#((it's always the hardest sending your children off to war))

[skyfcx]

@emptyzone (Noise) 'Liked' for a Starter!

     Okay, this scenario needed a little bit of explanation.

     So... the kit was a bit of an artillerist. Where others found their ability to make a change through their speed or raw power, Tails found his behind the barrel of an arm cannon. That, and the plentiful gadgets and gizmos he had made by hand. Natural athleticism could only get him so far. Some augmentations and various tricks up his sleeve were how he got things done at the end of the day. But... the fox was one on a budget.

     He wasn't exactly being funded for being a hero. Despite working alongside the government here and there, they also went against it when it seemed necessary. Therefore, he and his friends were technically vigilantes, and... there was no allocation for vigilantes. Which left only one route left. Sweet, sweet D.I.Y.! Far from a foreign craft for the fox. He had made a television out of paperclips, reprogrammed a super computer using dishwashing detergent and a toothpick, and... you get the picture. All he needed were the materials.

     Right now, some small-grade explosives were on the shopping list. Dummy Ring Bombs were his favorite, but it was good to have a variety for whatever situation faced him. General supplies should include some gunpowder, a material for the casing, ignition starters, and—

     —And a never-before-seen store named Bombs“R”Us...

     Well, how convenient. It was a colorfully decorated storefront touting lower-than-low prices with stock that was just exploding off the shelves! Hah-hah. This was the most obvious trap he'd ever seen in his life. Had someone been spying on him with hopes of erecting the most devilishly cartoonish steak-on-a-meathook pitfall to be created? Gaia below, he feels like an anvil would fall on his head if he walked through the doors.

     ...      ......      ..........

     Curse his curiosity. Today's really the day it finally gets him killed, huh? Always knew he'd go out like this... Because his thoughts wouldn't stop racing! When was it built? How long had it been there? How didn't he notice its creation? Was this a trap specifically for him? Or is he just getting caught in some oddly specific crossfire? It was questions like these that led the high-flying fox straight for those double doors. What could possibly go wrong, right?

[believinghurts]

Their Daughter

Chapter 5

Author’s note: I use Grammarly to fix my mistakes, but there could still be some so sorry for that. Also, I am getting back into writing and am hoping to have a few more works out soon! Please reblog, like, or comment feedback is appreciated.

Word Count: 4,400

Warnings: None? Sirius being a d*ck? Maybe language, but I don’t think so.

Regulus wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he stroked his niece's hair. He was mad at his brother for basically throwing away the only good thing that had ever come from the Black family. Sirius was too blinded by the past to see what was right in front of him. As children, Sirius often told Regulus that he was their family's favorite and that it bothered him, but if he knew what it was like to be less loved then how can he love Harry more than Ali? He understood that Harry was Sirius's Godson, but couldn’t he love Ali and Harry equally? If Sirius made the effort maybe Ali and the other children could even be friends. His heart ached from the emotional battle that Ali was going through right now. Even if Sirius didn’t see it, he and Remus did. Ali’s light was dimmer than before and when she was lighting up again after finding out Sirius never came for her, Sirius just had to go and snuffed it out.

Carefully sliding out from under Ali and placing a pillow under her head Regulus left the room. He shut the door behind him casting a locking spell so she wouldn’t be bothered. He needed to speak with Remus first before doing anything. They needed to decide what to do about Ali. As much as Regulus wanted to spend time with her before she went back to school he didn’t want her to be this upset anymore. He walked into the study to find Remus and Nymphadora sitting near the fireplace.

“How is she?” Nymphadora blurted the question as soon as she saw her cousin. Remus had owled her after Ali had gone to her room. The older sister in her wanted to go up to Sirius and give him a piece of her mind, but she knew that it wouldn’t do any good.

“She’s asleep for now. All the fighting has exhausted her. I honestly don’t know what to do. I want her here, this is her home, but if Sirius doesn’t stop acting like the brut that he is it is going to hurt her more. Speaking of Sirius, where is he? It’s quiet.” Regulus flopped down on the chair across from Remus and Nymphadora raking a hand through his hair. His worry for Ali was causing him a headache. On one hand, he wanted to send Ali to stay at the Malfoy Manor for the remainder of summer, but on the other, he wanted to hold her close and have her stay in her home where she belonged.

“Sirius left with Harry after you went upstairs. He hasn’t been home since. The Weasleys stepped out to Diagon Alley to get the kids stuff for school.” Remus replied. He was secretly thankful that the house was mainly empty. This way at least Ali could come down if she felt like it without the chance of someone bothering her. Remus was having the same thoughts as Regulus about keeping Ali at home virus's sending her to the Manor. He just wanted his niece to be happy. The hope that he had of Sirius and Ali having the father/daughter relationship was gone. If only Remus could get Sirius to open his eyes to the pain he was causing to the girl, but Sirius was nothing if not stubborn.

“I think I am going to write to Cissa and see if she can keep Ali for the rest of summer. If that’s what it takes for her to be happy then so be it. We can see her off at the -“

“I don’t want to leave,” Ali’s voice interrupted. “I want to stay here with you. Please don’t make me leave. I can handle it, I promise.”

Ali knew that she and Regulus were going to have to talk about the fact that she called him dad, but that was a private conversation. Right now she needed to convince the adults in the room that she didn’t need to leave. She could take Sirius. Yes the words that he had said hurt her and the actions he did tonight furthered that hurt in her heart, but she was done. She didn’t owe him anything, and it was clear she knew that he didn’t want to be her father. She had meant what she said to Regulus. He was her father in all the ways that counted. He loved her unconditionally, was always there for her, and protected her.

She went and sat on the couch in between Nymphadora and Remus who wrapped an arm around her pulling her close to his chest. “It might be best if you went and stayed for the rest of the summer at the Manor, Al. This isn’t good for you mentally. We all can see how drained you are.”

“No, this is my home. I can handle it. I have you all plus the older Weasleys and Fleur. You'll protect me and if I need to get away for a little bit I’ll owl Blaise or Draco to go to Diagon Alley or something. I want to spend time with you. Times are hard right now and you never know when you are going to lose someone and I would like to have as much time with each of you just in case.”

Regulus leaned forward taking Ali’s hand in his, “Nothing, and I mean nothing is going to happen to us. I love you more than you could ever imagine and if you want to stay here you can.” Ali smiles brightly at that before Regulus cut her off, “but you have to tell me, Remus, or Severus, if anything happens. And you have to come out of your room. I am not having you locking yourself away again. Got it?”

Ali pounced on Regulus, hugging his neck tight. She was excited to spend some more time with her family. She had meant what she said about never knowing when something was going to happen. Wizards had been disappearing all over London and she was genuinely scared something was going to happen to her loved ones. She was going to make it a point to take plenty of photos and make enough memories to last a lifetime the next couple of weeks.

Regulus held his niece tight, fighting back the tears when she whispered, “Thanks, Dad,” into his ear. He had been called a lot of things in his life, but this was one title he was going to wear proudly.

Remus’s voice interrupted the moment, “wait for a second, why are you going to owl Blaise? We have an agreement, young lady, no boys till you're thirty!”

Ali’s giggle was music to those in the room with her, and for the first time that summer they all saw Ali smile at home the brightest she had since everyone arrived.

————

The rest of the day was eventful which was something that everyone was thankful for. Nymphadora left shortly after spending some time with Ali since she had something to attend to with Moody, so that left Regulus, Ali, and Remus to watch the Star Wars movies in Ali’s room. Kreacher brought them snacks while they made a fort on the floor. Ali was incredibly content laying on the mounds of pillows in between her Uncles. When she was younger they would have movie nights like this once a month until she started Hogwarts. Even then she and her friends carried on the tradition in the boy's dorm since Draco was often present at the ones hosted at home. She wished that she could have Draco over now, but knew that if she brought him here then everyone in the house would throw a fit about it, maybe it was something to bring up to Regulus later.

Molly called them all down for dinner shortly after the second film ended. Leaving the mess on the floor the trio made their way downstairs with Ali trailing behind her Uncles. She could feel her nerves spike the closer she got to the dining room. She thought about excusing herself stating she wasn’t hungry, but the loud growl in her stomach gave her hunger away. Everyone had already sat down beside Harry and Sirius when they got into the room. Regulus pulled the seat out next to him for his niece. Fleur shot her a smile when she sat down by her uncle with Charlie on her other side. At least she was sitting near someone who didn’t hate her.

Chatter and the sounds of forks on plates filled the room as everyone got their fill of Molly’s meatballs and onion sauce. Everyone broke off into separate conversations. Remus, Regulus, and Arthur talking about the Ministry, the younger Weasleys, and Hermione talking about Quidditch, Bill and Fleur about their upcoming wedding, and Charlie and Ali talking about his work in Romania. “What are you planning on doing after you leave Hogwarts?”

Ali shot a glance over at Remus who was doing a terrible job of disguising his eavesdropping on the duo. “I am thinking about becoming a professor. I like creatures obviously so I was thinking something along those lines, but I also like Herbology. So maybe that. I just know I want to teach.”

Charlie shot her a grin. “Have you thought about where? I know Hogwarts has Sprout for Herbology and Hagrid was doing Care of Magical Creatures, but you still have three more years of school so maybe they’ll need someone by the time you're done.”

Ali shrugged her shoulders. In all honesty, she wanted to leave England and travel for a bit but knew that if she brought it up now it would be a fight or something so she bit her tongue. “Maybe.”

The noise came to a halt when the door slammed open in the living room. Everyone hopped to their feet, wands at the ready. It felt like hours had passed before the intruder walked through the door. “Sirius! Harry! Merlin, you scared us all.”

“Sorry, it’s raining hard and we were in a rush to get back home.” Sirius shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Everyone retook their seats beside Milly who served Harry and Sirius. Ali tried her hardest to keep from looking at the latest duo that entered, not wanting to cause any more trouble or to give Sirius a reason to lash out at her.

Dinner passed rather quickly, conversations flowed in their small groups. Charlie had gone with Fleur and Bill on a scouting mission shortly after eating, while Fred and George worked on new products for their shop. Ali was in her head thinking about asking to go to meet Pansy in the coming days to look at a new book shop. Pansy wasn’t much of a reader but was always looking for an excuse to get out of her house. She was startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up Molly was smiling softly at her while handing her a letter in a dark blue envelope. She instantly knew who the letter was from since only one person used that kind of envelope when writing her.

“This came for you, dear, when you were with your uncles. I didn't want to bother you then I almost forgot just now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Ali smiled at the kind woman. Despite her feelings towards most of the Weasley children, their parents were quite nice.

Molly patted her cheek before walking off. Ali started to rip the top off when she got Regulus’s eye and he winked at her. He knew who the letter was from having met the boy a few times already. Her cheeks flushed and continued to do so while reading it.

Dear Supernova,

I hope you are surviving the dreadfulness that is upon you right now with all the people in your house. Yes, Draco told me what was going on yesterday when I finally threatened to out his crush if he didn’t explain why we hadn’t been seeing you a lot this summer. I have to say I am quite hurt that you didn’t tell me yourself. Best friends I thought. Just joking, but seriously you could have told me about him and I wouldn't have said a word to anyone.

I miss you, Supernova. We’ve only got to see each other once this summer and we both know when school starts you will have a book shoved in front of your face in the first three minutes. Could we get together sometime this week? It has been awful at home and if I have to hear Draco's voice one more time without you there to tell him off for being annoying I may throw myself off the astronomy tower.

Your uncle may not agree, but you could come to stay at mine for a night. Mother agreed to it as long as Regulus does and we have separate rooms. If you can't, maybe I can come to you? I don’t really care what the redheads have to say about me being there so don’t worry about that. We have much to catch up on; like the fact that you got Headgirl and also didn’t write and tell me. I had to find that little tidbit out from Parkinson's. Don’t worry we’ll catch up whether that's soon or on the train.

love,

Zabini

Ali felt a pang of guilt hit her square in the chest. She hadn’t meant to forget to fill Blaise in on her life but it had been so crazy recently she hadn’t got to write anyone much. In all the truth no one knew that she had gotten Headgirl. She had gotten the letter from Flitwich a few days after the Weasley’s arrived and completely forgot. Although she told her Uncles she didn’t want to go anywhere spending some time with Blaise sounded nice. Deciding to just rip the bandaid off she looked up to find Regulus and Remus looking at her with amused smiles on their faces.

“What’s you got there, Ali?” Remus asked, causing her cheeks to flame red. She wasn’t scared to say that she wanted to hang out with a boy. She did it all the time whether it was Blaise, Theo, or Draco; it was more to do with the fact that she was about to ask to spend the night at a boys' house. Even if they were going to be in separate rooms and they had fallen asleep cuddled together weeks prior at the Malfoys, something none of her Uncles knew, it was going to be a little fight to get Remus to agree as he made the ‘no dating till you’re thirty’ rule when she was five and asked for a boyfriend for Christmas.

Looking around she noticed all attention was on her even if the other adults in the room were making it seem like they weren’t listening while the children openly gawked. “Uhm,” she was cut off by Severus stepping into the room. Great, now she had to face all three Uncles. Where were Dora and Cissa when she needed them?

Severus hugged her quickly before taking a place by Regulus. “Who's the letter from Ali?” He asked her letting her know there was no getting out of it and that she was going to have to spill the beans.

“It’s from Blaise,” A look of amusement passed Regulus’s face, making her think that he knew what was in the letter already while Remus looked like he was going to snatch the letter out of her hands and read it himself if she didn’t hurry up.

“And what possibly could it say to have your cheeks looking like the inside of Gryffindor common room?” Regulus teased further.

She coughed trying to get her nerves resealed. “He was saying that we need to catch up before school starts, and invited me to come and stay with him and Mrs. Zabini for a night this week.”

Remus grunted while Regulus smiled. Ali had to hide a giggle as she noticed all the other mouths in the room had dropped to the floor. Ali knew that except for Hermione and Harry the Weasley’s never stayed or had anyone else with them.

“Can I, please? His mother said we would have separate rooms and she will be there as well as the house-elves. We only got to see one another once this summer. He said if I can’t he could come here, but honestly, I think the first option is better. Please?” She pulled out her best puppy eyes and pouty lip. She was not above begging for it but didn’t want to do so with everyone staring at her.

Regulus looked over at Remus. Ali could see the silent conversation going on between them. Regulus’s head inclined slightly toward Ali which she hoped to Merlin was a good thing. Remus looked back at his niece with a look in his eye she couldn’t read. “Rosalynn said you’ll have separate rooms?” Ali nodded her head so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “And you’ll stay in them?” Once again she nodded, although she knew that they more than likely would be in the family room till late hours in the night. He looked back at Regulus, “you have no problems with her going?”

“No, I already knew about it. Rosalynn wrote about two days ago. If she wants to go, that's fine. You know Rosalynn will look after her as she does Blaise. And the Heavens know that boy would jump in front of the Knight Bus for Ali.” Regulus chuckled at Ali's shocked expression.

“Y-you knew? Why didn’t you say anything?” Ali struggled to get the words out.

“Rosalynn said Blaise wanted to ask you. She was just giving me a heads up, knowing how Remus is with boys and you. You know we talked quite often, Als.” Regulus winked at her.

“You may go,” Remus stated. She was shocked she didn’t have to put up more of a fight.

“WHAT?” Sirius shrieked. He knew that Regulus would let her go to the Death Eaters house, but Remus? He thought he could count on his ‘friend’ to at least say no. “You’re letting her go to the Death Eaters house? AGAIN? Who's also a boy and staying the night? Are you mad?”

Remus looked at Sirius with disdain, “No I am not. She is a good girl and Blaise has been her friend for years. Rosalynn loves her as much as we do and would never let anything happen. And for God's sake quit calling everyone a Death Eater.”

“Outrageous.”

“Sirius, you have no say in what she does. You gave that up last night. Ali is a good girl who makes good choices. Not only that but she also deserves a little something since she got Headgirl this year, don’t you think?” Regulus smirked as he saw the Granger girl's face fall.

“You got Headgirl?” Hermione whispered to Ali with disbelief lacing her voice.

“Yeah, I did. Draco got Headboy I believe, but it may be Theo. I haven’t asked yet.”

“Why do you and Draco get Head of Houses? Why not Hermione and -“ Ali cut her dear Godbrother off.

“And who? You? Ron? Why would any of you get Head of Houses with all the trouble you bring in? Sneaking out, stealing things, picking fights. We do have the highest marks in most classes as well as treat others equally unlike the likes of you.”

If looks could kill Ali would be dead three times over. In all honesty, she kinda felt bad for the younger Weasley boy seeing as all of his older brothers, bar Fred and George had been Headboy. But then she thought about the trouble he and his friends had caused her and her friends as well as others over the years. Harry preached about equality among the houses but she had witnessed many times when younger Slytherins were picked on by Gryiffndors. Hufflepuffs generally didn't have any problems with the other houses so long as everyone was being just. Ravenclaws tended to keep to themselves unless it really involved them. Whereas Slytherins preferred to stand up to those picking on other Slytherins especially the younger ones. Slytherins were always made out to be the bullies when in general if you got to know them people would notice that they are a lot more than what their parents used to be.

Ally had heard the stories of how mean James and Sirius were to those in Slytherin even if they never did anything to them. She believed in harmless fun could be had pulling pranks, but tricking someone into going to a place where a werewolf was was downright cruel. She had no doubts in her mind that James and Sirius were once good people like her Uncle Remus is now, but seeing as Sirius still acts like a child those doubts were becoming known.

“I just think that Slytherins shouldn’t be Head of House when all you will do is favor your own, and treat everyone else like dirt,” Ron stated.

“Ronald Weasley! How dare you say such a thing?!” Molly exclaimed.

“It’s alright Mrs. Weasey. I am used to hearing such things come from them and others in their house,” Ali looked Ron in the eyes, “You seem to forget that I’m a Ravenclaw, not a Slytherin. I do not favor anyone and will not when I start Head Girl duties but know this. I will give you as many detentions as you deserve if you are caught bullying, harassing, belittling, any of the other houses. You may think that Gryiffndors are the bravest of the houses and maybe you are in some ways, but you are cowardly in others. Maybe some Slytherins are as bad as you make them seem, but Harry,” she turned her head slightly to the side, “you seem to forget just which house Peter Pettigrew was in when he was the one who betrayed your parents. And Regulus was in Slytherin but seems to be more loyal to his friends and family than that rat was.”

“It seems that Alianova has given you all something to think about as you're getting ready for bed,” Molly stated looking at all the children present in the room. Her face grew red when she saw that none of them had moved a muscle. “Now.”

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, jumped from their seats and booked it to the stairs scared of Mrs. Weasley’s wrath. At some point, Charlie, Fluer, and Bill came back from scouting. Charlie ruffled Ali’s hair causing her to grin. “Good job, kid. You’ll make a great Head Girl.” Bill and Fleur nodded in agreement. “Nothing happened while we were out. We’ll give a full debrief tomorrow, but we will be heading to bed as well. Good night everyone.”

Molly walked to Ali and pulled her up out of her chair before placing both hands on Ali’s pale cheeks. “Don’t you worry, dear, I will be talking with all of them in the morning. You made a lot of valid points, and I for one am proud that you are Head Girl.”

She kissed her forehead before taking her husband to go to bed after waving her wand to get the kitchen clean once again. Arthur offered Ali a small smile before disappearing behind his wife. Sirius scoffed at the behavior which everyone heard but chose to ignore.

Ali turned to her three Uncles, waiting for the answer about going to her friends, and the scene that just played out in the kitchen.

“I am proud of you as well, Alianova. You have done excellent, and I know it is Remus and Regulus' decision about going to Blaises’, but I see no problem with it. I will stay in the guest room. Come get me if you need me. Good night, Ali.” He hugged her tightly, making Ali tear up slightly at the thought of Servus being proud of her. It also made her giddy at the thought of rubbing it in Draco’s face since Severus is his Godfather and never said such a thing to him.

Remus followed after Servus, wrapping his niece in a bear hug around her shoulders. The height difference amusing Regulus to no end seeing as Ali only came about midway in Remus’s chest. “You may go as long as it’s okay with Reg, and you stay in separate rooms. I am a little mad though that you didn’t tell me yourself about getting Head Girl, but I am still incredibly proud of you. No one deserves this more than you do, not even Harry.” The last part was whispered in her ear. He kissed her forehead, before heading to his room.

With the three Blacks being the only ones left in the room. “I don’t think you should go.” Sirius’s voice was venomous as he thought about his only child, his legacy, spending time with Death Eaters.

“It’s a good thing it doesn’t matter what you think isn’t it?” Regulus smirked at his older brother. He was not going to take this away from his child. “Ali, you may go so long as you stay in your separate rooms whenever the two of you decide to go to sleep because I know from having all your mates over it will be late.” He walked to Ali cradling her freckled face in his hands. “I am so proud to call you my daughter. Even after all that you have been through in your life you have still managed to form your own beliefs and thoughts as well as stand up for them. You deserve Head Girl over anyone else, and hopefully, you get to share it with one of your friends.”

Ali dove into her Uncle's chest. Tears welling up into her eyes at the thought that he really did think of her as his own even if she already knew it. It was nice to hear out loud. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I love you, dad.” She kissed his cheek before heading to her room to write Blaise.

Sirius felt his anger sore to new heights when he heard Ali call Regulus dad. He had enough courtesy to wait till she was out of earshot before grounding out, “We need to talk, Regulus.”

[kiingocreative]

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Evan Hansen was depressed, suicidal, and had a broken arm…

Here's why you still hate him.

Dear Evan Hansen premiered this week. And much to no one’s surprise, it was met with scathing criticisms, ridicule, and downright vitriol. I have scoured the internet and have been unable to find an entirely, or even remotely positive review of this movie. It currently holds a 31% on rotten tomatoes and I have a feeling that number will continue to fall as it continues to play in theaters across the country.

Many have hypothesized as to why the movie seemed to strike a bitter chord. Was it the ill-placed, and frankly far too lengthy musical numbers? The almost always cookie cutter dialogue? Ben Platt’s desperate attempt at playing a character ten years his junior? Maybe. Probably. And Absolutely!

In all honesty all these reasons are viable suspects to movie murder. But one reason stands out and above the rest. And it needs to be sad. Evan Hansen is simply an egomaniacal, self-serving, sociopathic douche pickle of a human. And I mean that in the best possible way.

Dear Evan Hansen attempts to employ one of the hardest protagonists’ archetypes, the anti-hero. This archetype sets apart from the rest because it takes a person that has little or no character traits we’d normally associate with a hero and attempts to make them likeable or sympathetic enough that we still want to watch them along their journey, and maybe even find ourselves rooting for their victory. Let’s consider Olivia Pope from Shonda Rhimes’ Scandal. She fixes elections, destroys families, even has an affair with married men, and yet we love her. We want to watch her. And we want to root for her. Or Maleficent. This character curses a baby to spite a jilting love. And yet, when the king (her former love) falls to his brutal death and she gets back her wings, we celebrate her victory.

Like myself, many audience members found themselves sticking up their noses and wagging their fingers at Evan as he moves through his anti-hero’s journey. And without spoiling anything, we found ourselves disapproving of his actions, and worse hoping his journey would not meet a happy end. Everything he does leaves us with the sting of judgement. And even his one final (and only) act of valor isn’t enough to redeem him. I won’t spoil the ending, just know it won’t pay off the way it should.

So, what makes us root for Olivia & Maleficent yet, not for Evan? All protagonists fall in the same archetype, yet the formers will be revered by cinematic historians, and the last will probably become a footnote. Here’s why!

Evan lacks three essential characteristics that make an anti-hero likeable, relatable, and even at times admirable. His actions, motivations, and reasoning are almost always fatally flawed. Let’s now discuss how to begin with his actions.

Throughout this film, Evan Hansen makes a series of deliberate, and to my way of thinking deplorable actions. This is common with anti-heroes. They’re not ��good people”. And they’re almost always doing things that might make us raise an eyebrow or two. Take Olivia Pope. Her job is to manage crises for her clients. Control situations and minimize exposure of wrongdoings by any means necessary. If you’re familiar with the seven-season series you’ll know this meant dealing with Russian mob bosses, foreign war lords, and even republicans. (Just kidding.) Yet, and still all the things she did usually had a selfless reason. Most of the time she was doing what she was doing to help someone. A family whose child was kidnapped or an abused wife seeking asylum for herself and her children, for example. Not only are her actions selfless, but we are made to believe she can only help her clients by doing these terrible things and dealing with these terrible people. This ties in with motivations and reasoning as well, but for now, let us keep them all separate.

Evan Hansen does terrible things for no reason but to further his own agenda of making friends. From faking friendships with suicide victims to worming his way into a grieving family’s lives, he makes choice after choice with almost no regard to how his actions will affect others. This might be fine if he lacked an understanding of what impact his actions may have, but he seems to know throughout the film. His understanding is evident by the way he continues to pile on lie after lie each time his back is against the wall, only finally coming clean when there are no more lies left to tell. This should serve as a cautionary tale to all writers. If your protagonist must be despicable, it must be for a good reason. Not, only to boost your social agenda.

Now, let’s talk of motivations. One thing that can make or break your protagonist are their motivations. Think of motivations as why characters do something. Motivations must be clear as they help establish empathy. Even if they don’t agree with their actions, and when dealing with anti-heroes we usually won’t, a relatable motivation will help them forgive a misstep or two. Think of Maleficent. Her initial action of cursing young Aurora is despicable, but we as an audience forgive her and root for her. Why? Because she tries to correct that action in a series of attempts at thwarting, and an ultimate goal of reversing her own curse. What motivated this change of heart? She fell in love with “Beasty”, her affectionate nickname for Aurora. Love is a great motivator. And one we can all identify with. The power of love, and more importantly the strength and endurance of prevailing love wins almost always.

Let’s now look at Evan Hansen’s motivations. While one could argue his motivations were as erratic as his mental state, I think it very clear what Evan’s motivation was. He wanted “friends”. Which is really to say he wanted to be adored, and beloved; popular. I don’t think Evan does one friendly thing throughout this film, so I tend to discount wanting friendship as a viable motivation for his misdeeds. But, when he realized he could abuse a misunderstanding to advance his agenda to become more popular at school, he takes it. And never seems to feel regret for the damage he causes.

Now, granted, Evan is a 17-year-old boy. And as such, prone to making mistakes. We all remember 17! But even his youth didn’t save him in the eyes of film critics. Because Evans' actions don’t seem to be that of a youthful and unintelligent boy. Quite the opposite. Evan slithers his way through this story protecting and defending this new image he has made for himself. He creates a chain of fake emails, devises (on the spot & in song) a complete and whole relationships between himself and Connor, the young man who committed suicide. He even expertly manipulates people who begin to suggest he might not be telling the truth. There is no clear motivation for this. The only thing we are sure of, is that Evan wants “friends”. And he’s willing to do whatever it takes, it seems, to get them.

I feel it appropriate to note that an argument could be made to suggest that these missteps were the fault of his social anxiety & mental illness. This is also a great time to pivot into the logic of Evan’s actions. The logos, as Aristotle might call them. The movie makes a point of stating pretty early on (the first scene actually) that Evan struggles with his mental health and thus takes medication. Three different medications to be exact. An argument could be made that his mental state or even the medication he was taking may have been the cause of his actions; that he was out of control. But, I don’t think it would be wise or factually sound to suggest that mental health or mental health medication would cause someone to do the things that Evan does. There is already enough of a stigma regarding mental health, we don’t need movies to suggest there is no hope for us. And yes, I said US!

No, it seems more logical to me that Evan did what he did because it served his own agenda. His motivation for what he did was that it got him what he wanted. A BIG NO! Villains serve their own agendas. And though the anti-hero may seem villainous or maybe even be a villain in another store (Joker; Maleficent) it’s only a façade. Anti-heroes are really sheep in wolves’ clothing. At their core, they often do have a heart of gold. Their actions, good or bad, must be serving something other than themselves. Or, at least primarily.

Every good anti-hero should have some level of selfishness. But imagine if Maleficent wanted to keep Beasty alive to be her devoted servant a motivation of love would not ring true. It would confuse and maybe even upset the audience that Maleficent might pretend to love her while also forcing her to work from sunup to sundown. Same with Olivia Pope. If she only stole the election that granted Fitz the presidency so that she could fast track a piece of legislation she would be proving herself to be manipulative and self-indulgent. She was doing it, again, because she LOVED Fitz. And we loved her for it! We’re all hopeless romantics. And it’s about time we start admitting it.

Let us now speak of reasoning. While it may be connected to motivations, I believe reasoning serves a different purpose. It suggests a rationale. A thought process. Why do characters think doing this will get them what they want? It is how we understand the mental state of the protagonist. It helps us calculate whether they are thinking clearly. Do their actions seem like something they would normally do? If yes, we accept them easily. If not, we find ourselves wondering about them. If it happens consistently enough though that wonder quickly turns to doubt, doubt to frustration, and ultimately frustration to indifference. My problem with Evan Hansen is there seems to be no reasoning at all. I can’t find a single solitary justification as to why he feels lying to these innocent people is something he MUST do. Characters, especially protagonists, are always doing what they must. When Mr. Incredible winces before he makes impact with that fast-moving train (Incredibles) it’s because he knows it’s going to hurt. Yet, he also knows if he doesn’t do it, something even worse is going to happen.

What was the “something worse” for Evan? What bad thing was he avoiding by not telling Connor’s parents he never really knew their son? That he and Connor, and only spoke to him once; the day he passed? And Connor signing his cast was a sarcastic act. I’m sure you can guess the answer. He would have gone back to being exactly like he was. And he couldn’t have that. When he gets that Call to Adventure, second stage of twelve in the hero’s journey, we learn all we need to know about him. That he will do anything to get what he wants.

Evan, without a doubt, is one of the most poorly drawn anti-heroes. His unlikability up there with Marie-Antoinette. Only, instead of being founded upon rumors of rumors, it’s founded on his deliberate actions, selfish motivations, and unclear reasoning. Evan Hansen seems more to be the villain of this story than the hero. Which begs the question I shall leave you with, was he the villain all along?

[baelonthebrave]

well i loved your stories but i won’t subscribe you anymore because of how you behave when someone doesn’t praise your fic to the sky. so what YOU think that just because YOU write your fics are the best? luckily among all of those people who write fics about aemond there are many people who don’t behave like children whining about someone not loving it. they are more self aware than you and don’t think they are the greatest writer ever just because they published 1 story. well as someone who were in many fandoms and wrote a couple of fics let me enlighten you how it is like when you public something on AO3 or here on Tumblr. there will always be those who don’t like it and by saying some nonsense you just prove you are an immature person whose arrogance clouded her vision. do you have any idea how many times people try to public their writings how hard it is for those more ambitious who want to have their writings published? how many times for example Rowling was told no? and even when the book isn’t as popular as Harry Potter or Game of Thrones success is through the hard work and showing it to others and they will tell what you do right and wrong. and you think just because you public on the internet you are the best and every word which isn’t praise is wrong? as i said i took you for better person i misjudged you and it turned out you are just immature person who isn’t ready to public on internet because every critic word you take as child who lost his favourite toy. But as someone wise said if you want to know a person character observe how they behave when someone doesn’t agree with them. we all love to hear only praise it feeds our ego but world is not a place where everyone will like you and your fics. i could only hope you will learn that not the hardest way but unfortunately for you no one likes arrogant people who expect only praise. i am sorry i took you for far better human being i won’t repeat that mistake anymore.

dkdjfjdjf cool no problem 🫡 as I have said multiple times, I’m very grateful for people who give me constructive criticism. that’s part of why I love fanfic: because you get to take advice and ideas AS you’re writing, improving the story as you go. It’s a collaborative effort with your readers and it has helped me grow so much as a writer and I am very grateful for every last person who gives me thoughtful, constructive feedback.

but if all these anons have been the same person (which I think they have) then the one calling the story bland and saying it collapsed was just… mean-spirited and unhelpful?? It doesn’t read like you want to help me be a better writer, it reads like you are angry the story didn’t go the way YOU wanted it to and my character didn’t fit YOUR very narrow definition of what a “strong woman” should be. It reeked of entitlement to my time and energy for something you get for free. If someone sent me a message saying ‘hey I thought the setup of the story was great but I think you could work on how to pull things together, this is how I would do it…’ that’s one thing, and I fucking WISH someone would send me an ask like that because I WANT to get better. Writing is a skill that I’m in the infancy of learning. But “I thought it sucked and it was boring” isn’t constructive criticism. I don’t know what lessons you want me to take away from that. I also don’t know what qualifications you have to tell me how to be a better writer. if you came off anon and I could read some of YOUR writing, I’d have a better idea of whether you’re worth listening to. If I got handed a list of revisions tomorrow by JKR or GRRM or tumblr users whose writing I really enjoy (aemonds-sapphire or aemonds-war-crime would be 2 good examples) I would fucking drop everything and study it ‘til I’d learned from every word. but alas that’s unlikely to happen anytime soon!

and that one last night was just deeply offensive. I have people I love who have struggled to have children, have had emergency c-sections, have lost children, suffered miscarriages etc. so yeh it did touch the bone when you suggested that women who can’t have a big brood of children are “weak” or somehow less than. Again, I don’t understand what writing lessons I’m supposed to take from that and I will NOT be changing my values or my belief that there is no one RIGHT way to be a woman anytime soon.

so yeh, if you’re a writer yourself, please by all means send me a list of how you would have pulled the themes, characters, plot points together better. Or honestly please write it yourself and send me a link, I’d love to read it and see a different ending to the story.

[annonymouslyblonde]

But Why Are They Blue?

Fandom: PJO/HOO

Pairing: Percy x Annabeth

Genre: family, fluff

Summary: Percy has to defend his precious blue food one weekend from his curious children. Short Percabeth family drabble

“Daddy, why do we always have blue pancakes on Saturdays?”

Percy looked up from the batter to meet his little girl's curious green eyes. Well, at least "little girl" in his mind who loved to remind him she would be a teenager in a matter of months. It was something he was definitely trying his hardest not to think about.

“I thought you liked Saturday pancakes,” he asked ladling the blue mixture into a frying pan.

“No!” she giggled pouring a cup of coffee for herself. It annoyed her dad that she drank coffee even if it was decaf at such a young age, which was probably why she drank it every morning with her mom. “Why do you always make them blue?”

It was a fair question. The tradition of Saturday pancakes extended far before the girl's time, and the ritual of making them blue dated even further back. When Percy and Annabeth first moved to New Rome, college had taken more of a toll on the couple than they initially expected. After winning two different wars and surviving Tartarus, midterms and labs should have been a cake walk, or so they thought. The first year was laden with stress-induced spats and mismanaged time. All of which led to Saturday pancakes. On Saturday mornings, the couple dedicated at least two hours to nothing but breakfast together. The scheduled time together did wonders for both of their stress levels. After that, Saturday pancakes became law. But none of that really answered why they were blue.

The question of color choice was a far more volatile topic. While Percy had processed the abuse of his former step-father, the topic wasn't one he intended to explain to his children. Gabe Ugliano had no place in his home or his life in any form.

“Well, one day when I was a lot younger than you, I asked my mom for blue food. Someone told me that blue food doesn't exist.”

“But that's ridiculous,” the girl interjected shaking her head of blond curls. “There are plenty of foods that are blue!”

Percy smiled at his daughter and pulled a perfectly blue pancake from the pan. Every day, she became more like her mother.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

She blushed, remembering she didn't have to always correct everything everyone said. Muttering an apology, she slid into a chair next to her younger brother who appeared to be asleep again with his head resting on the table.

“As I was saying, they told me blue food didn't exist. So do you want to know what my mom did?” he asked coming to sit next to the dejected girl. Timidly, she nodded her head, trying her hardest not to interrupt again.

“Well, your nana, she decided to make all of our food blue whenever she could! Blue cookies, blue pasta, blue soda, and even blue pancakes,” he listed and poked the girl in the ribs with each item, sending her into a fit of giggles. After the laughter died down, her mind started spinning again thinking more about blue food

“Technically, it isn't blue,” the child explained in the same factual tone as her mother. The shift to her lecture mode made Percy chuckle as he returned to cooking pancakes. “It's just dyed blue food. That can't possibly count. Besides, there are blue foods! There are blueberries and grapes. Some crabs are blue. Blue cheese even has blue in the name!”

“What about red,” her brother piped in, lifting his head from the table to chime in on the conversation. “I want red food.”

She glared at him with the same withering look Annabeth always gave Percy when he said something decidedly not smart. He could sense the fight coming as easily as he sensed an oncoming hurricane.

“There are plenty of red foods, stupid.”

“Isabel, don't call your brother stupid,” Percy chided with practiced ease as if he made this statement multiple times a day.

“Yeah don't call me stupid, Izzy,” the younger boy retorted sticking a tongue out in petulance.

“I told you not to call me Izzy, Samuel.” At the used of his full name, the boy leaped out of the chair putting his older sister in a headlock. The pair fell to the floor with a thunk each grapling for leverage over the other. As demigod legacies, both had been trained in hand-to-hand combat for their own safety. The skills, however, were typically used against each other rather than fighting against monsters.

“If you're going to fight this early in the morning, at least take it outside,” an authoritative voice rang into the kitchen making the siblings freeze. Annabeth leaned against the door frame trying not to smile at her rambunctious kids.

“Sorry, mom,” the pair chimed in unison. Both mother and father chuckled at their children as they detangled from each other. Annabeth wrapped her arms around her husband and gave him a quick kiss. Little Sam being only seven cried out in disgust at the display of affection, but Isabel cooed watching the love between her parents. It reminded her of all the fairytales her mom always read to her when she was younger.

“So what were we talking about that set off fighting before eight in the morning?” Annabeth asked as she snatched a crump from the growing stack of pancakes.

“I was explaining to your extremely inquisitive daughter where the tradition of blue pancakes started.”

“And I was explaining that since they are dyed blue, they don't really count as 'blue food,'” she smarted back placing air quotes around blue food. Annabeth snorted at the explanation remembering arguing the same point with Percy when they were Isabel's age. Ultimately, she had given up on the task of changing his mind.

“If dad gets to have blue pancakes, I want green ones!” the little boy exclaimed, excited by the idea of exploring different colored foods. “There's no green foods in the world.”

Mother and daughter met eyes before laughing.

“Sam,” his mother called softly. “There are definitely green foods in the world most of them called vegetables. You just don't like to eat them.”

“Well I want good green food,” he grumbled crossing his arms over his chest. Annabeth laughed at the small pout on his face and reached across the table to ruffle his dark hair. It was the same pout Percy would give her when he wanted something.

“If Sam gets green pancakes, I want pink ones with edible glitter,” Isabel demanded. Annabeth always wondered where the girly gene came from in her daughter. Dresses and make-up never came naturally to her, but her daughter was always playing dress-up and asking for some new lip gloss. Typically, she blamed the girl's godmother Piper for it.

Percy gave a long suffering sigh as he placed the platter of pancakes on the table. Everyone quickly filled their plates, eager to dig in after all the discussion about them.

“I'm gonna have to start making rainbow batter just to make everyone happy, aren't I,” he grumbled with a poorly concealed smile.

Watching her family sit together at a table laughing about colored pancakes warmed Annabeth's heart. The tradition had come a long way from their first Saturday morning of burnt pancakes. It was everything she could have ever asked the Fates to bless her with. Taking a bite of her own pancakes, Annabeth answered her husband's question.

“I want my pancakes purple.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Unfettered - part 2 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr part 1

It’s time. Come back.

Awareness came slowly and fitfully.

His body felt heavy, weighed down - it was as if his spirit had gone roaming freely and returned only reluctantly, sinking back into the skin and bone and flesh that bound it, the return voluntarily but begrudging, like an ox submitting to the yoke or a donkey to its bridle. There were times when he was there, awake but unable to get up the strength even to open his eyes, only barely aware of the world around him in the murmur of voices, the smell of food, the consistent feeling of spiritual energy being transferred into his body. There were times he was not awake at all.

One day, he heard a child laugh.

That was strange enough to catch his attention – it had been a long time since there were children here in the place where he slept, a place so familiar to him that he could feel where he was in his bones.  It had been even longer since there were children who laughed.

It’s time. Wake up.

He did not wake all at once. It was a gradual process, slow – he had to struggle against the infinite heaviness of his eyelids, the sopor that kept trying to steal him back into the dark, but he did struggle. He tried, he strained, he pushed, he forced.

He summoned the rage that was his birthright and said to his body, we have been friends these many years, I have honed you as I did a beloved blade, you will not stand in my way in this.

He woke.

A child was laughing.

“Be careful, A-Song,” a voice, unfamiliar to him but gentle, said. It was male, young, and kind. He thought perhaps he had expected someone else. “Remember, you must not disturb the array.”

“I won’t touch it, gege,” the child said cheerfully. “I’ll be good, and then A-Ling will come visit us!”

“When he can, A-Song. It may not be for a while, because of the war…”

A weight settled on his chest at the word – war – and he almost lost his will to wake, not wanting to return to everything that word entailed: the pressure of all the expectations that rested on his shoulders, the stress and fear of the decisions he was forced to make, the guilt at each life lost and the butchers’ bills that piled up on his desk, the exhaustion and pain that followed the slog of life at the battlefront, adrenaline melting away to leave him feeling vacant and empty…

Duty was duty, though. Even in war.

Especially in war.

He forced his eyes open, staring at the ceiling for long moments as the noises of a child playing continued around him, the soft voice alternatively praising and gently chiding him. After a while, his gaze stabilized enough for him to recognize that above him was his own ceiling in his own room in his own home.

He could always tell, thanks to the drawings right above his face – his brother had once insisted on sitting on his shoulders while he stood on the bed so that he could reach the ceiling to carve something into the wood and stone. Something that would make him smile every morning that he opened his eyes, his brother claimed, his own eyes curved into a smile of his own, and he had never been able to resist his little brother anything that would make him happy.

He swallowed several times, wetting his throat, and asked in a voice little better than a rasp, “How goes the war?”

He meant where is my brother, is he well, is he whole, he meant what has happened to my sect, he meant what has happened to me. But duty called, and so he asked instead – how goes the war.

It helped, he supposed, that the words were familiar on his tongue, even as his throat and lips ached the strain of having to speak for the first time in what must have been a while. How goes the war – it had been his watchword for years now, all throughout the Sunshot Campaign and even before, the first question in the morning and the last question at night. How goes the war.

“Gege! Gege!” the child shrieked. “He said something!”

“No, I – but…did… – Sect Leader Nie…?” The unfamiliar voice was deeply surprised, almost shockingly so – how long had he been asleep? “Sect Leader Nie, did you say something? Please confirm.”

Sect Leader Nie.

Yes, that was how they called him. That was who he was: Sect Leader Nie, Chifeng-zun. 

Nie Mingjue.

He had forgotten it, for a moment, the name and the weight of it, all the responsibilities that went with it, but now he remembered.

Nie Mingjue struggled to force himself up on his elbows, trying to look further around the room – it felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder than moving through waist-deep muck through a swamp, which he’d also done, more than once.

As he’d expected, there was a man there, and a child. Both were unfamiliar to him, he thought, even if he did not entirely trust his memory at the moment. They were both gaping at him.

Well, gaping at his general direction, in the case of the man. He was dressed in white, like the Lan sect did, but the narrow band of white that they had in common encircled his eyes, not his forehead – he was blind.

No, Nie Mingjue was sure of it now: this man was totally unfamiliar to him.

The child was, too, but that was less of a surprise, given that he was only two or three at the utmost, the age children changed the most, and after all Nie Mingjue had been away fighting the wars for several years; it was reasonable not to recognize him. 

But a man he did not recognize, here, in his own bedroom..?

“The war,” he rasped again, and swallowed to try to clear his throat. That was the only thing he could think of that might explain it. “My brother…?”

“Oh,” the man said, not especially intelligently. “The Pallbearer isn’t here – he’s away. There’s a war.”

The – what?

Nie Mingjue narrowed his eyes and forced them to focus, realizing that what he had taken for a man was little more than a teenager, certainly younger than twenty. Old enough to fight in the war, regrettably, but he supposed the blindness might keep him from it. It was sometimes hard to tell, with cultivators, how much they would be impacted by something like that.

“My brother,” he insisted. He wasn’t dead; what did he care about where some pallbearer - technically, the phrase meant ‘virtuous mourner’, or possibly ‘person whose virtue is in their mourning’, but either way it was a strange appellation - was? What he wanted was – “My brother.”

The child had been hiding behind the young man in white, but he popped his head around to stare at him, tugging at the young man’s robes. “Isn’t he Nie-er-ge’s brother?”

“Yes, he is,” the man said automatically, then flushed, ducking his head. He was very handsome, almost pretty, and at some point when Nie Mingjue didn’t feel like drowning in his own exhaustion he would spare a bit more time to wondering why he had been left here at his bedside, whether it was because he was the only one who could be spared or if it was for his own protection or both. “Ah, forgive me, Sect Leader Nie, of course you wouldn’t – your brother is away at the moment, but I will send him word at once. He’ll be so happy to hear that you’ve awoken.”

Nie Mingjue let himself slide back down from his elbows, his most severe worry assuaged – Nie Huaisang was alive, he was fine, he was safe. That was good.

Now he could concern himself with the war, he supposed. Although…

“Wasn’t the war…over?” he asked the ceiling. He thought he remembered that it was, the vague memories of seeing Wen Ruohan’s body hit the floor burnt into his brain as if with a brand – it was so different from what he had dreamt of for so many years that he thought it must be true. And with Wen Ruohan dead, his sons dead, who would continue to fight? Some small pockets of the truly devoted, maybe, but surely not the bulk of the forces…?

He didn’t remember. There was something there just beyond his memory, and he was abruptly struck with the feeling that he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember.

There was a whisper of cloth, the man beside him shifting from side to side in awkwardness. Probably trying to decide if he should stand here and answer questions or go to send out the alert about his reawakening at once.

“You are correct, Sect Leader Nie,” he finally said. “The Sunshot Campaign ended…it’s a new war.”

A new war, Nie Mingjue thought, and closed his eyes for a brief moment to stave off the pain of it. It wasn’t that he hadn’t discussed the possibility that something like that would happen with his sect’s elders during his war counsels, the fact that wrecking the established system of the Five Great Sects might lead to a power vacuum and more fighting, but the alternative of submitting to Wen tyranny had been worse; they had had no choice but to hope that their worst fears would not come to pass.

In vain, it seemed.

“I should – go tell someone,” the young man said. “I’ll go –”

“Go,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Return after, and then you can…what’s your name, anyway?”

“Xiao Xingchen,” the young man said. “Disciple of Baoshan Sanren…you wouldn’t have heard of me. Your brother took me in after I lost my eyes.”

Baoshan Sanren? Another disciple of the immortal mountain? Surely Nie Mingjue would have heard of something like that happening – it would have been the talk of the cultivation world, ongoing war or no. But he hadn’t heard anything, and this Xiao Xingchen fellow didn’t expect him to. And that meant…

“How long have I slept?” he asked. No, not asked. Demanded.

“Oh, I definitely can’t answer that one,” Xiao Xingchen said, sounding genuinely distressed. “I’m going to go get someone who can.”

He dashed out of the room in a swirl of white that Nie Mingjue saw out of the corner of his eye. A moment later, he heard a small shuffling sound and, with a slight groan, lifted himself back up again to look at the child, who had lingered even after his guardian had departed.

The boy was wearing Nie colors in familiar styles – Nie Mingjue thought it might even be some of Nie Huaisang’s old clothes, which he’d found himself unable to throw away even after they’d long been outgrown. He’d ultimately ordered them to be stored in hopes of preserving it for the next generation - his son, or maybe his nephew.

The shape of the boy’s face wasn’t remotely Nie, though, so he thought perhaps he might be an orphan or something. Another person his brother had taken in, perhaps, the way he had the blind Xiao Xingchen?

Had his brother been forced to run the sect while he slept? He must have. That had been what Nie Mingjue had always intended for him, wanting his brother’s cool head to guide the next generation, but he had not thought that it would be so soon…he thought he would have time to help guide Nie Huaisang into being sect leader, to ease the way, to show him how things were done and what was important. To let him become the wonderful sect leader Nie Mingjue had always been sure he would be, the one their sect deserved –

He’d wanted to make the transition less abrupt than his own elevation to the position at his father’s death, to make sure the position of sect leader didn’t consume Nie Huaisang as it had Nie Mingjue, who didn’t have any hobbies or pastimes except for spoiling his little brother, Nie Mingjue who barely remembered what or who he was outside of the work he did.

He’d wanted to leave Nie Huaisang to govern their sect through a world of peace, not war.

Clearly he’d failed.

Despite these gloomy thoughts of his, he tried to smile at the child. “Hello,” he said. “Your name is – A-Song?”

The child nodded, edging closer – closer, but not too close, and the reason for his hesitation was clearly, upon further inspection, that he didn’t want to cross over onto the lines of the complicated array painted onto the ground around the bed. Nie Mingjue hadn’t seen it before, and he didn’t recognize it.

“What’s that for?” he asked, nodding at the softly glowing lines, which he could feel were full of spiritual power.

“It’s to make you feel better,” A-Song answered promptly in the know-it-all tone of a child who had clearly asked a similar question in the past. “Nie-er-ge repaints it all by himself every week, Xiao-gege helps keep it running, and I help, too!”

“You do?”

“Yeah! I’m the – the – I make it less boring!”

“Ah, I see! You’re the entertainment? That’s a very important job.”

A-Song nodded so rapidly that Nie Mingjue was slightly worried his head would come tumbling off his shoulders, and he had to suppress a smile at the sight. He’d always liked children, and this one seemed…strangely familiar, for all that Nie Mingjue was sure A-Song wasn’t a Nie.

“What’s your surname?” he asked, and A-Song frowned, scuffling one foot behind the other. “Don’t you know?”

“I know!” A-Song exclaimed. “It’s Jin! I’m Jin Rusong!”

Nie Mingjue could feel his eyes going wide in surprise, surprise and even shock that stabbed deeply into him. Ru- was the next generation’s name for the Jin sect, following after Zi- for the current generation and Guang- for the previous one – there had been much discussion of that towards the end of the last war, as it had been a clear insult framed as a compliment when Meng Yao had been offered the name of Jin Guangyao so shorty after the Nightless City.

Meng Yao -

The Nightless City, Wen Ruohan, Meng Yao…

Nie Mingjue remembered.

How could he not? In his memory, it had been only a few weeks before.

They had been mopping things up in the aftermath of Wen Ruohan’s death, and Nie Mingjue had been absent without leave from the medical tent more often than not, unable to refuse the calling of his duty even though his health (and any number of his subordinates) demanded he rest and recover. It hadn’t been easy: his mind had still been fuzzy from the aftereffects of the torment he’d suffered in and after Yangquan, the torture on the way to Wen Ruohan’s palace and again within it. The dizziness had impeded his ability to work, causing him to lose track of time or to grow abruptly distant and forgetful.

At the time, it had seemed that everything he remembered was unreliable – he’d thought, at first, that Meng Yao had done certain terrible things while he was in the Sun Palace, truly terrible and unforgivable things, the sorts of things that would make Nie Mingjue obligated to denounce him and Meng Yao worthy only of execution no matter what his good deeds might have been. But Meng Yao had said he was misremembering, that it hadn’t happened that way at all, that his mind was damaged from the torture and the fight with Wen Ruohan, and Lan Xichen had vouched for Meng Yao with all sincerity.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t been sure at first, had been so certain that he was right, that he remembered correctly and that Meng Yao was simply lying to him, but they had both seemed so sincere…and in the end Nie Mingjue hadn’t really wanted to believe that Meng Yao would do things like that anyway. He hadn’t wanted to think that someone he trusted would do that, that he’d so misjudged him. And that had made it – not easy, no, but it had made it make sense to accept their version of events over his own, even if it made him sick and anxious to think that his mind was so unreliable and untrustworthy.

Still, accepting it had meant that Nie Mingjue could agree to swear brotherhood with Lan Xichen and Meng Yao, as they both wanted so very much. It meant he could congratulate Meng Yao when he received the letter indicating that he would soon be his father’s recognition and the name Jin Guangyao. It meant that he could invite him to dinner at his camp to raise a glass together in honor of his accomplishment, to wish him good fortune and the best of luck for his new life.

It meant that when, in the middle of their dinner together, the wonderful news came that Nie Fengjun and Nie Xiaopeng had survived their injuries at the Nightless City, the ones that had kept them bedridden for so long getting infusions of spiritual energy and being fed drugs to keep them asleep so that they didn’t tear their throats open again by trying to talk, he could smile at Meng Yao – no, Jin Guangyao, he had tried very hard to remember to call him that and had still mostly failed – and tell him with joy that there were two deaths he no longer had on his conscience. 

He could ask him to wait a while when he went to talk to them, promising to return soon.

It meant that he could take a few steps towards the door, Baxia far away on her stand and not in his hand, his back unguarded against the man who had sworn before all the world to be his brother.

It meant that he could feel the cold string of the garotte when it settled over his throat and pulled tight, cutting off his air – that he could hear the humming of a Lan battle-song in his ear, the spiritual energy that he had been freely sharing with Meng Yao only moments before suddenly turned against him and starting to riot inside of him – the weakness inherent in his blood, the ancestral Nie tendency towards qi deviation, abruptly pressed upon and galvanized from within –  

If you yell, the first person through the door will be your brother and I will gut him like a fish, Meng Yao had hissed in his ear, and Nie Mingjue had stopped struggling for just a moment, horrified by the thought.

Horrified at being attacked by someone who knew his most dangerous weaknesses.

By someone he trusted.

The pause had been a mistake, of course. There’d been poison on the garrote, he thought, and the battle song and his rioting qi had let it in easier than it might have otherwise.

Meng Yao really was a perfect assassin.

But why me, why now, I don’t want to go so soon, I haven’t even had a chance to live yet, he remembered thinking, more fear and hurt than anger, and then there was nothing but darkness.

And now –

And now there was a child called Ru-, the next generation down from Zi-, and he was already two or three of age.

“How long have I slept?” he demanded, struggling to sit up. “How long has it been? Huaisang!”

How long have I abandoned you?

Xiao Xingchen ran back into the room not long after, looking horrified by Nie Mingjue’s burst of temper, pointless and impotent as it was. “Sect Leader Nie, please calm yourself,” he exclaimed. “I’ve already sent word out, and I’m sure your brother will be here soon. Please, stop moving – don’t damage the array…!”

Nie Mingjue forced himself to calm, his fingers digging into the bedding as he fought to control his temper –

Now is not the time.

– but he finally managed with a few deep breaths to stop feeling as if he was drowning in dark thoughts, in fears, in horror at himself and what he had inadvertently allowed, at what he had lost.

A few breaths later, and he stopped struggling.

At that point, it occurred to him that something was strange.

Based on his experience with being injured, and with his warlike sect he had plenty of that, Nie Mingjue would have expected that a fit like the one he had just had would have meant that he’d be swarmed by doctors. That was what was usual for this sort of situations, a giant bevy of doctors always just a few steps away, standing at the ready to force opinions down his throat about what he should and shouldn’t be doing – that had been what it had been like with his father, at least at first, and then later on it had been something he had been forced to accustom himself to as sect leader.

(First rule of being sect leader: don’t get knocked unconscious if at all possible. Not because the sect won’t manage without you, but because you’ll have to deal with doctors fussing at you for ages thereafter.)

Strangely enough, though, this time the doctors didn’t come. It was only Xiao Xingchen, dropping down to survey the array with his fingers, murmuring and infusing it with bright and pure spiritual energy that Nie Mingjue could feel soaking into his meridians, into his bones and muscles and bones.

Presumably this was the reason his body had not atrophied, in the – it must have been years since he –

He took another deep breath.

“Forgive me,” he said to Xiao Xingchen, and then again to Jin Rusong, who was hiding behind something. “I did not mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Jin Rusong said with a great deal of grace, and probably too much equanimity for someone his age. “I don’t mind. It happens.”

To so easily disregard such a show of temper suggested that the boy had either had a hard early life or very calm parents, or maybe both. Nie Mingjue did not like to think of it, although he himself had been quickly inured to such things, after his father…

Best not to think about that. Best not to think about how it might have – what might have happened to him, after Meng Yao’s surprise attack.

(He hoped that he had succumbed to the poison or the suffocation instead of the qi deviation, since Baxia had, he hoped, remained intact; he could not be sure of it, since the assassin had been Meng Yao, who had known how best to hurt him. He hoped that he did not linger - did not lose himself to rage - did not have to be put down - that Nie Huaisang had not had to make the choices he himself had long ago had to make.)

“You didn’t call for any doctors?” Nie Mingjue asked Xiao Xingchen, trying not to think about those foul memories and the dark suspicions that swirled in his mind.

“I have some medical skills,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Not…many, and not as many as I used to have, but some, if you’d like me to check you over?”

“I’m not concerned for me,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. He’d propped himself up against the headboard, an activity that had drained most of his remaining energy. “I’m just – why didn’t you call any doctors?”

“Ah,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I see.”

“I’m glad that you understand,” Nie Mingjue said, eliding to mention the matter of sight. They were not on such familiar terms that he could make a joke over it, and it was clear from Xiao Xingchen’s occasional if very graceful clumsiness that the blindness was new. “Would you also like to elaborate?”

“Sect Leader Nie is off-limits to anyone without permission to enter,” Xiao Xingchen said, folding his hands in front of him. “Especially in the event that you wake up.”

“I understand,” Nie Mingjue said, and he did.

He had had some time to think about what had happened to him back then, about the timing of those two survivors from the Nightless City waking up and Meng Yao’s sudden attack – he still didn’t have any answers, didn’t understand why Meng Yao turned against him so suddenly, but he had his suspicions.

Suspicions - and regrets.

If he hadn’t chosen to believe Meng Yao over the evidence of his own eyes and ears, would he have ended up like this, leaving Nie Huaisang alone for years on end?

There wasn’t any point to that line of thinking, though. Might as well say that if Nie Mingjue hadn’t been conditioned for years and years by his sect to have a mortal fear of his own qi, filling him with terror that one day he would become like his father – sick, with a mind full of hallucinations tormenting him and leading him astray – then maybe he wouldn’t have been so ready to disregard his own perception in favor of another’s, and of course there was no one to blame for that.

“Your brother will be here soon,” Xiao Xingchen said. “And once he is, I’m sure he’ll want the doctors to look you over. It’s only, you understand, without him to supervise, he doesn’t – he –”

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” Nie Mingjue said, and felt a pang of grief. Nie Huaisang had always trusted more readily than he had, the extroverted younger brother to his introverted and even misanthropic elder. The differences between them had in large part been caused by Nie Mingjue’s elevation to sect leader – too soon, too fast – and the discomfort and distance that created between him and those he thought had been his friends. And now, to his regret, the position would have done its work on Nie Huaisang as well. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure if you do,” Xiao Xingchen said. “He trusts – quite a few people, I’d say. There’s his people in the sect, of course, his cousins and deputies and all that, but he’s also on very good terms with quite a lot of the cultivation world: Sandu Shengshou, Yiling Laozu, Zewu-jun, Hanguang-jun…almost all the important people, really.”

Nie Mingjue noted the absence of Jin Guangyao’s name or title.

Good.

“It’s just – you’re very important to him. More than you might think.”

“I raised him,��� Nie Mingjue said. “From the time he was a child, he was my only family. The only things I had in life were my sect and him, and even my sect I wouldn’t have placed above him, and he knew it – I think I understand my importance to him. It’s the same for me, with him.”

“Perhaps,” Xiao Xingchen said, looking wistful. “Perhaps. That does explain rather a lot, I think.”

Nie Mingjue made himself more comfortable. “Who’s the child?” he asked. “He said he was surnamed Jin, but I assume the Jin sect is who we’re at war with?”

“You’re very perceptive,” Xiao Xingchen remarked. “How did you know?”

“The seeds of a new war can be found in the end of the last one,” Nie Mingjue said. “It would have always been the Jin sect. I’m surprised that it actually came to a head so soon, that’s all – they’ve always preferred being subtle and sly, politicking to outright fighting. I wouldn’t have thought they’d declare open war.”

“Why do you assume they were the ones who’d declare war?”

Because of who was left behind, Nie Mingjue thought. Lan Xichen who tries to see the good in everyone, Jiang Cheng who is insecure about what he can and cannot be, Wei Wuxian with his armies of the dead that he so very clearly never wanted…and my brother, who knows better.

My brother, who loves peace and hates war the way only a child born into the thick of it would; my brother, who’s so terribly clever underneath all his laziness; my brother who knows that war is fought as much in the hearts of men as on the battlefield –

No, he wouldn’t be the one to declare war.

Not even for me.

“Weren’t they?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Although in fairness, they were provoked.”

Nie Mingjue was sure they were. His brother, probably, or maybe Wei Wuxian – they were good at provocation. They could find something that even the Jin sect couldn’t tolerate.

From the way Xiao Xingchen turned his head towards Jin Rusong, an instinctive gesture for all that he couldn’t see the boy, it might have something to do with him. A small child surnamed Jin, and yet embarrassed to admit it…there was a story there that he would eventually need to learn.

Just as he would eventually need to ask the practical questions – questions like who’s leading the war effort, since Jiang Cheng was good at battle but shit at strategy, Wei Wuxian who was too reckless and reliant on flashy tactics that wore him out, Lan Xichen who was better as a courier than a general, Lan Wangji who was too independent, a lone wolf who’d never learned how to compromise enough to join a team, how are we paying for it, the eternal question of supply even more critical for three weakened Great Sects when set against the richest of them all, and of course how can I help.

But he was tired, and did not ask. He would gather the energy for war later. 

For now, he would be satisfied with something simpler, more straightforward: his brother’s well-being, confirmed not merely with words but by his own eyes, which he really ought to learn to trust.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before there was a noise outside the door, and Xiao Xingchen brightened in evident relief. “He’s here! A-Song, come with me, come say hello –”

They went out, and a moment later, the door opened and Nie Huaisang walked in.

Attuned as Nie Mingjue was to movement, that was the first thing he noticed: that his brother walked differently than he had before. It was more purposeful, striding rather than ambling, sharp, with as little wasted movement as possible – angry, always angry, but contained. It was not at all what he thought of when he thought of Nie Huaisang, who was usually more aimless and carefree, limbs tumbling everywhere; it was far more similar to the way Nie Mingjue used to carry himself, seemingly relaxed but in fact on guard against the world at all moments.

Nie Huaisang’s face, too, was different than Nie Mingjue remembered it being: it was thinner, sharper than it had been, with narrowed eyes and lips pressed together, his whole demeanor distrusting and forbidding. The last bits of baby fat had melted away, taking with it the impression of softness and tenderness that he had once exuded, the lazy and indolent air that had made him seem younger than he was.

No longer was he the feckless young man the Nie Mingjue had so carefully protected from the horrors of the world, and the thought sent a pang of pain through Nie Mingjue’s heart.

And yet, when Nie Huaisang walked into the room, looking irritated and exhausted, and his gaze fell upon the bed where Nie Mingjue had lain for longer than he cared to think about, when he saw Nie Mingjue propped up and awake, when their eyes met for the first time –

It all melted away, the child he had held in his hands abruptly recognizable once more.

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang wailed, and threw himself forward into Nie Mingjue’s waiting arms, heedless of the array that Xiao Xingchen has so worried himself over, heedless of the shocked expression on both Xiao Xingchen and Jin Rusong’s faces, heedless any residual injuries in his urgency. “Da-ge!”

All the questions Nie Mingjue had, and he had a lot – who is the Pallbearer what is the war who is fighting who have we lost what happened to me what happened to you – dashed out of his head at once.

There was only one question that mattered – are you safe – and the answer to that was in his arms. He clutched his baby brother to his chest with all his greatly diminished strength, tears springing to his eyes just as they filled Nie Huaisang’s, and they wept with joy to see each other again.

It’s time. At last.

[systlinsideblog]

Part 4

I still lived. 

I was, I thought, greatly in the minority. The woman Systlin had judged warrior after warrior, and warrior after warrior had met his end at a quiva's blade. 

A great many of the sentences were carried out by the hands of the freed slave girls of the warriors. The number of these astounded me, as did the ferocity with which many of the girls fell upon their masters. 

It is a Gorean saying that a woman cannot be free until she has been a slave. It is said that a woman wishes to be conquered, that she cannot respect any man save for the man who can reduce her to nothing. 

The girls fell upon their masters with a fury I have rarely seen, and blood flowed until the grass was slick and red with it. 

A few girls did not take up the quiva. These men, once sentence of death was passed, the she-sleen on the Ubar's robe killed herself. Her face was untroubled by this, unworried, and there was even a hint of vicious pleasure in those cold eyes as she swung the sword to remove their heads.

Those warriors who had taken Free Companions and who had children, the she-sleen ordered all material goods be split equally between the  Free Companions, the children, and the freed slave girls. There were many sour faces among the Tuchuk women at that, but to my shock many more who accepted it without question. 

When night neared, scarce three dozen warriors of the Tuchuk still lived, myself included. It was us and only us who had not admitted to owning slaves, and who had no slaves to call out our names. 

A very few men..two or three, in all...had been spared by the request of their slave girls. These men were whipped, and the she-sleen commanded ash be rubbed into the whip wounds. 

"I would have them remember." She had said, eyes cold and face passionless, even as the warriors held back cries of pain. "I want them to remember their crimes, and to remember me." 

Those of us who had survived the slaughter had been unchained and taken to wagons, and allowed to eat and rest. 

"So." Kamchak had survived the culling, and his face was set and cold. "We are free, then?"

"You are not slaves." Systlin had smiled a little, a cold smile that did not reach her eyes. "But if you seek to flee, or to move against me...well." 

Behind her, I could see women chaining hunting sleen outside the wagons. Each was given clothing to smell; I noticed with a start a discarded tunic of my own among the items. The sleen began to pull and hiss, eyes bright. 

"Say, rather, that you are prisoners for the time." Systlin continued. "I've much to do, and I've no time to be worrying about one of you burying a knife in my back in my sleep." Another humorless smile. "I'm not fool enough to think that all...or any...of you are paragons of virtue. I'll get the truth in time."

Kamchak spat. "You," he informed her, "Are the most disagreeable and wrenched wench I've ever had the misfortune to meet. There will come a day, where you meet a man to bring you to heel." A smile. "I wish to be there to see it."

I felt my heart sink; they were unwise words, but then Kamchak was Tuchuk. 

To my surprise, the woman Systlin threw back her head and laughed, as if at a wonderful joke. 

"Ahhh!" She wiped tears from her eyes at last, as I stared, stunned. "When I find my way home, I will tell Foicatch that." Another laugh. "A woman isn't brought to heel. We can choose to be a partner, or to bide our time and pretend until the time is right, but brought to heel? HA! You saw that, I think, today." Another terrible grin. "I saw your faces, when the women turned on your warriors. You did not expect that, did you?"

"Foicatch?" Kamchak, ever keen, inquired. 

"My husband." Systlin said this lightly, easily. "Father of my daughter."

"Good god, you are married?" The words were out of me before I could think better of them. I tried to imagine what bedding such a woman would be like, and thought to myself that it would be much like the risk taken by the male of the praying mantis of Earth; what sort of man would marry such a creature?

"Yes. Goodnight." She shut the wagon behind her. 

There was a moment of silence. Then, Kamchak spoke. 

"It is probably a bad time, Tarl Cabot," he said. "To mention that Kutaituchuk was not the Ubar of the Tuchuks." 

"What?"

 It was surprising, Systlin thought, how many of the Tuchuk women had been willing...eager, even...to take up weapons and stand guard at her wagon. 

Not to her. No. On Ellinon, the children of the Lady would have found the ideas of the men of this 'Gor' incomprehensible, unlawful, hearsay, and downright suicidal. But to many of the women of Gor themselves, Systlin thought, the sheer thrill that came when picking up a blade or spear was new. 

She tried to picture what would have happened had Stellead found herself in this shithole of a world. Death, absolutely; her aunt had little talent in any form of Power, but she had won her place as Arms Master of Stellas Keep and as a Commander of the Bloodguard through sweat and skill. 

Even now, Systlin could only best her aunt blade to blade perhaps two matches out of three. 

If anyone...man, woman, even the gods themselves...had tried to bring Stellead to heel, she'd spit in their eye and disembowel them. 

Systlin smiled to herself. It was a stubbornness and force of will that she herself shared, and that her aunt, mother, and father had always fostered. 

The women did not know quite how to hold a spear, of course. Systlin had tried to gently insist that she didn't need an armed guard, more because she knew full well that they'd not yet be up to a fight than because she believed that. But they had insisted, and in the end she had simply advised them to stick to knives for the time being. 

The rugs and cushions and furs in the wagon were quite comfortable, and she was quite tired, but sleep was elusive. 

All of this...the rugs and furs, the sound of animals outside, the sound of low voices from the camp, the smell of dried dung fires...it was too similar to her time with the Rabi, with Sura, before Sura had become Queen of the Sands, when she'd simply been the leader of her clan. 

Sura's laugh, bright as a bell, and the taste of pomegranate wine. The light of the brazier catching glints of copper and red off of Sura's black hair, which gleamed almost blue in sunlight. 

The rugs beside her were cold, and she suddenly felt very alone. 

Her throne would be empty. She'd held the North together through sheer grit, guile, charisma, and the edge of a sword, and beaten it back into working shape after the War of the Crown had nearly destroyed it. 

Her daughter was only a girl. Foicatch, dear Foicatch, would do his best, she knew, but he was at heart a soldier, not a monarch. 

Her sister would step in, at least. 'Sina was capable. But she didn't have the fear and respect of the lords of the realm and the love of the common folk the way Systlin did. 

"Why am I here?" She whispered this in the dark, at the roof of the wagon. 

No one answered. 

"I have my own place. People who will miss me." She scowled at the dark, and anger rose hot and furious. "Responsibilities! I've not got time for...this!" She waved a hand randomly, indicating everything about this strange place. 

No one answered. But Systlin had met gods in her time, and she knew that if they cared to, they could hear. 

"Send me back!" She hissed this at the darkness, not sure who she was angry with. "Have I not done enough? Send me home! I do not want this!"

Nothing. 

Exhaustion, at last, won out, and she slept. 

She was, in her dreams, not surprised at her visitor. 

The Lady's face could never be seen. The most that could be gathered was an impression of poise, of stately calm. It was impossible even to place what color Her hair was, or her skin, though the hair floated around her like a cloud and she was nude. 

"You?" In her dream Systlin could still feel her anger, though it was a hollow ghost of what she'd felt while awake. 

Me. It wasn't a spoken word; it was felt. 

"I should have known at once." Systlin growled. "Have I not done enough? Can I have no peace?"

A laugh, chiming and musical, but which shook the very bones. You were never made for peace. 

And that was true. Systlin knew it, felt the truth of it in her soul. It was impossible to deny it, not before the Lady. 

She felt an answering whisper in her soul, as the slumbering power of what had once been the Lord of Night and Void, the God of Endings, the Fallen One, God of Conflict, Lord of Justice and retribution, stirred within her. 

Sister. The word was pointed, and almost mocking. Who denies still that you are. 

"I saved my world. It needs me; you know that damned well. I don't want to be a god."

Want. This word was definitely mocking. There is no want, sister. There is 'must'. My brother failed his duty, and corrupted it. You hold it now. In time, you will realize. Goddess of War, Goddess of Justice, Goddess of Protection, Goddess of Night, Goddess of Death, Goddess of Endings and rebirth. I do your duties for now, sister...but not forever. 

Systlin clenched her fists, and pointedly ignored this. "My people need me, damn you."

They are safe. 

Systlin closed her eyes. "You'll not send me back until I finish here." It wasn't a question. 

You could send yourself back whenever you wished, if you accepted your new place.

Systlin glared.

Another smile. So stubborn. No, I will not. Good luck, sister.

She woke. 

Within her, the power of the god she'd killed stirred again, and was once more silent. 

It was morning. She could see the sunlight under the door, and could hear the cheerful bustle of camp outside. 

"Gods damn it all to the pits." She muttered.

 The hardest thing about training the women of the Tuchuk in combat, Systlin soon found, was ingrained survival habits. 

Her aunt, in the long-ago days when Systlin had been a lanky youth still growing into her arms and legs and new to a training sword, had always said that the hardest thing about training older students was fixing ingrained and detrimental habits. 

Stellead had been referring to habits picked up from lesser arms masters...letting your shield drop, footwork that was less than flawless. Systlin wondered how her aunt would have dealt with this, as she interrupted a woman to correct her form and the former slave cringed and dropped at her feet, begging forgiveness. 

"I am sorry!" The woman was almost tearful. Systlin had been angry since she came to this cursed place, and she felt that knot of red rage flare. "I am sorry, I forgot..."

"It's all right." Systlin squatted, propping her elbows on her thighs. "Hush. It's all right. Here now." She offered her hand, and the girl hesitantly took it. Systlin stood, drawing the girl back to her feet, and then bent, picked up the dropped wooden sword, and offered it back hilt first. The girl took it. 

"Do you know," Systlin said, keeping her voice light and conversational, "how long it took me to become good with a sword?"

The woman blinked. "I...no, Ubara." 

"I started training at thirteen." Systlin smiled fondly in memory. "I first killed a wraithen at nineteen. I first killed men in battle at twenty five. that was two and a half decades and three wars ago." She tossed her own wooden sword in the air; it spun precisely one turn before she caught it again by the hilt. "Training takes time, and practice. You will make mistakes. I will never fault you for them; you simply correct them and keep training." 

The girl nodded slowly. Systlin had given the same speech to many girls over the last three weeks, but the habits learned to survive the men of this Pit of a planet went deep. It would be slow going yet; she knew that. 

"Fifty?" The question was unexpected. 

"Hm?"

"You are fifty?"

"Close enough, yes."

"Your world then has brews of youth as well?" The girl seemed curious. 

Systlin blinked. "I...no. But we're descended from the Lady, the goddess and mother of all. We live long." She considered the woman before her; she appeared to be perhaps in her late twenties. "How old are you?" 

"Oh. Sixty, I think? My masters have given me the brews of youth three times." 

The yawning pit of cold fury in Systlin's soul howled. 

"How many years of that," Systlin kept her voice carefully level. "Were you kept as property?"

"Since I was...oh, sixteen?"

The world went abruptly white before her eyes. The yawning spectre of the power she'd pulled from the soul of a slain god roared; goddess of justice, goddess of protection....

Fury, she was furious, and for a moment she knew, knew that it would be so, so easy, to rise on the wind and come down on the people who had done this. To become a storm, a furious reckoning, to scour this world clean in a night...

...No. No no NO. I will not. I have to teach them. They must take it themselves, for all I might lead them. Or it will all be for nothing...

By the time she fought it down and came back to herself she was on her knees, clutching the trampled grass with white knuckles. Sweat was soaking her, as it never did even if she fought all day. Her breath was coming short and sharp. 

"Ubara!" The voices were panicked, and she realized dimly that there were at least a dozen women around her, patting at her cheeks, offering water. 

She looked up, and saw worry, and fear, and as the god-soul inside her stirred, she saw more. She saw desperation, and so, so much pain, oceans of pain, seas of injustice, rivers of innocent blood spilled. 

And as the women of the Tuchuk looked at her, worried, she saw deep in their eyes hope. 

"Ubara?" It was  Sabra , the brave girl, who'd taken quite well to a spear. "Ubara?"

"I'm all right." She wasn't, not quite; her voice sounded rough to her own ears. "I'm all right. Keep practicing."

The hovered until she got to her feet, but once it was determined that the Ubara was not about to die, they slowly went back to their drills. 

Systlin moved a bit away, absently climbed the nearest wagon, and sat cross legged, looking out over the makeshift training grounds without really seeing. 

She'd always been a protector. Since they'd been children, and her sister's dreams had driven little 'Sina to cry and scream in her sleep. Since her father had nurtured that, and taught her that a Queen's people were her children, that her sacred duty was to protect and serve them. 

Since she'd torn the North back from the hands of the greedy and the corrupt, who'd sought to carve it apart for power and profit. 

Since she'd faced a god, putting her own body and soul between her people and the Fallen Lord himself. 

Since she'd faced a second goddess, and demanded the Lady return her daughter from beyond death. 

It was who she was, in the end. She knew it in her bones, even as she looked down at these strange people in this strange world, and felt it, that what she must do. 

"Pitting hells." She muttered this softly, and somewhere felt the Lady smile. 

 For some weeks now, the routine had been much the same; Kamchak and I, and the other men, were kept chained and carefully watched. Some men, after a measure of time should they demonstrate a contrite enough demeanor, had their chains removed and were allowed to move about the camp; they did so, casting their eyes aside from those of us who were still chained. 

I watched one man brush a bosk one evening, and oil its hooves. A slave girl should do such work, and he was clumsy at it. A girl was watching, wearing the leather trousers that had become fashionable among the women. Her hair, which was very long, was braided up and pinned in a coil on the top of her head; it was unflattering, I thought. She corrected him, and showed him how it was done properly, and he meekly listened. She smiled at him, and I thought that in silks and with hair loose she must have been quite a beauty. He smiled back, a bit tentatively. 

I snorted in disdain. There are always men that are so, those that are more akin to women than true men. 

She heard, and turned on me. There was a fierceness in her eyes. 

"See." She pointed at me, mocking. "He thinks himself better than you, Sarthak. He thinks himself too good for work about the camp, thinks it should be done only by women in chains." She laughed, and spit in my direction. "And yet he is still a prisoner in chains, while you are a free man. So who, then, is the better man?"

Sarthak grinned at me. He wore no scars, and scant weeks ago he had likely been unregarded utterly by the Tuchuk. 

"You speak true words, Lena." He agreed, and turned his back on me. She gave another laugh, and she turned back to their task. I realized with some surprise that the looks Lena was favoring the unscarred young man with were warm. 

"Disgraceful." Kamchak was chained to the other axle of the wagon, and he too was regarding the young man with distaste. "Have they made a slave of you already, boy?"

"He's a free man." Lena didn't look around. "All free men and women of able body must do their share of work. You shall too, should you ever be trusted and set free." 

Kamchak spat again, and leaned his head back against the wagon wheel. 

"It was a sad day," said the Ubar of the Tuchuk, "That that she-sleen came to the Tuchuk, Tarl Cabot." 

"Yes." I agreed. I wondered still how many she had slain in that night, through sorcery. The pyres had burned for two days and nights. 

We watched the girl teach the young man to grease the axles of the wagon. We had little else to do. 

As the evening meal was brought, we were finally given some surprise to rouse us from the deadly tedium that had marked the weeks. 

The she-sleen had a cloak now, made of red larl-hide. She wore it pinned at a jaunty angle, thrown back over one shoulder. She was wearing a leather vest over her strange scale armor today. She regarded us for a moment, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. I'd examined that weapon many times now, and I still could not place the make of it; it was no Gorean style I knew of, and the silver-blue of the blade was unlike any alloy I knew on Earth. It was somewhat shorter than most blades I had seen, perhaps thirty-six inches in all in total length. A great polished amethyst was set into the pommel, the most darkly violet stone I'd ever seen. 

It was viciously sharp. I knew this. 

"You." She said to me. The word was said in Gorean; she was learning quickly, it seemed, for all her strange magic did seem to translate for her. "You'll come with me." She nodded at the girl following her...I recognized her, I realized, it was the girl Dina I had seen around camp before, the slave reputed to be the best at the running game...and Dina brought out a ring of keys. 

Dina's hair was braided, as was Systlin's. Dina wore leather trousers, as did Systlin. Dina wore a quiva, as  Systlin wore her long dagger, and had stood and rested her hand on the hilt of the quiva in conscious imitation of the strange woman. 

It seemed to be a fashion, I noted, that many of the freed slave girls and even many of the Tuchuk women had taken up. 

I said nothing.  It had not been a request, of course, and I had little choice. My leg was healing, but I was far from my top form.

My chains were let loose. I stood, with some difficulty, and Dina's help. She was, I noticed with some surprise, quite strong. There were muscles through her shoulders that I'd never before seen so developed on any Gorean woman, and her hands were tough. 

I knew that well; my own hands were callused thus from the hilt of sword and the haft of lance. It was surprising that a slave girl had developed such in such a short time. 

I was led to the great wagon that Systlin had claimed as her own; the wagon that I knew, now, was not the true wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks. 

Inside, a meal of roast bosk had been laid ready for us. Systlin sat cross legged on the cushions; the maleness of the gesture still grated at my sensibilities. Seeing it preformed by one who might look quite well kneeling in silks was wrong, quite wrong. Dina helped me, somewhat ungracefully and with some pain, to sit. 

Systlin did not touch the food at once. She was watching me, and the gaze was keen and direct. I said nothing, but examined her in return. 

I am an observant man. It is one of my strengths. But I could gather little from her, save that which I had already deduced; she was strongly built, for a woman, all solid wiry muscle. Her hands were tough, those of a swordsman. Her gaze was intelligent, and I could not place her origin; the bone structure and shape of her eyes was subtly foreign, but not of any place I knew. She could have been beautiful, perhaps, were she arrayed instead in silk. She never, I noted, let her weapons stray far from her hand. 

She was used, I thought, to fighting. Used even to being attacked in the most secure of surroundings. She had said before that many men had tried to kill her; what sort of creature was this that sat before me?

"You're wondering why I brought you here." She broke the silence. Her tone was crisp, and it was not a question.

I said nothing. 

"The answer is because you are not of these people. I know that the Wagon Peoples usually slay outsiders. That means you are unusual, and I'm wagering it means you're quite skilled at arms." She examined me again, much as I'd examined her, and I saw her noting the callus of my hands. "Your accent is not like that of these people, as well. They say you are Koroban, wherever the fuck that is. I've heard that you have, apparently, traveled."

I said nothing. 

"That makes you potentially useful." She informed me of this without a hint of emotion. "I know very little of this world, and while I'm learning, I suspect that you know more than most."

I had heard her say such things before. I am quite well acquainted with such matters, of course, being once of Earth. "Of this world?" I said at last. 

"Of this world." A horrible humorless smile. "You know full well I'm not from here. This whole place is a nightmare and a travesty. You're lucky my aunt Stellead is not here; she’s less merciful than I. She'd have castrated the lot of your slavers and rapists, slow roasted the genitals, and fed them back to you a bite at a time. And to be honest, I did consider that." 

I could not help but cringe at the thought. 

"From what I have gathered," she continued, "No part of this world is not at the mercy of monsters who hold humans as livestock and use them as they please. It's that, I think, that I've been brought here to end. And you, Tarl Cabot, are going to give me information as I do it." 

The shock of her words was immediate. "Sent? The priest-kings...."

The wave of a hand, dismissive. "I've heard of them. No. Gods, no. I don't care a whit for them. If they interfere I'll deal with them. No, it's a power higher than them that's sent me." 

I blinked at her in shock. The priest-kings are feared and worshiped as gods on Gor, with reason. They are advanced beyond any human designs, and are exceptionally powerful. Yet I saw not a trace of fear in her. 

"They are very powerful," I said. "And your powers may bring their wrath yet." I hoped it, of course. They can burn a man to ashes on a whim.

A laugh. Another cold, humorless laugh. "Maybe." She said. "But I've slain gods before. What are a few more? No. You are going to give me information, Tarl Cabot, on this world. And then I am going to conquer it. Every last damned corner of it."

I stared at her in horror, and she simply smiled in return.

[lukealvezhimboextraordinaire]

Prompt — wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)

Philioise 🥰

okay so i tried to fill the bill this time! things get a bit hot at the end but nothing worth an r rating!

let's see philoise + wearing their lovers clothes.

It had taken some convincing on Eloise’s part.

Phillip was a man with a very defined style and that style didn’t involve hoddies - an absolute pity according to Eloise. He liked his cardigans, his pleated pants, and his wingtips. He liked to look good and yet be comfortable and wasn’t here to be ashamed for taking care of his appearance. And really, it was fine. Eloise loved it. The only problem was that Penelope had been bombarding her with snaps of her wearing Colin’s oversized hoodies and although she would never admit it out loud, she was starting to feel the green-eyed monster burning in her chest. Goddammit, she wanted to take cute pics clapped in one of Phillip’s extra-large hoodies and post them on every social media account she owned.

But Phillip was not having it. Not even when she went out of her way to make obvious hints as to how she wanted to steal his clothes. Or rather, how she wanted to be given his clothes.

And really? What was the problem? Eloise had full access to his closet. She could just walk into it and grab whatever she wanted and he would not protest. But he was a smart man and smart men did not engage in couple wars with their girlfriend’s siblings. Especially not with Polin. Because out of every two words Colin said, one was Penelope. And Phillip loved Eloise but he preferred to keep his displays of affection a bit more subtle and he preferred his love confessions to be for Eloise's ears only. Nothing wrong with proclaiming your love and devotion for the woman you were sharing your life with every two sentences, really. But being around Colin was, in all honesty, a bit sickening.

But even if his love language were light, casual touches or his quiet but calming presence or listening to her ramble about her day, that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Where Colin’s love was loud, grandiose, overwhelming, Phillip’s love was quiet, nurturing, gentle. It was waking up to fresh flowers resting on a vase every morning, it was coming home after a long day at work to the table set and dinner ready, it was finding little notes scattered around the house, reminding her to take her keys with her, to drink some water, to drive safely. It was a soft kiss on her cheek every morning before leaving for work, a cup of her coffee exactly like she liked it placed on her hand. It was pressed flowers under her pillow. It was a back rub while they read together in the afternoons. It was books with his favorite parts and quotes underlined showing up on her bedside table randomly - full pages circled with this reminds me of you all over it. It was gentle praise and sincere encouragement. It was words of affirmation. It was a sense of finally belonging, being taken care of, and being put first, of mattering.

Phillip loved Eloise in all the ways she had ever wanted to be loved but didn’t dare to allow herself to yearn for and even in ways she never knew a person could love another person. He understood her silences as well as her words and always seemed to know how to make her feel better. There was something in his presence that never failed to make her feel safe.

There was nothing she could complain about.

But she wanted to take a bloody picture wrapped in one of his shirts and post it, dammit.

And then a brilliant idea crossed her mind.

She would see Penelope’s hoodie and raise it. Go big or go home.

And go big she did, indeed.

Phillip had one of those botanic conferences he loved so much that weekend, which meant she would (practically) have the house for herself. Or at least she would have the house for herself once the twins went to bed. The smart woman she was, Eloise had already crafted a detailed plan to tire them out so much all through the day, that the moment they came back home they would pass out, giving her the time to put her second master plan into action. It was genius if she herself said it.

-------

The twins had drifted into a peaceful sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows. The day had been filled with excitement, laughs, and a couple sugar highs that Eloise had made sure to schedule to last until they were on their way home. The plan had almost taken a turn for the worse on the ride home when their eyelids started to flutter. Nothing a good old banger couldn’t avoid. They ended up singing to the top of their lungs to songs Eloise had never heard before walking into those amazing kids’ lives but now she often found herself humming absent-mindedly.

She placed a sweet kiss on the top of their heads and made sure to tuck them in before closing the door quietly and making her way to the bedroom she had come to share with their father.

As much as she would have loved to take her time

Everything was ready; the lights settled to the perfect intensity, the phone resting on the tripod, and the throw pillows placed in a way that only added to the scene. All that she had to do was get in front of the lens. Surprisingly, the hardest part had been to pick the perfect garment to wear. Phillip had such a collection of nice shirts that it had taken Eloise a good twenty minutes to narrow it down to just two and then five more to come up with a winner. The soft baby blue cotton fabric looked very nice against her skin and it even made her eyes stand out so it became an easy pick. Even though the light yellow one was very nice too. Eloise took a mental note to keep it for a late date. Maybe she would have to ask Daphne to keep the twins for a night one of these days.

Eloise tried a couple poses on the mirror before settling for a suggestive yet not very explicit one. Her legs slightly parted, the hem of the shirt covering just about enough skin to allow the word tasteful to be used but to still spark the curiosity about what was (or wasn’t) behind, the first few buttons of the improvised attire open, allowing the valley of her breasts to peak over the lace brasserie, offering a glimpse of what was to come. The wicked smile adorning her features and messy hair the perfect last touches to her ravishing look. The camera snapped once, twice, thrice. Eloise studied the pictures, nodded with satisfaction, and with one last look at them hit sent.

My sunflower: A little something so you don’t forget to think about me tonight;)

Jesus, El, I almost crashed against the wall.

Just so you know, I always think about you.

My sunflower: I hope so.

Is that my shirt?

My sunflower: Maybe?

You little thief.

My sunflower: Do you want it back?

I think you ought to show me if you had stolen more of my clothes.

Like my boxers, for starters….

Eloise didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning she made sure to send Penelope a nerdy snap, Phillip’s shirt looking huge on her smaller frame, making her look like she was wearing an oversized dress. Judging by the dry response she got from her best friend, Colin was about to make a trip to the mall to get a couple dressing shirts. The bar had been raised. Hoodies were no longer good enough. It was pressed shirts or nothing now. Good.

Eloise surprised herself by how reluctant she was to take off his shirt. It had been only a day and she already missed him. His laugh, his hugs, his arms lazily thrown over her shoulders as they laid on the couch, the way he wrinkled up his nose with the first sip of tea… she missed having him around and the peace knowing he was close brought her. And it was funny because until that moment the realization of how used she had gotten to having Phillip by her side had not hit her. Their broken souls were two sides of the same coin, joined and twisted and embroiled until they became one.

So she threw a pair of jeans on, tucked the shirt in the pants, and went on and about with her day. The twins didn’t even bat an eye when she descended down the stairs muffled in their dad’s favorite gear. It was almost as if they had been expecting it for a while. In retrospect, they probably had not given it any thought because they were kids, smart kids, but kids and children didn’t tend to have the same worries as adults. For them, sharing clothes didn’t have a special meaning.

And Eloise realized that she should have gone digging into Phillip’s side of the closet a long time ago. Thinking about it, she couldn’t come up with the exact reason why it had gotten her so long to finally do something that had been on her mind for a while.

But Eloise didn’t have much time to dwell on the reasons behind her actions - or lack of them. Because the door sprung open, startling everyone inside, to reveal a smiling Phillip, bag hanging lazing from his shoulder.

“Daddy!” The kids rushed to his encounter, screaming happily, and attached themselves to his legs. He scooped them up, each in one arm, and when he looked up his eyes locked with Eloise’s. A knowing smile immediately overtook his features. Eloise knew that smile knew what it meant. It was the promise of something to come and it never failed to send a wave of heat down her stomach.

“Hi,” he had to lean in slightly to give her a soft kiss on the lips. The kids made disgusted noises and Phillip took it as his cue to let them run free. He watched them disappear up the stairs and only then did he turn his attention back to the brunette, his eyes burning into hers. “Is that my shirt?”

Eloise licked her lips. “Maybe.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them in two long steps, his lips brushing against her neck, tentatively running down her collarbone until they reached the valley of her breasts. The air caught in her lungs. Her eyes closed. And then he stopped. When she opened them again, he was smirking down at her. “Can I get it back?”

Somehow she managed to find the strength to talk. “N-no.”

Phillip grinned evilly. “Not even if I do this?” His fingers teased the hem of the shirt, sending a wave of electricity down her spine whenever they grazed her skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he started unbuttoning the shirt, leaving a kiss on every inch of exposed skin.

“If you want your shirt. You are going to have to rip it off of me.” Eloise breathed out. And Phillip's eyes burned with desire and something that looked a lot like a promise.

Let’s just say, the shirt ended on the floor.

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

When she came into their bedroom later that night, there was a bag resting on her side of the bed. She looked around for him but he was nowhere to be found. Never one able to resist the temptation of satisfying her curiosity, she looked inside. Tears filled her eyes because there, resting in the bottom of the bag was a brown hoodie. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, the warm breath against her neck making her hair stand up. "I would give you the world, my sunflower. All you have to do is ask."

It had taken some convincing on Eloise's part. But she never needed to try so hard.

[farewcllwanderlvst]

⸻ꜰʟɪᴘ ᴀ ᴄᴏɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ꜰᴀʟʟ | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘

º   .   ♔   ⸻   the  capital  of  king’s  landing  welcomes  THEON OF HOUSE GREYJOY,  the LORD of  PYKE.  news  borne  by  a  raven  sends  word  that  he  bear(s)  a  resemblance  to  JUNG JAE WON.  the  28  year  old  MALE  is  reputed  to  be  PASSIONATE and  BUOYANT,  but  with  the  eyes  of  court  watching  their  every  move,  they  might  turn  out  to  be  INSECURE and  HAUGHTY.  when  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  A MIRROR SHATTERED , SHARDS DRIPPING CRIMSON, A PORTRAIT AS LOST AS THE REFLECTION WITHIN | A PIECE TRYING TO FIT, IT DOESN’T BELONG | AT WAR WITH TWO SIDES,  A HOWL IN YOUR HEART,  SALT IN YOUR BLOOD ; THERE IS NO VICTORY whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  HOUSE  STARK,  where  they  conspire  to  ASSIST THE STARKS, RETURN TO THE IRON ISLANDS & PROVE HIMSELF TO HIS FAMILY (BLOOD AND NOT).  but  in  the  end  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones. 

Headcanons  ⸻

Rose Colored Memories. Balon Greyjoy knew fairly early on that his youngest son was unlike the children he previously sired. He was too compassionate, too eager to please, and too emotional for the iron blood that should have been in his veins. He discarded the boy, and focused on the three children he could make use of. Alannys Greyjoy loved her youngest son all the same, and with Balon’s absence of love she attempted to compensate (she could never quite tip the scales, though she did succeed in citing the envy of her elder children. they all knew who mother’s favorite was). Theon, only a child, did not understand why his father never so much as glanced his way, why his siblings barely tolerated his presence, and why his father was so eager to pawn off the son he never had use of. Theon looks back on his time in Pyke with rose colored glasses and unhealthy idolization. He was too young to see the true picture of the life he lived. When asked about his time in Pyke and his family, he would say his brothers and uncle were far too playful sometimes (they weren’t cruel, they weren’t bullies, it was all well meaning fun), his mother was a wonderful storyteller (she wasn’t losing her mind, she always recognized him, why wouldn’t she?) and father mourned the loss of three sons, not two (he loved theon. he truly did! any bruises left on his skin were meant to make theon tougher, to make him strong. and his father never turned a blind eye to his tears because theon had never cried). 

A Fruitless Rebellion. Theon recalls the day with a vivid clarity in his mind. His elder brothers were dead, his mother was his tears, and his father’s dreams had been crushed into ash. He had attempted to comfort the man, only to be swatted away and stumble into his weeping mother’s arms. The bargain had been struck behind closed doors, and Theon had not been privy to the brokered deal deciding his fate. His mother had told him between her sobs, and Theon tried his very hardest not to shed any tears for the sake of his mother (and for the sake of his father as well, because iron born men did not cry). Theon had desperately tried to meet his father’s eyes, but the man did not spare him a glance. In his stead, he met the eyes of a man that Theon later found out was called Eddard Stark. Warm eyes despite his attire meant for the cold, he held gaze with the frightened child and Theon, for the first time, felt seen. More than a burden, more than a child to protect, but as a person. At the time he didn’t understand the feeling, deeming it strange, and unlike anything he had ever known before. It was a long time before he realized that gaze was a trait, but not of the North.  

Stranger in a Strange Land. The North was terribly cold. It was Theon’s first observation upon arrival to Winterfell but far from his last. The people acted strangely, he was their hostage and yet all he had ever known of the word appeared incorrect. Did hostage have the same meaning in the North as it did in the Iron Islands? In Pyke, a hostage meant shackles, a cell, lackluster food if any at all, and a clear lack of freedom. That could not be said for Winterfell, at least for the ten year old child who had played no part in his father’s uprising. Instead Theon was given warm furs, a room of his own, schooling and a friend in the form of Robb Stark. His memory was scarce on how the friendship came to be, only that it had never felt like obligation and it had made him feel safer than any hostage should have felt. 

Panopticon. It was with age that Theon began to learn, though vastly different from the ways of the Iron Islands, that the North did have shackles upon him nonetheless. Despite being treated as a ward in most respects (for which he should have been more grateful then he was), there were many ways to remember he was, just as well. a hostage to the North. A walking reminder came in the form of Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark. What Theon first saw as favoritism, he later learned was indifference. Catelyn Stark favored her own children as any mother would, and in her eyes, neither Theon Greyjoy nor Jon Snow had a place in Winterfell. The worst of it was when other Lords and Ladies would visit Winterfell. He and Jon would be ushered away, out of sight or in the back of the room like they were some dirty secret the Starks kept behind locked doors. It was far easier taking out the ire he had on the bastard, and so Theon did. With taunts and cruelties he knew would hurt the lad the most. 

Hidden Afflictions. Distorting the past was far easier than the present. The Starks were his captors and he should have detested them, despite being aware of this (how it should have been) Theon knew it wasn’t true. Jon Snow was a target for his anger, and a rival (in the iron islands that would have been it, nothing more) but Jon Snow was also fun. Not only in his teasing and prodding (though those played a part as well) but as someone to challenge Theon, to be honest with in a way he could with little others. Little Rickon who toddled after him even when Lady Catelyn called him not to, with the most efficacious smile a toddler could possibly have. Little Bran, who Theon was sure would not remain so little, he would spring up like a weed and outgrow them all. He was already climbing to greater heights than the rest of them, it would only fit. There was Arya, who had a better aim than either of her brothers (not that theon would ever tell them, he would be admitting to seeing her practice weaponry). Sansa was more distant than the rest, much like her own mother, but Theon still remembered when she had only begun needlepoint. To this day, he didn’t know what possessed him when he offered his own clothes for her to practice (especially not when he purposely cut a hole into his own favorite shirt for her to fix up, but she’d been so delighted so there was no regret). Friendship with Robb Stark hadn’t been a choice, not a responsibility, and if Theon had given it a word to it he would have chosen honor. Someone to josh with, who wanted nothing in return but friendship, someone who cared what happened to Theon probably more than anyone he’d ever known (he’d like to think if his father did try a rebellion again, Robb would fight for his life but it was something Theon would never dare to ask). 

Heart in the North. When Eddard Stark became the hand of the king, Theon didn’t think much of it. It seemed more natural than not. If anything, little Sansa becoming a princess was more interesting news (not by much, it was fitting for her frankly). Then King Robert Baratheon was murdered, Eddard Stark was put on trial and Theon felt fear like he had never known before. It was more than the day Balon’s rebellion failed, when he’d lost his brothers and his home. Not only was Lord Stark at risk but Sansa and Arya as well. The thoughts were suffocating. Theon imagined never seeing Sansa and Arya ever again, he had always thought he’d watch them grow, see who they would become. He imagined never seeing Eddard Stark ever again, nevermore seeking his advice, never again seeing a fatherly gaze (he remembered meeting those eyes for the first time. that day when his father had refused to see theon, ned never hesitated). Winterfell was not his home, and the Starks were not his family.  So why did even the thought of their loss hurt so much more than any heartache he’d ever known? 

Loyalty in a War(d): The first time Theon received word of Eddard Stark’s survival, it had felt like a dream. If not for the wilting presence of Jaime Lannister, it would have felt far too surreal to be true. The sentencing was unkind but Ned Stark remained breathing, and that produced more relief than Theon could believe. Calling Robb Stark ‘King of the North’ came as easily as the breath in his lungs. It made think of his own father, and for the first time experienced seeds of doubt for the man’s actions. Balon Greyjoy struggled with something Theon had found terribly simple. Bending a knee to a remarkable man wasn’t an act that needed twice of thought, let alone a rebellion. Perhaps Robert Baratheon was not the great man that Robb Stark was? Or perhaps Theon Greyjoy was not the same man Balon Greyjoy was. Did this make him stronger of a man, or weaker of one? 

Plot Points⸻

An extension of the first plot point, is Theon’s warring viewpoint of what he was taught in the Iron Islands vs what he was taught in Winterfell. When Robb Stark is called King of the North, pledging fealty to him comes naturally to Theon, which makes him wonder why his father struggled so terribly with it (though struggling may be an understatement). He’s wondering if loyalty is something that makes him a weaker man than his father, or a stronger one? Is kneeling a weakness or a strength? Are the Starks his family or his captors? 

The second plot point is Theon’s opinion of his own self, and in relation, his place in the world. He wears his arrogance and pride like armor, as if it would hide all his many insecurities. It’s far easier boasting, cracking jokes, putting others down, than allowing any smidge of his own self worth into the forefront of his mind. He knows so little of his people, of the Iron Islands, the home he was supposed to return to someday (if he was ever to return at all, but that was a thought he often didn’t allow). Not to mention the sword hanging over his neck the day his father decided his son’s life wasn’t a worthy leverage any longer. The fear that he mattered to no one, that if he were to die his memory would be buried with the word unimportant just like his brother’s had been. Theon wanted to matter, if not only to the world but to others as well. Even the ones who claim to care for him, he harbors doubts. There was nothing Theon could offer them besides his own self, and that wasn’t much worth at all. 

[infinitegalahad]

SO IST ES IMMER

Request: “Hi😊 can I request "come lay down with me" or "can I count your freckles?" with Malarkey? Thank you❤️ love your writing” @tvserie-s-world

Prompts: “come lady down with me” & “can i count your freckles?”

Summary: Malarkey and you drink and sing when the fighting is done, and it's always so.

Word-count: 1.1k

A/N: FRANNY! first of all, thank you for this request. i love my boy malarkey, and i wish to see him happy. your ask got lost in another draft, i’m so sorry about the wait! “so ist es immer” means “it is always like that” in german. this is once again, a shameful song fic. i wanted to write some fluffly malarkey, with a tint of sadness. oh, and a scenic lake view ft skinny dipping and malarkey’s arms, because who doesn’t love that?

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Masterlist | Send In A Prompt!

“What’s the matter Malark, are you scared of a little water?” You peaked your head from the water with only your eyes showing. The rest of your nude body was covered by the dark water, illuminated by the crescent moon.

Malarkey was slunched against a rock with a few empty bottles. It was the first time in a while we’re you had seen his smile that could light up a whole room. His sheer prescene would boost someone’s mood with his goofy smile and kind words.

He let out a chuckle that lingered with a snort, “I ain’t scared. It just looks...cold. Aren’t you freezing?”

Your body floated to the top of the water as you looked up at the sky with it’s thousands of crushed stats and moon, “ You get use to it. It’s a little lonely, I would like some company...someone who’s irish with nice, big arms would sound nice...”

You turned your head and made eye contact with Malarkey as the two of you burst into laughter like careless children without a worry in the world. He was the first person who noticed your laugh, and the snorts that would trickle along. It was a quirk that you grew to hate, but Malarkey made you learn to love it.

When you were around him, the weight of the world would disappear and the dreary clouds of war would depart, letting in a warmth and light that you had craved.

Malarkey patted an empty spot right next to him. His face looked soft, his finger hair a shade lighter in the light of the moon.

“Come lay down with me,” Malarkey professed, patting the grassy spot next to him.

You turned over in the water and pushed yourself out. You wore a simple slip that stuck to your body. If you were around the others, you’d be as red as a tomato. But around Malarkey, you never had to worry.

Malarkey wasn’t wrong about Austria being beautiful, but deathly cold at night. Once you had crawled next to him, he had taken off his jacket and threw it over your shoulders. For extra protection, he made sure you were snug and warm.

You put a hand on your chest and acted overdramatic, “Why Malarkey! I never took you for a gentlemen, good sir! Thank you for this act, good sir.”

Malarkey titled his head as if he had a real hat, like a gentleman would do, in which he was. “Anytime, milady.”

Malarkey and you, wrapped in his jacket that was too big for you, leaned against a rock and looked up at the starry sky. It was silent, but it was just what the two of you needed. Peace and quiet. Your shoulders would occasionally brush, and it felt like hours had been going by. Your eyes had taken a break from the flashing stars to look down. Yours hand casually laid on the ground, and Malarkey’s hand was trickling forward.

Shit. Shit. Mega Shit.

Unable to react, you blurted out a sentence that would hopefully have you from the awkwardness.

“Can I Count your freckles?”

Malarkey looked over, and his hand stopped moving towards yours. He shrugged his shoulder and nodded,

“Yeah, why not. Should I…” Malarkey looked down, “Um...lay…?”

“In my lap?” You looked down, “It’s wet, I hope you like the feeling of a wet slip.”

Malarkey let out a goosey laugh, laying his head down on your lap and clasping his hands on his chest.

“Honestly Miss Y/n, I would feel honored to lay in your lap.”

Your finger started at the top of Malarkey’s forehead, counting every brown dot you saw. The tip of your finger slided from his eyes to the bridge of his nose to the tip. His cheeks were the hardest, and you muttered under your breath. Once you got your counting in control, Malarkey spoke.

“Do you have any plans after all this?”

Focused on the counting, you could easily multitask and you responded, “I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. You?”

“Yeah, I don’t know eithier,” Malarkey casually stated. Your finger reached his lip, and counted the freckles around it. It was accidental, but your finger brushed against the smooth skin of his lips, and it made your cheeks burn. Atleast your’s wasn’t as obvious as Malarkey’s, who looked like a damn tomato.

“Malark?” You cooed, looking down with raised eyebrows, “You okay?”

“Comebackhomewithandiloveyouandyourtheonlypersonihavelefthaticantrust-“

“Wow there cowboy,” You let out a laugh not to make fun of Malarkey, but to calm him. Putting a hand on his chest, you gave it a reassuring pat, “A little slower, please.”

“Curse of the Irish,” Malarkey took a deep breath and exhaled. He put his hand over yours and gave it a tight squeeze, resting it on top of yours. “Do you like hiking?”

“What do you think, silly goose? We’ve hiked ever trail that they have here. Of course I love hiking!”

“What about being surrounded by large bodies of water? What do you think of those?”

“I love water, and I don’t mind it one bit. So yeah, guess I do.”

“Can I ask you one last question?”

You gave Malarkey your full attention and nodded, “Of course you can.”

“Do you like me?” Malarkey confessed, his cheeks going red again as he muttered under his breath.

You looked up at the stars and laughed to yourself. The question he was asking already gave it away, and you found it too adorable. Finally, he had made a move. It was about time.

“Well, that’s a good question,” You pondered. Malarkey looked worried, but you gave him a reassuring smile, “Like is a strong word, but I like love is more suitable. So yeah, I love you, Donald Malarkey.”

“I love you too, (y/n) (l/n),” Malarkey confessed back. He moved his head up, which was a few inches away from yours.

“Um, how do I say this…” Malarkey stuttered, “May I kiss you, please?”

Without responding, you pecked your lips onto Malakrey’s, leaving a faint tint of your lipstick on his lips. His eyes were widened as his mouth hung open, his cheeks getting even darker.

“Thank you so much,” He thanked, and gave you another kiss and a few others around your cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you-“

Malarkey repeated those words, and you let him cover your body with thousands of little kisses, just like you had counted the freckles, or you considered stars, all over his face and body.

Malakrey stopped to take a breather and looked at your face with total awe. You turned to him and put a hand on his cheek, simply looking at him. He was finally happy again, and you wanted to see him like this more.

“So, how does Astoria sound to you, Mrs. Malarkey?”

Malarkey was himself around you, and you were yourself around him. The two of you benefactores from each other's kindness and love.

“Astoria sounds great, Mister Malarkey.”

[writingwithacupoftea]

The Unexpected Visitor in Small Heath

Summary: Y/N Shelby was a nurse during the war. What happens when a ghost from that past comes looking for her? A ghost with definite intentions...

Word Count: 3683

Trigger Warnings: a slightly handsy dude

A/N: *peeks out from my hiding place* hi guys, I’m back!! Hope you’re all good - to me it feels so amazing to be posting some writing again! As you can probably tell by the word count, I got a bit carried away with this one and so it’s basically unedited, so apologies for any mistakes 😂 Hope you enjoy it! 😘

"About fucking time, Y/N, I've been waiting here for almost a quarter of an hour."

"You've knocked on my door five minutes ago, Tommy, stop being such a dramatic shit!"

To any passers-by outside of Y/N Shelby's house, for a moment it would have looked like the two siblings were about to get into another argument. But any anxieties about that were washed away when they observed the teasing glint in the younger girl's eye and the playful shove given by the man, as they made their way down the cobbled streets of Birmingham.

Tommy and Y/N Shelby were as thick as thieves, there was no doubt about that. The brother and sister loved each other fiercely, and where one of them was found, it was almost certain that the other wouldn't be too far behind. But when they rowed, oh boy, did they row.

It was only a few days ago that the occupants of the Garrison were subjected to their shouting, after Tommy had scared off yet another one of Y/N's dates. As usual, however, the argument had soon blown over.

***

Y/N loved living in Small Heath. It was a shithole, but it was her shithole, so she didn't mind it as much.  

To Tommy's surprise, she had turned down the offer of either living with him in Warwickshire or buying her a place of her own in the country. Instead, she had asked her brother if she could move into his old house on Watery Lane, to which he had agreed.  

His swaying factor had been that someone would always be close-by if anything happened at the office, and the rest of the family had a place to crash if they needed to.  

Y/N, on the other hand, had more emotional reasons for wanting to stay where she grew up. Since training as a nurse for the war, the Shelby girl had got to know the children of Small Heath very well: she had somehow become the go-to person whenever one of them got into a scuffle or had an accident, and always fixed them up with a smile on her face as she listened to their innocent voices babble away. Y/N wanted to see them grow up, and didn't want to abandon them. She also didn't want to leave behind some of the poorer families in Small Heath, who she paid a visit to once a week to check that everyone was as well as could be.

Tommy had had one condition for Y/N's staying in Small Heath by herself – that he walked her to and from work or the Garrison (wherever they were the latest) every day, and the days that he couldn't make it that she would let him get one of the blinders to do the job instead. The Shelby name and his sister's capabilities alone were not enough to settle his worries about her wellbeing.

And this job was what had brought Tommy to Y/N’s house that morning. It had come to Y/N’s attention that her brother seemed to be at his happiest during these walks - and when she said ‘happiest’ she meant that there was often just a slight glimmer of a smile on his face and his eyes looked a touch softer. Sometimes the indicators were bigger, but more often than not this was where the happiness would stop. It was in these moments that Tommy seemed to be at his most human, and they were the favourite part of Y/N’s day.

Apart from today.

The pair navigated the streets with ease, speaking quietly to each other, just as on every other day of the year. Suddenly, however, Y/N stopped still, lips parted slightly in shock. Tommy examined her expression carefully, and after realising (with a sigh of relief) that his sister wasn't scared shitless, followed her line of sight. It landed on a man. A rather scruffy man, who appeared to have done an awful job at trying to make himself look respectable, Tommy thought. The Shelby man knew that this was a stranger to Small Heath, not only by the fact that he had never seen such a distinct person before, but also by the way that he looked at the buildings and the people in the street. Yes, Tommy concluded, that was definitely a look with purpose.

Breaking Tommy away from his thoughts was the delicate hand that grabbed his wrist tightly, causing him to look down at his sister. "Tommy, how do you fancy taking the scenic route to the office today, hmm?" Whilst her voice was light, as if she were simply commenting on the day's weather, the forced smile that was plastered on her face was the one that she used at parties when she wanted to get away from someone (usually when she was being annoyed or bored to death).

Amused by Y/N's desperate desire to get away, he resisted her impatient pull on his arm towards a side street. "What's wrong with this way, Y/N/N? This is the route we take every day, I'm not going about changing it now." Tommy's voice was teasing as he casually lit a cigarette.

"Yes, yes, Tom, I know you're a stickler for routine – but for once in your fucking life can you do as I say?"

"Ah, well I was considering it, but since you've been so rude to me..."

The man was getting closer.

"Please, Tommy, I'll do anything." Y/N hated that she was having to practically beg her brother, but the situation was one that she definitely wanted to avoid. She even slipped her hand down to grasp his tightly for emotional effect, something that she hadn't done for years (but, oh, how she relished that warm and safe feeling that it brought with it).

Surprised at his sister's actions and looking into her wide eyes, he was about to relent and let her drag him down the side streets to the office. But it was too late.

"NURSE SHELBY!" The man's deep voice bellowed down the street, causing a few people to look towards them.

"Fucking hell," Y/N mumbled under her breath, giving Tommy's hand a tight squeeze and then letting go, before addressing the man. "Henry. What a surprise! What brings you to Birmingham?"

"Well, you, of course!"

Y/N cringed internally as she saw Tommy's eyebrows shoot up at this statement. Tommy cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Y/N?"

Sending a quick death glare up to her brother out of the corner of her eye, the woman replied with strained politeness: "My apologies. Henry, this is my brother, Thomas Shelby. Tommy, this is Henry Mathers, one of my former patients."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir." Henry shook Tommy's hand, the latter trying his hardest not to grimace at the thick layer of sweat coating the other man's palm.

"Likewise, Mr Mathers. You met my sister in France, then?"

"Yes, sir. We said that if we both made it out of there alive, we'd go for a drink. Ever since I got back I've been searching for her and here I am! And, oh, it was worth the wait to see that face again."

Tommy could no longer suppress the smirk threatening to escape as he looked between Henry's longing gaze and Y/N's very clearly faked happiness crossed with panic.

"Well, my sister is a woman of her word, Mr Mathers, and I'm sure she'd be delighted to be able to catch up with you after all these years." Tommy decided to pause for dramatic effect. "Perhaps you can go to the Garrison tonight, Y/N? We've had it done up recently, it's just around this corner here" Tommy added, pointing in the direction of the pub.

"Oh, that sounds perfect! I shall meet you there at eight o'clock, Miss Shelby." Before Y/N could get a word in edgeways, Henry was removing his bowler hat and bowing his balding head. "Good day to you, Miss Shelby, Mr Shelby." The man continued to walk down the street, a definite spring now in his step.

As soon as he was far enough away, Y/N sent a firm punch to her brother’s stomach. “What the actual fuck, Tommy?” She started to storm down the street quickly, leaving Tommy hurrying after her. “One minute you’re chasing men away from me, and next you’re setting me up on dates with people you don’t know the first thing about!”

“You’re the one who agreed to go for a drink with him in the first place, don’t go blaming me.”

“He had a lot of drugs in his system when he asked, I didn’t think he’d actually remember it.” Catching her brother’s amused smile at her excuse, she continued. “He was on the verge of death, I wasn’t exactly going to say no, was I?”

“Oh, so he fought to stay alive just for you then, eh? Sounds like a keeper to me, Y/N/N.”

“You’re an arse, Thomas Shelby. A complete and utter arse.”

***

Y/N remained in a foul mood with Tommy for the rest of the day, not that this surprised him.

When the hands of the clock hit ten to eight exactly, however, he still knocked on his sister's door to take her to the Garrison himself.

Tommy couldn't help the chuckle that fell from his lips at the sight of Y/N, clad in a beaded black dress, scowling as she stepped out of the house.

"You do know that you're not going to a funeral tonight?"

"Oh, it's my bloody funeral, alright. Might be his too, if he reverts back to his old ways." Y/N started playing with her hands as they made their way towards the pub, something that she'd done since she was little when she was nervous.  

Tommy noticed it immediately, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern as he recalled Y/N's desperation to avoid Henry. It hadn’t really hit him properly in the moment how desperate she had been. But before he could begin to question what the man's 'old ways' were, his sister spoke again.

"But you were right about one thing earlier, Tommy. I did still agree to go out with Henry, no matter what state he was in when he asked. It would be rude of me not to go through with it and at least act like I'm having a nice time, seeing as he's come all this way for it. So," her voice became sterner, "I'm going to smile my way through the evening, and you'd better not start any fights - do you understand me?"

The older of the two Shelbys sighed, a feeling of dread beginning to build up inside of him. "I can get you out of this if you -"

"No, Tommy." An angry fire was dancing in the young woman's eyes. "You don't get to land me in this situation and then try to snap your fingers and revert it. That's not how this works. This is happening, no thanks to you..." The last part was mumbled under her breath as she pushed the heavy pub doors open.

Tommy hadn't wanted to lose his sister in the same way that he had lost Ada at the beginning – not giving her enough freedom, especially given their argument the other day. So, when a man came along who she had agreed to go for a drink with previously, he had decided (for once) to take the light-hearted and supportive approach, a far cry from the overprotective older brother that he had been since the moment that Y/N had been born.

He was starting to regret even considering changing his ways, and the night had barely begun...

***

From his seat at an ordinary table at the Garrison, Tommy looked at the occupants at the bar once again, probably for about the fifth time in the past two minutes. He had decided not to retreat into the snug, as he usually did, wanting to keep a close eye on Y/N and Henry.

So far, the evening had gone surprisingly well - it was far better than any of Tommy’s imaginings after his discussion with his sister previously. He had heard his sister’s gentle laugh ringing across the room on multiple occasions (and he could tell that it was genuine), and the pair had barely stopped talking.

Maybe this would prove to be a success, Tommy had mused.

One thing that the man’s careful eye had picked up on, however, was how many whiskeys Henry had thrown back. Tommy had concluded that no matter how well things appeared to be going now, he wasn't leaving just yet.

And he was glad he didn't – for just 15 minutes later, as the alcohol began to kick in to Henry's system, things began to go downhill.

It started with the occasional nervous laugh, or a smile that didn’t quite reach his sister's eyes as she avoided Henry's intense gaze. This grew more frequent as Henry continued to drink, and Y/N began playing with her hands once again as well.  

The head of the Shelby family was an inch away from leaping out of his seat when he saw Henry leaning over to whisper in Y/N's ear, and her nose crinkled in disgust at the stench of alcohol on his breath. After a few subtle attempts, she finally managed to push him away from her, and Tommy relaxed slightly as he heard her state a firm "No." His sister was always a lot tougher than he thought.  

But her efforts were undermined as Henry grabbed her left hand, holding it as if he were about to kiss her knuckles. However his grip was far too firm for that. Ripping her hand out of his, Y/N grabbed her bag hurriedly and started to get off her seat, and Tommy stood up himself.

The final straw for the protective brother was when he witnessed Y/N freeze completely as Henry rested a hand on her knee to stop her from leaving. Fists clenched as he tried to contain his anger, remembering his sister's warning about not starting any fights, Tommy marched over to the bar, his lie for getting her out of there already prepared.  

"Y/N, something urgent has come up, we need to call a family meeting – now." Tommy extended a hand to his sister, which she gratefully took as he helped her get down off the barstool and pulled her safely to his side. "Would you get my things from the back room, I've just got something to sort out quickly before we go. I'll see you outside."

Y/N nodded, knowing exactly what Tommy was doing. Shooting her brother a grateful glance, Y/N mumbled a quick "Goodbye" to Henry, and walked off quickly, not wanting to be in the man's company for any longer than necessary.  

***

She slipped out of the back door and into the cold night air, relief washing over her. Lighting a cigarette, Y/N waited for her brother, wondering how he had got to her so quickly – she hadn't seen him once after meeting up with Henry.

A few minutes later, Tommy emerged and went straight to Y/N. "You alright?" His thick Brummie accent comforting her as he, too, lit a cigarette.

Y/N sent him a soft smile as she replied, "I'm fine, Tom. I'm assuming there isn't actually an emergency?" Her voice was laced with amusement.

"Nope."

The siblings stayed there for a while, smoking and listening to the sounds of the pub behind them. Y/N vaguely wondered whether Henry would find them, but looking up at her brother's solid presence beside her, she felt any worries lift off her shoulders.

Out of the blue, Tommy threw his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out, turning to Y/N. "Come on. Do you fancy going for a walk?"

"Yeah, I need to clear my head." Tommy started to move towards the street. "Oi! I'm finishing this first, you know I hate smoking and walking at the same time!"

***

"You gonna tell me what happened tonight then, eh?"

The pair didn't know how long they had been wandering the streets of Small Heath for, but Tommy's curiosity had finally gotten the better of him.

Y/N sighed, her eyes focused on the cobblestones beneath her. "When Henry first came to us, back in France, he'd been caught up in an explosion. After the doctors had seen him, he was still very drugged up and the chances of him surviving were about fifty-fifty. We had to keep administering him the drugs for a few days, because he was in so much pain. He kept calling me over, wanting to talk to me no matter how busy I was – said that he needed a 'pretty girl' like me to keep him company. I humoured him. But then he started saying things like we were 'meant to be together', 'soulmates' even."  

Y/N paused, thinking hard. "He lied when he showed up today: he said that he asked me out for a drink, but he didn't. What Henry actually said was, and I quote, 'If we both survive this fucking war, I'm going to find you and marry you.' I had no clue what to say. His chances of making it out of the hospital alive, never mind the war, weren't improving. So I said something like 'Well, I hope you buy me a drink first.' I ran off after that, and another one of the nurses took over his care. I had no clue that he was still alive until today.  

"At the pub tonight, I will admit that I did enjoy catching up with him. For someone who I believed to be a lost cause all those years ago, it was nice to hear that he'd actually done something with his life. But then he brought up getting married again, insisting that I was still 'the one' for him and that it was the thought of me that kept him going until the end of the war. He just kept repeating over and over again that he was going to marry me and that we'd be so happy together.

"But just before you came over, he was getting rather forceful about it. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see your stupid face." She laughed a little, noticing her brother's annoyed (yet secretly amused) glare as they sat down next to the Cut.

"It wasn't him that freaked me out, necessarily - it was the thought of marriage. I'm not ready yet, Tom, and to be honest I don't know if I ever will be, no matter how many boys I try and date. I'm terrified of being tied down to someone and losing my independence. I enjoy being by myself too much – and with you lot, I suppose." Y/N nudged her brother's arm.

A comfortable silence settled between the siblings, and Y/N let it sit there, wanting to give Tommy the time to process everything that she had said in her little monologue.

Happiness was one emotion that the elder Shelby didn't expect to feel after hearing his sister's answer to his question. And yet it coursed through his every vein, accompanied by a sort of relief. Tommy wanted his sister to find contentment and peace more than anything; even though he hated the thought of her marrying, of her having someone else to turn to that wasn't him, a few years ago Tommy had come to accept that one day Y/N would want to move on from him and the family. Maybe even start her own family. This acceptance, however, hadn't been able to stop him from deterring nearly any man who came her way. In his mind, anyone that couldn't stand up to Tommy definitely wouldn't be able to deal with his youngest sister, and that they simply weren't good enough for her.

To hear, though, that Y/N had no intention of leaving him yet, was music to his ears. It was also a comfort to know that she was waiting for the right person to get serious with – Tommy felt as though he wouldn't have to spend as much time hunting down every single potential suitor. Instead, he could spend the time with his beloved, if annoying, little sister.

But this was Tommy Shelby, and he would never communicate such vast amounts of emotion verbally. "So I'm stuck with you for a bit longer then?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Y/N couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, understanding the exact meaning behind her brother's words. It widened as she heard Tommy chuckling slightly in response, a sound that she had nearly forgotten. "What did you do with Henry? After I left the pub?"

Tommy cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "He won't be proposing to you again any time soon, don't you worry, sweetheart."

"Tommy, I thought I said - "

"No fighting, I know. And I did as you said, I didn't start any tonight." He looked, almost sheepishly, over at Y/N, who had adopted Polly's stern expression. "I told him that if I saw him again in our city, I'd cut him myself, and the same applies for if he tries to contact you again."

The younger Shelby sighed and rolled her eyes, fondly. "Well, I can't complain about that, can I?" Y/N heard the bells of the church chime, telling her that it was midnight. She turned to Tommy. "Home?"

He nodded. "Home," and he knew exactly where that was tonight. Tommy stood up and brushed the dirt off of his trousers, whilst Y/N got up too. They were about to set off when Tommy held his hand out to his sister, just like he used to when they were younger. Y/N instinctively took it, a feeling of warmth spreading throughout her body. She felt loved, and knew for certain that this love was the only one that she needed at the moment.

Tommy didn't let go until they reached the front door, comforted in the knowledge that Y/N was going to remain his little girl for a while longer yet.

[firemblem-fics]

SFW alphabet. | felix

-> Pairing: Felix x GN!Reader

-> Warnings: None

-> Genre: Fluff, Headcanons

-> A/N: i felt bad for spamming y’all with all kinds of asks and apparently drama or whatever the hell happened earlier so i decided to try my hand at the sfw alphabet, for felix since y’all go batshit feral for him. if all goes well, i may open up requests for them for my 1.2k special. but i def wouldn’t do the entire alfabit for one character this took me so long. also i’m at 1145 tho y’all so don’t request anything please-

warning, long post.

A -> Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they give affection?)

felix really isn’t that affectionate, even after being in a relationship for a long time. he prefers to show his love through acts of service like me but the occasional hug and kiss is never unwanted

if felix does give affection, it’s small and subtle. holding your pinky as you walk through the monastery halls, resting his hand on your thigh underneath the dining table, those kinds of things. even if you’re cuddling at night, it’s the small circles he rubs into your back and the gentle kisses he peppers on your forehead.

B -> Beginning (How would the relationship start?)

you would 100% be the person to start it. felix would quite literally never do it. he wasn’t even sure that what he was feeling was romantic until you confessed to him and his heart leaped ten feet in the air

it starts slowly- you’re felix’s first relationship. he’s afraid to mess things up, so he’s going to test the waters and move at a pace that both you and he are comfortable with

C -> Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

like the affection hc, felix isn’t a big cuddler. it’s rare for him to initiate, and he only will after a long day. at night, while he’s asleep, he may unconsciously wrap an arm around your waist and pull you closer, but often times cuddling just involves an arm around you as the two of you sit in the knights hall

D -> Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How good are they at cooking and cleaning?)

felix never really considered his future before he met you. he wants to settle down with you, trust me, but it’s not really the biggest thing on his mind at the moment. after the war and after the dust has settled and life is back in order, he’ll consider it

felix does his fair share of housework. he believes that in relationships, you do equal amounts and he will always do his part. even if it takes him a while to learn how to cook

E -> Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

unfortunately, felix would be extremely cold to you. chances are, he broke things off because he feels like he’s a danger to you or is afraid of not being able to protect you, so he breaks things off to avoid getting attached

he won’t look at you at all afterwards. he won’t talk to you, be in the same room as you, or anything. he’s all nonchalant on the outside, but is definitely hurting as much as you are on the inside

F -> Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Would they get married?)

you actually asked him this

felix is good with staying committed to you. he’s very very good at it. he only has eyes for you and it’s easy to keep trust in him because you’re honestly really surprised he agreed to even be in a relationship in the first place. not that you’re complaining ofc

marriage is a yes. he’s going to propose to you, but not now or in the near future. there’s a war to win

G -> Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

felix is afraid of hurting you. physically and emotionally. he knows that he gets angry often and it’s one of his biggest goals to never snap at you the way he does others. it’s hard to do- containing his snarky comments- but he’ll work on it for you

H -> Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

his hugs are pure safety. every embrace is a silent promise that felix will always be there to protect you. the hugs strong and solid and so full of love, especially when he squeezes you a little tighter before having to let go. even he enjoys them because he gets to have you close

because he doesn’t show affection often, felix’s hugs are extra special. they happen whenever you’re reunited after a fight, or if either of you have an injury and give the other a scare. they’re a reassurance to him that you’re still there, alive and loving him

I -> I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

just like the confession, you’ve gotta say it first. felix will internally panic about messing it up or saying it at the wrong time or you not reciprocating, so he won’t say it first.

felix isn’t one for words of affirmation or affection. he’s not going to say it unless it’s in the heat of the moment

J -> Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

felix doesn’t get jealous easily. except around dimitri, but that’s another story. he trusts you to stay loyal and everyone knows that your his anyways, so he doesn’t worry. if they try anything, he’ll kill them

often, it’s just throwing insults at dimitri. he just doesn’t think that a Boar should be talking to such a perfect being such as you, but also because he’s quite aware of dimitri’s attractiveness and sometimes feels a little intimidated in the looks department. but he’ll never tell you that.

K -> Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

passionate. loving. full of emotion. every time felix kisses you, there’s just this flowing warmth in your chest and you can never stop the grin from etching itself on your face. felix isn’t as stingy with kisses as he is hugs and such, giving small pecks to you as greetings and goodbyes, or just little rewards throughout the day for a good day training or something

felix likes to kiss you on your forehead. he does it every time he’s got you wrapped up in an embrace, as if placing a little promise on your head that he will always love you.

he’s a traditional man, though. he wants to be kissed on the lips. he’ll never ever ever get tired of the feeling of your lips against his, sending sparks through his body every time.

L -> Little Ones (How are they around children?)

felix is so incredibly awkward. children love him to death, often flocking around him to hear tales of fights or just to watch him train, their little mouths slackjawed in awe as they aspired to be like him when they grew up

he never knows what to do when one clings themselves to his leg in a hello hug. the angel on his shoulder says to allow it, but the devil on the other side says to punt the kid across the courtyard. luckily he’s got enough self control to not.

M -> Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

felix is an early bird, much to your dismay. he wakes up at the crack of dawn to train before breakfast, but he always gives you a kiss goodbye and makes sure that you’re comfy and happy before leaving

on the mornings that you convince him to stay in for a while, which is rare, he doesn’t fall back asleep. instead, he just watches you as you doze off again, holding you close to him. he’s much softer when you’re not awake enough to tease him

N -> Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

felix lays on his back and you curl into his side, laying your head against his bare chest. silently, you trace your fingers against the scars on his torso and he writes sweet nothings on the skin of your arm, lulling you into a blissful sleep.

O -> Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

felix would never fully open himself up really. it’s just you being able to remember things that he did tell you and piecing them together. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you enough to tell you, it’s just that he’s not one to talk about things. you respect that, of course.

P -> Patience (How easily angered are they?)

as we all know, felix is quick to anger. he still is with others, but he’s really working on it when it comes to you. sometimes, he just gets worried about your well-being and his anxiety shows itself through anger, so small arguments often happen when you’re reckless or not taking care of yourself

he’s trying super hard to work on his communication skills so that he never upsets you with his outbursts again. he has his slip ups, but now that he’s able to verbally apologize, things get solved quicker.

Q -> Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

felix remembers everything, even if he doesn’t show it. he may seem extremely uninterested in the necklace you pointed out at the market after you dragged him shopping, but he’s making a mental note to come back later that day and buy it for you

R -> Remember (What’s their favorite moment in your relationship?)

felix’s favorite moment was when you first met his father. as rude as he is to his dad, he genuinely cares about him and his opinions. his father absolutely adored you and immediately told felix that you were the one. he agreed.

S -> Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

it’s felix. hes protective. there’s a line to be crossed between protective and possessive and he just barely tip toes that line. he’d destroy anyone who bothered you if you asked

on the other hand, felix doesn’t like to actually be protected. it makes him feel weak and vulnerable, so he’d prefer it if you weren’t too overbearing with it. he does think it’s hot if you get protective over him when it comes to some girl flirting with him though

T -> Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, etc?)

it depends on what your preferences are. if you’re okay with laid back dates and casual things, then he would be too. if you liked more grandeur, he’d try his hardest to make it perfect. goddess forbid anyone see him doing it, though

U -> Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

closing himself off. felix isn’t used to being vulnerable or open with people. hes been through copious amounts of trauma that he can’t just get over in a day, so there are still bad days where he’s not going to want to talk about his feelings or talk to anyone at all. it’s best to just let him train that day and bring him his meals. he’ll eat them, and will be super grateful that you’re still there for him, even if it’s just for a second to bring food.

V -> Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks? Do your looks bother them?)

felix does not care about this at all. he’s usually an advocate of the “fuck what other people think” mentality, even if he’s not too good at following it himself, and that’s going to carry into your relationship. he loves you for yourself, no matter what

W -> Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

felix would tell himself that he’d be fine with or without an s/o, but he does feel a little empty when you’re not around. the days that you two may have to spend apart due to busy schedules mean that those nights are a little more tender than usual

X -> Xtra (A random headcanon of them.)

felix’s ideal date isn’t training, like people say it would be. yeah, it’s nice to train with you, but if you don’t want that to be a date then it won’t be. he’d much rather just a chill day where the two of you are curled up on a couch or in the bed, talking and eating snacks or reading in silence

Y -> Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, in general or with a partner?)

felix wouldn’t like someone who’s nosy or pushy. he’s got a lot of boundaries and it’s a big deal to him when they’re crossed. he wants to be able to talk and be comfortable on his own time, not someone else’s. please be patient with him.

Z -> Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs? Does it change around a partner?)

felix is a kicker. you don’t know if it’s just his insanely acute battle instincts trying to get someone out of his bed or what, but you once woke up with a huge bruise on your calf from his heel. you didn’t tell him that he kicked you, though, because then he’d feel bad

this doesn’t really change at first, but the longer the two of you sleep together the less severe the kicks become. other than the occasional horse kick that nearly knocks you off the bed.

[sandu-zidian]

Blabbing about this Musician!au I started last summer that has now also turned into a marching band!au because I got sad and nostalgic because despite how shitty it could be, marching band defined my high school life and social life and I couldn’t had asked for anything else.

I also don’t have every single prequel character (because this au is surrounding the prequel characters) in Star Wars smacked into here, and I gave up halfway through a couple of months ago in terms of brainstorming. Anyways, this is hella long so check everything out under the line if you’d like! don’t want to spam everyone with something that’s like, 4 pages long

Now, you might be asking. What instruments are these characters playing, or what are they doing in marching band? well, boy oh boy do I have some lore for you.

Anakin Skywalker: alright lets start of with the “Chosen One”. Now, I gotta say. He’s got some intense brass vibes, specifically high brass. But I don’t know. He didn’t really mesh well. And given his natural talent with the Force in canon, I thought that Anakin would be a sort of prodigy. And we all know the two instruments associated with that: the piano and violin. He’s more of a piano dude, so here we go! piano prodigy Anakin Skywalker. He also gives mad drumline vibes, and I can see him as either the lead snare, setting the tempo, or the main quad player. He’s brash, slightly obnoxious, but damn is he fucking good at what he does.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: I literally started this AU on the idea that Obi-Wan would play the cello. One of the defining quotes for him is that fucking “infinite sadness” quote. And we all know that cellos play some of the saddest pieces out there. (see: Elgar cello concerto) However, I can’t see him as a marching band dude. He doesn’t really give off color guard vibes (since that’s where most non-band people go to) so I have him as the resident student helper who everyone tolerates because he brings ice cream after band camp.

Ahsoka Tano: Ahsoka is a flute player. As a flute player, I have intimate knowledge on this. She’s like the chill flute player who’s competitive enough to keep her position as principal, but is also chill enough to not have a big ego that butts heads with everyone. She also gives mad color guard vibes. Also speaking about that from personal experience (am I lowkey projecting my own experiences on her? you didn’t hear that from me). She seems like the type to love swing flags and sabre, and is 100% captain by senior year.

I have Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka as siblings in this AU because I say so. Qui-Gon is around here somewhere as the resident hippie dad who lowkey smokes pot and will support his children while giving a big ‘fuck you’ to Dooku. 

Yoda’s also in here somewhere, and I love the idea that he’s an old Chinese/Asian man who refuses to speak english and will only do so with the most backwards grammar so his grandchild (Qui-Gon) and great-grandchildren (the trio) are forced to speak Mandarin/Cantonese to him (pick your poison). He just spends his days cutting up fruit and also might pull out his erhu if everyone asks nice enough. (I want to say he was a Peking Opera musician, but immigrated during Mao’s reign after he lost opportunities during the cultural revolution)

So, I know that it doesn’t make sense for a family to have 3 sets of twins and one triplet set, but fuck that I do what I want.

Cody Fett: okay so, Cody 100% plays the french horn. I don’t know, he just, he does. He’s got that air of sophistication because he can play the hardest brass instrument, but at the same time, he’s incredibly good at it and is matter-of-fact about it. He also would be the mello section leader (I was playing with the idea of drum major, but for now, leaving him as a section leader for now). He’s a bit uptight to be a low brass player, but cool enough to still be associated with the general brass group.

Rex Fett: I got Rex and Cody as the eldest Fett twins. Rex feels like a string player, so I have him on violin. I can see him be very hardworking and practicing diligently to the point where he easily sweeps through to concertmaster in high school and the local youth orchestra. He also gives of mad drum major vibes. I can see him copying music, handing out drill charts, and hauling the met around. Also, just think about Rex doing a fancy ass salute at competitions. Yes.

Next round of twins lets gooo

Jesse Fett: You could say Jesse has brass vibes. I see him as a reed person though. In concert band, he’s on clarinet. I used to think clarinets were as stuck up as us flutes but no they’re literally balls of chaotic energy ready to be unleashed. Just imagine Jesse blaming everything on his reed. I see him as the guy who switches to saxophone for marching band, though. He’s got the energy of the clarinet and the saxophone harnessed. Also, wouldn’t be surprised if he knows how to play the sousa.

Kix Fett: Y’know, when I originally made this AU, I had Kix as a musician as well. I’m gonna scratch that. He’s going to medical school, or at least, he’s planning to. He’s on the pre-med track and is dying in organic chemistry and wishes there weren’t so many pre-requisites. However, in high school, he definitely played the oboe. Of course Kix chose one of the hardest instruments to play. Also, just imagine him trying to make his own reeds. I don’t see him as a guy who’s in marching band. He’ll come to competitions and maybe football games if he’s bullied into it. Kix is the guy who’s classes are all AP and he’s dying inside.

Next round of twins yeet:

Fives Fett: shit, I forgot I gave them all real names. If I remember correctly, Fives is Frank. Anyways, trumpet vibes. Need I say more? He’s on the trumpet in marching band as well and he’s the dude who’s obsessed with DCI and always tries to play as high as he possibly can and absolutely demolishes his chops. I would say he’s section leader as well. He also hangs with the drumline at the back of the bus and always plays meme songs on blast and sends weird pictures to people’s phone via open airdrop.

Echo Fett: I think his birth name is Ethan??? I’m spitting thoughts not checking my old documents. Anyways. Echo feels like a string person. Specifically, low strings. So, he plays the bass. Upright bass. Whatever. You get what I mean. He sleeps in the case after school and hates hauling it everywhere. He was in marching band as a mello player (the easiest brass instrument to pick up for the activity so) but he was in a car crash that left him paralyzed from the hip down, and had to quit to recover. He never stopped playing, and found ways to adjust. (I do not know how exactly this would work, since I’m able bodied and also don’t play the bass, but I know he’d at least have a stool to sit on in order to lean his body on. let me know if you have other ideas i’d love to hear them!)

Finally, we got the triplets:

Dogma Fett: Dogma plays the bassoon. He’s a low reed kinda guy and between the bari sax, bass clarinet, and bassoon, he fits the last one the best. He and Kix moan over making reeds and he’s on the quieter side. He just vibes and plays all the low notes and has fun whenever he’s got some moving part. I see Dogma as someone who is only casually into marching band. He uses Jesse’s old student clarinet as his instrument and he’s always on time, knows his sets, and his technique is on point. He always finds himself roped into his brothers’ shenanigans though.

Tup Fett: Tup plays the harp. I like to think he met Shaak Ti (we’ll get to her in a bit) when he was young, and she was playing with an orchestra. He met her backstage and she offered to give him lessons. Tup’s not really a part of high school orchestra but sometimes he’ll be brought in. He’s more involved with solo work and the youth orchestra more than anything. Tup’s another on where I don’t think he’d be into marching band. Though I can see him being in winter guard as the dude who just shows up and is lowkey rip and therefore is a hunk on the rifle. His technique’s good but they’ve never been able to saddle him into fall guard.

Hardcase Fett: (i’ve given up on remembering the birth names so i’m just gonna not) Hardcase is 100% low brass vibes. He can’t be anything but a low brass. I see him as a tuba player. He’s chill, laid back, but also reliable for being the foundation of the band sound. He plays the sousaphone in marching band and always blasts either Seven Nation Army or some other popular show tune right after rehearsals. Hardcase also can play the bari sax and no one knows when he learned how to. 

OKAY we’re done with the Fett’s! Jango and Boba are in here somewhere but honestly I don’t have enough brainpower to come up with what their roles are. Jango’s gonna be a good dad though. Maybe he was a musician and that’s why most of his kids are going into music. Or maybe he’s just a supportive father. Boba’s the youngest though, that’s for sure. And he’s a little shit. Don’t know if he plays an instrument (probably) or what it might be.

Now lets get into some other characters! There’s a lot. And I wasn’t even halfway done with the characters I wanted to include. What the hell was I on last summer?

Padmé Amidala: Padmé is a flute player who quit after freshman year of high school and started taking music production and music theory classes. She loved it so much that she decided that composing was her jam. Now, she’s highly successful and often works with well known pianist, Anakin Skywalker, on piano concertos. Also, she may or may not be dating said pianists but you didn’t hear that from me.

Satine Kryze: twosetters don’t shit on me but Satine feels like she’d play the viola. She and Obi-Obi-Wan definitely dated in high school but after a year broke up on mutual terms and are just good friends now. A lot of people feel like she’d have been a better political science/international studies major than a music major but she’s good so no one complains (until she gets into a fighting match with someone and wins smugly)

Bo-Katan Kryze: shes Satine’s younger sister and is a mad athlete. She doesn’t play any instruments but she’s deeply active and is on scholarship for college, on the pre-med track with Kix. She’s very scary and most people are too intimidated by her to approach.

Plo Koon: I originally had him as an asian man, but I can see Native American as well. He plays the euphonium and he’s just a sweet man. He helps out a lot with private lessons at local high schools and is often brought in to help with low brass during marching band.

Wolffe Koon: Wolffe and Gregor (get to him in a bit) were both adopted by Plo when their parents died when they were very young. Plo was their godfather and he took them in like they were his own. They’re cousins to the Fett brothers (though don’t ask me how I have no idea). Wolffe is an engineer and works close to home.

Gregor Koon: Gregor is Wolffe’s younger brother and had a short stint of musical interest in middle school but quit after he entered high school. Gregor was in a serious car crash during college that left him amnesiac for a year before some of his memories returned. He now owns a restaurant and sticks close to home. Wolffe often comes around to check up on him because his brain injury still impacts his current life in small physical and emotional dips

Kit Fisto: Kit gives off mad trombone vibes and it’s mostly because he seems incredibly laid back. He’s one of those brass players who’s just a nice guy and while jokes around, never got pulled into jokes as a student.

Shaak Ti: like I said above, Shaak Ti is most definitely a harpist. She has that ethereal quality I think is common in harpists. She’s a tall Indian woman and she loves her job! She’s a private lesson teacher and instructor at the conservatory on top of her job in the orchestra since she’s not called in often to play. She loves all her students and gives good hugs.

Mace Windu: Mace is the director of the Jedi Symphony, the orchestra which almost everyone is involved with. He is a bass player and he likes his more classical pieces over contemporary music. He’s good friends with Yoda and sometimes the old troll has to wack some sense into Windu and have him take on newer pieces. Windu 100% gives off unhinged director vibes because mistakes and lazy musicians definitely don’t end after high school/college is over.

Quinlan Vos: this lil shithead definitely is the obnoxious, slightly arrogant, but kind of deserving of that, percussionist. He loves his snare drum and is also in the drumline. He’s the same age as Obi-Wan and the two are close friends. Quinlan is definitely slightly unhinged and is always at the back of the bus causing havoc after competitions. He’s the guy that I (OP) hate but also can’t help but respect cuz yeah he’s annoying but at least he’s good.

Aayla Secura: Aayla is Quinn’s half-sister, and plays the French horn. Again, like Cody, she’s got this air of professionalism that I associate with French horn players and like, we gotta represent the girls in brass somehow. She just fits it really nicely.

I feel like now is the time to list who’s still in conservatory and who isn’t: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Rex, Cody, Jesse, Quinlan, Padmé, and Satine are all recent graduates. Ahsoka, Aayla, Fives, Echo, Tup, Dogma, and Hardcase are still in conservatory (at varying years of course). Kix and Bo are entering med school/frantically applying and banging their heads cuz MCATs. Wolffe and Gregor are older and have been in the field for quite some time now. Plo, Kit, Shaak, and Mace are all faculty/seasoned professionals.

Somehow, I was gonna bring in The Skiratas (with proper research cuz I know very little about them), Dooku, Ventress, the Oppress siblings, rest of Domino Squad, Cut Lawquene, the other CCs, and more. I designated a page out of my sketchbook for this and my oh my the flow chart was hella confusing. How I thought I was gonna handle that in the summer before my first year of college, I have no idea. Maybe I’ll brainstorm more in the future but for now, this is all I have :]]]

Also excuse some of my slightly unhinged language I started writing this a few days ago while slightly unfocused and tired and stressed so my language is a product of that

[pebblysand]

of breakable clay [extended author's notes on chapter viii of castles]

oh my god. it’s out. jesus christ.

okay first off, before i dive into anything, i know i’ve already done this in the actual a/n but i would like to wholeheartedly thank @whiffingbooks over on discord for helping me with figuring out the structure of things fic. although i have to admit i did not, at all, do what i told you i would do, talking it out was massively helpful in figuring this one out, so thanks a million. secondly, i would like send all of my most sincere and affectionate thanks to @whizzfizz on here, who mother-of-god basically designed this entire chapter and listened to me rant, and rant, and rant about it for days on end without complaining. i’ll go into a bit more depth later on, but THANK YOU.

now, a few facts on this chapter before i dive further in:

wordcount: 19168. i legit would apologise for this but i promised i wouldn’t so i’m not going to. that’s growing up people. don’t apologise for yourselves haha.

soundtrack: so i’ve never mentioned this but each chapter kind of has a soundtrack? like a song that i listened to on loop while writing this. here, i would basically point you to the entire spotify of a band called barns courtney (there’s one album and a few eps), i basically listened to all of their songs on loop this past month. i feel like they have such a strong gryffindor energy, in the good, the bad and the ugly. this chapter is definitely sort of an ode to gryffindors so their music was a very big inspo. if i had to point you to one song, it would probably be dopamine.

favourite line: ‘I dig my fingernails into the inside of my palms and it feels like the blood that comes out is already boiling.’

what is this chapter about? now, that’s an easy one. survival.

okay, now, spoilers under the cut.

ugh. holy fucking shit. i’m actually at a stage right now where i strongly believe that no one on earth will want to read this because everyone probably hates me right now for the choices that i made, especially after i made you wait almost three months for this shit. i always feel like whatever i’ve put out was the hardest chapter to write so far but this one was really out there in terms of struggles - i’m really sorry it took so long, but here we are.

there are reasons, though. first, as i said in my may round up, i didn’t really start writing this until about a month ago, because a lot of things were happening in my life that i needed to take care of. i took exams (which i passed!!!!), my mum had a health emergency, ireland added france to their mandatory quarantine list (it has been removed as of yesterday thank. fucking. christ) and i started a new job. it was a lot.

anyway, this being said, when i did get to writing this chapter, as mentioned above in the thank-you section, i kind of first struggled with the structure of it. now, you will see this is a recurring theme this time around but for this, my instincts were telling me one thing, and my brain was saying something else.

basically, what came first here wasn’t the actual content of ginny’s letters (more on that, obviously, in a minute) but the ‘mood’ i wanted for the chapter. i wanted to recreate, both for harry and for the reader, this sort of idea of being completely immersed in a book or a story. like, you know the kind of mood where reality just kind of blends out, where you start reading something and just. cannot. stop. i don’t think he’s much a reader (at least not canonically) and so i wanted this to take him by surprise, for her to take over his life with her words. i explained in the previous a/n [link] i chose to have ginny’s war be told through letters (basically, i thought it would be the best way to narratively tell her story), and i really wanted harry to experience what she’d lived through almost first hand.

now, interestingly, my idea for how to do this originally was to have the letters sort of be interwoven into the events of 1999, throughout the next couple of chapters (meaning this one and chapter nine). i had this idea in my head of him living through ‘real life’ things but not being able to take his mind off her letters, with the letters also sort of echoing the events that were happening in 99, etc. having the two plot lines develop at once and meet in the middle, kind of.

and i tried to write that. for a long time. spoiler alert, it didn’t work. i think the reason is that every time i sat down with it, i felt like i was doing a disservice to both stories. i mean: 97/98 is important, but 99 also is, you know? and by taking the narrative in and out all the time, it was like you couldn’t concentrate on one thing. it was just very messy and didn’t have the intensity i was originally aiming for because it kept being dragged out of whatever was the main action at the time. i wanted harry to get sucked into the narrative, for her letters to take over his life, but in the end, the impression i just got was that the whole thing was confusing af. instead of deeply caring about both, i couldn’t bring myself to care either for ginny’s story, or for his.

also, i just kept hitting a wall: a wall called harry. basically, i knew that the next two chapters (i.e. eight and nine) would stretch from january 99 to june 99. and for the love of god, no matter how many times i turned it around in my head, there was - to me - no way that harry as we know him would just pace himself to read her letters throughout all those months. like, harry fucking potter isn’t the kind of guy who ‘paces’ himself. he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t sleep for a week to get through it all, you know? this is everything that he’s wanted to know since last may, he’s been desperately looking for answers up to this point, there is absolutely not way in hell that he’d wait it out nicely until june. it felt ooc to have him read the letters over a few months. and i just kept hitting that wall over and over. i considered, at one point, building him reading the letters into flashbacks but flashbacks of flashbacks were, again, quite messy, and i don’t think her letters would ever be something he’d volunteer to re-read, so. clearly, it wasn’t working.

then, i think on a random sunday a few weeks ago, i just went back to the drawing board and was like: okay, say we just write all of the letters and go from there, what would happen? by the end of the day, i’d written 12,000 words and that was that, really.

now, the second difficulty, once i’d decided that was…. what you all probably want me to talk about.

i know this is probably not what you want to hear but: i didn’t really plan this? like, i understand that a lot of people have sort of a headcanon about what happened to ginny in that year in hogwarts but i … don’t. like, as planned as this fic is (which it is, i know where i’m going, i promise) that was always a bit of a blank-space-tbd in my head. i think that this story, as hinny as it is, is mostly about harry. and while i knew what i wanted for harry from her telling her story (for him to get sucked in, for him to realise that his war wasn’t the only war in the world ‘cause he’s been bloody self-centered so far, for him to realise that his plan to protect her didn’t exactly work because it didn’t cater for who she is, etc.), i wasn’t really sure what that story was. i mean, i knew it was going to be bad and traumatic, obviously, but i didn’t know what would happen. and still, to me, what i wrote is a version of that year. it’s not really my headcanon (i still don’t really have one), and i definitely accept other versions, if that makes sense.

this being said, i obviously had thought about it a little. i remember writing chapter one with that line: ‘They have sex for the first time, that day – his first time and it feels like hers, too, but he wouldn’t dare ask, not anymore, anyways’ and thinking i wanted to leave the door open. to me, it was a door completely open: it could have indeed been her first time, or she could have seen someone else (consensually) during that year, or she could have been assaulted. i honestly didn’t know but yeah, that was always a possibility in the back of my head.

then, to tell you the truth, when i wrote the first version of this chapter (the 12,000 words i mentioned earlier), it wasn’t there. i sat down and decided that i wasn’t going to go there. firstly, because, while you probably don’t know this, i’ve written about sexual assault before. my previous long fic, children, in another fandom, dealt (in part) with that. and i didn’t want to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault. especially because trust me, there are people who are a lot more legitimate to talk about this than i am. i also didn’t feel like it was necessary to the story, i could do without it and still explain ginny’s early behaviour in the fic, explain her trauma, and have harry realise the things i talked about before. secondly, i’ll be honest: i know this isn’t what people in this fandom want to read. the hinny pairing is mostly about love and fluff (which i love, btw, don’t get me wrong) and i was like, ugh, i don’t want to face the angry comments. i’m writing this a/n the morning before posting so i admittedly don’t know what the reaction will be but i do anticipate a lot of annoyance with me. i knew that a lot of people wouldn’t like it if i went there, and it was just easier not to.

but then, as i started editing, there was a comment (and this, ladies and gentlemen, is a testament to how much your comments fucking matter, okay?). a comment that i remembered reading on the previous chapter and could not get out of my head, no matter how much i tried. well, hello, @whizzfizz. i’ll happily give credit where credit is due. it read:

This made me think of something you mentioned earlier in the fic (possibly Ch1) about Harry not being sure if he was Ginny’s first but that it felt like it. I wonder if this is something that is going to come up in her letters to him.

and, so, it turned. around and around in my head, and i couldn’t get it out. and i kept saying to myself: no, you’re not going there. no, you’re not going there. and then, one night, i caved. i was like, fuck, i need to know if this person really meant what i think they meant by this. and so we talked. a lot. and, i did a lot of thinking. about women. about wars. about violence against women as a an inevitable weapon of war. about ginny being harry’s girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend (more on that later), and what that would have meant in their world. and @whizzfizz, you said something that in the end really sold me. you said: ‘at this point, i don’t think it would be realistic for it not to have happened.’ and, that was that, really.

because i was right, initially. amycus/ginny (ugh, the idea of a pairing makes me throw up in my mouth a little but yeah, there it is) isn’t necessary to the story. but i believe it to be necessary to what this story is trying to show. the plot held well without it, no questions asked. 12,000 words of the da and their battles, of ginny’s rebellions. it was fine. but i think i wanted more than fine. to me (and i appreciate how fucking pretentious that is, please slap me in the face *eyeroll*), castles is more than its plot. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: this is about what is behind ‘all was well.’ it’s about trying to paint a realistic picture of their lives. and that includes the war. and realistically, as far as i’m concerned, knowing how humans fight their wars, knowing our history and the history of violence against women construed as a weapon in literally every conflict there ever was, there is no way that this didn’t happen. ginny says it herself: for us girls, it’s just the way wars are fought.

so, i did go there. and the whole fandom probably hates me for going there, but i sort of stand by it, i have to say. to be honest, on a sort of subconscious level, i kind of wonder: didn’t i always know i was going to go there? like, this fits perfectly into the plot to the point that i think it was probably in my head for much longer than i care to admit. now, i’m so, fucking excited to write next chapter because i finally get to write happy things, and hinny getting back together on rock solid foundations of openness and sharing, and trust, and i’m so, so glad. there are a couple of scenes in the next chapter that i’ve been working towards for months and i’m so, bloody excited to write them. everyone might hate me and i might just be writing this fic for myself now (lol), but again, i stand by the decisions i took. to me, it fits.

phew. okay, now that huge thing is out of the way and explained, here are a few more jumbled thoughts:

the more i think about it, the more i think that my reason for not wanting to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault is a bit ridic. children and castles, in that way, are so, so different. like, i appreciate the overlap between the silk fandom and the hp fandom is probably ridiculously small but if you’ve read both stories, they’re obviously very different. one thing that both stories centre on, though, is consent. and to me, that’s probably the most interesting element of ginny/amycus, and the most interesting element of writing characters within a restrictive pov, rather than an omniscient one. like, do i think ginny/amycus is rape? yes. 100%. do i think that ginny thinks it’s rape? that is a much more interesting question. she says it a number of times but i think to her, this is all about control. i think that because of what happened to her with tom, she’s someone who is terrified of losing control of her mind and of her own agency. so as not to lose that, she’s willing to do whatever it takes. it is a ‘you can control my body, but not my thoughts,’ sort of narrative. and, she never says it outright because i think psychologically she’s just not there yet, but tom is everywhere in these letters. and as her world just spirals out, she hangs onto the very few things that she can control: her relationship to harry, and her willingness to do what it takes for them to survive. she initiates the ‘relationship’ with amycus in an attempt to control her fate. later, as she explains to harry she feels a lot of guilt over what she did, and like a lot of sexual assault survivors, she thinks it was her responsibility. because i’m in harry’s head most of the time for this fic, i’m not sure i’ll ever really get to discuss that at length, but it’s definitely something that i wanted to show. another interesting question is: does harry think it’s rape? i think at that point in the fic, he doesn’t have the education, nor the vocabulary for that. i think instinctively (because he is someone who is very instinctive), he doesn’t blame her. if he blames anyone, it’s probably himself. he understands the necessity to do what you have to do to survive and thinks that no, no matter what she claims, that was not consented. that’s kind of what comes out in his annoyingly inarticulate letter to her at the end. beyond that, though, i think he’s a bit lost, just like she is.

on a mildly related note, there is something that i've been seeing a lot in the comments and that i feel like i should maybe address? namely: harry's reaction to ginny dating other people. i assume similar comments will be made about his reaction to ginny/alecto (meaning that he still decides to write to her, at the end of the chapter). i've seen a lot of people observe that he's much more 'chill' about it in castles than in canon. fair point but is he, though? like, he isn't happy about it in castles. and he's jealous as well. but he was never entitled in canon. he was jealous, yes, the chest monster and all that, but he never really did anything about it, and never really impeded on her right to see other people. now, this being said, i agree that in sixth year he might have thrown a tantrum, had she done what she did in castles, but that was sixth year. it was before the war. before he lost half a dozen people. before he had to adult bloody fucking quickly. this being said, i do think castles-Harry is more 'subdued,' i suppose, than canon harry. this is a choice i made early on, which to me is related to the fact that he kind of lost his 'voice' during the war. i mean, it took him six months of people talking shit behind his back to do a press interview to defend himself. i think with ginny, it's a lot of the same. he's a boy who blames himself a lot, and generally doesn't particularly think he deserves the people in his life. to me it's an evolution of his character within the the world of castles. i'm happy to agree to disagree on it, but to me it makes sense within the character evolution and the way the fic's gone, so to speak. now, obviously, he'll grow out of that in due course, but we're not quite there yet.

regarding their relationship, now, i have to say: one headcanon that i did have for this was her not outright telling everyone they’d broken up. i’m sorry, that plan was shit. i just don’t buy for a second that she would willingly have gone ahead with it, and i don’t buy for a second that tom wouldn’t have used her had he known they’d been together, ex girlfriend or not. plus, i think she needed something to hand onto, and that was her relationship with him. her letters. the belief that they would be together again. without it, i don’t think she’d have survived. and i think that summer after the war, they were totally on the same page, for different reasons. both of them kind of saw their relationship as the one thing that kept them afloat, the one good thing they had, partly also because they’d idealised it for so long. she says it as some point, it wasn’t a relationship, it was a lifeline (another sentence i came up with as a response to a comment, lol) and while that is toxic and was meant to crumble at some point, it was necessary for them, both during the war, and in the early days after it. i think her last letter to him is painstakingly correct on that one.

regarding canon, i know i’m bending a couple of things here, which i just wanted to quickly acknowledge: 1) i know jkr has said it’s teddy remus lupin. i just can’t believe, for a moment, that someone who hated himself as much as lupin did, canonically, would name his son after himself. naming his son after his best mate who died to young to become problematic though? i totally see it. so yeah, creative licence, it’s teddy james lupin in this house, lol. 2) when they meet neville in dh, he kind of hints that they’ve only just started to use the room of requirement a couple weeks ago. the text however, only says they’ve only been staying in it full time a couple of weeks ago. i needed them to have somewhere where to meet with the da and stuff, so i bent that a bit. it’s not strictly canon, but it’s also not not canon, if that makes sense.

on seamus blowing things up and talking about eight hundred years of oppression? full disclaimer, while i am french, i have been living in ireland for long enough to become eligible for citizenship in less than six months (yay!). i know some people have said that seamus is a bit of a cliche in the books/films and all (the only irish character keen on blowing things up, haha *eyeroll*), but i actually kind of love it? like, the whole thing about the cranberries and zombie at the start of the fic has been in my head for much longer than i care to admit. i love the idea that there’s this whole muggle war going on at the exact same time that no one ever talks about and actually, i find the idea of wizarding ireland v. muggle ireland and the whole political structure fascinating. like, is wizarding ireland an independent state? what’s the story there? i have a whole seamus fic in my head, partially on this topic, that i might or might not write one day.

lastly, i know this may sound a bit weird but i need to say it: once i’d figured out what and how i was writing it, i bloody loved writing this chapter. first stylistically, i really wanted to mimic the style of how i’d written the magazine article in chapter 5 (i.e. not writing out the whole thing but writing out in text the excerpts that harry focused on) and i love how that turned out. i think it was a good way to balance her words and his, kind of merging them into one, big narrative. second, as a writer, it was so fucking interesting to write someone who knows how to write, which believe it or not i’d never done before. additionally, i loved the challenge of editing this because it was like: i’ve got to edit this, but not too much? i was very careful about modifying and polishing too much of ginny’s speech in the letters because i obviously wanted it to sound like someone who was just writing as the words came to her, without polishing the words, the punctuation, etc. like i usually would. i wanted her to have quirks (she says ‘you know?’ a lot) and i played with her capitalisation and punctuation a bit too. i know these aren’t necessarily noticeable details but it was definitely something that i thought about and that was very fun and interesting to write, as a format.

wow, okay. this was LONG but i think i have everything i wanted to say. if you’ve read all of this (whyyyyy?), thanks so much for sticking around. if you’ve got any questions, anything i didn’t address, do let me know, anon or not, my ask box is open. now, i would love to say i’m going to chill or something, but the truth is that i have to a) actually do a last read through of the fic, lol and b) put it out. this is what i get for writing the a/n before finishing the damn thing, i guess. i’ll rest tomorrow, lol.

lastly, in terms of next chapter, realistically, i’d say eight to ten weeks. i have a full time job now and also, writing this was fucking exhausting and i need to take time out for a bit before coming back to it with a fresh mind. i will be writing other stuff though, i promise. i have a couple of prompts to get to (thanks!!!) and a couple of other ideas so i will probably be posting in the meantime, just not castles.

lots of love,

p.

[saltywhovian]

seven minutes in heaven is hard when there’s four people in the closet

Marinette loved Alya. She was her best friend, her confidant, her rock. But Marinette was going to strangle Alya. She was going to murder Alya, ressurect her, and then murder her again. If she made it out of this closet without being suffocated to death. But hey, being suffocated during Seven Minutes in Heaven is such a good way to die. 

                                                  Earlier

“Marinette! I’m having a little sleepover tonight, nothing fancy, just a few friends, some chips, some bad movies, will you pleaaaase come??” 

Marinette glances over at Alya, who is practically down on her knees begging Marinette to come to the sleepover. “Alya, I-” Marinette makes eye contact with Alya, who has become the literal definition of puppy eyes. Marinette sighs, and grabs her phone. “You know what, I deserve a night off. I’ve been working myself too hard. Let me ask my parents.”

After getting a positive answer from her parents, Marinette gives Alya a thumbs up. Alya squeals, and throws her arms around Marinette. “Girl, you won’t regret it!”

“Okay weirdo,” Marinette chuckles. “Let me finish this homework.”

As Alya walks away, she grins to herself. 

She goes up to Nino and Adrien, and after planting a big kiss on Nino’s cheek, she turns to the boys. “Hey, I’m having a sleepover, do you two want to come?”

Nino nods, and Adrien furrows his brow. “I’ll have to clear it up with Nathalie and my father,” 

Alya interrupts him with a grin. “Uh-uh my friend. I already got approval from Nathalie. You can check with her right now.

Adrien, who is even more confused, pulls out his phone, dialing Nathalie. 

“Hey, um, Alya invited me to a sleepover, and-” he stammers.

“Yes, I am aware of Ms. Cesaire’s get together. You already have your father and I’s consent to attend. But of course, it is your choice on whether or not you go.” Nathalie responds.

“No, no, I want to go! Th- Thank you Nathalie.”

“Have fun Adrien.”

Adrien turns to Alya, amazement in his eyes. “How? Just- how??” 

Alya walks away dramatically, calling over her shoulder, “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

After inviting Alix and Rose, Alya goes to Juleka. “Hey girl, I’m having a little sleepover tonight, do you and your brother want to come?”

Juleka smiles, and shoots a text to Luka. “He would love to come.”

Alya smiles slowly. And that makes four.

You see, Alya was smart. And although everyone except for Adrien knew about Marinette’s “little” crush, Alya knew there was more. Because whenever Kagami was around Adrien, Marinette would get jealous whenever they touched each other. Not just if Kagami initiated the touching, but if Adrien did too. And whenever Marinette was with Luka, they were gentle, they were the same in a quiet kind of way.

So Alya dug a little more. She grilled Adrien enough to know that he’s head over heels for Marinette, just in denial.  She then accomplished the harder task, figuring out Kagami’s feelings. It took nearly a month of careful plotting, and finally, finally got Kagami to admit that she wanted to take Marinette into her arms, and.. Alya stopped Kagami there. 

And then she dug more. Kagami and Adrien weren’t hard to figure out. And the moments that Luka and Adrien shared were so sweet, Alya thought she might get diabetes. As for Kagami, and Luka? There was definitely something there. It just needed a little push. 

Alya did such a good job figuring this all out, she was considering a career as a detective. So with all this information, what was she going to do?

Well she was going to scheme. But she couldn’t do this by herself. So she enlisted Nino, and then after some careful thought, she pulled Juleka into the planning.

After another two weeks, they had a plan. Operation Seven Minutes was a go.

Honestly, the hardest part was convincing Kagami and Adriens parents to let their children attend a co-ed sleepover. Alya went to Nathalie first. She explained that Kagami would be there, and that they would be doing meditation, to relax and tame their emotions due to stress of everyday life. She said that it would be beneficial and would allow Adrien to focus more on his duties. Nathalie gave her a smile, and told her that Adrien had her permission to attend the sleepover. For Kagami, it involved simply stating that Adrien Agreste would be in attendance, and Gabriel Agreste approved of the affair. Ms. Tsurugi approved immediately. 

So she invited the four, and a few others to create less awkwardness in the room, so she could trick the idiots into a false sense of security. 

Technically the main objective of Operation Seven Minutes was to get the four idiots together, but the true objective was for Alya to live all her shipping fantasies and be as amused as she can possibly be. 

She sends a text to Operation Seven Minutes.

Red -The birds are in the bush

Purple - What?

Green - Everyone’s coming.

Purple - Why couldn’t Alya just say that?

Red - Code names, Purple!

Purple - They’re kinda dumb

Green - She’s got a point, babe

Red - Whatever, whatever. Time for Phase 3.

Evening

Marinette rings the doorbell at Alya’s place, face slightly flushed at her late arrival. Alya opens the door, and pulls Marinette in. “There you are, girl! I got worried for a second that you weren’t coming!”

“I’m so sorry Alya, there was an emergency at the bakery…” Marinette trails off as she takes in the people in the room. Nino and Alix are engaged in fervent conversation that’s no doubt involving some extreme dare, Juleka and Rose cuddling, and…

Adrien, Luka and Kagami all sitting together looking mildly awkward. Scratch that, really awkward. 

Marinette slowly turns to Alya, her face twitching. Before the situation escalates, Alya snatches Marinette’s bag and yeets it into a corner.

“Alright, gather round, gather round!” Alya beckons. “Now that Marinette’s here, we’re going to play Uno!”

Marinette balks at the circle, unsure on where to sit. Kagami tugs at Marinette's sleeve, indicating a spot in between her and Luka. “Sit next to me Marinette.”

Marinette smiles, which the team notices, thanks to a nudge in the ribs from Alya. “O-Okay Kagami.”

Luka makes a small wave at Marinette as she settles in. “I’m glad you’re here, Marinette.”

Adrien leans over from Luka’s other side. “Me too!”

Kagami gently scoots in closer to Marinette, leaning into the conversation. “I as well Marinette. I always seem to enjoy myself when you’re around.”

Marinette is practically speechless, already furiously flushing. Nino, Alya and Juleka fist bump, whispering “Pound it!”

Uno goes better than Alya could ever imagine. Sure Alix is another +4 away from murdering someone, but that was a foreseen circumstance. No, Alya is very pleased because the four have been slowly snuggling closer and closer to each other. And because of how competitive Marinette gets, she is no longer stuttering around anyone. 

Kagami looks at Marinette, her eyes gleaming in regret. “Marinette, I’m so sorry, I have no other card..” She places the +4 card down. “I hope you can find it in your heart to ever forgive me.”

Marinette meets Kagami’s eyes, her own filled with understanding. “It’s okay Kagami, I know you would never willingly betray me. Besides, you’ve given me the perfect opportunity.”

Luka looks at Marinette in alarm, clutching his three card deck to his chest. “Marinette, you couldn’t. You- you wouldn’t!”

Marinette shrugs, looking nonchalant, but a smirk is threatening to break through her casual expression. “I’m sorry Luka, but you are a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Marinette, it doesn’t have to be like this!”

“Oh but it does.” She slams the +4 card down on top of Kagami's card. “Uno.”

Luka stares at the card, disbelief taking his body. Adrien rubs his back, mourning the defeat.

Marinette tenderly places a hand on Luka’s face. “I’m sorry it had to be like this. Maybe in another lifetime it would work. But it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.” 

Luka gasps at the touch, much to Juleka’s delight. But before he can respond, Alix leaps to her feet, eyes raging, pillow in hand. “I’ve had enough! This means war!” Alix then swings the pillow into Ninos face, knocking him to the floor. 

The room erupts into chaos. Everyone scrambles to grab a pillow, and attack the foes around them. Adrien immediately jumps in front of Marinette, acting as a human shield. “Marinette stay back!” he yells. “I’ll protect you!” 

On the ground, Marinette looks up at Adrien, who is practically glowing in the fluorescent lighting, framed by feathers floating around them. The moment is ruined by Adrien being shunted to the couch by a pillow to the ribs. Marinette rushes to his side and clutches his hand. “Adrien! Are you okay?”

He looks up to her, and hands her his pillow. Marinette nods, determination in her eyes. “I’ll avenge you.” 

She rushes into battle, the power of the past Ladybugs flowing through her veins. Kagami and Luka, who are currently fighting back to back, can only watch in awe as Marinette, crowned with righteous fury, slams her pillow in Ninos stomach, causing him to fall into Alya.

 “Oh girl I’ll get you for that!” she cries, hoisting her pillow into the air.

In a blink, Kagami rushes to block Alya. While engaged in a furious standoff with Alya, she cries “Luka, now!”

Alya looks back to see Luka leaping into the air with his pillow above his head.

From the couch, Adrien yells “Finish her Luka!”

And finish her he does. With one final blow, Alya is struck to the ground. The battle ends with Luka and Kagami flanking Marinette, while their friends lay fallen around them. 

Rose looks up, and starts laughing. “I think that’s a good segway to pajamas, huh?” 

Marinette fidgets with her pajamas, displeased with her selection. She had picked them based on the thought that it was just going to Alya, Rose and Alix, so she’s wearing a silky tank top and short combo that she made herself. The pink tank top sometimes rides up to show a little stomach, and the shorts show way too much leg than she is comfortable letting Luka, Adrien and Kagami see.  “Alya,” Marinette hisses under her breath. “I cannot go out in this!”

Alya tugs a stubborn Marinette into the other room. “Girl, relax. Once you see what everyone else is wearing, you’ll calm down.”

Marinette doesn’t exactly calm down, per say. She doesn’t really notice what Alix and Nino are wearing, but sees that Rose and Juleka are matching. But she stops right in her tracks when she sees her crushes. 

Kagami, who is watching Luka and Adrien squabble, is wearing the prettiest red nightgown Marinette has ever seen. It’s big and billowy, falls right above her knees, and the puffy sleeves give Kagami this innocent yet beautiful look. Kagami rushes to Marinette’s side, clutching her arm. Marinette is trying, and failing to ignore how Kagami's fingers feel against her bare skin. 

“They’re fighting because they’re matching,” Kagami whispers into Marinette’s ear. 

Marinette finally looks at Adrien and Luka, and almost faints. Luka and Adrien are both wearing Ladybug onesies, both with hoods and feet, and are in a heated argument over the matching.

“I’m just saying that you should change because I’m the biggest Ladybug fan.” Adrien argues. “I’m literally Chat Noir- I mean in the animated movie.”

“Any true fan knows that the movie sucked,”  Luka counters. “Just because you are ‘Chat Noir’,” he mocks with air quotes, “Doesn’t entitle you to the title of the biggest Ladybug fan.”

Marinette whispers back to Kagami, “I should probably intervene before this cat fight gets ugly.” Shouldering her way inbetween the onesie clad boys, she gives both of them a stern glare, silencing them. “Boys, you’re both pretty. Besides, I think Chloe wins that title. She literally has an expensive Ladybug cosplay, wig and all.” 

The boys nod in agreement, mostly distracted by Marinette’s choice in pajamas. Luka hates to prove the “boys are distracted by girls shoulders” stereotype, but he cannot stop staring. There’s something about the dip from her next to the shoulder that just makes him…

“Alright, losers, let’s play some truth and dare!” Alix’s challenge breaks the spell. The boys and Marinette sit down where they are, and Kagami joins them at Adrien’s side. “Alright, Rose, truth or dare?”

Rose blinks at the question, weighing the options. “Truth!”

“If you could kiss anyone in this room, who would you kiss?”

Without any hesitation, Rose blurts out “Juleka!” 

Juleka, who is settled in at her side, slowly turns to Rose, her face the same shade as Rose’s pjs. “Um, really?”

Rose, who is also bright pink, nods, and pulls Juleka into the hall. The rest of the room sits in silence until the two come back a few minutes later. 

Juleka breaks the silence. “We’re dating now.” 

The room, once again erupts into chaos. Luka rushes to his sister, crying about how proud he is, Alix to Rose saying that it’s all thanks to her. In the chaos, someone bumps into Marinette, causing her to tumble right smack into Kagami. Thanks to some cruel twist of misfortune, Marinette’s hands… are dangerously close to where they shouldn’t be. Marinette flings herself back, stammering out apologies, but Kagami silences her with a hand and a smile. 

“Marinette, I know you would never purposely do anything to me,” Kagami assures Marinette. “You are pure and true. That’s why..” 

But Kagami never finishes her sentence. With a roar, Alya silences the room. “Okay, we can all agree that we all just witnessed something beautiful. Now let’s get back to Truth or Dare.” She peers around the room, eyes landing on Adrien. “Adrien, truth or dare?”

“Uh… dare?” the blonde answers.

“I dare you to sit in Luka’s lap until dared to move.”

Adrien is practically red. “I, uh, erm…”

Alix whoops, “You’ve got to do, blondie. A dare’s a dare!”

So Adrien makes his way over to Luka. “Are you okay with this, Luka?” Adrien asks, desperate to not be placed in this situation.

Luka, who most definitely wants to be placed in this situation, shrugs, trying to hide his excitement. “Yeah.” he pats his lap, wiggling his eyebrows at Adrien. “Sit down, Monsieur.”

Adrien slowly drops himself into Luka’s lap, gently moving until he’s comfortable. 

Alya sneakily takes a picture. 

After a few more truths and dares, it’s Juleka’s turn to ask. “Marinette, truth or dare?”

After a few seconds of thinking, Marinette answers “Dare.”

“I dare you…” Juleka makes a huge show out of thinking up a dare, but the one she has is one memorized from Alya’s meticulous planning. “To give Luka a kiss on the nose.” 

Adrien looks at the two, who are starting to look like Ladybug’s costume, and asks “Do I have to move?”

Juleka shakes her head. “Stay where you are.”

Marinette sputters, but makes her way over to Luka and Adrien. Leaning past Adrien, who melts at the feeling of Marinette breathing by his ear, Marinette locks eyes with Luka. “I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispers. He nods, and Marinette brushes her lips onto the tip of his nose. Luka cannot control the sigh that escapes him. Marinette pulls back and returns to Kagami’s side, who straightens up, and looks to Adrien.

“Adrien, truth or dare?” Kagami asks him. 

“Uh, dare I guess?” Adrien answers, intimidated by her intensity. 

“I dare you to sit in my lap.”

You can hear a pin drop.

The team was not expecting the operation to go this well. 

“You heard her right, Adrien.” Rose chimes. “Go sit in her lap!”

Luka, who is very reluctant to give up Adrien, watches as he goes, and settles into his second lap of the evening. Kagami leans forward into his back, and whispers into his ear, “I missed you.” 

Adrien thinks he is going to die. 

This time, Nino takes the picture.

After another round that results in Alix reliquenshing her hat to a very delighted Rose, Alya takes the reins. “Luka, Kagami, I dare you two swap pajamas. One of you can change in my bathroom, the other in my bedroom.”

Lukan and Kagami make eye contact, an unspoken message coursing through the room. Kagami taps Adrien’s lower back. “I’ll be back.” 

He stands up, sitting with a very delighted Marinette, allowing Kagami and Luka to go to Alya’s room. Once in the room, Kagami closes the door and turns to Luka. Luka is the first one to break the silence. “What’s your game at?”

“What game?” Kagami drawls, not breaking the stand off. 

“Well, I just found it odd that you dared Adrien to sit in your lap while Marinette was right there, and you’ve been glued to her side all evening.”

“I do not hesitate, Luka. I know what I want, and I get it.”

Luka raises his hands in a sign of peace. “Hey, I’m not trying to start a fight or anything. I’m just trying to figure out if we’re on the same page.”

“What page, Luka?”

“Do I really have to spell it out?”

Kagami’s silence is all the answer he gets.

“Fine, fine. Listen, I’m in love with Adrien and Marinette, and I’m almost positive that you feel the same.”

“You are correct about almost everything.”

“Almost?”

“You failed to account that I might be in love with you.”

“Oh.”

Kagami raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I confess to you and all you have to say is oh??” 

Luka backtracks, trying to explain himself, but Kagami interrupts. “It’s okay. I’m not going to be selfish.”

“No, no no!  You’ve got me all wrong, Kagami!” Luka slides a hand through his hair. “You’re like, part of my harmony. The four of us, we’re like a four part harmony. I… need all of the chords to sound good.”

Kagami gasps, a blush dusting across her cheeks. “Oh!”

Luka chuckles, and Kagami shoots him a glare. “The irony is not lost on me. However, the main issue at hand here is the fact that we’re being set up.”

“Definitely. But, I’m not mad about it..”

Kagami raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Well, think about it. Do you think we would’ve ever figured it out on our own? I lo-love all of you, and you’re probably the smartest of us all, but we’re kinda dumb. Marinette will figure out if given many many hints, and Adrien…”

Luka falters, not wishing to insult Adrien, but continues. “When it comes to crushes, Adrien’s about as smart as a rock. Not like a cool rock. Just a rock.”

Kagami snorts at the comparison, and turns to Luka, smirking. “I say we play along, and enjoy ourselves. Besides, whatever’s going on,” She laces her fingers into Luka’s, who is smiling, and squeezes her hand back. “It already led me to you.”

“Let’s finally complete the dare, huh?”

Kagami nods, and they split to change, fingers touching until the very last second. 

When Kagami and Luka leave, the sitting arrangements have slightly changed. Alya and Nino are cutely snuggled up. Alix is sprawled on top of their laps, smirking at Adrien and Marinette. Alya sees the pair, and motions to be quiet. Adrien and Marinette are holding hands, red as Adrien’s onesie. Their feet are brushed up against each other, and Marinette is very pointedly not looking at Adrien.  

Marinette would later swear she felt Adrien purring. 

Kagami leans over to Alya, whispering, “Where are Juleka and Rose?”

Alya whispers back, “Alix dared them to play Seven MInutes in Heaven, which should be up right….” A timer beeps off, and Rose and Juleka stumble out of the coat closet, mildly disoriented but both foolishly smiling. 

Luka and Kagami make eye contact, an unspoken thought passing among them. Marinette finally notices Kagami and Luka and squeaks when she sees them. She’s mostly excited about how cute Kagami looks in the ridiculously oversized Ladybug onesie, but her and Adrien quickly notice the nightgown on Luka falls smack in the middle of his thighs. Both Adrien and Marinette fight an urge to touch his legs. 

Alya wiggles her eyebrows, and nudges Nino, who grabs Juleka’s attention. They all know it’s time for the final phase of Operation Seven Minutes. It’s perfect that Alix already made a segway to having people playing it, really, this is going way too well. “Hey Marinette, you haven’t had a turn in a while. Truth or dare?”

Marinette chuckles, somehow miraculously still holding Adrien’s hand, decides “I’m feeling a dare.”

Time to go for the kill. “I dare you to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with someone of your choice.”

Marinette looked ready to murder Alya. Twitching hands, and a very fake smile. Nino jumps in, as according to plan, in case Marinette couldn’t pick. “C’mon Alya, don’t make her pick! She’ll take so long, that we’ll all be 80. I’ll pick.”

“NO!” Marinette practically screeches. “No. No. Alya dared me to pick, and so I’ll pick.” She doesn’t pick. 

After a minute that felt like an hour, Juleka speaks up. “I have an idea. How about Marinette goes in the closet, and whoever wants to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with her will follow. Anyone opposed?”

When no one speaks, Marinette nods, and shuffles off to the closet. As she sits in there, her mind begins to race. Why is no one coming? It’s because no one likes you, you should’ve just picked Alya and hugged her for 7 minutes..

While Marinette worries outside, her friends sit in silence. Suddenly, Kagami stands up and rushes to the closet. Luka leaps up, hot on her tail. After a few seconds, Adrien jumps up, and scrambles after the two, muttering “Crap, crap, crap!”

Alya, Nino and Juleka just stare in amusement, and Rose and Alix...are going to need a moment.

Before Marinette can spiral any more, Kagami slams the door open, then attempts to lean on the door nonchalantly. “Uh, hey-” she’s promptly interrupted by Luka's body slamming into her, causing both of them to fall in with Marinette. She squeaks as they both fall in, and if it wasn’t awkward already, Adrien also trips and stumbles in. Alya makes no time in quickly shutting the door, and the fours eyes widen hearing the lock click. “Seven minutes starting now, have fun!”

Marinette is the first to speak up. “So, um, all of us are in here. In here, in this closet, for s-seven m-m-minutes in heaven. Hm, hm, so I uh, hm..”

Marinette is so cute that the three might die. 

Kagami smiles. “Marinette, may I?” Marinette cues her with a nod. “I believe that Marinette is pointing out the fact that we all wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with her, a party game for the sole purpose of making out. I know that I would love to make out with Marinette.”

Luka nods in agreement. “Same here.”

Marinette is a squeaky, blushy mess. They all turn to Adrien.

He is blushing just as bad, if not worse than Marinette. “Y-yeah…” 

Marinette almost faints. “I, um, would like to uh, make, make, um up, no out, with all of you too.” 

Kagami, who would later claim that she already knew this and just wanted the others to know, lets out a faint “Yes!”

“Erm.. Continue.”

Marinette nods. “I, um, also, notice, that you guys, all kinda, you know, um, like each, each, other, and  I um, like, want to sugg- suggest,”

Luka tries to rub her back to encourage her, but because of how small the closet is, he ends up being squished a little too close to Marinette, with his face mere inches from Adrien’s.

Adrien is going to give Alya the entire Gabriel fortune. He’s going to give her the entire company. 

“I-” she gulps. “I would like to suggest us, being in like, a poly group. Only, only if everyone's okay with it, and I know we would have to work out all the kinks-”

Marinette is quickly silenced by a swift kiss from Kagami. While the two girls kiss, Luka and Adrien are both trying to decide to get jealous, or kiss each other. Kagami takes her sweet time pulling away, and whispers, “I would love to date you. All of you. If-if you’ll have me.”

Surprisingly, Adrien speaks up. “It would be a dream to date all of you. I, have to admit, I loved Marinette first, deep down, and then Luka and Kagami came into my life, and I’ve, I’ve never been the same.”

Everyone looks to Luka, who lets out a hearty chuckle. “Of course I want to date you guys! All of you are my harmony. My beautiful, beautiful harmony.”

Marinette looks up at all of them,  tears brimming in her eyes. “I love you guys!”

“We love you too Marinette!”

“You know,” Luka mentions, wiggling his eyebrows at Adrien. “Alya shoved us in here to play Seven Minutes, and those seven minutes are ticking by…”

Outside, Alix glances over to Alya. “Did you set the timer?”

“Oh no!” Alya gasps, most definitely insincere. She makes a huge show out of picking up her phone, and pretending to be surprised that the timer isn’t set. “I’ll just set it to seven minutes now. I just hope they don’t mind!”

Nino rolls his eyes, snaking an arm around his girlfriend. “I’m almost positive they won’t babe.”

After the actual seven minutes, Alya finally unlocks and opens the door. “Times up,” she calls, “I hope you guys weren’t too..” All four of them topple out of the closet, tangled and flustered. “Uncomfortable.” she finishes with a smirk.

Marinette smiles, stands up, dusts herself up, and pulls up her girlfriend and boyfriends, kissing each of their cheeks. “We managed.” 

Later that night

“M’lady,” Chat Noir calls, settling next to her on the Eiffel Tower. “It’s 1 am, are you okay?”

“No, yeah! I’m actually great!” she assures him. “I called you here to tell you something. So, you know how I kept rejecting you?”

“Yeah, about that-”

“Wait. Just, let me finish, kitty. I’m dating the boy now, and I’m also dating two other people that I really love, and I thought was a rival for me to the boy, and the other boy the boy thought was his rival and I’m telling you this because you’re my friend and my partner..”

And in that moment, a fog is lifted from his mind. He places his hand on Ladybug’s shoulder, and whispers, “Marinette?”

“How-” and the fog is lifted from her as well. “Adrien?”

He pulls, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. They pull each other into a deep hug, and sob into the night. 

“Of course it’s you,” Adrien cries into Marinette’s shoulder. “It’s always been you.”

They share a tear soaked kiss, weighted down by each other, by their love for each other, by their love for the two still with Alya. 

Marinette stands up, and pulls Adrien to his feet. “Let’s get back before Luka and Kagami notice we’re gone.”

They’ve already noticed, but they will let the duo tell them on their own time. For now, they just let the two snuggle in close, and hold them tight. After all, that’s what love is. Trust. 

https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltywhovian

[avatarstories]

izumi’s birthday part three:  sources of wisdom

The next morning, breakfast with the family is awkward. Izumi was a few moments late, having had to stop by the royal seamstress to have the last adjustments fitted for party outfit finished. By the time she arrived at breakfast, everyone was seated, and the only empty chair was between her father and Bumi. Bumi’s stony expression made her want to just be swallowed up by the floor. Maybe she could go find Druk and convince him to eat her. She gives Bumi a sad smile, and he rolls his eyes with a noticeable exhale. Izumi takes her seat quietly trying her hardest to give him as much space as possible. 

“Are we going to talk about how Izumi and Bumi are making the air in the room extremely uncomfortable?” Kya says. “Lover’s quarrel?” she jokes. 

“Fuck off, Kya” Bumi mutters, looking down at the table in front of him. Kya is across from him and leans in trying to get his attention. 

“Excuse me?” she says with a joking lilt in her voice. 

Bumi doesn’t say anything. Instead, he throws his tea at Kya and storms out of the dining room. Everyone is silent but all eyes are on Izumi. Having managed to stop the tea from hitting her, Kya bends it back into a cup. 

“Well, Happy Birthday, Izumi! What an exciting way to start the day,” Kya deadpans. Zuko looks at Izumi with a concerned expression. Azula looks ready to go to murder. Toph and Lin have their eyebrows raised and are taking a big sips of their mango juices. Tenzin hangs his head and focuses intently at his rice. Izumi notices Katara giving Aang a look that says go after him and when he doesn’t move she shakes her head. 

“This looks like a job for a wise old man like me,” Iroh says, pushing his chair back so that he can stand up. 

“General Iroh, it’s really ok, Aang can take care of it,” Katara says. 

“Uh, I kinda agree with General Iroh,” Aang replies sheepishly. 

If looks could kill, the ice in Katara’s eyes would have Aang pinned to the wall. “You are unbelievable,” she says quietly, though the anger and disappointment in her tone are unmistakable. She follows Bumi out the door 

“Looks like Twinkletoes is in the polar bear doghouse,” Toph says. Aang groans and then goes after Katara and Bumi.

“Care to enlighten us, Izumi?” Azula asks. 

“Not really,” she mutters. “I’m going to the training yard,” she announces quietly, and she walks out the door. 

Azula looks between Zuko and Iroh “I would go after her, but I was planning to go boss some staff around to make sure her party is perfect, which I think now needs to be even more perfect,” she says. 

“I will see what is bothering our dear Izumi,” Iroh says pushing out his chair once again. He and Azula leave the room. 

“Man,” Lin says “I thought mom and I would be the ones to start drama.” At that, Sokka laughs so hard he snorts, and Suki punches him in the side for it. ————————————————————————————————— 

Izumi is moving through advanced katas when Iroh finds her.

“I have told you before, forms practiced in anger are like tea steeped in unclean water, dear Izumi.” 

She finishes the form sending an arc of a flame towards the stone wall with an audibly annoyed exhale. 

“Now, are you going to tell me what is wrong or should I guess? Kya suggested a -” 

“IM NOT DATING BUMI! CAN EVERYONE STOP THINKING THAT!” 

Iroh chuckles. “Everyone used to think the same of your father and Katara when they were yours and Bumi’s ages. When people share a special bond others cannot help but wonder. But of course I did not come here to talk about your father’s youthful affections. It appears you and Bumi are experiencing a strain. Care to inform your old grandfather so he can help you?” 

“We had a misunderstanding.” 

“I know that I am old, Izumi, but I am not blind.” 

“Bumi was telling me about some issues in their family between him and his dad, and I basically told him that he should be lucky not to have the weight of a legacy on his shoulders.” 

“So your problem stems from your fear of your future,” Iroh affirms. “Rightfully so on an occasion as momentous as your 17th birthday, but Izumi, you are a kind, gentle, and fair minded young woman, and your father is a picture of health, what has brought about this anxiety?” 

Izumi crosses her arms and says nothing. 

“Izumi?” 

“I overheard some of the noblewomen talking about a curse on the Fire Ladies.” 

“And what is this curse?” 

“That Fire Ladies who die in childbirth give rise to evil Fire Lords. The spirits make them pay the ultimate price for what they bring into the world.”

Iroh takes in her words. “And so you have applied this to your own birth?” Izumi nods.

“You’re young yet Izumi, but I think you will find that destiny is what you make of it,” he says. “You and your father are the descendants of Sozin and Azulon, but you’re also the descendants of Avatar Roku on your grandmother’s side. There’s light and dark in you, and you will have to chose what nature you will allow to flourish. But knowing you, I would largely place my bets on the light side. And,” he takes a pause, “you can always seek to redeem yourself for your faults. I tried to break through the walls of Ba Sing Se, and then I took it back from the Fire Nation. Your father chased Aang halfway across the world, and now they are best friends. Azula was one of the most terrifying people in existence -” 

“She still is.” 

He chuckles. “Yes, she still is. But the original fire bending masters deemed her worthy of regaining her power when she lost it and repented, and they even gifted her a dragon egg as they did to your father,” he explains. 

“Your father’s legacy was to end a war. Yours will be the equally important one of maintaining peace,” Iroh says. “Now, maybe you should go practice that and make your amends with Master Bumi. I am off to make some tea.” 

“What if he won’t speak to me,” she asks. 

“Well then your partner dance in front of the court later on at your party will be terribly uncomfortable!” he says walking back inside. ——————————————————————————————————— Bumi does not really know where he is walking to, and he just follows the direction that instinct takes him. He can hear his parents behind him, but he does not stop. 

“Bumi please,” Katara calls. 

He groans and walks faster. In this instance, he was incredibly pleased with himself because he still remembers some of the secret passageways in the palace that Izumi had showed him as children when they would play hide and explode with Izumi’s Aunt Kiyi and Aunt Azula, so he ducked into one that he knew was coming and hears his parents run right passed. It was slightly dark inside, which made perfect sense considering that usually only firebenders used these hallways and had no need for any other light. 

Bumi went off memory and kept his right hand on the wall. If he had to figure this out like a maze in order to get out, that’s what he would do. After about ten minutes in the dark, he feels a variation in the stone that tells him he’s found a door. If he remembers correctly, this one will let him out by the portrait gallery. However, when he opens the door, he’s stopped by a piece of furniture. 

“Huh?” he hears someone ask, and soon the furniture is being shoved out of the way and the door opens and bright light blinds him, and Azula is standing in front of him.

She stares him up and down. “I would offer to help you but I will warn you first that if you ruin Izumi’s birthday, not even the fact that your father is the Avatar will save you from me.” 

Bumi remains frozen, unsure what to do. 

“Well don’t just sit there,” she says, raising a brow. He stumbles into what he realizes to be Azula’s office. 

“If you are avoiding your parents who ran after you when you caused quite the commotion at breakfast, then my office would definitely be the best place to hide. Push that back into place,” she commands gesturing to the small table she had just moved. 

Bumi has not spent much time alone with Azula. Whenever he would visit the Fire Nation, he and Izumi were attached at the hip. Every summer when Kya would go to the Southern Water Tribe and his dad and Tenzin would go to an Air Temple, Bumi would get dropped off in the Fire Nation for a few months of sword training with Master Piandao. After Piandao passed away, Zuko offered to continue training him since Sokka was busy trying to get Republic City up and running. In all that time, he’d never really gotten to know Azula. From what Izumi had told him, Azula was Zuko’s right hand. She lead his small council and sat in on meetings when he was away on diplomatic trips, which made her an extremely powerful person. 

He looks around her office. It’s clean and tidy. There is a small ink portrait of Izumi on the wall to the right of Azula's desk, and vases of Fire Lilies around the room. 

Azula studies him while he looks around the room. “Should I ask what’s bothering you or should we pretend this exchange never happened?”

“Whatever you prefer,” he replies. 

“I prefer to be well informed.” 

“Izumi and I had a fight.” 

“I gleaned that,” she says flatly. There’s a pause. “Izumi hates celebrating her birthday. She tells us every year it makes her feel guilty, but the 17th birthday of the Heir Apparent is a rite of passage in the Fire Nation.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Traditionally, it’s when the Crown Prince, or in Izumi’s case, Princess, starts sitting on the small council and has to take up a stronger political role than just kissing babies and doing well in school… it’s seen as the last day of childhood.”  

Oh Bumi thinks. “That’s why she’s so stressed.” 

“Most likely a factor.” 

“She never mentioned it.” 

“Well, you know Izumi. Unless it’s Zuko, getting her to tell you what’s wrong is like pulling teeth. She is like you in that regard.” Bumi looks puzzled. “I read people very well,” she says in reply to his reaction. There’s a pause as she regards him. “I do not imagine it is easy to be a non-bender in a family like yours.” 

“Man, you really don’t hold back.” 

She offers him a half smile. “I understand the fear of being a disappointment too. When I was 12 I was so scared of failure and what would happen if I disappointed my father. It was not even two years by the time I self destructed.” 

“I’m not going to self destruct,” he mutters. 

“Then you might need some help carrying that weight on your shoulders around.” 

He is quiet for a minute. “What if there’s no one to help me?” 

 She glances down at a small ink drawing of her mother, Zuko, and herself  that sits on her desk. “From my experience,  you can often find help in very unexpected places, but you have to be open to being helped.” 

AN: you cannot convince me Azula didn’t get a redemption arc and a lot of healing and become a strange source of wisdom. you just can’t. azula redemptions are a peak of feminist literature. 

I imagine redeemed Azula serves Zuko in a position similar to the hand of the king from GoT.