the sky.
The cold air nipped at her skin and tore at her hair as they sailed over the city. “We’re flying!” she shouted.
“Mother’s tits, Nesta, we fly every day.”
“But we’re really flying! Don’t you know how…how…what a miracle that is?”
His whole body vibrated and she grabbed at his shoulders in case they should fall. What was wrong with him? Was he having some sort of fit? They touched down on a roof and he set her gently down before bending over, howling with laughter. She didn’t know what was so funny, so she just waited. Finally, he regained control and straightened. “Come on, love,” he said, scooping her up again, “let’s get you to bed.”
The apartment was dark as he kicked open the door, and there was a patter of tiny feet and then a small squeak, then lights flared to reveal the fluffy gray cat. “Willow,” Nesta said, tears welling again. “Willow, I missed you, kitty. I love you.”
Cassian carried her down the hall with the cat trotting behind and set her carefully on the bed then knelt to remove her shoes. She sat watching him, the way the hair had escaped from its tie to fall across his cheekbone, his fingers undoing the straps of her shoes. He pulled her to her feet and deftly flipped back the bedcover, then began unbuttoning her dress. She pushed at him. “I shouldn’t,” she said, and the words sounded uncomfortably loud in her ears. “I have a mate.”
“Yes, love, you do. Me,” he replied, continuing to gently undress her. Desire flared through her at the scrape of his fingers against her bare shoulders as he eased the dress down. He picked her up and lay her down on the bed, then tucked the covers around her. She grabbed his shirt when he tried to turn away, and tugged him down so his face was close to hers.
“I want…” she couldn’t think of what she was going to say. He waited patiently until she remembered. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he said, a smile in his voice.
“But why not?” She smacked him lightly on the shoulder.
“Nah, I’m not drunk. That’s just a…” Words were really hard to find. “An excuse. I’m not…I’m not a child. Don’t you want to fuck me?”
He sat on the edge of the bed, cupped the side of her face in his hand, and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “Yes, love, I do. But not like this.” She started to protest but he pressed a gentle finger against her lips. “If you still want me to in the morning, I promise I will.” He rose then and left the room before she could respond. Clinking sounded down the hall and she could hear Willow’s excited mews. Lights turned out in the apartment, and then Cassian came back into the bedroom and set a glass of water on her nightstand. He shut out the lights, but she could still hear the rustle as he removed his clothes. Good. Once he was naked in bed she could convince him. But first, she would just close her eyes and rest for a minute. She felt the bed sink under his weight, then his arms wrapped around her and pulled her against him. In just a moment, she’d begin seducing him. She just…needed…a…little…rest…
If you aren't backed up with requests right now, I read your story about Ezekiel stuck in the rain and in it was mentioned that a prank left Jake stuck in a frozen lake? I'd like to read that story if you get around to it please. You are a very talented writer, especially for this fandom. I think on behalf of all of us, we thank you!
Hello there! Hopefully this isn’t being posted too far after the original fic that literally nobody will remember that one! If that is the case, y’all can find the original ‘Pranks’ fic here.
And, oh my goodness, thank you so much for your kinds words! I certainly don’t deserve all that praise, but thank you nevertheless. The constant support really does make everything in life a little less hectic, so thank you <3
This is a repost of a previous response to a general trend I have noticed popping up a few different places of people very vehemently demanding that no one “label” Anne Frank as bisexual despite the fact that she wrote pretty clearly about her attraction to girls as well as boys. I’m reposting it because it isn’t a response to a single person but to a general trend of adults being painfully uncomfortable with Anne Frank’s diary containing passages about her intimate desires towards other girls, and with acknowledging and respecting bi children generally.
I came out as bi when I was eleven. If Anne Frank was bi she was bi. How is it disrespectful to acknowledge that about her? It implies there’s something wrong or like oversexed about being bi.
She was aware that Dutch war diaries were going to be published after the war and was editing her old diaries for that purpose. She hardly had incentive to explicitly label herself “homosexual” at the time (let alone bisexual, which at that time was a botany term) given that it was illegal in its own right, and not a term that had been reclaimed or stripped of its criminal connotation until much later.
In fact we can see the stark difference in the way homosexual prisoners were treated by the Allies after the war as well. Paragraph 175 (against homosexuality) wasn’t repealed in West Germany until the 60s. Homosexuals interned in Nazi concentration camps were commonly required to stay in prison after “liberation” and also denied survivor’s benefits. Of course Anne Frank wasn’t arrested and killed for suspicion that she was bisexual or lesbian, she was killed because she was Jewish. However, the fact that to the Nazis she was nothing more or less than a Jew, doesn’t mean that the same should be true of her relevance to readers.
Of course it’s possible that she was not interested in boys and was only being pressured, but her father’s editing of those parts of the diary make it hard to know. What we do know is that she was attracted to other girls, didn’t seem to be ashamed or worried about that fact, and wrote it into a diary that she intended for publication. Might her orientation have changed over time had she not been killed in Bergen-Belsen? No one can say. Sexual orientation is a lifelong journey that for some is very constant and for others changes over time.
The question also arises, why label her at all? I think it’s not so much her as a person that is being labeled, as it is her diary, which is all that anyone but the few remaining people who had contact with her can know her by. So why label the diary with “bisexual” and “lesbian”, terms that she never applied to herself? Especially when we consider how uncomfortable the idea of a bisexual or lesbian child makes us as adults? It is because of queer children.
When I was growing up in a rural Ohio town, my family was the only Jewish family I knew and I was the only bisexual person I knew. There was a thin sliver of a queer YAL section in the school library (for which I now wish I could thank that forward-thinking librarian) but I don’t remember finding anything about bisexuality in there. On the other hand, Diary of a Young Girl was required reading for sixth graders. I don’t know where I got the idea that it was ok to be bi, or even where I found the word “bisexual” for the first time.
We cannot scrub the queerness off of history just because we are uncomfortable with it. There are vulnerable queer children who need every scrap of validation they can get. Bisexual people are at a higher risk of suicide, mental health problems, and other stress-related illnesses that either their straight OR gay counterparts. Part of Anne Frank’s legacy is the beautiful honesty with which she wrote about her desires towards other girls, without shame or ambivalence. She deserves to have that acknowledged and honored, just as bi and lesbian children deserve to know the truth of history.