#Anyone else who wants to partake you can pretend I tagged you

[http-numbah5]

Thank you so much for the tag @ronobe

Relationship status : 👀😗 [read:single]

Favorite color : Lilac, most things in pastel; but for six years most of my purchases were blue and recently it's been pink? Anytime I want something it usually ends up being available in the colour pink.

Song stuck in my head : Champagne by Kidi

Song I last listened to : With by the 2521 main cast

Three favorite foods : most fruits, really

Last thing I googled : probably something job-seeking related

Dream trip : Japan's Disney

Anything I want right now : two business class tickets to Japan for my little cousin and I to go to Disney in Japan. Of course fluency in Japanese and $700 000 just to make the trip comfortable.

I nominate @emmiiesen and @bangtanxcoffee but no pressure💕

[violentviolette]

please tell me what aspd is like for you since you're diagnosed? ive had a life time of antisocial (illegal/violent/aggressive) behaviour, im incapable of feeling love and i really lack affective empathy. im becoming 18 in a few months and it's not getting better so atm i think my personality is legitimately disordered but i don't know anyone who has it irl to ask questions

so there's a really good breakdown i saw recently of the core disordered thought processes and internal logic that guide aspd that I thought really hit the nail on the head so I'd absolutely suggest giving it a read here

as for my own personal experience, for me the biggest factors were my aggressive and violent behavior, my pervasive and obsessive need for control over both myself and others, and my lack of remorse and inability to conceptualize the feelings of others.

ive talked a lot about my anger issues in the past so if u want more info on that just go thru my aspd tag here

but my aspd now vs my aspd when I was in my early 20s is very different. ive done a lot of work in trauma recovery and it has drastically improved my ability to cognitively empathize with others, love and form bonds. it is a myth that antisocial ppl cannot experience genuine love and care for others, we just have a much harder time with it.

im much more social now and ive learned to become much better about not only recognizing the emotions of others, but caring about them as well. tho i still don't like the company of many people and am easily irritated and put off by others so i do spend the majority of my time either alone or in the company of 2 or 3 select ppl. I can also still be very callous and I tend to speak "out of turn" a lot. I dont really notice when something ive said could be considered upsetting or insulting usually until after ive said it. peoplw often describe me as harsh and say that im very blunt and straightforward. i dont give much thought to making my words soft or kind and whether or not I care about hurting others feelings depends completely on if the person in question is someone I like or not. I genuinely do not feel any negative emotions from hurting the feelings of people I dont deem worth my care or who I dont like and enjoy even to this day. so while my ability to care for others has definitely increased, its still well below nuerotypical thresholds.

this was much worse when I was younger and it was almost impossible for me to form genuine close attachments with others. i was paranoid and distrustful of people by default, I didn't care about peoples feelings and was extreamly self focused and defensive. if I didn't personally find it upsetting or if it didn't go against the morals I had set for myself, I just did not care. I still don't care about most things or people and when I dont care it feels like genuine torture to have to pretend to do so or to perform an emotion im not having for the sake of appearing normal

I also viewed all social interaction as inherently manipulative. people were not their own unique individuals, they were pawns for me to use for my own personal gain and interacting with them was a chess match to "win" what i wanted from them. I never considered their feelings wants or motivations and cared only about myself and my wants.

anhedonia has also been a big persistent symptom for me. its been very difficult for me to cultivate happiness and find things that both keep my attention and make me feel positive emotions. when I was younger this was also much more difficult and I would partake in increasingly risky behaviors in order to feel emotions because I could only experience them if they were at extremes. this led to things like breaking the law, self harming, doing lots and lots of drugs ect. anything I could do to dump as much adrenaline into my brain as possible in order to feel anything other than a pervasive numbness.

I still struggle with this but again to a much lesser degree. I still absolutely do drugs and struggle to find meaning and purpose with my life and am just kinda floating thru it, but most of my days are positive and im able to find hobbies that make me happy a lot easier

those are most of the big things for me, tho there is a lot more. but honestly working on trauma recovery helped SO much with most of my symptoms. unpacking the disordered ways I was taught to live and the abusive mindsets I was raised under help me understand the world around me better and view it through a more positive lense. also being surrounded by people who did genuinely care for me and whose company I found enjoyable. its very hard to care for people who clearly don't care for u.

I hope that was at least a little helpful but feel free to ask anything else if u have more specific questions!

[nexyra]

Okay so This is just a way to let out some frustration so I can put it out there and stop mulling on it bc I'm bad at this sort of stuff - Feel free to ignore it

I'm putting this under Read More; if your fav past-time is to call anyone who likes Ironwood's character or was disappointed by his V8 turn to villainy a stupid bootlicker who "should have seen the signs he was always a tyrant !!" please don't interact with this post. You're ultimately free to think what you want but honestly I see enough of that in the main tag when left alone, I don't need it on my blog it doesn't make me feel good.

Anyone else... well you can read if you're interested but you don't have to either. Feel free to respectfully disagree though, I'm not that bullheaded that I can't partake in a friendly argument =) I'll just be listing some things about Ironwood's reading by the FNDM who get old or draining as someone who doesn't like the V8-characterization they went with

Can people please stop just... copy/pasting real world issues on a world/characters that have nothing to do with them or a completely different context ?

Like,, I genuinely try to educate myself on real-world issues. I know I'm rather privileged so I try to listen and hear out people who speak out about the issues they live through day by day. I know why the "ACAB" moniker exists. I understand the problem that lies within the american police system (and likely other countries as well). I see why the army, on our blue planet, is criticized & its many failings. Etc, the list can go on...

But I'm sorry to say, Remnant isn't OUR Earth. Their Army's primary job is to fight actual evil soulless monsters, not people. The Ace Opps or Huntsmen are not an organization directly inherited from slave-hunting groups. James Ironwood isn't the US army general bombing Middle East. Clover Ebi isn't the racist cop you want in prison. So WHY are they treated as such by so many people ? Stories are not a 1-1 where you can take everything you know and just apply it to a completely different world.

Has Atlas been presented as a country that suffers from racism & classism ? Certainly. Has it be shown this way ? That's already more debatable since the only racist arguments we got were in Mantle (which is the city we're supposed to be rooting for so that's a weird choice but eh it's whatever). Are the characters, as persons, shown to evoke these issues in a way that deserve our scorn ? Not really.

Is Ironwood depicted as particularly racist for example ? I wouldn't say so seeing as one (or more considering Tortuga) of his Ace-Opps are Faunus & it seems perfectly accepted; and he hates Jacques Schnee's guts. So why does he get to shoulder all of our real-world issues as if he was responsible for them, in a context where (pre V8) his army had most likely never killed anything else than Grimm and was shown to elicit very positive reactions from most of the population (V3) ? (In direct contrast to the polarization that the US army might evoke for example.)

You can totally hate Ironwood because of the feelings he evoke, the trope he stems from or the parallels to be made. That doesn't mean however, that he IS truly guilty of every one of OUR world issues (pre-V8)

Just because classism is prevalent in Atlas society does not make Ironwood the figurehead & leader of this issue.

Is classism an issue in Atlas ? Yes. That's been made clear because of Mantle's state as well as Jacques Schnee entire existence & even Cinder's backstory. Does that mean every single one of Ironwood's decisions reeks of classism ? NO

Trust me, as someone who found Ironwood's V8 characterization not... well-executed & too much; there's nothing more annoying than being assaulted by posts about his fall going "it was so obvious !! look at -" only for them to then list reasons in a really biased way or even headcannons based on (again) irl problems. An exemple...

Reasons his turn was good that I see thrown around : "Ironwood left Mantle behind because he only wanted to save the rich. He's a selfish coward & an asshole !"

What we were actually given : "Ironwood suffers from PTSD, and faced with Salem's imminent arrival, he tried to save what he was CERTAIN to be able to protect aka the flying city and all the people on it including Mantle evacuees. There is absolutely no text backing the idea that he wanted to leave with Atlas because it's rich. We could even suppose that he would have left with the 'poor' Mantle if it was the flying city and rich people were hanging safely on the ground. There is indeed an issue with Atlas & Mantle disparity, but Ironwood isn't directly responsible for it."

Does that make his decision to leave Mantle behind a morally right one ? That's of course NOT what I'm saying. The situation is still very ambiguous. But the classism theme has NO place here.

"Ironwood leads Atlas & Mantle. As such, he inherently holds responsability for the issues plaguing it." THIS is an acceptable reading according to me. I would probably argue that even if Ironwood's the only Atlas leader we're shown; he actually only oversees the military & academy (where we haven't ever seen classism issues), so putting Atlas' classism issues on him still doesn't sound fair to me. However the idea & argument is sound.

Acknowledging only how his actions look/the tyrannical surface reading and not the reasonnable justifications or glimpses we were given (pre-V7) of Ironwood being more than his trope

I'll probably stop after this one, but the last thing that is both tiring & annoying after too much of it; is seeing people boil down all of Ironwood's character to the most basic summary, inherently written to paint him in a bad line. And then saying that everything led up to his downfall by using these watered-down versions of the show's events to justify it. Or worse (imo), saying that people who are not satisfied with his V8 characterization that THEY don't understand how good a character he is and don't really appreciate him.... All the while only ever highlighting his characters flaws. Please stop this.

"Ironwood brought an army to the peace Olympics why are you surprised he turned out this way ?" ==> Ironwood brought an army to a country where the civilians visibly have no issue with said-army, to protect a peaceful event that he KNOWS to be targeted by foes. It's definitely overzealous & his conviction that threats should be dealt with by blunt force IS one of his flaws; but pretending that he did it for fun or because he's a tyran is just as misplaced.

"Ironwood said he'd shoot Qrow if he were one of his men why are you surprised he shot Oscar ?" ==> Do I really need to flip through every joke in this show and consider it as absolute truth & proof that the character would enact these words if given the occasion; even when we're shown with certainty that they actually don't mean it ? (IW hugging Qrow to welcome him, refusing to attack Qrow when he's certain Qrow IS attacking him...)

"Ironwood has his military all over Mantle, there's a curfew, all of this is tyrannical why are you surprised he's also down for genocide" ==> Damn, it sure is criminal to have Mantle defended from the litteral monsters roaming inside & out, and to make sure with a curfew that the people are not at risk during the night. I wonder if any recent events could make us reconsider our stance on how evil a enforced curfew is. Mhmmm maybe a pandemic ? Nah I must be imagining things. For real though, at what point did Tyrian's framing/lies (IW has his soldiers all over Mantle because of politics/he's a tyran who refuses opposition) became the truth of the situation for the FDNM too ? Again Mantle's situations SUCK, and that's a problem in itself. Making up problematic reasoning for the situation is dishonest though.

To end this, I'll just make clear. I do not condone any of Ironwood's actions post-V7. I don't think he had to be the big hero of the Atlas arc. Nor that he was without faults. I merely think that he'd have been a better antagonist than villain. And that it'd have been nice to keep the ambiguity/morally greyness that surrounds him; the knowledge that he's TRYING hard to do what's best for everyone; that he has good intentions. That he cares about individuals too to a lesser degree, and that he had people who cared about him as a person.

For short... Ironwood as an antagonist with understandable issues, flaws & failures; making questionable choices but with good intentions ? Hell yeah. Ironwood as a villain, more irredeemable than Hazel, willing to kill people for NO reason or even wipe out a city ? I'm not convinced.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 8. Snowballs

A/N: So this one is just pure fun. I just wanted to write something that would hopefully make you laugh, or at least smile xD ^^ Please, tell me your favourite part/line in the comments :D

Setting: Hogwarts Grounds, Snowball fight among students in the courtyard

Characters: Snape, McGonagall, Filch, Flitwick (early years, Snape is about 23-25)

Word count: 1576

Warnings: Prepare to laugh (I think/hope)

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

"Take that!" A snowball came wooshing through the air, the girl it was aimed for ducked just in time. "You!" she hollered and threw a snowball back at the boy. He jumped to the side and it hit the back of a Slytherin girl. "What the- oh you Gryffindors!" she snarled and threw a snowball back. It smacked the girl right in the face and she fell backwards just as the courtyard was filling up with students walking between classes.

"OH IT'S ON!" the Gryffindor girl shrieked as she gathered snow. "IT’S WAR!" the Slytherin girl screamed as she did the same. Students took sides, Gryffindors an Hufflepuffs on one side, Slytherins on the other with a few Ravenclaws as well while others just watched the unfurling of a full-on snowball war between the houses.

Commands were shouted, snowballs were made and thrown. It was chaos. And what usually happens when there is chaos? Accidents.

A snowball flew through the air at a high velocity just as the teachers marched out to clear of the ongoing battle. It hit Snape right in the face with a harsh splat. The whole courtyard froze. Everyone stood still as snow fell from Snape's face and his eyes burned with rage.

"50 points from Gryffindor!" he roared as the snowball had come from that side of the courtyard. "Now, hold on Severus," McGonagall said as she came up behind the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students, "it was just a snowball." Snape sneered at McGonagall.

The students remained still and quiet. "Oh really?" Snape purred. McGonagall's eyes bulged. "Now, hold on just a moment Sev-" *smack* McGonagall's face was hidden behind a splat of snow. She wiped it off with her hand in one swipe.

"You- you disrespectful-" "Now, now, Minerva," Severus purred, "it was just a snowball." He threw her words back at her and McGonagall seemed to explode. "Just a snowball? Just a snowball?!" she thundered with that high pitched voice of hers. Severus gave her a malicious grin.

"Oh, I have had enough of this!" McGonagall shouted, "this is no time to play!" The students watched the bickering between the teachers. Unaware that Snape had in fact already summoned a heap of new snowballs. This ought to shut the old cat up. With non-verbal magic, he began to throw them at the students belonging to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. And McGonagall.  

"Severus! Enough!" "Oh I'm not doing anything, it's my clever students," Snape purred and McGonagall's face turned red. She glared at him as he smiled wickedly. "Oh this is WAR!" she roared and the students cheered on her side of the courtyard. "Damn right it is!" Snape called back before he roared at the student to attack with all their strength.

"Flitwick, more snowballs!" McGonagall shrieked, "Abernathy, throw harder! Flake, throw longer!" she commanded as the gryffpuff side rolled into action. "Not so fast!" Snape roared back before he turned to his students, "are you Slytherins or not?! Throw the damn snowballs!" he hissed and wicked smiles spread out. "How hard?" a broadly shouldered boy said as he bounced a snowball up and down in his hand. "As hard as you can, McRoy." The boy smiled. "You hear the professor boys and gals, it's on!"

Snowballs flew left and right, students and professors ducked as they tried to avoid them. "Professor! What are you doing on their side?!" a girl cried out, her robes in Ravenclaw colours. Flitwick seemed embarrassed and at a loss for words as McGonagall commanded him left and right. Snape chuckled. "He's chosen the weak side," he growled and the girl seemed horrified by it. "Let's show him how clever his students really is, no?" The girl nodded, seemingly pissed off at her own head of house and Snape was clever enough to use it.

And boy oh boy did his side do well. As he Slytherins used their brute strength and rallied themselves by their pure ambition to win the Ravenclaws used their wits to throw balls that curved and split into several. Some even went so far as to throw chasing spells on the snowballs so they would find their targets no matter what.

"Clever, very clever!" McGonagall screamed with huffing breaths. "What's the matter little kitty? Lost your spirit?" Snape chuckled out and Minerva seemed to get even more infuriated as she herself began to throw snowballs using magic.

Snape sneered, oh, playing hardcore now, are we? Well, two can play that game. Snape waved over three Slytherins. "Take the flanks, use non-verbal magic, pound them." The rather large boys smiled wickedly at Snape's command. He gave them a very tight smile and off they went. He was just about to partake himself when a familiar voice rang out over the courtyard in an echoing pant.

"Students throwing snowballs! Students at the courtyard throwing snowballs!" Filch called out as he ran in a weird fashion with a hand on his chest and Mrs Norris hot on his tale. "THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO THROW SNOWBALLS YOU BLUBBERING IDIOT!" McGonagall screamed at the poor man who looked utterly confused at the strange scene. "Sorry, mam'" he sighed as he looked out over the courtyard that had paused at his arrival. Everyone was looking at the scabby man; throws were frozen mid-air.

Filch threw and threw, by Merlin did he have good aim for such a scrawny looking arm and half-open eyes. He had put Mrs Norris to work as well, she stroked around behind enemy lines so the students fell as they stumbled with her jumping between their legs. Students shouted, professors commanded and snowballs flew in a flurry.

"Well don't just stand there! Help! Get more snowballs Mr Filch!" McGonagall chided. Filch looked at her and then at Snape; who smiled at the man who he had actually grown quite close to during his school years. "Sorry mam', my allegiance is spoken for," Mr Filch stated and he hurried over to Snape who smiled triumphantly at McGonagall who seemed to be quite near a complete explosion at that.

"Welcome to the winning side, Argus," Snape said with a smile and Filch nodded as Mrs Norris stroked Snape's legs, "Attack!" Snape roared in a thunder of command and the snowballs flew yet again as students screamed at the opposite side to 'take that' and 'run away loser' paired with some laughs and screams as snowballs hit their intended targets.

McGonagall had hauled din more students from among the onlookers. Snape had not, he did not force anyone to participate but boy oh boy did he get the ones engaging to fight as if it were life or death.

A snowball hit him right on his hooked nose with a thudding splat. McGonagall laughed and that had been the final straw. Snape made snowballs rain down on the enemies. Wave after wave of snowballs until there was so much snow they could no longer move. "VICTORY!" shouted the slytherclaw side with joyous glee as they jumped around while howling with laughter at the losing side. Snape gave McGonagall a wicked smile before he walked over.

"Just a snowball, was it?" he drawled on a chuckle. "Oh alright, fine! Now get us out of here," McGonagall shrieked. "I believe a reward should be given for such a great achievement." Snape smiled as he straightened and looked towards his side of the courtyard. "100 points to Slytherin," he said and the students clad in green colours cheered, "and 100 points to Ravenclaw," he continued and the few students that had participated on his side of the snowball war beamed at him.

"Yes yes, whoopie-do for you," McGonagall muttered, "now get us out of here," she continued and Snape vanished the snow with a swirling motion of his wand that set lose a controlled flame that melted the snow without burning anything else. "Fabulous, now I'm soaked." McGonagall took out her own wand and dried herself as best she could before she told the student's to get changed before next class.

Everyone filed out with loud talk of epic snow battles and awesome teachers. Snape could not help but chuckle, but as he moved his eyes to his college she angrily tapped her foot and glared at him.

"We do not teach students to battle in this way," she chided. "Oh, well you could have ended it at any moment, Minerva. We all know that, don't pretend you didn't have fun." Snape arched a brow towards her and she huffed. "I will not admit that this is the most fun I have had in years, and I will definitely not admit that it was thanks to you. And I will most certainly, under no circumstances, admit that I'm hoping it's a new tradition at Hogwarts." Snape laughed out loud as McGonagall walked away with her head held high and a strut to her steps.

"Come on, Argus. Let's get inside," Snape said as Filch stepped up to him with Mrs Norris in his arms, "No need to clean this up, it's just snow. It will sort itself out." Filch seemed relieved at Snape's words and gave the young man a grin that showcased his yellowing teeth.

"You did a good one here lad," he said and Snape nodded with a smile at the man before they both strode in tot he castle with a victorious air about them as the rumours had already started to spread around Hogwarts.  

I really hope you enjoyed this one and had fun while reading it! :D Please, please tell me your favourite part/line in a comment - it would make my day! :D

As you can see I'm working on not doing too long fics as there is no way I'd be able to do all of Snapemas if I write 4k+ fics xD I'm not very good at it though; I always feel as if there should be more - but it's good practice! :D

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

[Dec:2020]

Tags: @lizlil​ @snapefiction​ @morphineisouthoney​  Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[mvalentine]

Meet My Favourite Pairing

→ Book: Open Heart

→ Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Lana Brooks)

→ Relationship status: They’ve been dating for four months but just made their relationship public to Edenbrook two months ago. Also, Ethan had initially planned to wait until their six month anniversary before asking her to move in with him, but he’s an impatient man, & so is planning to do so sometime this coming week 🔑

→ Their Song(s): “Falling Like The Stars” by James Arthur, “You & Me” by James TW, “Eternal Flame” by The Bangles & “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Elvis Presley

→ Ideal date:  

Growing up, Lana’s favourite thing to do was to lay on the beach & stargaze to her heart’s content. It was something she would always do in solitary, a private activity she didn’t want anyone else to partake in. Until she met Ethan. Now, whenever they can, they drive down to Wollaston Beach with a bunch of blankets & a bottle of whiskey; stargazing & talking late into the night. Lana’s a very snacky drunk, so they later go down to Lana’s favourite cafe named Boston Crust, where they serve Breakfast 24/7. They both always order pancakes, which is when Lana always, without fail, reminds Ethan that he is terrible at making pancakes. 

→ A show they watch together: 

One day, the two of them were lying on his couch, with Lana scrolling through Netflix in the hopes of finding a show for them to watch. 

She suddenly stopped at the show ‘Lucifer’. 

“Let’s watch this” she proclaimed, the finality of her tone causing him to turn his head towards her, eyebrows raised. 

“Seriously? A show about.. the devil? It sounds absolutely preposterous. Also, how did you already make up your mind without even reading the description?”

“Cause the guy on the cover looks so hot” she exclaimed, giggling when his eyes narrowed down at her. She simply snuggled further into his chest, kissing his sweater & then proceeding to hit the ‘Play’ button. 

Initially, Ethan pretended to dislike it, mocking the “absolute absurdity” of the show every chance he got. However, it soon became impossible for him to hide his obvious interest in the show & now, they’re both eagerly waiting for Season 5 & 6 to drop. 

→ Their favourite meal to share: A pizza that they made from scratch, just the two of them, doing all the work from beginning to end. The intimacy of the process only heightens the flavour of the final result. 

→ Favorite thing about each other:

Physical: 

Ethan loves her eyes, especially the way they seem to sparkle when she’s talking about something she’s passionate about. He also finds it absolutely adorable when she scrunches up her nose in distaste. 

Lana loves his smile, especially if she’s the cause for it, which is very often the case. Also, she really, really likes his ass & finds it a real shame that his lab coat hides all that magnificence - a fact she admitted to Ethan on a drunk night out at Donahue’s.  

Personality: 

Ethan loves the empathy & warmth she exudes toward everyone she comes across. Also, although he probably would never admit it to her;  he loves the fact that she is infuriatingly stubborn & is always holding him accountable for his actions. 

Lana loves how smart & hardworking he is. She also loves the deep care he has for those he loves, and considers herself very lucky to be one of those people. 

→ Who:

Made the first move: Ethan (Miami)

Cooks better: Ethan

Dances better: Lana

Wakes up first: Ethan, Lana loathes having to wake up early. At this point, Ethan is very familiar with her incessant rants about how the sound of her alarm is ‘the bane of her existence’. 

Is funnier: They used to quarrel about this a lot, with each party claiming that the other was funnier. Ultimately, they both conceded that they were equally funny. 

Is more organised: Lana is pretty tidy, but obviously Ethan Ramsey wins this one. 

Is more romantic: Both of them. They’re constantly finding ways to do something romantic for the other person. 

Has better taste in music: They both are adamant on the fact that they themselves are the ones with better music taste. 

Is more likely to scream at the sight of a spider: Surprisingly, it’s Ethan. When they went to search the Stevenson’s house, Ethan saw a spider & let out the most un-Ethan Ramsey-like scream. Lana tried, and failed, to stifle her fit of giggles. Ethan merely glared at her with his cheeks flushed red, demanding that she never bring this up again. She did anyways.On multiple occasions. 

Cries more at movies: Lana

Is more likely to steal all the covers at night: Lana,100%

Was the first to fall in love: Ethan

Said “I love you” first: Lana

Sorry if this has any grammatical errors I’m too lazy to go back & edit it 😶

Thank you for the tag @jamespotterthefirst​ @aestheticartwriting​ & @the-pale-goddess​ ��️

→ What’s your favorite pairing like? I tag:

@raleiighcarrera @drethanramslay @dulceghernandez @mrsbhandari @parkerattano @aerinspotatosack @anotherbeingsworld @isporticus1234​ @takemyopenheart @ohramsey​ @courtesanofedenbrook​ @crazynutella​ @oliveiraveiro​ @mals-chesthair​ @alwaysmychoices-sideblog​ @whippedforethanramsey

[princesscas]

Hi! I have a question. I haven’t been heavily involved in tumblr/social media for a while. I had stopped watching supernatural for a couple of years and just got back into it. I ship destiel, but sometimes things about wincest come up. I keep seeing things about people not wanting to “ship shame” which you just mentioned as well, and I’m just confused. How is it okay that people ship two brothers? Like they are actual brothers on the show?? I don’t care that they’re not irl. I don’t know who the N girl you’re talking about is but apparently she cares about canon, so how can she like it? And why is it wrong for people to condemn people for shipping two brothers, when that is the thing inherently wrong? Like it’s disgusting... it’s not about them being guys, it’s incest... Again, I just don’t get it and I hope I don’t come off as rude! Thank you!

Nah, you’re not rude at all! Never ever like them. I’m still upset about what happened two days ago so what the hell, tea time!

To start off, I believe that everyone can ship whatever like like as long as they aren’t sending hate to others. Take a look at this (lengthy) post about ship wars. People can ship whatever they want, end of story. Doesn’t really matter anyway because people are gonna do what they wanna do. Do I like those types of ships like you described above? No, but it’s none of my business to tell others what they can and cannot ship. Sometimes I read darkfics. That isn’t everyone’s cup of tea and that’s okay. Is the post/fanfic properly tagged with such elements? Then it’s fine. Start hyjacking posts/leaving nasty comments? That’s 1000% not fine and it never will be. 

Something that doesn’t get brought up enough: There is a vast difference between an ordinary w//cest shipper and a J-two-squared tinhatter who believes the said two actors are secretly gay, their wives are beards, they hate mish, everyone who doesn’t like w//cest are wrong, etc.

Now, it’s on the shipper if they start normalizing such things. (in//st, unhealthy, etc) And the rabid obsessed (N&Co) hate-everything-that-breathes crew is a prime example of this. 

This thing is already long so why not throw out some receipts, huh?  IMO, you cross that ‘ship whatever you want’ line when you do this: 

...I ship an angel and a human my dude. (and two 100 yr old super soldiers, I wonder what they think about stucky lol) also jesus christ the rest of that is a mess. 

/tw: biphobia here./ REAL bisexuals? “oh you aren’t bisexual if you like one angel and a hunter.” And they’re obsessed with calling everyone ‘teenager girls.’ This is not only wrong but also pretty damn transphobic and misogynistic. 1) Most people have aged over the years (wow that’s crazy right?) 2) trans, nonbinary, and gender fluid people exist. 

Overall, these people are a horrible bunch. They’re obsessed with preaching to people about ‘tagging properly’ when they could take it upon themselves and use a blacklisting extension. Or just block every single blog they don’t like. These people are a very small portion of the fandom but they’re loud, they want you to think they make up all of the fandom but they don’t. Not even close, when other in general posts gets thousands of notes/retweets and theirs get maybe a couple hundred. (and a lot are from reblogs for replies) 

Not gonna lie, I feel the need to defend w//cest shippers because I’ve known/have/had mutuals who do ship it and they’re nice as can be. 

The loud bunch are so loud, it silences the others who partaking in normal fandom things. Or really, if I were them, I wouldn’t want to associate myself with those people. 

Let’s pretend for a second. Imagine if you loved a ship (it could be any ship from any fandom) but the fandom is toxic as hell and the most ‘popular/well known’ blogs/artists/writers are these people. Fandom corners have history on the way they were built upon throughout the course of the fandom’s media. 

You browse the tags, the blogs, the fanfics, and find yourself staring at a hateful group of cult-like bigoted people. But wait. These people? They don’t like fanfiction or fanon. No, they hate anyone who writes anything outside of textbook canon. Any characters outside of SW/DW/JW won’t be present. (if you’re curious or are brave enough, go look at the AO3 tag, it’s sad) 

I try to be empathetic with people. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine what it’s like. To love a show so much with your favorite ship but one part dislikes it and another part are so inherently hateful.   

The OP deleted but this thread on Reddit is exactly what I’m talking about. And they mentioned something else I think not many people bring up: OT3′s. 

I’m gonna quote this but it’s 1000% true. 

“What I can't for the life of me understand though is why people would hate on Misha as an actor because of his role on the show. I've seen a lot of Misha hatred - and I mean A LOT of it. In fact, I recently went through the anti-misha tag on tumblr and blocked over 200 tumblr accounts that either were dedicated to bashing him or castiel, or posted constantly about it.”

“It's really nuts to me that people would choose to put so much time and effort into hating an actor who hasn't done anything to them personally or hasn't even affected their lives, when they could be putting good feelings into praising the actors who have affected their lives in a good way instead if you feel me.”

Constantly is the key word here. I don’t think these people ever stop, not even for one second, to sit down and say, “God this is exhausting, I think I need a break this week.” I really dislike these people but I also feel empathetic for them. What is their mental health like? It isn’t healthy. Go show a therapist this, they’d probably quit on the spot. (okay prob not but that’s my best example atm) 

This has gotten extremely long so I think I’ll stop here. There are some nice people out there who will ship things you don’t like but a toxic side can make it seem much worse than it actually is. Ironically, it’s usually the opposite. (ie: voltron’s’s toxic side scaring off other shippers of that fandom) 

Lemme end this with pre!serum smol Steve and his legendary quote: 

[msjr0119]

The American Adventure

Prologue

A/N: I swear choices is taking over my life, I’m dreaming about TRR characters. We watched ‘The Parent Trap’ last night, and my subconscious dreamt of an alternative version including the Cordonian Gang. So I’ve decided to do this. In my usual series Drake is older than the other characters, however because most camps only go up to the age of 17, they are all 16/17.

Prince Liam and his closest friends are sent to a summer camp in America for a month, whilst in Cordonia the nobles are preparing for Prince Leo’s social season unknowingly to him. During their time there, Liam and Drake become besotted with the same girl- Riley Brooks.

Characters all belong to Pixelberry; apart from Lola Hughes, Bethany Hughes, Nate Cooper, Andy Brooks and Jackie Brooks.

Warnings: Please do not read if you are under 18, if you do you are consenting that you are over this age. If any of the follow trigger warnings affect you please don’t continue to read. Swearing, mention of sex, bad habit- smoking.

Word count: 2,400

Tags- as always for prologues I tag my combined tag list and people who I think will be interested. If you don’t want to be included in further chapters please let me know. I won’t be offended. If you want to be added, again let me know.

@pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @bascmve01 @kimmiedoo5 @yukinagato2012 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @drakewalker04 @axwalker @nikkis1983 @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desireepow-1986 @twinkle-320 @queenjilian @princessleac1 @bebepac @drakewalkerisreal @ravenpuff02

*****

Liam, enjoy this opportunity with your closest friends. I’ve spoken to the camp director- he is aware of your titles and has promised to treat you all no different. Or to disclose this information- Bastien will be staying on site for extra protection with a few other guards. I’ll see you in a months times, my son.

The youngest prince of the small country, Cordonia- couldn’t imagine what to expect from being at a summer camp for a whole month. For him, it was a month of freedom. Away from the palace. Away from the small amount of royal duties that the Prince’s had to do. Having a good excuse to not attend Royal events with his father the King, and his step Mother the Queen.

Drake Walker, Liam’s best friend was more than happy to leave Cordonia. To leave the noble lifestyle behind. He never fit in anyway. Madeleine and Olivia constantly reminded him of this. Three years ago, he lost his father. Jackson Walker was the head of the King’s guard who lost his life in the line of duty. Summer camp, was everything Drake enjoyed in life. Being outdoors. Camping. Besides it was in the country that his mother was born in. America. He was half American, being here- he should feel right at home.

Maxwell Beaumont, the spare heir. The fun brother. The outgoing one. You could take him to Timbuktu and somehow he would be enthusiastic- making the most out of it. He was feeling excited about attending a summer camp, most of the time his older brother Bertrand would be ashamed of him. Criticising him, for even breathing. This was a break that he was looking forward to, without the lectures about being etiquette- especially when it included forks.

Olivia Nevrakis- this girl never held back. You annoy her, she would openly insult you. Drake Walker should know this. Not wanting to attend this break from Cordonia, she had no choice. King Constantine practically gave her no option but to go. As much as Olivia tried to fight against it, it did mean that she got to spend time with her closest friend, Liam. When they was younger, she would follow him around like a lost puppy. Now they were older, she had grown feelings towards him. But she wouldn’t tell him, not yet anyway.

Madeleine Amaranth- the epitome of prim and proper. The true definition of a well raised noble for court life. She was fully aware of the description of a summer camp. However, she knew that she wouldn’t abide by the timetables that they would strictly provide. Madeleine was cunning, she knew how to get her own way, and she was fully intending on using this to her advantage.

****

Breathing in the fresh air, Andy and Jackie Brooks enjoyed this day every year. Yes, they enjoyed the traditional American holidays such as Thanksgiving and The Forth of July- but this was the day that summer camp started. This was where their love story began. The camp had been run by his family for many decades. Jackie came one year, and Andy was immediately attracted to her. Every year since then, he had hoped that she would attend - which she did. They were childhood sweethearts- both losing their virginities to each other. As soon as Jackie was old enough, she moved to New York to be closer to Andy. They were soon married, and raised two daughters; Lindsey and Riley.

“Now I can trust that you all will make everyone feel welcome, encourage them to participate in the activities. After all, I am paying you all a small wage. Enjoy yourselves even though you are all working.” The director of Camp Beaver Brooks said to the teenagers. For the last couple of years he had enlisted his children and their friends for this extra support to keep the camp running.

“Yes, Father. We will go over to the registration hut and help everyone get settled in.” Pulling his youngest daughter into his embrace, he held her tightly- knowing that she wouldn’t let him down. Out of the two sisters, Riley was a hard worker. Always pushing herself further. Always up for a challenge. Never letting anyone get in her way to achieve her ambitions.

“Thank you, Riley. I love you, sweetheart.”

****

Riley, Lola, Beth and Daniel awaited for the campers to arrive. At times they had an influx of people arriving at the same time, then it was quiet. So quiet, that they could hear the tranquility of the lake in the distance.

Witnessing a limo pull up, they all rolled their eyes back in unison. Each one knowing the usual scenario. People that turned up in style were the most obnoxious spoilt brats who refused to partake in activities.

“So it’s not the Coopers. They have a different type of limo. Mayors kids? Rich business mans kids? What are we betting?” Daniel asked the three women.

“They are arseholes. I can bet you all that...” Lola responded. Biting their lips they all attempted to not laugh, knowing that Lola was probably correct. Even if she wasn’t correct, she was still right. She would never acknowledge that she was wrong about anything.

“There’s five of them! I bet their parents are celebrating getting rid of them for a month.... oh, it gets better.. look...They’ve got a personal driver and a personal bodyguard!” Riley took a deep breath, ready to do the introductions to the people who had clearly never been to camp before. Not this one, anyway.

“Fake smiles, guys... we can’t let them ruin it for everybody else. We will bitch about them after.” Lola winked at the group of friends after saying this. They all knew that she was probably already making notes about the strangers. Making assumptions up.

****

“This is so exciting... is anybody else excited? I think I need to pee... maybe too late for that actually... but guess what? NO Bertrand for a month...” Clapping his hands enthusiastically, he was like a big kid in a candy shop.

“Li, please tell me that he’s not sharing with us?” Looking down at Maxwell’s damp trousers, Drake pleaded with Liam to not bunk up with anyone else but him.

“I’m glad he’s not sharing with me. I’m already stuck with ‘I can’t break a nail. I’m too precious.’ Eurghhh, count yourselves lucky gentlemen.”

“I’m stuck with Miss ‘look at me in the wrong way and I’ll slit your throat’...”

“I can’t wait to see you all pretend to not be noble.. this is going to be classic.” Sinking back into the chair, Drake laughed to himself- loudly. Deep down he had hoped that the girls would suffer during this trip. Just due to their horrendous attitude they have had towards him all of his life.

“Well you’ll feel right at home here... in the states where you actually belong.” Olivia smirked at Drake, knowing every time she criticised him about being a commoner it irritated him. Prior to his fathers death, it didn’t affect him - as he had his fathers support. Since Jackson’s death, himself and Savannah were criticised for still being in Cordonia- described as outcasts by the majority of the nobles. There was no reason for them to be there anymore, as their mother shortly abandoned them after tragically losing her husband, they all believed.

“I hear that there’s a lake here, Livvy. It’s apparently ice cold- just like your heart.” Scowling towards Drake, she didn’t think that he would respond with an insult. She hated him. He hated her. The feeling was mutual, and would be for the rest of their lives.

“Call me Livvy one more time, Walker. I dare ya!”

“That’s enough! Can we just enjoy this time. It’s the first time that I’ve been allowed a bit of freedom.. we’re here anyway. Remember, I am not a Prince and you aren’t nobles. We are all just normal people. Normal teenagers.” They all nodded in agreement, knowing how much this meant to Liam. For him to be free.

****

“Hey, welcome to Camp Beaver Brooks. My name is Riley. Myself and my friends will help you all get settled in. If you have any questions, just grab one of us. There are forms to fill out over there. If you all do that, then we will escort you to your dorms.”

“Charmed to make your acquaintance, Riley. My name is, Liam.” Pulling her hand towards his lips he kissed it tenderly. Dickhead, quit with the Prince charming act. Drake whispered in to his ear reminding him that they were no longer in Cordonia. “Erm, these are my closest friends; Drake, Maxwell, Olivia and Madeleine. We are from a different country, and are thrilled to be here.” Stepping backwards, she smiled at them all. Even though she was a bit freaked out by that introduction, she put it to the back of her mind- acting professional. Once they had all signed in, Bastien left them- phoning Andy he explained that they had arrived. Andy gave instructions for Bastien and the other guards to stay in a bungalow close by.

“So girls, Daniel will escort you to the girls dorm. Boys, myself and Lola will escort you to your dorms.” Fucking girls, we are nobles you fucking Yankee. Olivia took a sudden dislike to Riley. As she did with Drake. I hate commoners.

****

Maxwell latched onto Riley as she escorted them on the short walk to the dorms. He was acting as if he had known her own his life, Drake and Liam were both panic stricken that the Lord would accidentally disclose their true identities.

“Here you go, you will be sharing with a close friend of ours- Nate Cooper, when he arrives. He takes a disliking to people easily, but you’ve just got to defend yourself against him.”

“What Riley means, is Nate Cooper is a wanker. Good luck, boys.” Lola decided to abandon her post and sneak out for a crafty cigarette whilst Riley continued settling them in.

“Just ignore her. She accidentally drops the ‘f bomb’ and other swear words a few times. Quite a lot actually...” shrugging her shoulders, the men all laughed. Maxwell eagerly unpacked his suitcase and bagsed the top bunk of one of the bunk beds. Placing his teddy bear that he had since he was born, he would be more than annoyed if this Nate tried to steal his territory that he had marked.

“Ignore him, he’s still a child...” Drake explained, acting like the father figure of the group. As he said this, Riley locked her baby blues on to his dark eyes. Noticing him stare back towards her, she focused her gaze elsewhere. Not wanting him to realise that she was already hypnotised by his presence.

“So what is on the agenda for today, Riley?” Maxwell asked as he leaped off the top bunk, risking breaking a limb.

“Erm, well because it’s arrival day. You have this time to explore camp independently. Then we have dinner between six and seven. After that there’s a ‘welcome meeting’ then we all gather together around the campfire for a couple of hours.”

“Sounds fabulous.” Liam said, softly smiling at her.

“I hope that you all enjoy your time here. There’s a map in the top drawer. Don’t get lost on your first day though...see you all around six.” Waving goodbye, Liam followed her through the door- closing it behind him.

“Riley, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do we have any free time? Where we are not following a typical day agenda.”

“Yes, we have one day off each week. That day will change each week. There will be updates on this at reception. Why?”

“Oh, I just thought we could all ‘hang out’ as you Americans say.” Attempting to act like a normal ‘cool’ teenager, he hoped that she wouldn’t be offended by his upfront attitude.

“Sure. See ya.” Unable to erase the smile that was fixed onto his face, he entered the dorm. Grateful for his father suggesting this little adventure for them all.

****

Riley knew exactly where Lola would be, hiding behind the ‘bent tree’ as it was known. It was a common location for everyone to sneak away for a cigarette. Dodging all the tab ends that had been piling up over the years, her friend looked relieved that she had finally showed up.

“About time, I’ve chain smoked a whole packet nearly! What were you doing? Fucking them all?”

“LOLA! One, I highly doubt that you smoked a whole packet in five minutes. Two, I must be superwoman managing to have sex with all of them in that amount of time. Three, get a life!”

“So the tall dark handsome one, the blue eyed boy or the dopey one... which one would you sleep with?”

“Go fuck yourself. Or rather, Daniel. Come on, we need to get back.”

****

“Here you are ladies... this is your home for the next month. Dinner is at six.....”

“There’s room service, right?” Madeleine interrupted, as she scowled at the dirty room. Tracing her finger along the window ledge, she collected too much dust for her liking. Straight away she washed her hands in the cracked sink- then retrieved the hand sanitiser out of her handbag. I’m going to die.

“Erm, no. This isn’t a hotel.” The blonde nearly hyperventilated due to his response. Expecting for some elaboration, expecting for it to be some kind of sick joke- Daniel remained silent, shocked at her reaction. I’m a noble- get me out of here!

“Where’s the bathroom? I need a bath.” Olivia demanded to know as she folded her arms.

“If you turn left as you leave here and walk five minutes, there is a shared restroom. After dinner there will be a short ‘welcome meeting’ before we all gather next to the campfire. I’ll leave you to both get settled in. Enjoy ladies.” Both jaws practically dropped to the floor, before looking at each other with the same expression. Disgust. For the first time in their lives, they actually agreed on something. Why did we agree to come?

Daniel giggled to himself as he left the two snobs as he described them in his mind. Running back to the hut, he couldn’t wait to inform the girls about the newbies responses to being at camp.

This is going to be a long month. They are going to have a big reality check.

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 14 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉@theshove  ​👈

👉@kamyru👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 12 is right here! Happy reading :)

And I just want to thank everyone that’s been consistently reading this fic, I know it’s a slow burn but I think it’ll be worth it :D

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature, Abuse, Kidnapping, Torture.

~~~~~~

Another end to another day and again I found myself in the Instructor's Staff Room, diving into any work Kaga could give me. I thrived off productivity and never wanted to put the mundane tasks down, that was until one of the other Instructor's told me I needed to go to bed.

But that night was different. I wasn’t struggling to read a word or trying to figure out if I got Soma's tea and Goto's coffee switched around. It was the end of the week, which meant my test-intensive few days were just around the corner.

Although, I wasn’t as worried about that as I was worried about asking the instructor's to attend Juna's baby shower. She called me every day, demanding an updated report on who was coming and who I hadn't even asked yet. At this point I had Goto, Shinonome and Ishigami down, as well as the first guest of Soma. So now I'm standing in front of Kaga's office door, contemplating if I even wanted to risk asking him out during his private time. From what I had seen, he's got very little of it and when he did, he always found one excuse or another to pile on my workload or follow him to a stakeout. Although, there had been less of that since I returned to the academy.

I had asked Naruko and Chiba to come, just so I could have emotional support through the awkward gathering, but they were just as hesitant as I was about spending my free time with the instructors.

"You didn't gain telepathic powers. You can't open the door with your eyes." Shinonome laughed at me and I threw a scowl his way. It had been surprisingly easy to talk with him now that he wasn't always trying to make a pass at me. He just made fun of me in other ways. Like a more vocal Kaga.

"I know that." I pouted before forcing myself to knock. Luckily, the shutters were down again, so the captain didn't see me standing around like an idiot for the several minutes I did. And with that, I was beaconed in.

"What is it?" He asks, looking over a file. I assumed it was a lesson plan, although he never usually did stuff like that. He always threw us into the deep end, whether he thought we were ready or not. Taking a deep sigh, I asked.

"My sister wants you to come to her baby shower. It's at the end of the week." I explained, referring to the end of next week. His gaze shot up, firing his 'concerned-I-hit-my-head-again' gaze. "You don't have to force yourself. It's a thank you gesture if anything." I explained, sounding nonchalant if he accepted or not when truly I didn't want to see him outside of the academy. I'd be too awkward and shy to even talk. I froze when I saw the moment of silence he took to think about it.

"If you pass the exams next week I'll think about it." He grumbled and quickly turned back to his work. My brows furrowed in confusion and when Kaga noticed I hadn't moved to leave yet, he glared again. "Anything else?" His mouth flipped into a satisfied smirk at my slow reactions.

"N-No, thank you. I'll go now." A blush flushed on my cheeks when I didn't know what to say in return. Did he think I wanted him to go? Why would he bribe me with it? Confusing questions encircled my brain as I finished up the week-long task Kaga had thrown on my desk several days ago.

~~~~~~

After spending all weekend locked away in my room, pouring myself over the textbooks and notes I had made in class and the ones Naruko had made during my absence, I arrived in the Monitor Room with excitement and sky-high nerves. Never had I been happier with my insomnia, it helped me spend more time studying instead of falling asleep at my desk. I did get some sleep, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be able to perform to my full potential. Although, my excitement might have been due to how overtired I was.

"Morning, Instructor!" I waved at Kaga who strolled in lazily, hands shoved in his pockets. He frowned at my volume, asking me how I always had so much energy. Once I apologised, the other instructors trailed in for my first exam. Because no one was willing to retake with me, the PSD teams had to partake. We would be going to a casino to gather information about the dark underbelly of the hotel it resided in.

"This is Eisuke Inchinomiya. He owns the hotel and is usually found on the casino floor. Goto will go into his private room and plant a wire. You two will be out on surveillance." Ishigami announced, pointing at me and Kaga. I tried to hide the blush growing of my face remembering the last time we went undercover again.

"No surprises this time?" Kaga smirked at me and I pout at him.

"There was no possible way I could have helped that." I scowled but surprisingly he just chuckled. Then, we left to change and went for the hotel-casino.

~~~~~~

Once we arrived, with me dressed in a lavish, floor-length, flashy and not to mention curve-hugging, dress, Kaga held onto my waist to guide us around the room. Ayumu was in a room upstairs with the equipment to check if the wire was working and we all had earpieces so we could communicate with each other. Soma was dressed in a server's uniform, undercover so he could get closer to Ichinomiya if we weren’t able to distract him.

"Keep an eye out," Kaga whispered in my ear as he sat at a dice table, still holding my body close to him. Even though I was more... experienced with men than last time, my heart still raced and I hoped that he couldn't hear it with my chest so close to his. Trying to be as discreet as possible, I found the target gambling a few tables away, women either side of him.

"10 o'clock," I mumbled, letting my gaze fall back to the table as he threw the die. Ishigami gave us a few chips to play with in order to help us fit in more. Kaga looked up to see the owner winning. 

‘Couldn't he just fix the games?’ I thought, my brows frowning slightly in confusion.

Suddenly, a man approached Eisuke and started leading him away. 

"They're going to the room," Kaga announced and I could tell there was a certain panic in his voice that no one would have noticed.

"I'll distract him." Soma spoke up through the earpiece and I watched him approach the two, both very handsome, men and offer them drinks. Eisuke rejected him and kept walking without much regard to the offer or the server’s presence.

"I'm not done yet," Goto explained, having already broken into the room. My shoulders tensed up, but I removed Kaga's arm from my side and grabbed one of the chips in his hand. Discreetly sliding my earpiece into his pocket so that Ichinomiya wouldn't discover it when I approached him, Kaga gave me a look, asking what I was doing, and I steeled my nerves before discreetly rushing over to them.

"You seem pretty lucky today. Would be a shame to put that blessing to waste so early." Sliding in front of the men, I tilted my head and put on a teasing smile, letting my lip brush between my teeth. A light sparked in Eisuke's eye when he looked down at my body, the slit from the top of my thigh forcing my leg out of the confines of the dress. Luckily, I was able to cover up most of my scars.

"Come on, play a game with me?" Crossing my arms, I tap the chip between my fingers against my cheek. He smirked at the way I was trying not to blush as I spoke so suggestively. Because I didn't have my earpiece, I couldn't hear Ayumu's teasing tone at how much I had grown since the beginning of the year.

"I'm pretty lucky as well." The young blond man beside him stepped forward with a gleeful smile. Looking away, I pretended to ponder for a moment.

"Hmm, no. I want him." Stepping towards the hotel owner and grabbing the opening of his suit, I guided him over to a poker table with a lot my assertiveness than I was used to implementing.

"You should be careful what you ask for." He whispered in my ear as I took a seat next to him and a grossed out shiver ran down my spine. 

‘I asked for it but, geez, is he creepy.’

"I think I know what I'm looking for." I smiled, looking at the dealer to exchange my singular expensive chip with more, less expensive ones. Luckily, Juna and I played poker a lot as kids with candy we were able to get on our few outings from the house. It was one of the only pass times my father would allow because we wouldn't make much noise.

The game was short, Eisuke won the table, but it was enough time for Goto to get out safely with the listening device planted. 

"So, what's my prize?" Eisuke leant over me and I leaned back, using my bare leg to keep my balance behind me. His smirk was flirtatious and it was easy to see what he wanted.

"I think the money is enough." I smiled, stood up and walked back to Kaga, who was still sitting where I left him. Breathing a heavy sigh next to him to ease my racing heart, I didn't feel the arm that snaked around me again.

"You did well," Kaga whispered in my ear again, his warm breath brushing against it. I blushed, gulping at the more satisfying reaction I had to him than to Eisuke.

"Give me a second." I put my hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from gagging at the memory of Eisuke's hand easing closer to my leg when we played. Kaga sighed at that and returned to watching the owner leave the casino, the young man following him. At some point, he had replaced the earpiece in my ear and I could hear Ayumu's silent chuckling.

~~~~~~

Once we knew the wire was working, we returned to the academy. 

"So, how did I do?" I bounced over to Ishigami, who stayed behind, still dressed in my undercover outfit. He looks at me, and then to the other instructors.

"You will know by the end of the week." He explained, neither sounding tired of how pushy I was being or teasing me and returned to his work. My shoulders slumped knowing that I would have my nerves racing for at least five straight days.

"Katsumi, you did well today. Go back to the dorm and relax." Soma came up from behind me, placing a comforting hand on my back. I tensed up from the shocked of someone touching me so suddenly but quickly tried to calm myself down from the surprise the shock it gave me. Quickly nodding and bowing to the instructors, I left the room to return to studying.

~~~~~~

When we returned to the academy, Katsumi was still making a racket. Although, when Ishigami shut her down, she finally silenced herself. It was when Soma touched her that I really realised how on edge she must have been all the time. Once she left, he sighed, as if disappointed she reacted that way.

"She surprised me," Ayumu announced as we put away our equipment into their cases. I looked at him with a confused expression to find him smirking at me. "She jumps up to save Seiji without even thinking and then is a complete wreck when she comes back to you." He laughed, likely remembering how she stuttered when I got close to her. I frowned, not liking how observant he was becoming with her.

"Don't worry, boss, I'm not allowed to make a move. She's all yours." He laughed, putting his hands up defensively and I scowled.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's your aide. Wouldn't want to distract her from her work. Even if she can't read." He laughed again and my brows furrow. 

‘Since when couldn't she read?’

"Her concussion was that bad?" Soma interjected through the glaring match I was having with the lieutenant.

"It went untreated for a long time. She's lucky she just got poor eyesight." Goto commented as he walked into his personal office. I was left in the room, contemplating why I was the only one that didn't know how much she was struggling with returning to society.

~~~~~~~~~~

After I got out of the bathroom, having had a quick shower to wash the makeup and perfume off me, I hear a knock at my door. 

"Hold on!" I called out, pulling my pyjama trousers on with a hop and running to the door with the towel still over my wet hair. There, I found Kaga leaning on my door frame. "I-Instructor? How can I help you?" I instantly started to panic, wondering what I could have done so incredibly wrong for him to come to the dorms.

"I'm coming to pick up the files from the weekend." He grunted and tried my hardest to think of any tasks he could have given me, but I couldn't remember anything. My gaze darted back to the coffee table, where all my notes were sprawled out, but I didn't see any with the colourful tags I used to organise specified crimes.

Suddenly, Kaga pushed into my room, heading for the table. 

"In-Instructor! I... I'm not sure what you're talking about." I panicked, following after him as he picked up one of the clearly outlined pieces of paper. Because I've been basically teaching myself how to read again, there are tiny post-its next to the word I struggled with.

"So you can read." He grumbled to himself and I felt my face combust into a heated blush.

"Ayumu told you about that?" I cried out, not noticing that his face didn't scowl at my volume. "I-It's not really a problem. I just needed to be reminded sometimes. I can read." I argued, staring at the blur of ink on the page because I didn't have my glasses on. They were on the table beside my studying material. I was only able to make sense of the playing cards today because I could count the coloured dots. Not that I could differentiate which were hearts and which were diamonds, the same goes for the black cards.

Then, as I'm pouting to myself, Kaga's gaze falls around the room, settling on the bottle of pills on my nightstand. His long legs brought him over quickly and he picked them up. Inspecting them, I grew more aware of how curious he seemed.

"Um, sir, what're you doing?" I stammered out in a low voice, panicking about angering him for interrupting his investigation into my personal life.

"Tomorrow's test will be held in the Staff Room. Sleep early." He commanded, putting the bottle down with a soft rattle of the pills and walking out the room.

"What about the-?" Before I could ask about his reasoning for being here, the door slammed shut behind him.

~~~~~~

The next day I was sitting in the Instructor's Staff Room, reading over my theory test. I was given a series of scenarios and had to write down how I would react. I had pretty much memorised the textbook better than the names of my classmates. But what really put me on edge was the person holding the exam.

Instructor Kaga.

He was sitting at the head of the table, staring at me like I was a suspect. I couldn't help but be intimidated. My pen wagged over the sheet of paper as I think about what I would do if a child was taken hostage.

"I want to be here as much as you do. Hurry up." Kaga spat and my heart raced at the venom in his voice. 

‘He's annoyed.’ I'd been struggling so far, but I was so close to the end that I was starting to get sleepy. Which was strange. I rarely felt tired, it was the pills that sent me into oblivion. So, why was I so relaxed now? In an exam that determined my future.

Sighing, I just decide to write down the answer that had been on the tip of my tongue for about ten minutes now. I wasn’t sure if it was right, or detailed enough, but it was what I remembered from the textbook.

When finished, I slammed the pen down and threw my head back. "I'm exhausted," I complained to no one but myself as I yawned, stretching my arms above me and behind. Kaga jumped up, taking the paper and scanning the text. So far he seemed to understand my handwriting.

Then, he made an agreeing grumble and took it into Ishigami's office. I didn't know if that was a good thing or bad, but the wave of relief for him leaving the room was enough for my eyelids to clamp shut. Waiting for him to come back out and dismiss me, I rested my head on my arms and decide it's a good idea to just rest for a bit.

~~~~~~

"You're the one that volunteered," Ishigami growled at me after I complained about all the work I had been missing out on because of Motomori's test. I frowned, going to argue but reframed because he had a point. I said I would watch her because I was curious to see how she would cope with some of the scenarios. And, she looked exhausted. I wanted to make sure she wouldn't fall asleep halfway through.

Exiting Ishigami's office, I find Katsumi resting her head on the desk. 

"You can go," I grumbled but she didn't make a move to leave. I repeated, wondering if she was stuck in her absent mind, but I heard a whimper in response. Frowning my brows, I stepped closer to her and peered at her expression.

Her face was screwed up and the arm she was resting on was flexed as she clenched her fist. I could see her chest rising and lowering quickly as her breathing raced. There was a shine on her forehead from sweat. It wasn’t even that hot in the room, the heating was hardly on.

"Stop." Her voice was breathy, almost silent. I could only hear her because I was so close. "Don't know... She's dead..," she continued. She was having a nightmare.

‘It's probably a memory.’ But, who could she be talking about? My face contorted into further confusion as she repeated herself. 

‘She's gonna have a heart attack at this rate.’ Staring down at her person, I saw the wires of the MP3 player hanging out of her back pocket. Pulling them out and trying to get the device without touching her ass, I slipped an earbud into her ear, making sure the volume was on low before I played the music. After a song, her face eased a little.

"Hm." I chuckled at how easy it was to ease her and placed the player on the table, making sure the playlist I made for her was on a loop and returned to the work I was already behind on.

~~~~~~

As I faded into consciousness again, I heard the familiar tune of my sister's cello, accompanied by the rest of an orchestra. I felt my face scrunch up in confusion, wondering why I was hearing this. I had never been to any of her shows. I wouldn't have fallen asleep during one, I would be too proud of her, and there was no way I would be watching tv when I could be studying or doing Kaga's work. That's when I remembered I was in the Instructor's Staff Room.

With a sudden breath, I lifted my head with a start to find I was still in the office. I blushed, wondering how long I had been here when I felt something fall out of my ear. Looking down, I saw my headphones. 

"When did I..?" I led off, my mouth too dry to finish my sentence.

"Finally awake?" A voice spoke up from one of the doors behind me and I spun around to see Ayumu. I frowned and blush for him to be teasing me, but then I realised it wasn’t a nightmare that woke me up like every time I had fallen asleep since my rescue.

"What time is it?" I looked back at the table for my glasses, feeling around until I found them. To be honest, I hated wearing them. They were a hassle and an annoyance that I really wished I didn't need. And Juna somehow talked me into getting these silver, Harry Potter-esc glasses which make me look 'cute'.

"You're lucky Ishigami didn't catch you." He hummed, not answering my question. Slightly disgruntled, I pick up my MP3 player and shoved it into my back pocket, grabbed my pen and walked out the room to call my doctor.

~~~~~~

"You're worried that you fell asleep without your medication?" The surgeon's questioning tone sounded amused and I pouted, explaining how sudden it was. "This is progress, Katsumi, don't freak out. Although, you should try to do it on your own time." He let go of his professionalism and laughed out loud.

"Okay." I frowned my brows, still uneased by the fact. 

‘It’s like, whenever Kaga is in the room, I can fall asleep without any guards up. I almost feel safe.’ Hanging up with a sigh, I blew my hair out of my face. 

"I need a haircut." With my mood deflated, I made plans to get a haircut at the end of the week, after Juna's shower, which is the only time I'd have free for ages.

~~~~~~

By the end of the week, I. Was. Exhausted. With the stress of exams finally relieved, I was sitting in one of the many common rooms in the dorms with Naruko and Chiba, eating snacks they smuggled in. With the nightmares I had been having about my mother, I found my temptation getting the better of me, and I looked her name up in the policing database, just to see if something would come up on her, the screen of my computer facing away from anyone else in the room. I had never looed her up before, mainly because I was scared to know if she was alive or not. 

Scrolling through all the files the government has on her, I found she was once noted down as a testifying witness. Frowning my brows, I was about to click on the link when my name was called out. My gaze flew up as I closed the tab I had open.

"What can I do for you, Instructor Ayumu?" I flashed a smile at the man who had called out to me.

"Just checking where the party is." He smiled his usual, untrustworthy smile. I told him the address of my sister's apartment.

"I have to help set up, so I'll see you there." Forcing my 'let's-just-get-along' smile, I watched the instructor leave.

"I can't believe you get to see all the instructors in their casuals, Katsumi!" Naruko cheered once the lieutenant had left the room completely, not wanting to overhear her talk about him behind his back.

"You could too." I threw her a teasing eyebrow when I noticed her joking hesitance.

"I wouldn't want to get in your way." 

With the others distracted by another classmate coming over, I returned to the file I had clicked away from. The case was from ten years ago, around the same time my mother went missing. I read that it was a homicide case and my mother was in court to accuse the murderer. I didn't recognise the man, but his history recorded that he was suspected to be a part of my father's mafia.

"What?" I whispered under my breath when I saw the evidence used. The ring left on my pillow that night was on my screen with notes from an interrogation my mother was in.

"Lana gave it to me before she died. She said it would lead me to the answers. I don't have a clue what she's on about." There was no record of the ring being returned to any relatives or her, so she must have stolen it from the police department.

‘There was a message in the ring?’ My brows frowned further as I thought about how I had given the ring away months ago. Kanto hadn't proposed to Juna yet, I didn't know if he was planning to, but I needed that ring before Juna got her hands on it.

"Everything alright, Katsumi?" Chiba peered over as I turned off the computer and stood up, startling everyone with my suddeness.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna get an early night. You guys have fun." Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I looked through my contacts to find my sister's boyfriend's name. The others waved me away as I put the phone to my ear. I’m sure they understood, seeing as I had just had a weeks worth of whistle-stop exams and my sister’s baby shower was the next day.

"Katsumi? What's up?" Kanto's voice echoed from the other end. He didn't sound rushed, so I guessed I hadn't interrupted their evening.

"Is Juna with you?" I kept my voice low as I headed up to my dorm room. Kanto told me he was, in fact, alone. "I need that ring back. Do you still have it?"

"Well, it's under our bed bu-." I interrupted him, asking if he could give back it to me tomorrow.

"Please Kanto. It's urgent." My mind raced with thoughts, wondering why my mother would steal evidence from a murder she testified in. 

‘How did she testify when my father would hardly ever let us leave the house?’

"Fine." He sighed, saying he had to go because Juna was calling him. With that, I unlocked the door to my room and got ready for bed.

[ibijau]

hey so who wants the beginning of that Lan Xichen/Nie Huaisang fic that I will never finish because it’s melodramatic and probably way ooc?

Lan Xichen smiled as politely as he could, considering the circumstances.

“I have to say, when I was told I had a visitor, you are the last person I might have expected to see.”

This was answered by a distant, polite smile and another bow from Nie Huaisang.

“I did not expect that I would get to see you, Zewu-Jun,” he admitted. “But I had to try regardless. May I sit?”

Absolutely not, was Lan Xichen’s first instinct, and from this point on, he would insist that no guest be brought to him until he had been given their name. He had had so few visitors these last three years that he had never felt the need for wariness. This had just changed.

Still, since Nie Huaisang was already there, and he was a sect leader, it would have been rude to send him away. Lan Xichen motioned for him to take a seat, which Nie Huaisang did with careful grace.

“Is there anything you wanted to talk about?” Lan Xichen asked, serving the tea that had been brought along with his unwanted guest. “I doubt you still want my advice after everything that happened.”

Nie Huaisang’s smile did not falter as he took the glass of tea offered to him, turning even that simple gesture elegant.

“I have taken it upon myself to visit some of my old…” he hesitated for a brief moment. “Some of my old acquaintances. I came to Cloud Recesses to see Wei Wuxian, but since he’s absent I thought I might try and make the best of my trip by trying to see you.”

“How thoughtful of you. What prompted this, I wonder? Nostalgia?”

The younger man sipped on his tea silently, and put down his glass on the table with barely a faint click as the ceramic touched wood.

“Regrets, if you can believe it.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Lan Xichen replied with a bitterness he could not quite contain. “Please be honest. I think I deserve this, coming from you.”

The distant smile on Nie Huaisang’s smile wavered, but remained. How had Lan Xichen never realised how perfectly in control that boy always was? Even the faint trembling at the corner of his lips might have been faked.

“No, I don’t suppose you would believe me,” Nie Huaisang graciously conceded. “I have earned your distrust. Still, I will say this: I am sorry for what happened. If I could have found another way, I would have. You…" he paused, either unsure of his words. Or pretending to be at least. "You were kind to me, and I would have preferred not to see you hurt." 

Lan Xichen stared at the younger man, wondering how much of this was sincere and how much was an affectation. If he had learned one thing from this disaster, it was that Nie Huaisang was an unprecedented actor who had no time for remorse.

"Clever as you've proven to be, I'm surprised you found no other way to bring justice to your family," Lan Xichen replied. 

"Peace, not justice," Nie Huaisang protested, something shining briefly in his eyes before he could control it. "My brother's soul deserved to be brought to rest. You knew him, Zewu-Jun. Do you think he would have been satisfied with anything less than the death of his enemy? If the killer had been anyone but Lianfang-Zun, wouldn't you have praised me for doing this?" 

Lan Xichen's grip on his glass tightened. Three years had passed, but his mind still struggled to reconcile his private image of Jin Guangyao with what had been revealed to the world. To have it thrown in his face once more was a hard blow.

"Ah, that was uncalled for," Nie Huaisang said, frowning but not so much it would distort his features. Even in acting, there was a vanity to him. "I came here to apologise, but in the end I am only hurting you again. Perhaps I had better leave you alone."

"Perhaps. A question, first. That day, in Guanyin temple. What did you really see?" 

Lan Xichen did not expect an answer to that question, but found Nie Huaisang looking right at him, an air of rare determination on his face. On someone else, it might have passed for a moment of sincerity.

"You answer this first: if he had lived, what would have happened to Lianfang-Zun? Would he have been brought to any sort of justice? Or would he have been allowed to hide in seclusion, never paying for his crimes?” 

He paused, giving Lan Xichen a chance to answer. Faced between the option to lie or to comfort Nie Huaisang in his decision, Lan Xichen chose silence. 

“I did what I had to do, Zewu-Jun. I cannot say I made the right choice… But I doubt I made the wrong one either.”

That was as close to an admission of guilt as Lan Xichen would ever get out of Nie Huaisang. The younger man had manipulated him into killing his oldest friend, there was no longer any doubt possible… not that Lan Xichen had doubted very much in the first place. Jin Guangyao had said he would never have hurt him, and that was something Lan Xichen believed to be true. He had to hold on to something, and he held on to this: Jin Guangyao, whatever else he had been to the rest of the world, had been his friend. He would not have attacked Lan Xichen.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Lan Xichen announced, struggling to remain polite. "It is getting late, and the road is long to Gusu." 

Taking this as the firm dismissal that it was, Nie Huaisang rose up, only for his legs to tremble under him and his face to turn deathly pale. He bent over as if he might fall, prompting Lan Xichen to reach out for him, but regained control of himself just in time. 

"I stood too quickly," he said with a small smile, his tone indicating this wasn't an uncommon occurrence. "Thank you for seeing me today, Zewu-Jun. I won't take any more of your time. I am happy I got to see you again, though I doubt it will happen again. Farewell, brother. I hope someday, your pain will fade." 

"Goodbye," Lan Xichen replied, upset by this fake demonstration of weakness and refusing to partake in whatever dramatic demonstration was going on. He would leave his seclusion someday, and meet Nie Huaisang at discussion conferences if nothing else. No need for a farewell. "Have a safe trip home." 

Perhaps, after Nie Huaisang had gone, Lan Xichen stared at the door, wondering how the sweet, innocent boy who used to care for nothing but fans and pretty birds turned into that man who lied and used others to kill… 

Or perhaps he refused to let his mind wander on such a path, so he wouldn't have to see who might have inspired such a change. 

Nie Huaisang did not leave Cloud Recesses. As he reached the gate, he had met Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, who had insisted on having him as a guest. At least, so the servants said in the morning, bringing him both his breakfast and daily news. It was unpleasant to think of that young man still in his home, but he supposed his brother might have felt a debt of gratitude. Lan Xichen decided he would keep to himself that he had tried to send away Nie Huaisang. It might upset Lan Wangji… or it might not, which would be worse. It would have been Wei Wuxian’s idea to keep his old schoolmate around, and Lan Wangji indulged him in everything.

It was not a great surprise when that night, Lan Xichen received a visit from his brother. That Wei Wuxian had tagged along was more surprising, but not as unwelcome as it might have been, once.

The topic of conversation that Wei Wuxian chose was definitely unexpected though. 

“How well versed are you on the topic of curses?” he asked, as casually as he would enquire about the weather. 

“Likely not as well as you, but I will help if I can," Lan Xichen replied, pouring tea for all three of them." Why do you ask?”

Wei Wuxian opened a box of cakes that they had bought on their trip. "I've been questioned about a very odd curse. Never seen it before. Could something very old, could be something brand new… but it’s unusual for sure.”

Wei Wuxian should have looked delighted at the perspective of a mystery to solve, even one that was putting someone in danger. He could be a little careless about such things, although to his credit, he usually tried to avoid letting people suffer unnecessarily even while he was having fun. The seriousness on his face was odd to say the least.

“It is rare for you to be stumped that way,” Lan Xichen commented. “How serious is the curse?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, grabbing a glass of tea for himself and pushing another towards his husband. 

“Hard to say. From what I can tell, something is making that man's meridians close off. He’s already lost most of his spiritual energy, and his golden core will be under attack soon. He has a month or two left, then he'll likely die. He'll get more time if I can find a way to slow it. I’m sure I will. Still, it’s a nasty thing to do to someone.”

Lan Xichen stared. As far as curses went, this one sounded particularly cruel to say the least. Someone must have hated that man a great deal to inflict such a fate on him.

“Does he have suspicions as to the perpetrator?” Lan Xichen asked, suddenly hit by an unpleasant intuition regarding the victim, yet unwilling to ask directly. If Wei Wuxian had given no name, it might have been meant to remain a secret.

“He’s not too sure,” Wei Wuxian replied, something almost wistful to his voice that secured Lan Xichen’s suspicions. “He thinks it’s likely someone from Lanling Jin sect. He had some dealings with Jin Guangyao and there’s always someone to miss the tyrant.”

“Wei Ying,” his husband said, glancing at his brother. Wei Wuxian grimaced.

“Right, right. I just meant that power changes are always bad for someone, and there’s probably a few people out there who wish the truth hadn’t been revealed. Jin Ling is quite determined to set things right in his sect, too, so a few people have lost a lot. No surprise someone would want revenge.”

What went around, came around, Lan Xichen thought. If the cursed man really was Nie Huaisang… With everything that he had done in the name of revenge, he could only blame himself if he suffered the same fate.

But that was perhaps an unkind thought to have. Jin Guangyao too had deserved his death, by that logic. And while he had ruthlessly put countless lives in danger, Nie Huaisang had only caused the death of two men whose actions had been… reprehensible. Some of that had been sheer luck though. Children could have died in Yi City, and a number of cultivators were seriously harmed in the Second Siege of the Burial Mounds. Nie Huaisang had only been lucky that Wei Wuxian had been around to save the day… though since he’d orchestrated his return, perhaps calling it luck was inexact.

Still, there was Mo Xuanyu then, a really innocent victim. A proof that Nie Huaisang was as bad as the man whose death he had provoked… though perhaps still not bad enough to deserve that curse. It sounded like such a cruel thing to do, made worse by the common knowledge that Nie Huaisang’s cultivation had always been somewhat… lacking. He would have had the strength to resist what was happening to him and it would have overcome him very fast. How else to explain he was already so close to the end when he came looking for help?

“Well, we won’t bother you anymore,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I hoped maybe you’d have an idea what could be happening to him. I guess I’ll just have to do my own research.”

“I imagine such a mystery would pick your interest.”

Wei Wuxian’s face did something weird, something between a smile and a grimace.

“I could have done without that one,” he muttered. “That little idiot is…”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji interrupts softly. 

If Lan Xichen hadn’t been here, he was sure his brother would have reached out to comfort his husband. They avoided showing their love in front of him, though he’d heard they’re quite shameless about it around everyone else. Lan Xichen suspected they had the wrong idea about him and Jin Guangyao, that they were trying to be considerate.

In a kinder world, one that had not so strongly twisted Jin Guangyao’s mind when it came to intimacy… but this was not the world they had lived in. Jin Guangyao would never have allowed anything that could brand him as being too much like his mother, so Lan Xichen never asked. He had long thought that they both wanted, though. Now, after everything, Lan Xichen wasn’t even sure of that. If Jin Guangyao had only used his affection to blind him…

“We’ll come visit again some other time,” Wei Wuxian promised. “Well, I’m sure your brother will.”

After his brother had left with his husband, Lan Xichen attempted to meditate. It had been his main occupation these last three years, and would likely remain until he felt ready to rejoin the world. Soon, probably. It was unfair to leave so many responsibilities on Lan Wangji’s shoulders. Besides, Lan Xichen was coming to the slow realisation that meditation was doing little to assuage the guilt of what had happened at Guanyin temple. A different approach might be worth a try. Drowning himself in work, the way his brother had done to deal with his own loss, was starting to become an attractive option. If nothing else, it might exhaust him enough that the nightmares would no longer matter.

That night, as expected, meditation only served to make him restless. Well past the accepted Lan bedtime, Lan Xichen gave up on finding any peace and decided to go for a walk around Cloud Recesses. He liked seeing his home in the moonlight, quieter than ever, the details drowned in darkness so it was less obvious how new the buildings still looked. He could almost have pretended nothing wrong had ever happened in this beautiful place, that there had been no fire, no death, no pain. It would be a pleasant lie to imagine, but a lie nonetheless.

Lan Xichen decided to leave behind the buildings, and with them the temptation of lying to himself. He had no precise goal in mind, but found himself coming near one of the ponds. To his surprise, there was already someone there. A slender figure sitting in the grass, gazing upon the water.

“I see you have not gone to Gusu after all,” Lan Xichen noted, coming closer.

Nie Huaisang startled at his voice, but did not turn to look at him.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, his eyes firmly set on the water.

“It is past curfew,” Lan Xichen replied. “But we make exceptions for guests.”

“I meant do you want me to leave Cloud Recesses,” Nie Huaisang clarified. “I imagine it’s unpleasant to know I am here.”

It was, certainly, though at least Lan Xichen’s seclusion meant he had a good excuse to avoid this new guest of theirs. And yet, there they were.

“It might be unwise. Do you not need Wei Wuxian’s treatments?”

“He seems to think so,” Nie Huaisang said lightly, as if it did not concern him what Wei Wuxian might want in this case.

It would have been easy then to leave him alone. A day earlier, Lan Xichen would have continued his walk, or returned home to meditate and try to forget this unpleasant encounter. A day earlier, he hadn’t known that Nie Huaisang was dying and likely looking for his murderer. 

“You came to see me yesterday. Do you suspect me of inflicting this curse upon you?”

At last Nie Huaisang turned around, propping himself on one arm and opening his fan in a vain effort to hide his laughter.

“You? Zewu-Jun, as if you could even want to hurt someone that way!”

“I would have said the same of you, once.”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter died down, but he remained hidden behind his fan.

“But we are different you and I, Zewu-Jun. You are a good man, while I... was never what I should have been. I used to wonder what that must be like.”

“To be good?” Lan Xichen asked, fighting the urge to point how he wasn’t. He’d let people suffer around him. He had blood on his hand, long before Guanyin temple. Everyone who took part in the Sunshot Campaign did, but as a commander Lan Xichen had to bear the weight of losing the men who served under his orders as well as those he killed himself.

“To be able to trust,” Nie Huaisang corrected, raising the fan until only his eyes showed. “I’m not very skilled at that, I must say. It comes slowly to me, and in the end the one I’ve trusted the most was… unworthy of it.”

Lan Xichen thought of the way Jin Guangyao, after being accepted at Carp Tower, never saw Nie Huaisang without bringing him a present of some sort, how he took a keen interest in what the boy loved, how he tried more than once to convince Nie Mingjue to accept that his little brother would never be as fierce as him. At the time, Lan Xichen had taken it as a mark of kindness or pity for a boy who cowered in the shadow of a great man, and knew Nie Huaisang might have felt the same.

But perhaps none of those gestures had ever been about Nie Huaisang. What surer way could there be of angering Nie Mingjue than to encourage everything he despised in his brother? Even if it had been genuine at the time, the memories would be tainted by doubt. Just as Lan Xichen’s were.

“I am sorry for being so chatty,” Nie Huaisang sighed, closing his fan and playing with it. “I’ll be returning to my room shortly.”

“I can walk you there,” Lan Xichen offered, out of habit. Cloud Recesses was an easy place to get lost in, especially in the dark.

The offer made Nie Huaisang tense so violently that it had to be genuine. No one could be that good of an actor… or could they? 

“Please don’t take that pain,” Nie Huaisang said quietly. “I was thinking of sitting here a little longer.”

He sounded perfectly calm, but the hand holding his fan couldn’t contain a small tremor.

Lan Xichen thought back of their conversation the day before, the way Nie Huaisang had nearly collapsed at the end and treated it as something perfectly normal. The curse was attacking his meridians, Wei Wuxian had said, and had nearly blocked off all of them. If that was true (and Wei Wuxian would have checked so it had to be) then it was already nothing short of a miracle that Nie Huaisang had made it from the Unclean Realm to Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen, in spite of himself, found that he pitied that young man sitting in the grass. Nobody deserved that sort of death.

“If you cannot get up on your own, I’ll help,” Lan Xichen offered, holding out his hand.

Nie Huaisang did not take it.

“I would have thought you’d had enough of helping me by now,” he retorted, sounding almost like the boy who kept running to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao for advice. “You don’t have to force yourself, Zewu-Jun. I’ll manage.”

Lan Xichen ignored his protest and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to his feet with more easy than he’d have expected. Nie Huaisang, always slender, weighed nothing. That was for the best, because his trembling legs could not support him and he fell against Lan Xichen’s chest, clinging to his robe with what little strength he had.

“You didn’t need to do that!” he complained, the words muffled against the fabric. “I could do it on my own, I just need to do it… a little slower than that.”

To prove his point, Nie Huaisang tried to push himself away from Lan Xichen, only to lose his balance. He would have collapsed if the older man hadn’t grabbed his arm and pulled him back against him.

“Perhaps you should not wander alone if the curse affects you so much,” Lan Xichen scolded him, falling easily into old habits. They had sometimes had to hold Nie Huaisang in that manner, right after his brother’s death, when he was still half a boy and didn’t know how to handle his new responsibilities. Or had he already guessed at the truth, was he already playing with their emotions a decade earlier?

“I really am fine!” Nie Huaisang protested. “If I don’t move too quickly, it’s… it’s not that big of a deal. And if I fall somewhere… does it really matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have no regrets, my sect will be taken care of,” Nie Huaisang said, his voice hollow. “My brother’s head disciple will finally have the title that he deserves and we’ve started taking steps to see if he can be spared from Qi deviation. I have no family left to cry for me. No friends I haven’t alienated when I used them as pawns. And I knew that my life would be short. It always is for leaders of the Nie sect. I could avoid my sabre, but fate caught up anyway.”

“Are you really satisfied with that?”

“No," Nie Huaisang retorted hotly, his mask dropping for a second to reveal an expression that wouldn't have been out of place on his brother's face. He soon regained his composure, smiling almost as sweetly as before. "Nobody wants to die, and I’m not different. But if it must happen, I need to make my peace with it. I cannot risk…”

He shuddered in Lan Xichen’s arms, another reaction that felt genuine.

“Your brother’s fate was exceptional,” Lan Xichen remarked. “You would not return in the manner he did. You might not die at all,” he added after some hesitation. “Wei Wuxian sounded confident that he could lift the curse.”

“Wei Wuxian thinks he can solve everything if he just tries hard enough,” Nie Huaisang muttered. “Maybe he could have, if I came earlier.”

“How long have you known you were cursed?”

“Long enough,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I thought I had more time, but being an inadequate cultivator has always been my weakness.”

(and that’s all I got. Of course they’d figure a way of saving him and lxc while still angry would realise he doesn’t want nhs to die. Probably there’d be a lot of discussion of how jgy influenced both of them)

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me - Chapter 49

Warning: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

She sits on the edge of the front porch as she watches him work. The sun harsh and punishing as it  beats down on broad shoulders and back, wide chest and powerful arms; rivers of sweat glistening under the brilliant light. The perspiration that dampens his hair makes it look several shades darker; sides and back freshly shaved, the top growing in quickly and beginning to fall across his forehead.  Sunglasses on and barefoot, clad in only a pair of cargo shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips. Every muscle in his upper body bulging and twisting with each swing of the axe; movement easy and effortless as he chops and splinters logs from a  haphazardly stacked pile Koen had left near the fire pit. It’s a thing of beauty to observe. How that body moves and the power that inhabits it. The veins that protrude in those thick, strong forearms, the multitude of scars and tattoos that use his skin as a canvas.

Even after nearly seven years together and five children,  it’s hard NOT to lust after someone that looks like THAT.  He’s the embodiment of masculinity; brawn and immense strength, bravado and confidence without the air of cockiness. Rough skin and large callused hands and an intensity and edge that are always lingering just under the surface.  But there’s other things that make him the man he is. The compassion and the gentleness that he possesses; extraordinary patience and an ability to keep calm, cool, and collected even when the rage is beginning to build. It’s the way he’s so secure in that masculinity; never shying away from things like  braiding his little girl’s hair and daring anyone to tell him it’s not the most manly EVER. It's the ferocity behind his desire to protect what -and who he considers ‘his’; a steadfast loyalty and faithfulness that never breaks. When he loves, he loves big. He’s ‘all in; dedicating his entire heart and soul and giving nothing but fierce and unwavering devotion.

She’s the lucky one. The beneficiary of it all. Never remembering a time that someone had given that much of themselves to her; never questioning their feelings or second guessing her own. No one else had ever made her feel the things he does. Not just a mix of overwhelming and all consuming love and unbridled carnal want and need, but the feeling of being safe and secure. That knowledge that someone will do anything...stop at nothing...to protect her. Mark had only ever been interested in hurting others; dedicating himself to inflicting as much emotional and physical pain and turmoil as he could. Tyler commits himself to fixing those things; quietly -and without needing acknowledgement or praise- attempting to right another man’s wrongs.

He’s grinning as he approaches. Wiping dirty palms against the thighs of his shorts, swiping a forearm across his sweaty brow. “What are you smiling about?”

“Just admiring the scenery,” Esme says, and takes a sip from the bottle of beer in her hand. “And it’s very nice scenery.”

That grin widens, and he places a hand on either side of her, palms flat against the wood of the porch; bending down and  pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And you call me biased.”

“All the women thirsting after you are proof I’m NOT biased. Cashiers at the grocery store, moms on the playground, at the school. Millie’s teacher. I hear she’s very determined when it comes to you. That she tried picking you up at the bar the other night.”

“Who told you that?”

“Ovi. Don’t underestimate his loyalty to me. He told me she was trying to jump on your dick. And that she didn’t seem to be taking no for an answer.”

“I might have been a little harsh.”

“You? Harsh? Never.”

He smirks.

“He also told me that you were a good boy. That you behaved yourself.”

“You were worried I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t worried about what you’d do. Some of those women are very persuasive.”

“They can try all they want. My dick’s taken. That’s what I told her. It belongs to someone else. Yours is the only pussy it wants to be in.”

Esme’s eyes widen. “You said that? Those exact words?”

“That was loosely translated. But I did say my dick was taken and that no one other pussy can hold a candle to yours.”

“Oh God…” she lays a hand against her forehead. “...Tyler…”

“In my defence, I was pretty drunk.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you would have still said it if you’d been sober. That’s such a Tyler thing to say.”

He shrugs. “I have absolutely zero filter left.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. You’re usually a man of few words, but when you DO talk…”

“I say what I mean, and I meant what I say.”

“Exactly. This should make trips to school very interesting, to say the least.”

“Is it wrong I’m looking forward to parent/teacher interview night? Seeing her squirm?  Wanna make out in front of her?”

“She’d probably enjoy that.”

“You like girls too. Is she your type?”

“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that. Because even if she was, I don’t cheat and I don’t share my toys. Especially my favorite one. My ALL TIME favorite. So if you’re into that kind of thing, you need a different wife.”

“Only thing...person...I’m into, is you.” He leans in and kisses her; soft and languid.

She isn’t bothered when  sweat  drips onto her from his forehead and hair, nor does she mind  the salty taste of it on his lips. And the tip of his tongue briefly brushes against her before he pulls away, chuckling when she digs her nails into the back of his neck; pressing her lips to the underside of his chin and nuzzling her nose against his throat.

“I probably stink,” he warns.

“You smell good. You smell like Tyler. And that’s the best smell in the world.”

He smiles at that, then runs a hand over her hair before pecking her cheek. “Longer we’re married, the sappier you get,” he teases, and then takes a seat beside her, grimacing at the discomfort in his back.

“I thought you said earlier I was getting cuddlier?”  She reaches behind her for a second bottle of beer, twisting off the cap before offering it to him.

“You’re getting both,” he says, accepting the beer and pressing a kiss of appreciation to her temple. It’s his first drink since they’d arrived. After getting his first taste of it after six months of sobriety, he’d thought he’d want more. That he’d NEED it. But the longing and feelings of desperation and the ghosts of dependency have settled down. It would have been easy to fall back into his old ways; faced with the multitude of booze Koen keeps scattered around the kitchen. But it hasn’t ‘called’ to him; the burdens and baggage of addiction surprisingly silent.

“Do you not know what sunscreen is?” Esme inquires, and he hisses when she presses her ice cold bottle against the back of his neck. “You’re going to be hurting tomorrow.”

“Can’t get much worse than I’m already hurting.”

She frowns. “That bad?”

He nods and takes a large swallow of beer.

“Knee? Shoulder? Back?”

“Back mostly. The other two feel pretty good for a change.”

“You need to be more careful. Once your back goes, you’re fucked. Maybe that’s what did it,” she presses the fingertips of one hand into the most troublesome spot; left side, middle of the spine, but close to the shoulder blade. Where the sniper’s bullet in Dhaka had torn into him.   “The fucking. Maybe you can’t partake in such strenuous activity anymore.”

He scowls. "You be quiet.”

“I’m just saying. You’re getting older and it would make sense if you start to slow down and your stamina starts to falter.”

“Just put a bullet in my brain. Do it. End it. Because the day I can’t do THAT…”

“What are you going to do if you ever need Viagra?” she teases, and digs her knuckles into his back.

“You know what…?”

She grins and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “What?”

“You’re not making me feel any better. I WILL shoot myself if that ever happens. The day I can’t get it up is the day I lose all will to live.”

“Don’t be such a baby. It's not the end of the world if that happens.”

“Fuck yeah it is. “

“And you question where Millie gets her dramatics from?”

“I am serious. That ever happens, I give you permission to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. Put me out of my misery.”

“Not going to happen. You’re stuck with me. Even if you do get limp dick. I’m not letting you leave me with God knows how many grandchildren. We’re supposed to spoil them together, remember? You’re not allowed to die. I won’t let you.”

“I’m too fucking stubborn to die anyway.”

“I’m starting to think that’s true.”

She traces a fingertip over the scar left behind from the sniper’s bullet; the size of a dime and no longer raised or puckered. It’s the accompanying scar that’s worse; long and thin and jagged in some areas. Where the surgeon had to open him up and go in to locate the source of internal bleeding and repair a section of his  left lung. It would be easy to hate all those marks; all those parts of his body that have been damaged and torn apart. But they’re part of who he is. Testaments to just how strong and tenacious he is. Proof of his survival and how far he’s come.

“That one’s getting a lot better,” she remarks, as her fingers find the scar left behind from when Farhad had shot him, along with the one beside it; another surgical incision that had been needed to keep him alive. “It’s taken a long time.”

“Doesn’t bother you as much anymore.” It’s an observation. Not a question.

“Not really. I try not to think about the back story. And speaking of back…” her fingers glide over the multitude of deep, red gouges that travel both horizontally and vertically, some even overlapping. “...I wonder what happened here?”

Tyler smirks. “Gee. I wonder.”

“Sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“Just a little,” he grins, as he leans in to kiss her.  Laying  a hand on her thigh,  he gently spreads her legs and nods down at his own handiwork. “Sorry I bit you so hard.”

Esme grins. “You’re not sorry at all.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

She gives a derisive snort, then kisses his shoulder and leans into him; beer in one hand, the other resting on his lower back. “For the record, you need to unleash your inner lumberjack more. That was sexy to watch.”

“And you say I never do anything nice for you,” he chides.

“You’ve got the whole vibe going on. You’ve got the body, you’ve got the beard. Just need to get you a plaid shirt.”

“Fuck that. Look, I don’t mind fulfilling your little fantasies, but I have to draw the line somewhere. No plaid.”

“Fine,”  she huffs dramatically. “At the very least a tight white t-shirt.”

“Anyone ever tell  you you’re weird?”

“Only you. Every day. For almost seven years. You  put up with it though. I notice you stick around despite it.”

“I’d miss it too much. Your weirdness. You in general.”

She grins. “And you call me sappy?”

They lapse into a companionable silence. Nursing their beers as they enjoy the peace and quiet; no sound save for the faint rustling of the trees and bushes as the breeze passes through them. It’s unusual; not being surrounded by noise and activity. Their lives normally filled with chaos, even on the best days. And while they miss the normality of it -the kids voices, their bickering,  the baby crying- it’s a relief to get away from it for a little while. A chance to be alone together instead of having to battle for even a sliver of attention. Days often going by before they even have a normal conversation. So caught up in being parents that they’d forgotten what it was like to need each other. And Tyler drapes an arm across her shoulders and pulls her tightly against him; lips finding her temple, her hand moving to his side.

“Allison called,” Esme says, and places her now empty beer bottle beside her. “She said she couldn’t get through to your cell.”

“Battery’s dead. I haven’t bothered to charge it.”

“Disconnecting from the world. Your dream come true,” she teases.

“What did she want?”

“I had no clue what she was talking about. She said to tell you that she’ll send someone to do a thorough search and get back to you with any news.”

He nods.

“Tyler…”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to stress more.”

“Oh fuck me. What now?”

“It’s probably nothing. Which is another reason why I didn’t say anything. Why freak you out and then it turns out to be nothing?”

“Whatever it is, are the kids going to be okay? Should we have stayed home?”

“We made the right decision coming here,” he assures her. “We NEEDED to come here. And if it were something to worry about..if my instincts told me something was wrong...I would have been the first to cancel everything and insist we stay home.”

“So what is it? What do you have Allison looking into?”

“Millie saw something. SOMEONE. Or she thinks she did.”

“She told you that? That she saw someone? Where? Doing what?”

“She said she saw some lady going into the woods. That she yelled at this person to stop and she didn’t listen to her and kept going. I guess she told Ovi and he went and checked and didn’t find anything. Thinks it was probably just someone trying to get to the beach without going right on our property.”

“What do YOU think?”

Tyler shrugs. “I don’t know what to think. It’s easy to think the worst. Especially right now. But Ovi’s probably right. Probably nothing.”

“But you believe her? Millie? You believe she saw someone?”

“She wouldn’t lie about something like that. She even gave me a good description; pretty detailed. She’s crazy smart. Too smart for her own good. And insanely observant. It’s almost scary HOW observant she is. How keen her senses are.”

“Does that sound familiar? I told you; she’s just like you. She even has your instincts. She saw the Jeep driver; same time you did. And she’s not even six yet and she’s like that?”

“I’d be impressed...and proud...if it didn’t freak me out so much.”

“She’s YOUR daughter.  She has so much of you in her. I see more and more every day; you coming out in her. And that’s not a bad thing, Tyler. Think of all the amazing things she’ll be able to do when she’s older with skills like that.”

“That’s what scares me. What if she’s the one that follows in my footsteps?”

“I highly doubt Millie will grow up and want to be a mercenary. That girl loves her glitter way too much.”

He gives a small laugh.

“Can you imagine her with a pink Glock with a bejewelled grip? That would be Millie as a merc. Or she’d have a pink holster with Hello Kitty embroidered on it. THAT'S your daughter. She is not the one you have to worry about. My money is on Tanner. He’s flying under the radar; no one suspects him. I think he’s conning us all.”

“I never did get my fifteen bucks that he scammed me out of. Or should I say my seven fifty. Because I know full well you took the other half. You’re the one who put him up to it; don’t even try denying it. That had you written all over it. I’ve seen how you work. I saw you scam people in Dhaka. I heard you scam them in Ireland. You’re good.”

“It’s always the ones you least expect,” Esme reasons. “Us little ones are always the last ones anyone is ever suspicious about. But I’m not admitting to anything when it comes to Tanner.”

“He’s a momma’s boy. You could talk him into anything.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“That doesn’t work here. This is Australia. Not the States.”

“I’m not copping to anything. No matter how much you badger me about it.”

He grins. “I have ways you know. Ways of getting it out of you.”

“What are you going to do? Waterboard me? Go all Guantanamo Bay on my ass?”

“A lie detector test. A very accurate one.”

“Oh really…” her eyes playfully sparkle. “...what lie detector test?”

“It’s my own. I made it up. I developed it.”

“Sure you did…”

“All I have to do…” he leans into her, pressing a series of kisses along the left side of her neck  and across her shoulder. “...is this…” he slides a hand up the leg of her shorts, then splays his finger; one coming in contact with the crotch of her panties, the other with the back.   “...one finger here...one finger there…and…” he bites down on the sensitive spot between her neck and her shoulder.

She’s laughing  as she pushes him away. “You dick! That hurt!”

“I WAS going to do this…” he removes his hand from her shorts and grabs at her inner thing.

“Ow!” She yells, then dissolves into giggles and collapses onto her back as his fingers dig and pinch and aggressively tickle. “Tyler! You shit head! Stop! You’re going to make me pee my pants! Don’t be such an asshole!”

“You gonna admit to it?” His hand hand slides down to her knee, then back up again; passing over the crotch of her pants before settling on her stomach. “That you had something to do with it?”

“Never,” she declares. “You can’t get it out of me. You’ll never make me crack.”

“Oh, I can. And I will. You’re not the only one with special skills.”  He pulls up the bottom of her tank top, mouth warm and moist against as he licks a path just above the waistband of her shorts.

“Fuck you and your special skills,” she playfully retorts, and then squeals when he sinks his teeth into the flesh at the bottom of her right ribs. “What is wrong with you?! I’m going to have marks everywhere!”

“You mean like my back?”

“I have to mark what’s mine. My territory. And your ribs are pretty torn up, too. Sorry.”

“It’s a small price to pay,” he says, and then leans to kiss her. “Hungry?”

“Mmm...hmmm…” she arches her back and presses her hips against him.

“I meant for food. And you have the nerve to call me ‘extra’ when it comes to sex lately.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t help that my husband is insanely sexy and turns me on when he so as much looks at me.  I should have married someone uglier.”

“Maybe you should have worked with Gaspar,” he teases. “Doesn’t get much uglier than that.”

“I would have throat punched him for sure. Or killed him. He was too fucking creepy and way too fucking psychotic. That story you told me? About shooting the doves? That was fucked. Doves. Of all birds. Like the hell? I can’t believe you were ever friends with that guy. You’re nothing alike. What did you ever bond over?”

“Killing people.”

“Well THAT’S healthy.”

“Drinking. I was drunk most of the time I was around him. So I wasn’t the best judge of character. Are you hungry or not?”

She nods. “I could eat.”

“We’ll cook something out here. On the fire. Sound good?”

She nods. “I’ll whip up some sides. I have to make sure you keep the tank full. I don’t want to wear you out.”

“You can try, but you never will.”

“You’ve got five years on me,” she reminds him. “I’m still a youngin' compared to you. Pretty soon people are going to start thinking you’re my father.”

“Fuck you. I don’t look THAT old.”

“Older brother, then.”

He frowns. “That’s some Jerry Springer shit.”

“An American reference! After six and a half years of being married to me, you finally used an American reference. ‘I’m so proud of you, Tyler James.”

“You know…” his fingers pull down the bottom of her tank. “You’re lucky I love you.”

She smiles and lifts her head to kiss him. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m going to go and take a shower. Wanna come with?”

“What? You need me to scrub your back?”

A sly grin spreads across his face. “Among other things.”

****

With the sun down, the temperature has dropped considerably; breeze stronger, the cooler air trapped by the mountains surrounding them. After a dinner prepared over open flame, they lounge by the fire; nothing more than a blanket spread on the ground, his legs outstretched as she sits between them with her back pressed against his chest. One of her hands in possession of a glass of wine -the now half empty bottle sitting beside her- and the other resting on the forearm he has laying across her collarbone.  He’s only on his second beer of the day; still three quarters full and in no rush to finish it. It’s a good sign. He won’t be tempted to get heavily back into it in Mumbai; able to be fully engrossed and focused on the job at hand. There’s too much to lose; his entire existence, his whole world. There will be no second chances if he fucks up; he can’t afford to make any mistakes when it's his own family involved.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about it. Mumbai. Mahajan and all his threats. He’d told himself he’d push them all onto the back burner; he’d think of nothing but their time away together. That he’d concentrate on nothing...no one...other than her and the reconnecting that they’re so badly in need of. But when nighttime settles, the dark thoughts always return. It’s when he’s most anxious. When things are quiet and still and he suddenly has time to think; both mind and hands idle. And now he can’t stop dwelling on it. On how he leaves for India in nine days time and whether or not he’s making the right decision when it comes to the people he’s taking along. Questioning whether it’s better to have a solid and structured game plan ahead of time, or if he should just let things fall into place once he gets there; go in with nothing but that list of names and decide there and then how to dispose of them.  Does he have all his ‘ducks in row’ at home; up to date life insurance policy, recent version of a will, an intricately carved out -and written out- plan on what Esme’s to do if he DOESN’T make it back? So engrossed with all the thoughts of doom and gloom, that he hadn’t even realized she was speaking to him until he feels her hand on the side of his face; that simple contact snapping him out of it, eyes not focusing on that concerned face looking at him.

“Are you alright?” she asks, and even in the glow of the campfire he can see the glassiness of her eyes and the flush to her cheeks; side effects of all the wine she’s consumed. It’s been months since she’d indulged in even a drop; cutting it out entirely once she found out she was pregnant with Addie.  And the return to it is hitting her hard and fast.

“Yeah,” Tyler gives a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

“Did you even hear what I said?”

He shakes his head.

“What were you thinking about? You looked really intense there for a minute. Like you were going to rip someone’s head off.”

“I must have zoned out. Wasn’t really thinking about anything. What did you say?”

“I asked if you heard back from Allison. About that woman Millie saw.”

“My phone’s inside. Charging. She’ll leave a message. Or call yours.”

“I haven't had a signal for hours.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she turns back around. “No one can bother us. Isn’t that what we want? Just get away from everything? Everyone?”

“We do have five kids at home,” she reminds him. “Someone should be able to get a hold of us if there’s an emergency.”

“Everything will be fine. No emergencies.”

“And this thing with the woman? The one Millie thinks she saw?”

“She definitely saw her. Just like she saw that guy in the Jeep. She didn’t imagine it and she’s definitely not making it up. Her description was too good and she’s adamant that she saw this person. Even got pissed when the boys suggested she was imagining things. There’s no doubt in my mind that she saw someone.”

“Do you think it’s something to worry about?”

“If I did, we wouldn’t be here right now and you know that.”

“I DO know that. I know you’d stop at nothing to keep them safe...to keep us ALL safe...if you thought there was a legitimate threat. It just sucks that we even think about things like this.”

“Yeah, it does. But that’s what you get for getting mixed up with me.”

“Don’t start. I knew what I was getting into it. I knew what kind of life you were living and all the toes you’d stepped on along the way. It didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to be with you.  I can handle whatever comes with it. With you.”

“YOU can. But what about our kids? We probably should have thought about that beforehand.”

“It was too late to think about anything. Millie was on her way; whether we were prepared or not. And regardless of what you did...what you DO...for a living, you deserve to have a life. You deserve to be happy and be surrounded by people who love you and need you and want you around. I know you don’t think you deserve all of that, but you do. More than anyone else deserves it.”

Smiling, he presses a kiss to her temples and then takes a swallow of beer.

“And I know you sometimes think it's selfish; for getting married and having kids and bringing all of us into a life like this. But it’s not. You’re not a selfish person, Tyler. You’re selfless, if anything. You always have been.”

“You think pretty highly of me,” he teases.

“I do. I’m pretty fond of you, actually. I’m going to keep you. My life would suck if you weren’t  in it.  Do you remember our old apartment?”

“Just outside of Sydney. Yep. How could I forget that place? First time I’d lived with someone in five years. If you can call it living with someone; I was only there on weekends when I was allowed home from the rehab place.”

“I kind of miss that apartment,” she muses. “It wasn’t much, but it was ours. Even if we had to sleep on a mattress on the floor for six months. We didn’t have a lot, but we were happy there. YOU were happy. Even when you were in all that pain and you were exhausted and frustrated with all the therapies and the progress you didn’t think you were making. You never once bitched or moaned or felt sorry for yourself. You were never miserable. You were just happy.”

“You’re saying I’m not happy now?”

“No. I know you are. I see it every time you’re with your kids. It’s just that you were going through so much...you’d just BEEN through so much...and you never let it break you.”

“I couldn’t let it break me. I had you. We had a baby on the way. You both needed me. I HAD to keep going. For the two of you.”

“Remember the first night we brought Millie home? And she cried. A lot.”

“She cried all night,” Tyler recalls. “So did you. I think you cried more than she did. I had two crying women to deal with.”

“I was so frustrated and exhausted and depressed and scared. I was terrified of being a shitty mom. And you were so good with her. With both of us. I remember how you walked the apartment with her for hours. Just holding er and rubbing her back and talking to her; your voice was so soft and so calm and you were so patient. I watched you with her and I swear I’d never seen anything more beautiful. You with a baby. OUR baby. I didn’t think I could love any more than I already did, and then I watched you being a dad.”

He brushes the tip of his nose against her ear, then kisses it. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m sentimental. I can’t help it. Being here with you...ALONE with you...it has me all up in my feels. We’ve never gotten this; this time together. Even when we were in Ireland, it was never about us. It was about the job. This is the first time in nearly seven years where it’s just me and you. And I like it. Being this way with you.”

“So do I. We needed this.”

“We did,” she agrees. “Sometimes it feels as if we don’t exist outside of being parents and raising kids together. Like we’ve completely forgotten about each other and what’s like to be an actual couple. Not just a mom and dad. And I’ve missed seeing you like that. As more than that.”

“I missed that too. I’ve missed you.” He presses a kiss to her temple and tightens his hold on her, forearm sliding further up onto her neck. “I’ve missed US.”

“Things are so much better now. Since we moved here. Being in Colorado was nice, but being here is better. You’re different when you’re here. You’re not as stressed; not on edge so much. You’re more relaxed. Grounded, I guess. You’re in your happy place.”

“Well it’s home,” Tyler reasons. “I just needed someone to MAKE it a home with.”

She smiles and turns her face into his, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You can be really sweet and cute, you know that?”

“Don’t you start.”

“It’s true,” she laughs, and then pecks his cheek before turning to face the fire once more. “I don’t care how much you hate hearing it. It doesn’t make you soft or weak or less of a man for being like that. Far from it. It actually makes you even more attractive.  And sexy. That you can be like this with me. That you’re not afraid to be emotional or sentimental. Or vulnerable.”

“You’re the only person I CAN be that way with.”

“I’m lucky. I get all these different sides of you that no one else gets to see. It’s like hiding this huge secret from the rest of the world. One that they’ll never, ever, figure out. You’re a mystery to everyone else. I’m the only one who really knows you.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “You are.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I promise I won’t tell anyone that you cry during Fox and the Hound and Inside Out. I know you have a reputation to uphold.”

He grins. “What reputation is that?”

“The guy that took out a whole apartment of hostiles in Dhaka. Who humiliated Amir Asif. Who took a bullet to the neck AND lived. You really ARE too stubborn to die.”

“Or I’m just lucky.”

“Maybe some of both?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it has something to do with someone putting their fingers in my neck to keep me alive AFTER I got shot.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Esme says. “I did what I had to do. You would have done the same thing. You wouldn't have left me on that bridge.”

“Not in a million years.”

“I almost thought you were going to leave me the first day, though. When I pissed you off in the market. You were so mad. I thought for sure you were going to dump my ass in the street somewhere. I don’t think I’ve seen you that angry since. Except for that time that weird guy followed me home from the post office because he wanted to ask me out and didn’t believe me when I told him I was married.”

“I could have killed that fucking guy.”

“You were so pissed! ” she recalls. “I thought he was going to shit his pants when you walked out of the house. He wasn’t expecting there to even be a husband, never mind one that looks like you. And then he tried to get all macho and mouthy and actually thought he could take you. You only had like six inches and fifty pounds on him.”

Tyler smirks. “Wasn’t much of a fight.”

“It was two hits. You hitting him, and him hitting the ground. My hero,” she presses a kiss to his forearm. “My knight in slightly tarnished armour.”

“Nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” she smiles. “And just so you know, I’d fight a bear for you.”

“You would, would you?”

“Maybe not a black bear or a polar bear or a grizzly. And maybe not a koala because they’re sketchy as fuck. But a Care Bear. I’d fight a Care Bear for you.”

He laughs at that, and she’s giggling when she turns her face into his and kisses him. Nails digging into his forearm through the fabric of his hoodie, her tongue gentle yet insistent as it pushes its way past his lips and teeth; his hand moving up to cup her cheek. “I’ve got something for you.” he says.

“My other surprise?”

He nods.

“And this one is definitely from you? Not the kids?”

“Just from me.”

“It’s not even my birthday. Or our anniversary. And Christmas was only two months ago and we’re past Valentine’s Day. So what’s it for?”

“It’s not for anything. It's a ‘just because’ kind of surprise.”

“Just because what?”

“Just because I felt like it. And because I love you.”

She grins. “And you say you’re not sappy.”

“Here,” he digs into one of the pockets on his hoodie and pulls out a small black velvet box, offering it to her.

Her eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean what did I do? I didn’t do anything. I wanted to buy you something so I bought you something.”

“Just because?”

“Yep. Just because.”

“Tyler…”

“Esme…”

“What is this?”

“Just take it. It’s yours. Just open it.”

“I’m kind of scared to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve done something you didn’t have to do and I’m going to get all emotional and up in my feels and you hate when I get all up in my feels and ugly cry.”

He smirks. “If it happens, I’ll deal with it. Just open it.”

“Okay…” she  takes the box from him, turning her body sideways and draping both legs over his thigh. “AM I going to cry?”

“Knowing you? Probably.”

“You’re trouble. Making me cry.”

“It’ll be a good cry. I promise.”

“Alright…” she says, and then pops open the lid of the box, tears immediately glistening in her eyes; lower lip trembling as she looks from the ring nestled inside, to him, then back down again.

It isn’t over the top of outlandish; something simple and classic for a woman that’s never cared about the materialistic things in life. Who was happy in that small apartment outside of Sydney and who would have been just as happy in a shack in the outback. But the solitaire diamond sparkles brilliantly in the glow cast by the fire, as does the rose gold band it’s set in.

“You like it?” he asks.

She nods, and he presses a kiss to her forehead and uses a thumb to clear the tears off her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes. “YOU’RE beautiful. Why…?”

“Millie asked why you didn’t have one. She said you guys watched some wedding show on tv and that all the ladies have engagement rings and why didn’t you have one?”

“She’s pretty observant that daughter of yours. Did you tell her that I never expected one or asked for one or really wanted one?”

“I told her that when we got married, we didn’t have a lot of money and you said you didn’t care about things like diamonds and fancy shit. That you were happy with just a wedding band.”

“Which is true. I’ve always been happy with just that.”

“I know. But she asked why we’d been married forever and you still didn’t have one. So I figured I better get my shit together and show my daughter that I’m not some douche that doesn’t love her mother.”

“I don’t need a ring to know you love me. You find ways to let me know you do. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. It shouldn’t have taken me six and a half years.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if it took you sixty,” Esme says. “And it’s beautiful and it’s perfect and you’re beautiful and perfect and I don’t deserve it. Or you.”

“Now you’re just talking shit. You deserve more than that. More than me.”

“Now YOU’RE talking shit,” she counters.

“How about we don’t talk shit about ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Here..”  he takes the box from her, setting it on his thigh and then plucking the ring from its confines. “...hand.”

She grins. “You’re so romantic. There’s the Tyler I know and love. Did you tell your daughter you asked me to marry you in the bathroom?”

“I did actually.”  He slips the ring onto her finger and then presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I told her you were pregnant with her and that you were worried you were getting fat and ugly. That I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world and I said ‘marry me’ and that was it. There was never really a question.”

“It was a very Tyler like way of asking though. And I said ‘okay’, so technically, it WAS a proposal. In our own weird way.”

“Weird seems to be our thing.”

“I prefer unconventional,” she says, then kneels between his legs. “We’re unconventional. Not weird. We’ve never been normal, per say. We started out in a very unconventional way and we’ve kept it going ever since. Maybe that’s what makes us so good together.  We don’t expect normal from each other.”

His hands settle on her hips. “Maybe.”

“I mean, I married a mercenary. That’s about as far from normal as you can get.”

“You had your chance, you know. To get away. You could have said no.”

“Your eyes and your ass were way too nice to say no to.”

He grins.

“And I don’t care what you did...or do...for a living,” she declares, his face cradled in her hands as she kisses him softly. “I would have said yes a million times over.”

[oleandercrowns]

ROMANCE HEADCANONS. 🌹

TAGGED BY:  @bvgeyman​​ (thank you gorgeous) TAGGING: anyone and everyone who wants to do this, feel free to say I tagged you or just take this for yourself 

NAME: Adrian Hong

NICKNAME:  Adonis, the devil

GENDER: Male with androgynous tendencies 

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:  Bisexual (but prefers men)

PREFERRED PET NAMES: Master or Sir (lolol)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Uninterested and bored

FAVORITE CANON/FANDOM SHIP: My favorite canon ship for Adrian would be his longest one, no matter how many years go by he and Dorian (written by the gorgeous and absolutely phenomenal @bvgeyman​ I love you so much ) are always together. No matter the distance no matter the time, when one is awake the other isn’t far behind and together they cause the most beautiful chaos. Adrian needs someone who can challenge him and keep him interested, someone who can overpower him at times but will allow themselves to be captured and Dorian is that person. Adrian reveres them as if they were holy and he’d gladly drink the poison from their lips with a smile. Adrian otherwise is very hard to ship with due to his nature and the fact that not many are willing to actually challenge him for power. He seduces but he enjoys being seduced as well and people seem to forget that when writing with him. But Dorian has always been the one who seduces just as good as he gets.

FAVORITE CROSSOVER SHIP: My blog is fandomless therefore there’s too many crossover ships

OPINION ON TRUE LOVE: Adrian does not believe in love, even though he has been proven wrong on that topic once or twice, he still refuses to believe it exists. People use people for gain, love is merely a facade to lower ones walls in order to destroy them from the inside out.

OPINION ON LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: There is no such thing, there is only desire

HOW ‘ROMANTIC’ ARE THEY?: It certainly depends upon the person that he is being romantic with. Things can vary from lavish gifts that he knows the other adores to sensual seduction in order to make them feel like they’re his world. Adrian is not romantic by nature, his is artificial just like his love most of the time, he mainly uses it to get what he wants.

IDEAL PHYSICAL TRAITS: Someone that exudes beauty and confidence. Dorian is a good example of that, a creature that is as dangerous as they are seductive and beautiful. Adrian’s ideal person is Dorian himself, even the chill with which they sometimes regard him with their gaze is enough to make him feel something.

IDEAL PERSONALITY TRAITS: Someone that can entertain him without being too much of a narcissist, there is only room for one of those and that is him. But he needs someone who can hold an intellectual conversation with, someone of refined tastes that can add to the conversation. Attraction can only go so far and Adrian bores easily, if you’re easily coerced he will take advantage of that though he too will grow bored of it fairly quickly. There has to be some type of gain or chase lest the beast grows restless and devours his toy.

UNATTRACTIVE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Everything can be beautiful to Adrian in it’s own way. Even a rotting corpse has it’s aesthetics.

UNATTRACTIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS: Showing weakness, sniveling, groveling, hypocrites 

IDEAL DATE: Adrian enjoys the finer things in life so an elegant restaurant with only the finest foods and wines. Somewhere that is popular where he can be seen, he enjoys the attention. But he also attends auctions (of the illegal kind) and would be more than happy to be wined and dined in such a venue, watching as the prizes are walked across the stage and modeled. If you buy him something he might just take you back home, but whether you leave or not, well whose to say.

DO THEY HAVE A TYPE?: Adrian desires someone who is confident, someone that can provide him with entertainment without becoming dull. Someone who can indulge in his “darker side”, he would say he can’t stand narcissists but that’s only because he wants all the attention on himself. Though he is willing to relent to certain people. But otherwise his type is someone that is just as corrupt as he is, someone he can watch the world burn with and who isn’t afraid to challenge him for power.

AVERAGE RELATIONSHIP LENGTH: Dorian is his longest relationship at six and a half years, any other relationship usually ends in murder or complete and absolute destruction of the mind. Anything else is usually just a one-night stand.

PREFERRED NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY: Adrian is quite fond of having his hair played with. It’s relaxing and makes him feel pampered as he lays his head down on the person’s lap. It is something he has always enjoyed though rarely allows himself to partake in.

COMMITMENT LEVEL:  Adrian’s level of commitment is nearly non-existent, he is a selfish and greedy creature and will use and abuse you until you are of no use to him. There are very few people he is committed too and fewer still are those that are still around him. If he is devoted then he will be for the rest of his life. Connections that run that deep will never be severed, if he is devoted he will always come when called. Though should you abuse that devotion, he will sever all ties and either pretend you never existed or he’ll murder you for your betrayal.

OPINION OF PUBLIC AFFECTION: He doesn’t care, he enjoys shock value of it especially if things lead to sex. Adrian is a creature that loves to cause chaos and what better way than to do something considered taboo?

PAST RELATIONSHIPS?: Adrian has had a few past relationships, most have ended and with every one that ends Adrian has sworn to never let anyone else get close to him or his heart. He very nearly let himself be destroyed by one but has since moved on and sealed that part of his life up to never revisit again. Another was a poly with Dorian and another, the third disappeared though Adrian was always closer with Dorian, he still cared for their third but after his experience he vowed to never be apart of another poly relationship again. When it’s healthy it works but there were too many things that Adrian experienced to turn him away from it. The only good thing that came from the poly was Dorian whom he has never stopped loving and regardless of how many years go by, of how many different bodies Dorian inhabits, he will never stop loving them.

[claudiaindarkness]

Character Questions

How well can they walk in tall thin heels?

Well enough. They were, and currently are, a fashion statement that many women follow. They don't expect make heels in child sizes so she had to get them specially made. When she did, she insisted on wearing them not stop until her feet hurt.

With an adult body she only wears them to raise eye brows and draw in watchful eyes. It depends on her outfit and her plans for the evening but yes. She wears them well.

What type of instruments can they play? (String instruments? Wind instruments?)

She is very skilled on the piano. Although she has studying all instruments out of boredom and in search of knowledge. She knows enough to have a basic understanding of any instruments in order to play simple things.

What type of dance can they do? (Break dance? Ballroom dancing? Mambo? Salsa?)

Her fathers had her learn ballroom dancing in the early years. As she grew older she became interested in many dances but because of her petite form many of them are a bit difficult.

With her adult form she didn't hesitate to go the clubs and experience many different dances. It didn't take her long to catch on. Don't look to close or she'll seduce you with her moves.

What type of food do they like? (Sweets? Savory? Spicy? Meat? Veggies? Fruit?)

Claudia isn't interested in consulting animal blood but when it comes to humans she's not picky. She has her favorites but she loves the taste of blood to much to turn her nose up at any of it. If she was hungry enough she would feed on an animal but her favorite is to feed on the beautiful and wealthy.

What type of people do they befriend? (The jocks? The preps? The nerds? The outcasts?)

Claudia tends to mostly be drawn to those she finds interesting. She doesn't go out of her way to make friends but mostly let's others come to her unless there's something about you that pulls at her curiosity. Aside from that she'll befriend anyone that doesn't annoy her.

What type of people do they tend to just attract? (Main characters? Moe characters? People of similar backgrounds?)

Claudia has always attracted any and every type of person. With her petite form, usually every where she goes eyes are on her.

Even with her adult form she seems to attract many different types of people. Whether it's because the seemed to recognize her from her old form or because there's something about her that perfumes off her and makes other want to talk to her.

What type of weapon would they use? (Guns? Swords? Knives? Bows?)

Despite being small she is extremely small so she doesn't need a weapon, although if she needed one she was choice a blade because of their beauty.

The same goes for her adult form. She would much prefer taking action into her own hands and feeling the damage she deals. With that in mind there is something about a blade that feels right in her hands.

What type of music do they listen to? (Pop? Rock? Metal?)

Her favorite is instrumental or smooth singers like Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, or Dean Martin. With the progress of music she sought to listen to it all out of curiosity. Naturally, she found herself drawn to the music Lestat made which helped open her mind to all types of music.

What do they wear when they go to sleep?

Lestat and Louis always made sure her clothes were made of the finest cotton. When she slept she always wore nightgowns and prefers them over pajamas.

In her adult form she has come to loves silk and lace if she sleeps in clothes. Now that she actually enjoys how her body looks, she doesn't feel the need to hide it with clothes as she sleeps. She'll either wear silky nightgowns or nothing, since she enjoys the feeling of the sheets against her flesh.

What is their type?

She's attracted to beauty and anything that perks her curiosity. This leads her towards mysterious people and adventure. She's also attracted to strength but gentleness as well. She likes a balance between the two. Someone how can intrigue her and keep her company while not smothering her. They need to be strong to protect her(even if she doesn't need it) yet be gentle when necessary.

What is their ideal type of date? (Candle lit dinner? Moonlit walk on the beach?)

A moonlit walk on their way to their dinner. They would partake in a wonderful hunt. Afterwards they would go back to enjoying their walk before head back to one of their houses, depending on how their connection went during the hunt. They might just relax and talk together or...

What is their preferred location? (Home? Gym? Library?)

Definitely the library or garden.

What type of person did they grow into because of their past? (Angst past, angst person? Or angst past, good person?)

Claudia is very guarded and tries not to become too attracted to things. She does everything she can not to rely on others and isn't one to ask for help. She distant but once she has warmed up to someone she is very affectionate. Depending on the situation and who she's with, she can either be very gentle and happy or reserved and uninterested.

What type of wild animal would/could they befriend?

Claudia doesn't really like animals. While she was with Lestat and Louis they didn't have any pets so she didn't think much of them. She finds them interesting but for some reason has it in her mind that they don't like her.

What type of humor to they have? (Dirty humor? Self-deprecating? Puns?)

Claudia finds puns very amusing and does enjoy dirty jokes. She's to proud to use self-deprecating humor. Humor isn't a strong quality of hers but she enjoys listening to others jokes.

What’s their favourite colour?

Royal blue

What’s their signature colour?

She likes to wear red because it makes her think of Lestat or Marius. She enjoys wearing pastels as well as her favorite blue. Anything pretty and flattering.

In her adult form she really enjoys wearing black because she finds it dramatic and alluring.

Is their favourite colour their favourite because it’s their signature? Or is it their signature because it’s their favourite?

Neither, she only wears it for special occasions.

How do they prefer their hair to be styled? (Messy? Brushed? Loose? Tied?)

She is very impatient and because of her curls its easy for her to grow frustrated with this. Because of this she either has others style it out of her face or doesn't mess with it.

With her adult form, she is so use to not messing with her hair that she just lets it flow free and just brushes it ever evening.

What sort of hair accessories would they use? (Hair ties [are they accessories?], hair clips, those fancy hair combed things)

When they were in style, she wore many bonnets. After that she enjoyed elegant hair clips and jewels in her hair.

What is their ideal height? (What height do they wish they grew/will grow into?)

5 and a half feet

What’s their preferred food to order at a restaurant? (Like they go to a new place and their default choices are always like the steak, or main burger on the menu or smth)

At a restaurant she'll pick a salad to pretend to eat and something fancy looking. She doesn't care what it is as long as it looks extravagant.

She favorite victim are those who are beautiful and wealthy. Other than that it depends on her mood.

How often do they curse? (Moderate? Complete potty mouth? Never? Only when mad? Do they censor it like instead of “what the fuck” it’s “what the h!ck”)

She only really curses if she's angry or if she needs the word to emphasize something in a specific way.

-If so, do they not curse in front of specific people? If so, who they curse around?

She'll curse around anyone to get her point across.

How many people do they consider their best friends? (That is if they have a decent amount of friends)

She has a few friends but not many stick around long enough to become her best friend. Although there are many people she consider to be dear to her. Those people are on a different level than best friend. Its what every you would call between best friend and family, a side from a significant other.

How extra are they? (Are they ‘buys lover a bouquet of flowers everyday’ extra? Or are they ‘fly to a totally different country to visit crush/lover’ extra? Or are they ‘get drunk as hell then get mad over something and strip naked and flew on a building’ extra?)

Claudia is pretty dramatic but I'm not sure extra is the right word. Although I could see her doing that last one of "get drunk as he'll then get mad over something and strip naked and flew on a building" extra.

What sort of random and extra thing will they do for their lover/bff?

Claudia is one to give her lover anything they could ever need or want. Aside from showering them with gifts she also loves to shower them with affection. With that in mind she also knows how to give the other space despite being very possessive and the jealous type.

Tagged by: @rosefisherlioncourt

Tagging: @violentvioletviolinsblog @diestimme @wingsandcoffins @reginaqueenmills and anyone else that wants too!

[edjectedly]

Changing for the Worse

THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER CROFTER’S THE MUSICAL. Roman realizes the time for princes is gone, and that if he wants to stay relevant he’ll have to change.

Thanks to @basicmillennial and @sanders-specs for encouraging me, and @fuzzypurplecloud for checking this over tonight and @meginoi for helping me back in April of 2018 when I started this!

Warnings: Yelling, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Roman Angst, Crying

Words: 2375

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety

Tags: @fuzzypurplecloud @emphoenixcat @tree4life25 @vergeangst @lexboydfandompanda  @ashrain5 @thisrandomperson102 @callboxkat @princelogical @meginoi @moxiety--sanders101 @poisonedapples  @say-no-to-this-but-its-laurens @kanejandkruge @lizaelsparrow

Roman fidgeted with the sleeves of his new letter-man jacket as he starred in the mirror. This jacket was nice, it was soft, a nice color, it matched his outfit perfectly but… It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t him. But, that no longer mattered. It was obvious that no one needed a prince anymore, he was an outdated concept.

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair. He felt wrong. He missed the white of his old shirt, the gold of the embellishments, the weight of his sash on his shoulder, he missed the confidence it used to give him, but most importantly he missed the comfort it provided. 

His new jacket, while being the perfect blend of black red and gold, was too heavy on his shoulders. His shirt was impeccable, a nice simple red shirt, but it wasn’t long sleeved like his white one and he’d feel weird having that and the jacket. Then his fancy white pants had been shed for simple blue jeans, that were just too rough when he was unaccustomed to it. But, he’d have to become accustomed to it.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he sighed again, resting his head against his mirror. This was necessary if he wanted the fans to like him, and he did. Their approval meant everything to him. Well, not as much as Thomas’s, or the other sides, but it was a close third. He was sure that Thomas would appreciate the update if anything.

Besides, creativity is always changing, and if he couldn’t deal with change maybe he shouldn’t be the creative side.

Something was wrong, Virgil just knew it. He was jumpy, itchy, off, anxious. He couldn’t figure out why though and it was killing him. The itch just below his skin had been there since he had woke up earlier that day, stirring and skittering like electricity under his skin, waiting for the right moment to rear its ugly head and turn a bad situation into a worse one...and Virgil wasn’t standing for it.

He needed to figure out what was going on, even if he’d rather hide in bed. He wasn’t going to let this affect Thomas, not when he could prevent it.

Virgil made his way to the living room, searching desperately for the problem. However, nothing seemed wrong and it was beginning to get on his last nerve.

“Virgil,” Logan's exasperated voice cut through his frantic searching, “What in Thomas's mind are you doing?”

“Looking for the problem,” he spit out, before turning his narrowed eyes at  Logan, “How are you feeling?”

Logan rolled his eyes, “I am not a feeling, therefore I don't have feelings.”

“We both know that's crap, but it's a normal response for you so I won't fight you, yet.”

With that, Virgil walked around the room one more time before going into the kitchen to continue his search, ignoring the nerd following him.

“He just looked around the living room, asked me how I felt, which is preposterous, and came in here.”

Virgil could feel Patton’s gaze on the back of his head as Logan filled him in on what had just transpired in the living room. He was trying to ignore them, in favour of making sure nothing dangerous has been placed in the spice cabinet, but couldn’t any longer when Patton cleared his throat.

“Virgil you know I never hate having you around when I bake, but if you don’t mind me asking, what’s going on? Me and Logan are a bit worried.”

Virgil froze, a thing of cinnamon still in his hand from looking through the cabinet, before spinning around a focusing on Patton, “Is everything okay with you?”

Patton tilted his head to the side, a confused grin on his face, “What do you mean kiddo? I’m doing great!” Patton’s smile fell away as it was replaced with a look of earnest concern, “But how are you? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, there’s just- I can feel-” Virgil paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Something is off and I can’t figure out what! It’s driving me crazy.”

“Well, how about we try and take your mind off of it?” Patton suggested.

“I don’t know Pat, I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“I think, before we find out what’s wrong, you need to calm down just a teensy bit.”

Logan nodded, “I also think calming down may benefit you. Right now you seem like you’re really on edge and I do not think any of us would like you to have a panic attack.”

“Plus,” Patton added, “If you did figure it out, could you deal with it in a way that wouldn’t make this worse on you emotionally and potentially on who ever did whatever is throwing you off?”

A millions scenarios flashed through Virgil’s head as he thought about going off on one of the others for something that probably didn’t matter.

“You’re right,” he conceded with a nod, “But as soon as I calm down I need to go back to looking.”

“Of course, and don’t worry me and Logan will help you, but right now, why don’t we finish these cookies?”

Roman sat on the floor of his room, gaze stuck on his reflection in his mirror. This shouldn’t be that much of an issue! He was Roman flippin’ Sanders after all! So he wasn’t a prince anymore, so what? That wasn’t all he was. It wasn’t like his old costume defined him. He would be okay.

“Roman! We made cookies!” He heard Patton yell up the stairs, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’ll be right down!”

Well, it was now or never. He should get the reveal over with before he convinced himself that this wasn’t okay. He allowed himself another glance at himself, before sinking down into the kitchen.

“Hello! I have come to partake in these cookies, and grace you all with my-” Roman stopped, taking in the shocked looks of his friends. Surely his outfit isn’t that bad? “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“We’re just looking at your cool new clothes kiddo!” Patton reassured instantly, unsure of how he really felt about the clothes.

“Yes,” Logan agreed, looking him up and down again, “Your clothes are definitely different. They’re less… loud than your previous garment.”

“That’s good… I’m glad you all like it,” Roman forced the words out, weak smile accompanying his strained words. He kept trying to remind himself that this was good. He needed to ditch the old look, he needed to do this, he needed their approval, this was all good. But then, why did he feel so bad about it?

“Hey wait,” Virgil jumped down from his place on the counter, grimace obvious on his face as he looked at Roman’s outfit, “I don’t like it Roman.”

“What do you mean?” Roman asked, eyes widening.

“Well Princey I don’t think it suits you. You’re a prince, Thomas’s fanciful side right? So why would you wear that? You look like a poser. I hate posers.”

Roman gasped, tears springing to his eyes, “Virgil!” Patton hissed, turning on his friend.

“What Patton? You can’t tell me that this look is good enough for him without lying and we all know how I feel about lying. He’s a prince! He should dress like one, right?”

“I mean that is logical,” agreed Logan, looking at Roman’s outfit again, “While this look is definitely more calm than your previous look, it’s less you.”

“But I’m not actually royalty,” Roman begins, staring at everyone in confusion, “It doesn’t make sense for me to pretend to be something I’m not.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “That is literally what Thomas does for a living.”

Roman, steam rolling over Logan, kept on monologuing, “Last video I asked if the time for princes was over, and I’ve realized they are. I’m outdated, and if I want to stay relevant then I need an upgrade.”

Roman shrugged, looking away again. He really didn’t want to see it when they realized he was right.

“Roman Sanders!” Patton chastised, “You do not need to change for anyone else! You are perfect just the way you are you, you brave knight! You prince of my heart! You-”

“Patton!” Logan yelled, cutting off the moral side, “I don’t think that’s going to be much help right now.”

“I'm sorry,” Patton apologized sheepishly, before turning his gaze back on to Roman, “But I just want you to know what you wore before was you. You don’t need to change.”

“Princey I hate change,” Virgil practically growled, “Especially when it’s only going to hurt you.”

“Will you stop calling me Princey!”

“No! Because this isn’t what you want and we both know that!”

“Virgil, you need to calm down,” Logan told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Remember why we didn’t go looking for the problem earlier?”

“Problem,” Roman scoffed, “You think I’m a problem?”

“No that’s-”

“Save it,” Roman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m going to my room. Maybe I can come up with something you all won’t hate.”

He spared one glance at his friends before sinking back into his room, letting himself collapse onto his bed. How had this gone so wrong?

To say Virgil was scared to talk to Roman was an understatement, but he knew he had to. He was the one who sent Roman running back to his room after he showed them his new look anyway. Just the thought of seeing Roman in that outfit again had Virgil gritting his teeth. It wasn’t that it was bad, but Virgil had realized as soon as he saw it that that was what was making him anxious all day. Princey hadn’t felt like Princey, and it had sent the whole mindscape off kitler. At least, to him, it had anyway.

But now he had to fix it, even if that meant he actually had to talk to Roman, which hadn’t been his plan at all. He just wanted to make Roman realize the clothes weren’t good on his own and if the prince hadn’t been so stubborn-

“Virgil! I can feel you brooding through the door! Just come in.”

He could feel a blush creeping up into his cheeks as he pushed the door open.

“I wasn’t brooding,” he said, letting the door close behind him.

“Sure you weren’t you dark and stormy night,” Roman said fondly, looking over at him from the bed, before his expression soured, “You’re not here to insult me anymore are you?”

“No,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m actually here to apologize?”

Roman raised an eyebrow before sitting up and patting the bed beside him.

Virgil walked over, thinking his words over carefully before finally taking his seat.

“Look, we both know I obviously don’t like change and I had been looking all morning to find out what was making me anxious and then seeing you wearing something that wasn’t you sent me over the edge and I was a lot harsher than I meant to be, I’m sorry for that. However, I won’t apologize for telling telling you what you’re wearing now isn’t you because it’s not.”

Roman shook his head, “But it is isn’t it? I mean, I’m not really a prince. Besides, the fans don’t like me like this. I shouldn’t hold onto something no one likes.”

“This is your problem,” Virgil argued, keeping his head face towards the ground, “You care so much what they think, but that’s my job. Not yours. You don’t need to worry about what they think about you.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Roman stood up and started gesturing wildly, “They love you! They love Logan and Patton and everyone, but me! I swear they love all the Sander’s Shorts characters I made up more than they love me!”

Virgil watched in horror as tears started streaming down Roman’s face, he really wasn’t equipped to deal with this.

“Virgil am I really that unlikeable? Would they like my seven second characters more than they’d like me? Am I just that pretentious? Do I think so highly of myself that no one else can?”

“Ro...” was all Virgil said, before rising and opening his arms for the other side to fall into them.

They stayed like that for a bit, with Roman just crying into Virgil’s jacket, while the darker side tried to comfort him by rubbing his back. Virgil wanted to do more, he really did, but he wasn’t sure what would help. He wasn’t sure if he could help at this point, but he had to try.

“Roman,” he started, keeping his voice low and hopefully soothing, “People love you. Thomas loves you. We love you. You don’t have to change something you enjoy for them, because then it wouldn’t matter if they liked you or not. Don’t make yourself miserable for others, I learned that the hard way.”

Roman sniffled as he pulled away, “I don’t know what to do, and frankly I hate it. I should at least have an idea on what to do.”

“You just need to keep being you Roman,” Virgil assures, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Even if ‘you’ is arrogant and loud, I prefer it over you pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“Thanks,” Roman deadpanned, before they both burst into laughter. It took them both a couple of minutes to collect themselves, but when they did, both wore smiles.

“So,” Virgil began, drawing out the ‘o’, “When are you getting rid of that outfit?”

Virgil pouted as Roman busted out into laughter again, “Roman, I am serious, please you look like a wanna-be jock and I hate it.”

“Whatever you want, you emo nightmare,” Roman laughed, and snapped his fingers. Reverting his outfit back to its former glorious state, “Oh and Virge? Thanks.”

“It’s no problem Princey,” Virgil shrugged, fighting his blush, “Really, don’t mention it.”

“Hey, hey, hey Virgil. I guess I could say today, you were my prince.”

“One more word, and I won’t hesitate to end you.”

“Hmm you’re right, you’re more of a knight… Like a Stormy Knight! Get it?”

“You are not allowed around Patton anymore.”

[aliferous-ly]

Twisted

part of my ~fic bouquet~ for the BEAUTIFUL, HANDSOME, SHOW-STOPPING, LOGAN @rose-gold-roman

Summary: “Logan raised an eyebrow but had no verbal response, daring Roman to continue. His blue-black feathers curled at the edge of his vision and his curled one twisted awkwardly as it tried to follow its twin. “

Words: 3408

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, god the soft feels

Pairing: Logince

Warnings: negative thinking, the word cripple multiple times, crying, uhh anything else let me know!!

tags: @rose-gold-roman @sassy-in-glasses 

Logan had wings, technically. There were bones sprouting from his shoulders, lengthened with long finger-like extensions, tendons and sinew and skin, with raven-like feathers covering every inch.

He dyed the tips blue.

That didn’t help him fly.

Something happened during his growth, they said. Stunted his wings, curving their edges inwards and stuttering instead of growing wide and strong. One appeared normal enough, perhaps a bit small but capable nonetheless, but the other lay broken and flightless.

Logan couldn’t fly.

Which, fine. Fine. Logan didn’t need to fly. A future, with jobs, did not require flight. Usually.

The job he shot for, anyway, did not require flight (aiming for a future that involved flight would be foolish). All he needed to do was focus on his studies, because god knows none of the others wanted to deal with him.

Not because he was flightless – well, that was part of it, being cripple, but even Logan knew he talked to much, said things without thinking, was unintentionally rude. Nobody wanted to deal with him because he was annoying.

Which, fine. Logan didn’t need them, anyway. He had to study.

Logan flexed his stunted wing, stretching it and wincing as it pulled and burned. He needed to stretch his wings every day; his body still thought he had working wings, and allowing them to deteriorate would only harm him further. Therefore Logan was forced to partake in exercises only those practicing for flight would require.

The exercise helped him find a semblance of normalcy in his life. Study, stretch, sleep, eat somewhere in between... repeat.

Repeat.

—

“Hey, who’s that?”

Logan forced himself to relax every muscle in his body. Don’t tense, don’t tense and show you can hear them, don’t –

“Hm? Oh.” Laughter, and Logan twitched when he recognized Uriah’s voice. “Yeah, you’re new, I get it. That’s Logan.”

A few beats of silence passed and Logan hoped, prayed, for Uriah and the newbie to leave, because he could hear them and the last thing he needed was someone distracting him.

“Why wasn’t he at flight practice?”

Shit. Attending flight practice for Logan was moot point, obviously, but the newbie obviously did not know that – and, in the small school he attended, their grade attended flight practice altogether.

“He can’t fly,” Uriah said, voice in an awful version of a whisper, seeing as Logan could still hear him. “He’s a cripple.”

Of all the words in the English Language, you decide to choose that one –

“Why do you shun him?” the newbie asked, voice innocently curious with a hint of shock. Logan almost rolled his eyes.

“Because,” Uriah said. “He doesn’t like people.”

“Go away!” Logan screamed. “I hate you! Go away!”

Logan shrugged off the feelings circling through his head and stood abruptly, dragging his trash and remaining food over to the trashcan and dropping it unceremoniously.

He wasn’t hungry anymore.

On his way out of the mess hall he passed Uriah and the newbie, unintentionally making eye contact. They stared at him blatantly with a searching gaze. Logan didn’t change his expression from the natural dead-eyed stare and only broke eye contact after passing them.

Logan’s back burned with their following eyes and his wings shuffled instinctively, the broken, twisted, crippled one jerking unnaturally.

—

“I’m Roman,” the newbie said, holding out a hand. Logan stared at it with exhausted eyes, finally reaching out and clasping their hand. Their palms were calloused and warm, and Logan pushed down the urge to cradle his own cold, unfeeling hand to his chest after Roman let go.

“Logan,” Logan said for decorum more than anything.

“I know,” Roman blurted out, then winced. “I mean, Uriah told me about everyone.”

“I’m sure,” Logan said, straightening his back.

“I’m... sorry,” Roman started, sounding uncertain. “I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong wing.”

“Yeah?” Logan said, dry humor dripping in his voice. Haha, the wrong wing, get it? Get it, because Logan’s wing is broken?

“I just...” Roman ran a hand through his hair and Logan found his eyes following his movement, taking in the careful sweep of his hairstyle and the tensing muscles in his arms, the broad shoulders and, oh.

Somehow, Logan missed the large, gorgeous wings on Roman’s back.

Shining golden and soft brown red, Roman’s wings stretched into the most beautiful, magnificent, powerful pair Logan had ever seen. Flecks of the reddish brown sprinkled across the gold like cinnamon, the feathers receding to the wing in a gradient to pale cream.  

“I just don’t want to believe what the others are saying, that’s all,” Roman finished. Logan almost cried. How could someone so genuine exist in this world?

“Whatever it is, it’s probably true,” Logan said, lips pressed together. He doesn’t deserve you. Don’t burden him with your problems.

“I don’t believe that,” Roman softly protested, wingtips shivering. “I don’t think anyone can hate all people.”

Oh, is that what they’re saying now? “Well, hate describes a rather strong feeling, and seeing as I am incapable of strong feelings, that would be an inaccurate statement,” Logan said in a rush, voice as impeccable as ever.

Roman stared at him and Logan stared back. His eyes were a dark brown with golden sparks, as if an inverse of his gleaming wings.

“I don’t believe you, Logan,” Roman said rather ostentatiously.

“Believe what you want,” Logan shrugged. “It doesn’t change the truth.”

“When it comes to feelings?” Roman said, a hint of scorn showing through. “It always changes the truth.”

Logan raised an eyebrow but had no verbal response, daring Roman to continue. His blue-black feathers curled at the edge of his vision and his crippled one twisted awkwardly as it tried to follow its twin.

A dark seed of self-hatred grew in his gut, crimson violet coloring his vision as Logan bodily shoved passed Roman. He doesn’t deserve the hell that follows your every step.

Whatever Logan did, he could not let Roman get close to him.

—

“Will you come to flight practice?” Roman asked him.

Logan tilted his book infinitesimally, peering over the pages and cover at Roman’s guarded yet expectant gaze.

Logan’s expression flattened. “I can’t fly,” he deadpanned.

“Well, not to fly,” Roman elaborated vaguely.

“Why, pray tell, would I go to flight practice if I can not fly?” Logan said, not bothering to hide his complete and utter contempt.

“To hang out,” Roman said, shrugging one shoulder. “There’s always a flock on the ground, to chill. Obviously some people fly, we can’t spread our wings in these walls, but there’s a ton of people on the ground.”

“People–” don’t like me, Logan thought, biting his tongue at the last moment. “I don’t like people,” he revised. “Remember? Outcast, cripple, know-it-all.”

A puff of air fell from Roman’s lips. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“Why?” Logan studied Roman’s body language. “They’re true.”

When Roman struggled with a response Logan tilted his book back up, blocking Roman from his vision. “Go to flight practice, Roman. Leave me alone.”

Logan felt Roman’s painfully blatant stare for a solid minute before the boy left and Logan heaved an audible sigh of relief.

He almost wanted to cry.

Instead, he read about stars and planets that even the strongest winged avian couldn’t reach.

—

“Will you tutor me?”

With a sharp intake of breath Logan turned, slowly, looking from the side of his eye at Roman, who leaned against the wall, wings situated in a way that covered his feet but flared from his side. Roman himself wore a daring expression, leveled and solid.

“You’re the best in the class,” Roman continued once he had Logan’s attention. “And math has always been a struggle for me. This teacher’s style doesn’t work for me.”

“Then find a new teacher,” Logan said, ignoring the shudder running through his body. He doesn’t deserve this. Oh, but how he wanted to tutor the newbie, how he wanted to tutor beautifully winged Roman. Roman, the best soul in the school.

He doesn’t deserve...

“No,” Roman said flatly. “Will you tutor me?”

Logan’s nose scrunched and he physically forced himself to say, “No,” and continue walking down the hall. His steps were jerky and Logan’s insides felt tense, twisting and turning behind his rib cage.

“Why not?” Roman said. Logan stopped in the middle of the hallway, his fists clenching. Taking a deep breath, Logan closed his eyes and counted to ten, slowly exhaling.

“You’re–” incredible, too good for me, too good for this, “in... fur... iat... ing...” he said, forcing every syllable out, the words like blades in his throat.

“So I’ve been told,” Roman replied, a bit of amusement leaking into his voice. Logan’s wings shook and he tried, in vain, to control them.

“Logan,” Roman said after a few beats of silence. “Why are you alone?”

“People don’t like me,” Logan said instantly, flinching. “I mean– I mean, I don’t like people, of course.”

“Logan–”

“Leave me alone,” Logan said in a rush, voice cracking and feathers shuddering. “Fly away. Leave me alone.”

Before Roman could respond, Logan strode away, horrified at the liquid gathering behind his eyelids.

Don’t burden him.

Logan wondered if he’d break his own heart in the process.

—

“Hey.”

Logan looked up from his lunch and furrowed his eyebrows at Roman, who sat down across from him nonchalantly and set his tray down.

“Hey...” Logan said slowly, setting down his sandwich. “You’re here.”

“That I am,” Roman responded within a beat, shooting one of his signature smirks Logan’s way.

Logan forced his gaze to his food and pretending his face wasn’t, actually, currently heating up at Roman’s attention and tenacity.

“You know...” Roman started, eyeing right to the side of Logan, who’s wings curled in protectively. “You hate your wings so much, but they’re beautiful.”

Beautiful. The word bounced around Logan’s head as his eyes widened in shock, the word cutting straight to his heart and slashing through his walls.

Logan glanced at his admittedly well taken care of wings and flexed the good one as if seeing it in a new light.

“Did you dye them?” Roman asked, leaning across the table to get a closer look.

“I... yeah, I did.” Logan brushed against his cheeks with his hand, uncertain. “I thought the black was too...”

“Well, it’s an incredible dye job,” Roman complimented, leaning back and beaming. “And black is beautiful. Personally, I think mine are a bit much, and I’ve always been jealous of ravens.”

“Jealous?” Logan repeated, head swimming.

“Of course,” Roman said flippantly. “Why wouldn’t I? Your feathers are thin and sleek, mine are wide and a pain to take care of, frankly.”

“But...” Logan said. “Your wings are the best of the school.”

“No,” Roman denied instantly. “They aren’t the best of the school. They’re mediocre, at best.”

Logan stared at him. What the hell.

“Who told you that,” Logan demanded, fire igniting in his eyes. He leaned unconsciously across the table, wings fluffing out defensively.

“What?”

“Who told you that your wings were mediocre,” Logan said flatly.

“M-me, I guess,” Roman said hesitantly. “I’m not sure–”

“Shut up,” Logan said. “Just... shut up, you’re giving me a headache.”

“Uh...” Roman said, and unreadable expression dawning on his face.

“You just...” Logan leaned his head against his hand, rubbing at his temples. “You can’t just say that. My wings are broken, Roman, I have a reason to... dislike their properties, but yours are... indescribable! They’re golden, for gods sake, you’re like made for royalty, because many royal lines of the past contained gold wings, and of course the reddish specks are almost like freckles – plus, individual gradient feathers is incredibly uncommon, perhaps even rare, which further proves the value of your wings. Plus the flight muscles seem rather strong and developed, proving the strength of flight, and the wide wingspan implies easier starts and easier gliding.”

Logan slapped his palm over his mouth and lowered his gaze. Oh no no no no you went off again you went on another tangent when you KNOW nobody likes those and yet the only person talking to you you manage to ruin the conversation. Congrats.

“That’s...” Roman said, voice stripped and raw. “Nobody’s ever paid that much attention to me. Or, I mean... nobody’s been that aware of me.”

Logan glanced up at the softness, the gentle tone of Roman’s voice, fingers falling from his lips. He opened his mouth to say something, anything... yet no words were forthcoming.

“I... I’ll be honest, I starting talking to you because I wanted you to feel less alone,” Roman said, wings fidgeting behind him. “But you’re... really interesting, Logan.”

“Interesting,” Logan repeated aloud, rolling the word on his tongue.

“Yeah,” Roman said in a rush. His hand flew into the air to gesture wildly as he spoke. “You have all these ideas and so much knowledge that you can talk about so many different things and you go on these adorable little tangents.”

“I’m not...” Logan started and stopped, hands fluttering around his steadily reddening face. “Interesting. People don’t... like me.”

“I like you,” Roman insisted. At Logan’s objective noise he continued. “No, really! I like how assertive you are, and how passionate you are, and I still can’t figure how you manage to blame years of being pushed aside onto yourself, or how you aren’t like, the most popular dude in school.”

Logan squawked and buried his head in his arms, unable and unwilling to face Roman head on as foreign emotions swirled through his chest. God, was it healthy for hearts to skip that much? All the blood in his body seemed to be rushing towards his head and Logan’s mouth was dry.

“Logan...?” Roman asked softly, gently tapping him on the shoulder.

“I gotta go!” Logan said abruptly, the chair screeching as he shot to his feet and clambered away from the table. His wings clumsily knocked into objects as he booked it from the cafeteria.

He didn’t look back. He didn’t want Roman to see how much he could blush.

—

Logan stood in the middle of the forest, eyes hard and liquid steel in his veins. Flexing his wings, Logan experimentally beat his good one a few times, then repeated the process with his twisted one.

Flight practice.

Logan’s special brand of flight practice. Only... this time, maybe he could actually...?

Logan wondered at the adverse effects of Roman entering his life as he grasped onto the lower limb of a particularly tall tree. Maneuvering his wings around the branches ended up being a more difficult task than originally considered, but he managed to get a good twenty, thirty feet in the air before his heart started dropping to his stomach.

He kept climbing. He had to make sure–

His broken wing twitched, and a pale sheen layered on Logan’s skin. Not smart not smart not smart –

Shut up, Logan thought viciously, trying to drown out the incessant voices in his head. I need to – I need to feel air under my wings, I need–

Flight practice.

Standing on a branch, his hand securely holding onto another, Logan stared at the horizon. With the wind whispering through his hair and the lowering rays of sun, Logan could almost imagine actually flying through the air, breezes lifting him and the ground far, far, below.

All he had to do, now, was j–

“Logan!” Roman’s voice echoed through the forest before the owner appeared at the base of the tree. “What are you doing?”

Logan scowled and muttered a few choice words under his breath. “Leave me alone for a minute!”

“Not when you’re way up there!” Roman shouted, peering through the branches. “What the hell is your game?”

“I’m... I need to...” Logan fought for the correct words, eventually spitting out, “gliding!”

“Gli– no, Logan!” Roman yelled, voice shining with a new kind of fear. “You can’t, your wing–!”

“I know about my wing, Roman!” Logan shouted viciously. “I’ve been living with it my whole life!”

“You can’t jump!” Roman insisted, starting to climb the tree himself. “Logan, it’s not safe!”

“Tree jumping is how all fledglings learned to fly!” Logan insisted, hand slowly but surely releasing the branch.

“You’re not a fledgling!” Roman screamed, hands scraping against bark.

Logan stared at the sun, bright sunlight streaming through branches, and he longed for the feeling of flight more than he’d longed for anything before.

Ignoring Roman’s periodically shouted advice, Logan planted his feet in correct jumping position, freed his hands, and jumped.

“Logan!” Roman yelled.

Logan felt weightless for long moments, wings unfurled and the wind a cushion beneath him.

He should have caught the breeze and glided.

His crippled wing, like a ripped or folded sail, refused to catch air.

Roman launched himself from the tree, arms outstretched and wings snapped open wide as he ran into Logan mid-air, wrapping his arms around Logan’s torso and heaving one large beat of his wings.

Logan yelped and scrambled to get a hold, legs locking around Roman’s thighs and his arms circling Roman’s shoulders. His quick breaths brushed against Roman’s cheek and at the edge of his hairline and Roman shivered, despite everything.

Roman’s arms were tight on Logan’s back and they streamlined, albeit a bit awkwardly, as Roman glided expertly on the updrafts.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Roman said, compensating both for the wind and for the incredibly – incredibly – close contact. His lips brushed against Logan’s ear.

“I...” Logan started, breathless. “Oh, Roman, I’ve never been in the air before.” 

Roman blinked as those words sunk in. Logan’s first flight, his first time in the air, clinging to Roman like a cat after jumping from a tree because his intense desire to see for himself, to feel for himself just what flight was all about overrode his naturally logical tendencies.

And now, instead of being afraid, awe colored every word. “It’s not exactly... what I imagined, but, the feeling...”

Roman tightened his grip and slowed, because as much as he suddenly wanted to stay in the air, his grasp on Logan was steadily worsening and his arms were becoming tired. The last thing Roman wanted to do was drop Logan – best leave that to his nightmares.

“I know,” Roman said, even though he didn’t know, not really. His first flight was with the rest of his age group, in a controlled environment – perhaps the feeling was the same, the first time wind pushed through his hair and clothes, the weightless and heavy feeling all at the same time – but really, Roman had no true idea what Logan was feeling.

Logan, crippled before he could fly.

They landed and pried themselves apart, Logan’s eyes alight with excitement and cheeks red with exhilaration.

“That was more than anything I could’ve dreamed of,” he said in a rushed whisper.

“Logan, you...” Roman struggled between scolding him within an inch of his life and hugging him and never letting go. Wow, he looked great, hair all disheveled and glasses askew – miraculously, they’d stayed on the entire flight. 

“I know we won’t do it again,” Logan said, calming somewhat yet unintentionally showing his despair. “But... I’ll never forget it, anyway.”

“You... you scared me,” Roman settled on, resisting the urge to hug him. “Logan, you can’t fly.”

“I know,” Logan said, and Roman balked at the sign of tears starting to form in Logan’s eyes, shit, “and I suppose... thank you for my first – and final – flight.”

... and final ...

A pang stabbed at Roman’s heart. “Just, please don’t...” Roman considered his words. “Please don’t do that again. I might be able to... we could probably figure something out if, you wanted to try flying with me,” Roman said hesitantly, avoiding looking at Logan’s expression altogether lest he judge him. “I could train, and instead of it ending so quickly and have so much danger we might be able to...”

“Oh,” Logan breathed, eyes most definitely wet and shining. “I’m sorry, I... you want to fl... to carry me during flight?”

“If it... works, safely,” Roman said.

Logan attempted to subtly wipe away the liquid in his eyes but failed rather spectacularly. Roman caved to his urge and tightly hugged Logan, pressing his nose into Logan’s hair and sighing deeply. Logan froze.

“You’re important to me,” Roman said softly. “Even if you won’t believe it.”

“You’re...” Logan choked on his words, a sob tearing from his throat. “You’re important to me, too.”

Roman smiled into his hair, his wings curling protectively around Logan.

[magicianmew]

Low magic, gender, ceremagi, a big clusterfuck pie...

So this is something that has been gnawing away at me for damn near the entirety of the time I've been firmly planted in my practice, but especially since the whole this-is-douchecanoe thing went down (they're not worth my tag).

A few days ago I reblogged this post, which talks about how this-isn't-sparta is clearly coming from an occultist background, and seems to be embodying all of the sexist, ableist, elitist, and dogmatic crap that we've come to know and love from a particular and unfortunately vocal segment of that community.

But then this happened.

These practices within themselves are very male-centric. They seem more left brain than right. More confrontational than accepting.

Wait, what?

Now, I am not trying to call anyone out at all here. I ain't mad. I just wanna unpack this a little bit and actually look at it. 'K? I’m only using this because it's a convenient and ready-to-hand example, but the mindset is absolutely everywhere in the magical world.

Why do we as a community view low magic as being an inherently a "feminine" and "illogical" branch of magic? Why do we view it as something that is yielding and disorganized and void of the sort of study that can go into ceremonial magic? Even the people who practice it seem to accept this stereotype, even as they're surrounded by books and attempting some extremely punishing hedge work for the 34928057498th time.

I actually don't know. Because none of that is remotely true, in my experience of practicing primarily low magic.

Also note: I continue to refer to it as "low" for the same reason I continue to self-identify as "witch." In both cases, it's a practice usually associated with the underclass, which is an important part of the history of these practices. And I don't want to erase that. It keeps me humble. Anyway...

Let's talk about low magic. Folk magic. Po' people magic. Community magic.

Obviously there are thousands of different varieties of low magic -- several just for every culture in any given era. But they share a few broad things in common.

Firstly, they have an absolutely vast knowledge base. In order to effectively work most historical or true traditional forms of low magic, you need to have a working knowledge of botany, geology, history, cooking, distillation, the food web, migrational patterns, astronomy...

Learning how to perform the full body of work of most low magical traditions literally requires a full interdisciplinary education, fam. They involve a shit-ton of left-brain thinking, knowledge acquisition, and logical work. I have learned more about science from my practice than I did from my formal education, ok?

Even if you try to whatabout modern, novel forms of low magic, it still stays true. A tech witch, for example, might require a damn near photographic knowledge of the grid of their city and a couple of different coding languages, in addition to several of the disciplines above.

Let's keep something in mind, here. Low craft is the mother of modern medicine. The magician and the healer were the same person throughout most of history, and if you look back on what few ancient low magic books exist, you will find medicinal concepts that we still use to this day.

Low craft is, and has always been, a deeply research- and knowledge-based way of working. It couldn't possibly have given birth to something as expansive and world-changing as medicine if it weren't.

What is different about low magic compared to ceremonial, and I think where this concept of it being "less disciplined" comes from, is that low magic is performatively flexible. Because it is a craft developed and used by people with unpredictable access to materials, time, or places, it is meant to be adapted to a non-ideal situation pretty much on the fly. That is exactly why it has such a vast body of knowledge behind it: because the more you know, the more ready you are to do the work you need no matter what situation you might find yourself in.

Ceremonial magic is, well, what it says on the box: ceremonial. And because the experience of watching a ceremonial working seems much more procedural than watching a low magic working, people have somehow concluded the low magic involves less knowledge. That is not remotely true. The knowledge just comes in at a different point in the process, i.e. how they even got to the point of doing a working at all, when they had nothing but a spoon, two pennies, and a waxing moon at their disposal.

Hell, low magicians even adapt ceremonial magic. Hoodoo workers know all about the Seals of Solomon, and they make them work beautifully even without the usual prescribed ceremony.

Now let's talk a little bit about these... gender ideas. This is a whole complicated ball of icky, slippery worms.

There's two concepts going on here:

That ceremonial magic is "male."

That "male-ness" is confrontational and intolerant.

Ok. *rubs temples*

It is undeniable that ceremonial magic is dominated by men, and it always has been.

But that does not mean that low magic is "a woman's practice." That is not even remotely true, and it never has been.

Low magic has historically been communal. In many places, it still is even now. Practitioners have always been both male and female. Sometimes they held different titles, sometimes they didn't. Usually, deference was simply determined by age and length of time practicing, not gender or anything else.

As a matter of fact, magical practice was one of the few places where we continued to see relative gender equality even after patriarchy began to take over many societies in the world. Magic continued to be a practice of merit and communal assistance, not something where your gender decided your competence or your station in the magical community.

From Britain's cunning folk to black root doctors, both African and diasporic, both men and women have always been magic workers in low practice, and there is little to no evidence of them disrespecting each other, or assuming one's magic is inferior to the other's because of their gender alone. There is no black man who ever wanted to cross a root working woman, I guarantee you!

Ok. So now let's tackle this "male-ness is confrontational and intolerant" thing.

No. Toxic masculinity is confrontational and intolerant.

So then why do we see that particular problem more often in ceremonial magic, which has always been a male-dominated practice?

Because ceremonial magic is not just male-dominated. More specifically, it is dominated by white, Western, higher-class men, who are also usually straight and virtually always cisgender. Let's just get that right, here.

This isn't a problem with "male-ness." It is a problem with the people at the very top of the kyriarchal totem pole, and it's the same problem we always see with this group of people, whether we're talking about Congress or gentrification. It's no different.

Ceremonial magic has historically been the property of powerful, wealthy men who were part of the ruling class. From popes to aristocrats, the development of ceremonial magic has grown directly from that power system.

"Male-ness" does not dictate one's personality. "Male-ness" does not inherently make one intolerant of other people. Unexamined, unchecked privilege is what does that. "Male-ness" means nothing other than the state of occupying a male-identified gender and/or body.

The strong and persistent community of men that has always been present in low magic alongside their female counterparts is no less male. And we shouldn't degrade the potential and decency of men who work at these things by assigning them a personality without even examining it for truth first.

We also really need to stop defining everything feminine as yielding, weak, or illogical -- the implicit opposite of the strong, dominating, and procedural "male" practice. It doesn't lift up women to define their work and their encyclopedic knowledge as being somehow lesser or weaker like that.

I know that, most of the time, people don't mean it like this because it's just beaten into our heads to think of female-ness this way, to the point where all of us will, at some point, just parrot it back without even thinking about it (me included), but it's a back-handed defense at best. We need to acknowledge the power, knowledge, and work of the magic women do. We need to get better at examining those assumptions within ourselves that their work isn't as good.

Just as a general concept, we need to stop trying to shoe-horn the gender binary and its tired stereotypes into the way we see ourselves as magic workers, and the way we see our magic. That’s as true in low magic as in ceremonial.

And finally...

I can pretty much hear all the ceremonial magicians who are mad as fuck at me right now and ready to bang away at their keyboards about how they're female or disabled or queer or whatever.

Ok, stop for a second.

I know.

'K?

I know that. I know there are lots of you coming from less privileged backgrounds, struggling for the spoons to do your work, etc.

And I really hope you're going to use that to take back ceremonial magic from that ugly history, and turn it into something that's for everyone and works equally for the magical empowerment of all people.

You can totally do that, now that we have this here thing called the internet. And I follow several people who partake in problematic practices with the specific intent of re-envisioning them as something better. Great. Wonderful. Please do that.

But in order to do that, you have to recognize the roots of where it came from. You can't tackle these problems by pretending they don't exist, just like you can't be an ally to black people without acknowledging the problems of whiteness.

It's not personal. It's a fact of both the historical and present-day climate of that community.

We need to acknowledge that people like this-are-donut are pretty common in that community. And in order to make it a better space for you, it's to your benefit to fight back against that degradation of other people just as much as we do in the low magic community. I mean, let's be real, those people don't respect you any more than they respect me. What do you gain out of defending them? Nothing. If you won't do it for any other reason, do it for you.

To those of you already cleaning house, thank you.

To those of you who are gonna say my community has problems too, yes, I know. Name me one time ever that I've denied that or not come out against it whenever I see it, from racist crafters to Nazis in paganism. So please just... don't. Today we're talking about ceremagi's laundry. I talk about mine plenty, ok?

So anyway.

TL;DR If you're a low magician of any sort, your knowledge is just as deep and hard-won as that of any ceremonial magician. Stop accepting the premise at face value that it is somehow a lesser practice.

We also need to stop associating low magic as being "for women." Low magic has a rich history of gender inclusion, and in some societies even LGBT inclusion. Men have shown themselves perfectly capable of working peaceably with us. There is no reason they can't in ceremonial magic just as they have in low magic.

In the spirit of the holiday, let's try to keep this productive. I've really tried my best, here.

Happy Ostara for my pagans buds, and Happy Easter for my Christian witches. Have a good'un.

[ginnyweatherby]

Anything Your Heart Desires Will Come to You

This story is somewhat of a sequel to this one I wrote awhile ago, but it can stand on it’s own.  I just wanted to write about Charlotte going to Disney World, since she wasn’t able to go on Lefou and Stanley’s last trip with her brother and sister... This time Gaston tags along too!

I struggled with this story more than anything I’ve ever written, but after days weeks months of fighting with it, and I even seriously considered scrapping it a few times, I think I can finally say it is finished.  100% family fluff because that is my jam and I hope it is yours as well.

Being born in the middle of first semester meant Charlotte’s birthdays often went by without much of a fuss.  Quiet dinners, a small (or as small as a family such as hers could accomplish) party if it fell over a weekend.

But last November, Charlotte Mae Durand-Lefou had turned twenty-one years old.

No one wanted to admit it out loud, but not many people thought she would make it this far.  Between her endless hospital stays, and more surgeries than anyone her age should have to endure, twenty-one seemed like an even bigger milestone than it was to everyone else.

Still.  She had college degree to obtain.  So, once again, her birthday went by with a nice dinner (featuring her first - doctor-approved - adult beverage) with both sides of her family, complete with Michelle singing an endless chorus of “Happy Birthday”, while Barney tipped off the waitresses to join her.

Now, it was early May, the weather was warm and Charlotte didn’t have a care in the world.  She’d completed the school year with good grades, didn’t have to think about exams or reports for a few months, and still had two weeks of freedom before her summer internship began.

In honor of her twenty-first half birthday, her father agreed to take her and the family on any trip she wanted… within reason.  Michelle was still only six, after all.

Despite her love for princess movies and countless Mickey Mouse t-shirts, Charlotte had never been to Disney World.

Which is why today Charlotte was checking her reflection one final time as she placed her Minnie Mouse headband over her unruly hair.  She may have accomplished reaching adulthood, but that didn’t mean she couldn't spend a week with her family (and her favorite Uncle Gaston) embracing her inner child.

Michelle was running up and down the halls of their hotel, her Little Mermaid backpack bouncing on her shoulders as her family dragged the bulk of their luggage into their rooms.  At six years old, she didn’t fully understand the responsibility of “carry your own bag, Michelle!” Lefou shook his head as he watched his daughter practically float in excitement before swiping the room key to his and Stanley’s room.  “Michelle, honey, over here.” Michelle skipped back to the rest of her family and leaped past them to bounce on the bed. “Papa, this bed is huge!” “That’s because they knew there’d be a little girl trying to destroy it,”  Lefou teased, finally releasing his grip on his suitcase, Michelle’s suitcase, and his backpack.  He let out a sigh of relief as the weight was lifted from his aching body.  It had been a long day of travel and he couldn’t wait to put his feet up and rel- “WHEN ARE WE GONNA GO TO DISNEY WORLD, PAPA?” Lefou let out a breath.  He should have known better. “We just got here, Michelle,”  Stanley appeared behind them, relieving himself of his own luggage.  “Take a breather.” “I wanna see Ariel,”  Michelle whined.  The mere thought of visiting a theme park after spending so long in transit exhausted Lefou.  He didn’t know where children got their energy, but he envied their apparent never-ending supply.  He had to get his in the form of caffeine... he thought he saw a coffee shop downstairs... “We will, just relax,”  Stanley laughed, pushing open the door to the adjoining room, where Charlotte and Michelle would be staying.  Barney had managed to convince Gaston to allow him to stay in his room across the hall to not have to share with his sisters. Michelle – who was usually found attached to Charlotte’s hip whenever the latter was around – caught sight of her sister unpacking some of her things and jumped off her parents’ bed with an impressive thud on the carpet to run through the doorway. “Is this my bed, Charlotte?”  Michelle asked, and Lefou saw her climb onto one of the beds, before hopping across to the other.  The girl had boundless energy and it wore him out just to watch her sometimes. “Pick whichever you want,”  Charlotte said. Michelle flopped onto her back on the bed closest to the window, seeming to test out the mattress.  “I think I want this one...” “Alright then I’ll take the other o-”  Charlotte turned around to see Michelle, flat on her back, arms sprawled on either side of her, eyes shut and sleeping soundly. “How did she fall asleep so fast?”  Charlotte peered through the doorway to look at Lefou in disbelief. Lefou shrugged, as he heard Stanley chuckle behind him.  “She’s like a battery... she just keeps going and going...” “Until she stops.”

Lefou was simultaneously juggling a handful of tickets (as no one else could be trusted with such responsibility) and doing a head count as he led his small parade of family members through the front gate of the theme park. Stanley stood next to him, his nose deep in a map.  He had spent most of their last trip in a similar position, and soon enough he would probably be pulling a bottle of sunscreen from his backpack insisting everyone lather up. Gaston had Michelle balanced on his shoulders to keep her from running off in her excitement; Barney was hovering behind them from a distance, pretending that fifteen was far too old to be on a Disney vacation with his family.  Lefou knew he’d warm up to the idea soon enough. … and then there was Charlotte. She may have been legally an adult – as difficult as her father found it to believe – but she was looking around the park with a look of awe and wonder usually reserved for small children seeing snow or fireworks for the first time. Lefou stayed away from theme parks during her childhood.  He didn’t want to disappoint her when she discovered most of the rides were forbidden for those with heart conditions such as hers, but this was her choice... and he soon realized he may have made a mistake keeping her from it.  There were still plenty of things she could enjoy this week. “It’s even more amazing in person,”  She muttered under her breath as she looked to Cinderella’s castle.

Lefou smiled as he watched his daughter take everything in.  If he was honest, he never got tired of seeing the castle, himself. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”  Stanley asked, as he finally tore his eyes away from the map to follow her gaze. “It’s unbelievable,”  Charlotte said, with a small nod of her head.

Normally, Lefou would have taken a photo of such a precious sight, such a beautiful expression on her face… but not only were his hands too full to root through his pockets to find his phone, but he soon realized part of the magic that Disney so often promised was being present in the moment.

To his parents, a trip to Disney meant a week with the family, a few dorky kiddie rides, matching family outfits… Their choice today was a Finding Nemo theme, with Lefou and Charlotte sporting orange and white to be Marlin and Nemo, respectively, Stanley wore blue to be Dory, Michelle was wearing a pink dress and cheering “aww, you guys made me ink!” every few minutes, even Gaston had been talked into wearing green and brown to be Crush, and finally, Barney wore a yellow shirt that Charlotte had insisted on emblazoning “I’M OBNOXIOUS” across the front in permanent marker.

Stanley said it was a rather fitting quote.

… but to Barney, a trip to Disney meant more than matching costumes.  It meant thrill rides (the Haunted Mansion was his favorite) and most importantly, the snacks.  There was something about food in the shape of cartoon mice that just tasted better.

They’d hardly walked through the front entrance before he was begging Stanley for a few dollars to buy popcorn.  His dad was something of a pushover when it came to the kids, and easily relented.  Now, while they were headed towards the Finding Nemo show that Michelle insisted on seeing, Barney spotted a Mickey pretzel cart and he wanted nothing more than to partake in one.

He rummaged through his pockets for the spare change he’d accumulated from all his earlier snacking, and managed to come up with enough for two pretzels.  He figured he would treat his Papa since he was the only one willing to wait behind as the others charged ahead toward the theater.

“If you keep eating like this, you might actually have to start buying shirts in a size medium,”  Lefou teased, poking Barney’s skinny arm, before taking one of the pretzels from him.

Barney rolled his eyes, as he bit into an ear.  “I’m a growing man, Papa.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,”  Lefou said.  “I still see that tiny little thing hardly more than six pounds in the nursery when I see you.”

“Papa.”

“A little taller now, I'll give you that.”

Barney opened his mouth to reply when they reached the theater.  “Ooh, can we get some popcorn?  It's not a show without popcorn!”

“Bartholomew, you still have a massive pretzel in your hand.”

“What if I promise to share with Michelle?”

Lefou sighed, before handing Barney his wallet.

Charlotte and Michelle were on a mission. They were determined that over the course of their visit, they would meet every princess they possibly could.  Michelle met Ariel on their last trip, and in the two years since, had spoken of little else. Barney had dragged Gaston to ride one of the bigger rides that his sisters couldn’t, so they began their quest, with Lefou and Stanley hovering behind, making sure Michelle stayed within eyesight… They trusted Charlotte, but Michelle could be a handful. “Keep an eye out, Michelle,”  Charlotte was holding the younger girl’s hand.  “Poofy dresses and dainty voices are a dead giveaway for princesses.” “What does ‘dainty’ mean?”  Michelle asked, taking her role of "lookout” very seriously. “Watch ‘Snow White,”  Charlotte said.  “You’ll understand.” Only a moment later, Michelle’s voice rang out in the busy crowd,  “IT’S AURORA!” “We found one!”  Charlotte said, laughing at Michelle’s enthusiasm. There wasn’t much of a line to see their princess, and in no time Michelle was falling into the arms of Aurora. “Oh, my, hello there, Princess!”  Aurora greeted with a chuckle, trying not to topple over from the force of Michelle’s hug.  “How are you today?” “I’m good,”  Michelle said, politely, as she pulled away.  “Charlotte and me are gonna meet all of the princesses today!” Aurora flashed her a smile.  “Is that so?” “Yep!  You’re our first stop.” “Well, I’m honored,”  Aurora said, looking past Michelle’s head to her family.  “Then this must be Charlotte?” “It is!”  Michelle said, excitedly, as Charlotte walked up to the princess and gave her a hug of her own.  Lefou managed to snap a picture of the sweet exchange, pleased to see both of his daughters involved in the magic together. “Are you friends with Ariel?”  Michelle asked. “You know what?”  Aurora said,  “I am.  I think I saw her swimming around somewhere today.  I bet you could still catch her if you look really hard.” Michelle’s excitement was contagious as she squealed at the thought of meeting Ariel again.  She liked Sleeping Beauty well enough, but nothing would ever hold a candle to The Little Mermaid in her mind. “What about you, Princess?”  Aurora turned to Charlotte, who turned slightly pink at the nickname.  “Do you have anyone you would like to meet?” “Oh, I’m just happy to meet you,”  Charlotte said, honestly.  Lefou knew that Mulan was her favorite princess movie, but she was a fan of them all. “I’m flattered,”  Aurora said, putting a hand to her chest.  “You’re both so sweet.  I can’t wait to tell Phillip about you two!  Now tell me, is there a prince in your life?” She glanced over Charlotte’s shoulder to see Lefou and Stanley.  “... or perhaps a princess?” If Charlotte was pink before, she was magenta now.  “There might be... uh, a prince, that is.” Stanley, who’d just taken a swig from his water bottle began to cough.  “... Excuse me?” Aurora giggled a delicate laugh behind her hand as Lefou pounded his husband on the back while he spluttered to get him to breathe properly again. “Did you know that?”  Stanley hissed into Lefou’s ear as the girls continued to talk to Aurora. “Not exactly,”  Lefou admitted.  “But she’s twenty-one, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” “She’s too young.”  Stanley insisted.  He didn’t even know Charlotte until she was twelve, but he had fully accepted her as his daughter to the point where he was apparently scandalized by the thought of her having a boyfriend.  Lefou decided not to tell him of all the times Charlotte had mentioned her dates in the past. “She’s an adult,”  Lefou corrected.  “By the time I was her age... she was already born.” “That isn’t exactly easing my state of mind,”  Stanley grumbled as they watched the girls give Aurora one last hug before waving goodbye. “Sorry, Dad,”  Charlotte said, as they began to walk away.  “I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack back there.” Lefou snorted.  “He’ll get over it if we buy him a churro.”

“Did someone say ‘churro?”  A familiar voice asked from behind them.  They turned around to see Barney, now sporting a smile and Gaston who looked a little green in the face. “Those rides were a lot more fun before I turned forty,”  Gaston muttered, steadying himself on the handle of the wheelchair Charlotte used if she tired from walking too much. “You aren't suggesting we're getting old, are you?”  Lefou asked, steering them in the direction of the churro line.  Between this, the Mickey-shaped ice cream Barney insisted on, and the bucket of popcorn Stanley had refilled three times already, he was sure he was gaining a few extra pounds this week. “Never,”  Gaston said, before turning to Charlotte.  “Well, bud, what’s next?”

“Michelle and I are still on the hunt for more princesses,”  Charlotte said, as Stanley handed her a churro.  “Maybe there’s one out here for you, Uncle Gaston.” “If he hasn’t found one yet, I think it may be a lost cause,”  Barney snorted. “Oh, really?”  Charlotte said with a smirk.  “... maybe for you, then?” Barney’s freckles appeared even more prominent on his face as he blushed… or maybe that was just the sunburn. “There’s Tiana, Daddy!”  Michelle said, pulling on Stanley’s hand and pointing across the way. “You’re right,”  Stanley agreed.  “Barney, maybe this is your shot!”

Barney grumbled under his breath, his pale face now just as red as his hair.

Lefou couldn't help but laugh at his son’s disgruntled face.  He wrapped an arm around Barney’s shoulder as they watched Michelle give Tiana one of her signature bear hugs.

“Oh, Bartholomew,”  He sighed, as Tiana complimented Michelle on her dress, before greeting Charlotte.  “I must say, you could do worse than a princess.”

Barney shrugged his father’s arm off his shoulder, but Lefou could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Charlotte?”  Tiana gasped, once Charlotte had introduced herself.  “Why, that’s my best friend’s name!  Are you sure that's not you, Lottie?”

Charlotte laughed, as she shook her head.  “I’m not interested in kissing any frogs, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that's a relief,”  Stanley muttered from beside Lefou.  “At least she's not kissing him.”

“Maybe he's already turned into a prince,”  Lefou teased, reaching over to squeeze his husband’s hand.

“Lefou!”

Tiana offered to take a picture with the group, and while Lefou was usually behind the camera, Gaston offered to hold it to make a family photo of it.

“Say… uh, ‘frog’, I guess?”  Gaston said, as the family crowded around the princess and flashed their smiles.

“Uh, frog, I guess!”

Gaston only groaned as he snapped the picture.

As they walked away, Charlotte leaned into Barney’s side.  “So, what did you think of her?  I bet I could get you her number.  My name is Charlotte, after all.  I have connections.”

Barney retorted with something Lefou was glad Michelle didn’t overhear.

Late afternoon was setting in and Michelle was getting cranky.

To counter her mood, Charlotte plopped her in the wheelchair and was pushing her towards the “It’s a Small World” ride for the third time that day.  Charlotte was able to ride that one, and even though Lefou would have rather done anything but listen to that song for another fifteen minutes, he would never refuse her. “And here we thought she outgrew strollers,”  Stanley commented as Michelle giggled when Charlotte hit a bump. “It can be fun to be pushed around,”  Charlotte admitted, as they approached the line.  Charlotte didn’t often use her chair, and it was mostly used to carry their bags, but Lefou could tell she was getting a little winded and may need to trade with her sister soon. “Do you want to sit down?”  Lefou asked. Charlotte sighed, seeming to admit defeat.  As much as she didn’t like to use it, insisting she was well enough to go without, it had been a long day, and they would be in this line for awhile. “Michelle, sweetie, can you stand up?”  Stanley asked, reaching down to lift her out. “No, no, she’s fine,”  Charlotte scooped her sister out of the chair, before falling into it, Michelle settled on her lap.  The younger girl looked close to a nap. “Are you sure she’s okay there?”  Stanley asked.  “She gets heavy after awhile.” “She’s alright,”  Charlotte said, letting out a breath.  Lefou took over pushing the wheelchair as the line moved forward. “Do we really have to go on this one again?”  Barney asked.  “I think I’ll have this song stuck in my head for the rest of the day.” “The week,”  Gaston corrected. “The month.” “The year.” “My life.” “I like the song,”  Michelle chimed in, sleepily. “Do you now?”  Stanley asked, throwing a mischievous glance in Barney and Gaston’s direction.  “... Can you remind me how it goes again?” Michelle perked up a bit as she began a chorus of “it’s a small world after all...” “Dad,”  Barney whined as Gaston let out a groan. “Just trying to keep a kid entertained for the next half an hour,”  Stanley said, a little too innocently. “... it’s a small world after all!”

Their day ended a little earlier than they’d anticipated.  Lefou always loved to watch the fireworks show at Disney, but they had another few days for that.  Michelle had fallen into a heavy sleep, trapping Charlotte (who was also getting a little worn out) in her chair, and Barney’s combination of roller coasters and absurd amount junk food made him sick, putting him in a sour mood for the rest of the day.  The sun hadn’t even begun to set yet, but they decided to call it a day and head back to the hotel. “I’d say that was a pretty successful first day,”  Stanley said.  He was sprawled out on the bed in their hotel room, scrolling through the pictures he’d taken on his phone that day.  Michelle was curled up next to him, her pigtails in disarray, bangs plastered to her forehead.  She had sticky ice cream residue on her dress, and Lefou saw a hint of sunburn on her cheeks. She was cuter than ever. Charlotte was resting in the room next door, while Gaston and Barney went downstairs to check out the hotel pool.  Lefou couldn’t imagine swimming after a day like today, but he’d never been nearly as athletic as they were.  He’d swim later. He fell onto the bed, taking care not to wake his daughter, before flipping on the TV. “Successful indeed,”  Lefou agreed, flipping through the channels.  “We wore Michelle out, at the very least.” “She’s not the only one,”  Stanley said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Lefou checked his watch.  “There’s still an hour and a half before the dinner reservation.” With that, Stanley scooted down on the bed, fluffing the pillow a bit before closing his eyes. Unsatisfied with the choices on TV, Lefou shrugged and laid down on his own pillow, and in no time they were both asleep, Michelle snuggled up between them.

The next day was somehow even muggier than the previous afternoon, and it was still early.

Lefou was already drenched in a layer of sweat, and could feel himself growing more irritable by the minute.  He didn't want to spend his vacation in such a foul mood, but if they didn't find air conditioning quickly, he might just melt into a puddle like that talking snowman in Frozen.

Stanley took the girls off to meet a few more characters, while Lefou and Gaston took Barney to ride the Haunted Mansion for what was sure to be the first of many times.   Since it was his favorite ride in the park, they always made a point of hitting it at least once, and the line had been too long the day before.

Barney walked ahead of the adults, impatient to reach the line as soon as possible.  Lefou and Gaston trailed behind, talking among themselves.

“He acts so high and mighty sometimes,”  Lefou chuckled, as he watched Barney try and keep from racing too far ahead,  “but look how sweet he is when he cuts the act.”

“Don’t you remember being a fifteen year old boy?”  Gaston asked.  “Between puberty, parties and wooing girls, you’re lucky he wants to spend a week with his old man at all.”

Lefou let out a dry laugh.  “Our teen years were vastly different, my friend… and as much as I appreciate you, I hope my son doesn't go quite as crazy as you did.”

“I have to agree with you there,”  Gaston said, honestly.

“Come on, you guys!”  Barney called back to them.  “We’re almost there!”

They were now at the entrance, and Lefou watched as Barney allowed a mother and her young child to cut in front of him before they entered the line.

“That was awfully nice of you,”  Lefou commented.

Barney shrugged.  “She was really little.  I guess I could wait a little longer.”

No, Lefou didn't have anything to worry about.

“Okay, who’s thirsty?”  Lefou and Charlotte were balancing handfuls of souvenir mugs in their hands, before carefully placing one in front of each family member.

“Do I want to know what you spent on the specialty drinks, love?”  Stanley asked, taking a sip.

“Probably not,”  Lefou admitted, falling into the seat next to his husband.  He pulled his own cup close to his face, inspecting it.  It was brown, with a rustic feel to it, but he couldn't identify the characters on the side.  A handsome, rather muscular fellow in a red coat, and a squat little man with a large, pink nose.

“I don’t know who they are, but this guy is ugly,”  Barney said, pointing at the smaller character on the side of his mug.

“Just think,”  Stanley said, rolling his eyes.  “Since Papa undoubtedly spent a fortune on these, we get to keep them forever.”

“I hope they stay in the back of the cupboard.”

“Actually, Papa,”  Charlotte said.  “I'm not sure why, but this guy has always reminded me a bit of you…”

“Should I be offended?”  Lefou asked, taking a sip.  Maybe it was a little expensive for a glorified cup of apple juice…

“I don't think so,”  Charlotte said.  “The other guy reminds me of Uncle Gaston.”

Gaston looked pleased at this fact.

“Do you know what movie he’s from, Char?”  Barney asked.  “I’ve seen his picture around, but I can't figure out who it is.”

“You mean you’ve never seen-”

Before Charlotte could finish her answer, Michelle let out a shriek, her pricey apple juice now spilled all over her dress.

Stanley sighed, before reaching into his backpack for his pack of trusty wet wipes.

Even though she wasn't his daughter, Charlotte had been a big part of Gaston’s life ever since she was born.  He had spent many of his college days at Lefou’s apartment, holding that tiny little girl against his shoulder, wondering how he ever got to the point where his friends were having babies, and wondering if someday he’d have one or seven of his own to coddle.

Now his favorite Little Buddy wasn't so little anymore.  Twenty-one years older, and was tall and smart and everything Gaston had hoped she would turn into, plus some.

He watched Charlotte fall into her wheelchair, pulling Michelle into her lap as Barney pushed them around.  He loved each of his little “nieces and nephew”.

“Disney magic making you emotional?”  Lefou asked, handing Gaston a bottle of water.  “You look lost in thought… which is strange for you.”

Gaston chuckled.  “A dangerous pastime indeed.  No, I was just thinking about-”

Before he could finish his answer, Charlotte let out a gasp and then a snort.

“Oh, I am so getting a picture with him,”  She said, pushing herself out of her chair, and taking Michelle’s hand.

She led their group a little farther down until they met her destination.  Gaston never saw the thrill in meeting the characters at Disney World.  They were just people in costumes, what was so exciting?

Upon closer inspection, he noticed this must be the man who was on their drinks earlier that afternoon.

A large man with padded muscles and a long black ponytail gave a charming smile as they approached.

“Well, hello there,”  He greeted.  “What brings you here to see me today?”

Charlotte was the only one who was familiar with this character, so the rest of the family hovered behind as she spoke to him.

“I just had to meet everyone's favorite guy,”  Charlotte said, her smile growing wide.  “Rumor has it there's no man in town half as manly.”

Even though Gaston didn’t know who he was, Charlotte was obviously smitten.

“Perfect, a pure paragon.”  The man said with a wink.

“Now, who do you have with you today?”  The man took in the crowd of people behind Charlotte.

“My dad, my other dad, my brother, Barney, my sister, Michelle, and my…,”  Charlotte snorted again before continuing, “Uncle Gaston.”

The man’s eyes darkened as he looked Gaston up and down.

“Uncle Gaston, you say?”  He crossed his arms as Gaston took a step closer.

“That's what they call me,”  Gaston said, furrowing his brow.  Just because he didn't know who this guy was, didn’t mean he was about to feel threatened by a children's character.

The man took another step closer.  “You look like a strong guy, Monsieur.”

Gaston flexed his muscles (he could practically feel Lefou rolling his eyes behind him), and a smirk of his own crept over his features.

“Not nearly as much as me, of course.”

Gaston felt his face fall.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The other man flexed his arm, that annoyingly handsome smirk still tugging on the corner of his mouth.  “I just mean I'm the strongest guy here.”

“Sounds like a challenge, doesn't it, Gaston?”  Stanley taunted from behind them.

Gaston turned back to see him and Barney trying not to laugh at the interaction with this mystery character.

“A challenge?”  The man let out a hoot of laughter.  “This guy would hardly be a challenge… but I'm always ready for some healthy competition.  How are you at push-ups?”

Gaston threw his head to either side, resulting in a series of crackling noises, before falling on all fours.  “Oh, you're on!”

It was late, and Charlotte was sitting on Lefou and Stanley’s bed, snuggled up to her father’s side with the TV turned low, the light casting shadows across their faces in the dark room.

Stanley was asleep in the chair near the window, Barney passed out on the floor, and Michelle curled up like a cat at the foot of the bed.  Their day had ended after watching the parade, Gaston heading to bed as soon as they arrived back at the hotel - still a little huffy about losing his little competition against the buff character.

Charlotte and Lefou were the only ones still awake to finish their movie, despite their own exhaustion.  Charlotte yawned as she laid her head against Lefou’s shoulder.  Michelle may have watched this movie hundreds of times due to her love for all things underwater, but Finding Nemo was really Charlotte’s movie with her papa.

When she was younger, she didn't understand why her father cried so much when watching a movie about animated fish in a dentist’s office, but as she got older, she began to realize.

It couldn't have been easy on him (or her mother, of course) when Charlotte was born.  He became a single dad so quickly, only for his child to come out with some serious health issues.  Charlotte absentmindedly ran her fingers over the large scar across her chest.  It had been a source of insecurity for a long time, but she’d learned to embrace it, and it didn't bother her anymore.  She didn’t even mind when Michelle asked questions if she wore a lower neckline.

She watched as Nemo swam with his lucky fin and she knew this is why her father loved the movie so much.  It was just her and her papa against the world for so long, much like Marlin and Nemo… and like Nemo, she could have gotten lost.

Lefou stroked her hair - a mess after spending a long day out in the humidity - gently as they continued to watch.  It was nearly over now.

Michelle rolled over, jostling the bed a bit.

It wasn’t only her and her father anymore.  Now she had a full life with a big, loving family.

Barney let out a snort in his sleep, as Nemo and Marlin were reunited again.

Charlotte nestled even closer under Lefou’s arm and closed her eyes as the credits began to roll.  She thought she heard him sniffle, but chose not to bring attention to it for once.

Despite the dozens of times she had seen the movie, for the first time, she felt herself get a little choked up as well.

It could have been so much worse.  She could have been lost.

Thankfully - like Marlin - she knew her papa would always be there to find her.

Another reason Gaston tagged along for the trip, was because Stanley and Lefou’s wedding anniversary happened to fall in the middle of their vacation.  They didn't make extravagant plans for the occasion, but they did want a little alone time to celebrate their nine years of marriage together.

Stanley pressed a kiss against his husband’s sleeping forehead to rouse him.  It was early, but Stanley always struggled to sleep in past six, even on vacation.  He was already showered, and his breath tasted of mint toothpaste.

“Morning, love!”  Stanley greeted, cheerily.

His husband - who much less of a morning person - mumbled something, his face smashed into the pillow.

“Happy anniversary,”  Stanley tried again, poking Lefou’s cheek, his coarse facial hair scratching at his hand.  “Can you believe it?”

Lefou rolled over, his face no longer in the pillow, but it was now marked with pink wrinkle indents.  “Believe what?”

Stanley situated himself against the headboard as Lefou groped the nightstand for his glasses.  “Nine years, Lefou… that’s a long time.”

“You're making us sound old,”  Lefou teased.

Stanley chuckled, pressing another kiss into Lefou’s hair.  “Do you think Gaston will be able to handle the kids today?”

“He said he’ll take them to Disney Springs,”  Lefou said, snuggling up to Stanley's side.  “I’m sure they'll be too busy looking at souvenirs to act up.”

“That will keep them busy for awhile, then,”  Stanley said.  “Which is good because I have plans for us this evening.”

“Is that so?”  Lefou asked, a smirk crossing his face.

Stanley nodded, a grin of his own spreading across his lips.  “I’m taking my man out for a nice, perhaps overpriced dinner, have a drink or two, and then we can, um, come back here for awhile.”

Lefou snorted, and opened his mouth to make what was sure to be a witty retort, when they heard a (rather violent) knock originate from the door between their bedroom and the girls’ room.

“Sounds like Michelle is awake,”  Lefou chuckled, as Stanley untangled himself from his spouse to unlock the door.

He cracked it open to reveal their youngest daughter, waving a folded piece of purple construction paper in the air.

“Happy anniversary, Daddy!”

“Good morning… Let’s see what you have there,”  Stanley plucked the card from her hand, and brought it over to the bed for Lefou to see, Michelle close on his heels.

Lefou took the card and read it aloud, squinting as he tried to decipher the spelling of a six-year-old.  It was a sweet note with a cute little drawing of their family, Lefou and Stanley holding hands in the middle.  At the bottom of the card, Michelle had even convinced Charlotte and Barney to sign it.

“Thank you, darling, I’ll be sure to put it in my book when we get home.”  Lefou said, kissing Michelle’s head.  He kept all the cards and drawings his children made for him in a scrapbook he often liked to page through.  He still had the first wobbly drawing of flowers Charlotte made for him when she was hardly more than two.

“What do we do on anniversaries?”  Michelle asked, wedging herself between her parents in the bed.

Lefou laughed.  “Daddy and I are going to dinner tonight, no kids allowed.”

“No kids allowed” were three of Michelle’s least favorite words, and she made her opinion known with a disgruntled noise.

“But you get to spend the day with Uncle Gaston, and your brother and sister,”  Stanley pointed out.

Michelle's response was a much cheerier noise.

Before long, there was another knock at the door, this time it was Barney, asking if Michelle wanted to go downstairs for some breakfast.

Michelle's noise was the happiest of all for the promise of sugary cereal was better than anything else Stanley or Lefou could have said.

“Are you coming too?”  Michelle asked, once she had reached the door and opened it, revealing her brother, still in his Superman pajama pants, and sporting an impressive case of bed-head.

“We’ll be down in a bit,”  Lefou said.  “Go on ahead.”

Michelle slammed the door behind her, and Lefou let out a laugh.  “I love that girl more than anything, but she has far too much energy for seven o'clock in the morning.”

“Shopping, shopping, shopping,”  Michelle sang as Gaston hoisted her onto his shoulders.  Disney Springs was crowded tonight, and he knew her well enough to know she had a habit of running off when something interesting caught her eye.

Barney and Charlotte were beside him, debating on which restaurant was the best one to stop at for dinner, while Michelle was insistent to find something to add to her ever growing Little Mermaid collection.  Gaston was just hoping to keep them out of their parents’ hair long enough for them to finish whatever they had planned for the evening… Perhaps he didn't want to know what they had planned, exactly.

“Ooh, let's stop here!”  Michelle said, pointing her finger in the direction of one of the shops.

Gaston was starving, and was really hoping Charlotte and Barney would make up their minds soon so they could get something to eat, but he supposed they could make a detour while they decided.

He led them into the store, and placed Michelle on the floor.  “Stay close to us, you.”

Michelle nodded, before taking Barney’s hand and leading him toward the back of the building.

“I guess she saw something she liked,”  Charlotte snorted, before wandering off to browse the shelves herself.

Gaston headed to the opposite end of the shop, wondering if there was anything with antlers to add to his own house.  The Bambi stuffed animal Michelle brought home for him after her last trip still sat proudly in his room.

“UNCLE GASTON!”  Michelle’s voice rang throughout the store, causing a few people to look in her direction.

Gaston sighed.

Michelle weaved her way through the shelves (and customers) until she reached him, holding something red in her arms.

“It’s Sebastian,”  She explained, offering Gaston the large stuffed toy.  “He goes with my Flounder!  Can I get him?  Pleeeease?”

Gaston never was able to refuse the kids what they wanted, at least not when they gave him those big doe-eyes.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”  Gaston asked, peering at the price tag… Well, at least Lefou had paid for his plane ticket.

“I do, I do, I do!”  Michelle bounced on the balls of her feet, hugging Sebastian tightly.

“Alright, then,”  Gaston chuckled, as Charlotte found her way back to them.

“I think I found an anniversary present for Papa and Stan,”  She said, displaying a little snowglobe with Donald and Daisy Duck on the inside.  Lefou collected snowglobes, and Stanley did love Ducktales.

“It’s perfect,”  Michelle declared, giving her nod of approval.

“I like it too,”  Barney agreed.

“Anything catching your eye, Barney?”  Gaston asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket as they made their way to the cashier.

“Yeah,”  Barney said.  “The restaurant across the street… wait, is that a Mad Hatter hat?”

Splash

Barney pulled his head above water, shaking droplets out of his hair like a dog when he resurfaced.

“Hey,”  Charlotte wiped her face dry with the back of her hand, where Barney had apparently splashed her with the force of his cannonball into the hotel pool.

“It’s a pool, Charlotte,”  Barney laughed, using his hand to splash her intentionally this time.  “You’re supposed to get wet!”

“I know, but my hair takes forever to dry,”  Charlotte said, as Michelle floated by them, her goggles falling down her face.

Before Barney could retort, an even bigger splash soaked all three of them, this time Gaston was the culprit.

Charlotte sighed, wiping her face again.

“When’re Daddy and Papa gonna come in?”  Michelle giggled, as Gaston pulled her from the water, before throwing her back in, her arm floaties causing her to bob like a buoy.

“Right about now,”  Stanley said, walking into the pool room, and placing his towel on a table, Lefou close behind.

Michelle cheered as her parents walked tentatively into the cool water.

Michelle doggy-paddled over to Stanley, while Lefou - clad in a pair of heinously neon swim trunks - made his way to where Barney and Charlotte were wading.

“It’s humid in here,”  He commented, already beginning to sweat.

“That's because you still have a shirt on, Papa,”  Barney said.  “Are you afraid of getting sunburned inside?”

If Barney didn't know any better, he would say Lefou was turning a little pink in the face.  “Maybe if your father hadn't…”

Lefou cleared his throat, muttering something about his anniversary, and Barney tried not to imagine why he kept pulling his neckline a little higher, and why Stanley kept throwing mischievous glances in their direction.

Charlotte snorted, her laugh echoing through the high ceiling.

It was late on their final day of vacation, and Charlotte was sitting in her wheelchair, Michelle asleep in her lap.  While she didn't want the week to end, she was exhausted, and couldn't wait to tell her mother all about her trip - and to sleep in her own bed again.

Barney was revoked of his wheelchair-pushing rights after he rammed into Gaston’s ankles three consecutive times, and Lefou had taken over, while his son followed sleepily behind.

The parade was enchanting as ever, and now they were all gathered around a garbage can in their matching Mickey ears, while they waited for the fireworks to start.

“You wanna see the fireworks, Michelle?”  Charlotte asked, adjusting the girl in her lap.

Michelle mumbled something unintelligible and nuzzled her face further against Charlotte’s shoulder.  Charlotte supposed they had already seen them a few times.

… and yet, they never seemed to get old.

Her father always told her the fireworks were his favorite part of the day, and Charlotte now understood why.  She watched in awe as bright colors exploded over the sky and reflected on that beautiful castle, all while her favorite Disney songs played behind them.  The first night they’d seen them, she cried… and she thought she might again tonight as a final farewell.

The song faded into “You’ll Be in My Heart”, and she was certain she heard Lefou sniffle behind her.  That song always seemed to make him emotional for some reason.

Charlotte hugged Michelle a little tighter as the finale blasted, and she heard the ooh’s and ahh’s of the people around them, and thought she might have let one out herself.  She couldn't help it.

The crowd erupted into applause, and Charlotte contributed the best she could with her sister constricting her arm movement.

“I’ll never get tired of that,”  Lefou commented, as they followed the funnel of people out of the park one last time.

“It’s really beautiful,”  Charlotte agreed, while Barney only yawned impressively.  Their trip had apparently worn him out just as much as it did herself.

“But,”  Stanley leaned down and lifted Michelle out of Charlotte’s chair, and onto his shoulder.  “I still wish I could figure out who that princess in the yellow dress was!”

Charlotte smiled to herself, choosing not to say a word.  She supposed he would figure it out on his own eventually.