#They have lost it long ago even before they turned to become proper adults

[blackbunnyblobchara]

Can I say it?

I prefer the Hamato boys being more scarred and darker and war-torn as they go older, regardless if it’s the good or bad future timeline

[menodoramoon]

Has Moon said something wrong? Was that way of thinking really so terrible? It's how she understood Mjaumen culture to be. One of formality and reverence. But Cass's way was so beautiful, Moon couldn't possibly see how such a thing could be wrong.

There's a thought that occurs to her in Danish. It's fleeting, but impactful. The idea of the past tense, where the word does not always change but instead becomes more. To add something to imply the end of something, ending with an ending. Moon wonders if language -- the words, the meaning, the structure -- was one of the major differences.

In a way, Moon would like to blame language for the reason her own relationship with loss, even grief, was so different. But she knows that can't be it. Sometimes it takes Moon feels miles away from Earth, where Cass seemed so grounded at times. Moon may be untouchable in her status, but maybe that's what she needed. Some contact with these things that were so human, when sometimes she felt anything but.

"Was it just you?" Moon asks, for a moment unable to-- "My mother was, I suppose, Single; but, I'm sure you figured there were always people around, fretting after me. Not family, but something else. I know you said you raised Hiro, and I understand that, but I hadn't really thought as deeply about it as I needed to."

Cass, without much help. Without much support. It wasn't the money, it was the emotions, wasn't it?

It feels like such a selfish admission. Something to speak to a shallow part of Moon that doesn't think -- can't empathize or imagine -- the things Cass has gone through. She understood, on a cognitive level. But at the same time...

Technically, Moon reminds herself, from the ages of sixteen to when she turned eighteen, she was considered an orphan. No one actually adopted her, she was just the Countess. What was the protocol for that? Her father was -- maybe -- alive. But had nothing to do with her, wanted nothing to do with her. It wasn't the same, Hiro was so young, but at the same time, there was a familiarity that was worlds apart.

Cass told Hiro stories, allowed his family to be present. Moon was the only one who spoke of her mother, until -- aside from practicalities -- she learned to stop asking.

Moon held those fading stories, the echoes of which grew dimmer. Shadows fell across those memories, until she could barely hear see them at all.

And for Cass, Cass spoke of their -- her and Hiro's family -- for Hiro. Tadashi for herself? How much has Cass lost?

The price of being a fairytale Countess is a tragic backstory, Moon had once said to River, trying to understand why the world was the way that it was. But she is aching for why the world would do something like that to Cass.

Maybe it wasn't as lamentable as Moon thought. The logic of it said to be sad, but Moon wasn't Cass. Moon couldn't speak for Cass. And Moon doesn't know why it is that she begins to share, but she does.

A deep inhale before a, "I lost my mother when I was sixteen. I mentioned it, briefly, I know." Because Cass got the short form of it. That Moon's mother had an accident of a sort a number of years ago, and Moon became Countess at the youngest age in so long. Before she was even a proper adult. It was said in passing over scones at a dinner party club, and Moon had only been trying to say that her mother had passed and it was her mother's recipe that she'd modified for the party. Still, it got brought up and the sympathy came. Moon regretted having spoken a word of it then. "Only, I don't know what nice stories I have anymore. I was taught -- somehow -- to stop speaking of her. Like some superstition that to talk of her would be to disturb her peace. I didn't understand it."

Does she say her mother was murdered? No. That's not-- no.

"She used to braid my hair before lessons, sometimes. And I got to have first try of any batch of pastries she made. She called me 'Moon' first, because my birthday fell on the 13th full moon of the year; a Blue Moon."

It's like trying to scrounge up water in your bare hands. The details kept slipping though.

"I don't know many stories worth telling. She was a kind woman, and then she had died. I miss her. But sometimes I forget what it is that I miss."

@auntcass-hamada

(Troilus and Cressida 5.3.26) || Mooncakes

[kayssweetdreams]

Prim and Proper Problems Ch 16

Meanwhile, Back at Prim Proper Perfection...

The kid struggled as they were pulled down a long and dark hallway. Madame Prim kept her gaze on them as they walked through it. "Let us go!!" Emma cried out. "Not until you are all PERFECT." Madame Prim said, her voice harboring sadistic glee. Leo and Haoyu struggled against the guards "BUT WE'RE BOYS!!" Leo shouted. Madame Prim's face contorted into a twisted grin "Good! Now I can see if the Perfection Process will work on the male gender and adults as well!" She said.

The kids were confused at the last part, until they reached a large metal chamber with metal seats...and strapped to one of those seats was "Misère?!" The kids said in shock. Indeed she was strapped down in the metal Seat, and she looked absolutely exhausted "Hello Miss Au Bonheur. Are you ready to finally finish your semester?" Madame Prim asked mockingly.

Misère just weakly glared at her, and spit down on her shoes "Over my dead body." She spat. Madame Prim didn't even flinch. Instead, she snapped her fingers, and a few of the guards began shining her shoes "Oh how I remember how I lost you all those years ago. My biggest failure. My reminder that no matter how influential, how rich, how important your family name may be. There will always be imperfect children just like you." She said.

"But now. I will finally be able to correct this error of mine, and finally be able to make you, as well as every child in that godforsaken town what you were meant to be. Perfect." Madame Prim snapped her fingers and the kids were strapped to the metal seats "No!! You can't do this to us!!" Cass cried out. "Oh yes I can. Just like I did to your little friends that were here a month ago." She said.

Trisha Jane raised an eyebrow "What did you do to them?! And what is this thing?" She asked. Madame Prim smiled and the kids could swear they heard cracking. "I'm glad you asked. This is the Perfection, Purification Chamber. Here, I suck all of the awful things that make someone imperfect, such as individuality, feelings, all of the disgusting hobbies that they dare call "PASSIONS" and have them replaced with more respectable things, such as proper manners, table etiquette, respect for their elders." She said.

She pulled out two jars, one with a purple glowing liquid, and the other with a pink glowing liquid "You should recognize these from those two that you were friends with." She said. It didn't take the kids long to realize who the jars belonged to "That's what you did to Kaylo and Yuri...You took everything unique about them and drained it out of them." Mei said in horror. That's when Madame Prim's face gained a frown

"However, Even when all that horrid Individuality gets sucked out of a person...They still have that annoying part of themselves that is CONVINCED that they are not supposed to be perfect. So I have to make sure that It STAYS buried in the deepest part of one's subconscious." She explained, showing two other girls that were strapped to a large machine, tears leaking from their eyes "More Power! I don't care if their brains turn to mush! THEY. WILL. BE. PERFECT!!" Madame Prim shouted. The orderly nodded before flipping a switch, making the machine stronger, and making the girls scream in pain and terror

"But times have changed! People don't care about that stuff anymore people!!" Rebecca argued. This made Madame Prim's smile deflate "Yes. Times HAVE indeed changed. Families used to flock to me to fix their poor wayward children. Until it became 'Let Women work this' and 'No Wars, All Peace' that. Soon, I began to lose my students. And my Revenue. So I decided to bring more students by FORCE." She explained.

"But what about the parents? Won't you get in trouble if you forcibly brainwash children?" Haoyu asked "Yes. I very much can. But that's why I am working on classes for the Adults as well. Soon. The entire world will become perfect! And then the next generation will come here. And I will be the one to guide them ALL!!" She screeched.

The kids were terrified at Madame Prim's idea of a "perfect" world, but they noticed Kuro, Fortie and Shiro slowly making off with Kaylo and Yuri's jars. Misère caught sight of the two of them, and her eyebrow raised "Am I seeing things? Or am I seeing a chick, a Baby Doll and a Squirrel make off with the jars?" She asked out loud, making the kids pale. Madame Prim looked confused, until she saw the two escaping "I THOUGHT I INCINERATED THOSE HIDEOUS TOYS!!" She yelled out.

Her shout startled the three as they ran to another vent, but two of the guards blocked them off. In a panic, Kuro opened up a small dark portal back to Wonderworld. Madame Prim dove after them, but the portal closed before she had the chance. She growled at the fact that they got away, but she composed herself. "No matter. I don't care where they go and besides. Who would believe a couple of toys and a chick anyway." She said.

"Well then let us begin the treatment." She said, walking to the controls of the Perfection Purifier. The kids panicked as her hand slowly made its way to the on switch "Once this is over...You'll thank me when you are all perfect." She said.

When suddenly...

CRASH!!!

Mei belongs to @sundove88

Rebecca belongs to @thehypercutstudios/@thehyperrequiem

Trisha Jane belongs to @lovelyteng

[cyndavilachase]

I’m Looking Forward Now 💖Thank you and good bye

So, it’s been a little over a week since Steven Universe Future ended… 

I’ve been hesitant to write this, honestly, but I’m tired of holding myself back from properly expressing myself in fear of appearing overly invested in the media I consume, even in private. Writing helps me organize my thoughts and feelings, and I feel like these thoughts in particular may resonate with many, so I want to share them. I want to talk about what Steven Universe has done for me personally, both as an artist, and as a person.

I’ve been around since the day the first episode of the original series aired. I actually remember when Steven Universe was just a logo on Wikipedia’s “List of Upcoming Cartoon Network Shows” list, back when I was a freshman in high school. It piqued my interest, but when commercials finally dropped for it, I thought it was going to be bad because of the way marketing handled introducing Steven as a likeable character. There was still something about it that made me want to give it a chance though, so I went online and watched the pilot before the first episode's release. I was hooked immediately. I knew I was going to love it, and I did. I fell so absolutely in love with Steven as a character, and the world that he and the gems lived in. I became obsessed. I was always so excited for new episodes to come out. Little did I know what else it would do for me as I went through my adolescence alongside it.

As the show progressed, it was evident that what I wanted out of a western animated childrens’ cartoon was finally coming into fruition: this show was becoming serialized. There was continuity, there was plot, there was character development-- it was getting deep. It was pushing the groundwork that Adventure Time laid out even further (thank you, Adventure Time).  

I will give credit where credit is due: earlier western childrens’ cartoons I grew up with like Hey Arnold, and Rugrats, among others, also touched on heavy topics, but Steven Universe was able to take similar ideas (and even more complex ones, concerning mental health and relationships) and expand on them outside of contained episodes and/or short arcs. These themes, which were a part of the show’s overarching story, spanned across its entirety. Continuity was rampant. 

What did this mean? It meant kids cartoons didn’t have to be silly and fun all the time and characters weren’t just actors playing a part in 11-minute skits. Steven and the gems would remember things that happened to them, and it affected them and how they would function and play a part in their story. This was a huge deal to me as a teenager. I always wanted the cartoons I grew up with featuring kid characters to feel more. In my own work, I often felt discouraged when combining a fun, cutesy western art style with themes as dark or layered as anime would cover. I always thought it had to be one or the other because an audience wouldn’t take a combination of the two seriously enough, based on discussions I had with classmates, friends, and online analysis I read at the time. Steven Universe proved to me otherwise. This show was opening the door for future cartoons exploring in-depth, adult concepts. I felt so seen as a kid, and was inspired to stick with what I love doing.

I was actually very worried about the show’s survival. It was in fact immensely underrated and the fandom was miniscule. Then in 2014, JailBreak dropped, and it’s popularity exploded. Part of it was because of the complex plot and the themes it was covering like I mentioned, but also because of its representation. 

I remember when fandom theorized that Garnet was a fusion due to grand, tragic reasons. Turns out, she’s simply a metaphor for a very loving w|w relationship. This was huge. I cannot stress how important it is that we continue to normalize healthy canon queer relationships in childens’ media, and Steven Universe finally was the first to do that proper. Introducing these themes offers the chance for a kid to sit there and ask themselves, “Why is this demonized by so many people?” I asked myself exactly that. Ruby and Sapphire were my cartoon LGBT rep. They were the first LGBT couple I ever ecstatically drew fanart of. I was dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia at the time, and they showed me that I was allowed to love women and feel normal about it. The process of overcoming this was a long one, but they played a part in my very first steps into becoming comfortable with my sexuality. I could go on and on about it’s representation in general-- how it breaks the mold when it comes to showcasing a diverse set of characters in design, in casting, and in breaking gender roles. It’s focus on love and empathy. Steven himself is a big boy, but he's the protagonist, and the show never once makes fun of his weight, or any other bigger characters for that matter. It wasn’t hard to see why the fandom had grown so large.

Fandom was always a joy for me. It was a hobby I picked up when I was in middle school, like many of us here did. I would always cater my experience to fun, and fun only. I only started getting more deeply involved in SU’s fandom when I had just turned into an adult. During the summer of 2016, between my first and second year of college, I drew for the show almost every day non-stop when the Summer of Steven event was going on and posted them online. This was a form of practice for me in order to become not just more comfortable with experimenting with my art, but also to meet new artists, make new friends, and learn to interact with strangers without fear. I dealt with a ton of anxiety when I was in high school. When I was a senior applying to art school for animation, I decided I was going to overcome that anxiety. I made plans to take baby steps to improve myself over the course of my 4 years of college. Joining the fandom, while unforeseen, was definitely a part of that process. I started feeling more confident in sharing my ideas, even if they were fan-made. I fell in love with storyboarding after that summer, when I took my first storyboarding class, and genuinely felt like I was actually getting somewhere with all of this. I remember finally coming to a point in my classes where I could pitch and not feel hopelessly insecure about it. I was opening up more to my friends and peers. 

But this process, unfortunately, came to a screeching halt. 

My life completely, utterly crumbled under me in the Fall of 2017 due to a series of blows in my personal life that happened in the span of just a couple weeks. My mental health and sense of identity were completely destroyed. All of that confidence I had worked for-- completely ruined. I was alone. I nearly died. My stay at college was extended to 4 and half years, instead of the 4 I had intended. I lost my love for animation-- making it, and watching it. I could no longer watch Steven Universe with the same love I had for it beforehand. It’s a terrible thing, trying to give your attention to something you don’t love anymore, and wanting so desperately to love again. I dropped so many things I loved in my life, including the fandom.

Healing was a long and complicated road. I continued to watch the show all the way up until Change Your Mind aired in the beginning of 2019, and while I still felt empty, that was definitely a turning point for me with it’s encapsulation of self-love. I was hoping James Baxter would get to work on Steven Universe since he guest-animated on Adventure Time, and it was incredible seeing that wish actually come true. The movie came out and while I enjoyed it and thought highly of it, I was still having issues letting myself genuinely love things again, old and new. It was especially difficult because cartoons were my solace as a kid, when things got rough at home. I remember feeling sad because the show ended, and not getting the chance to love it again like I used to while it was still going.

By the time Steven Universe Future was announced, I was finally coming around. I was genuinely starting to feel excitement for art and animation again. I wasn’t expecting there to be a whole new epilogue series, but happily ever after, there we were! Prickly Pear aired, and the implications it left in terms of where the story was going did it. I was finally ready to let myself take the dive back into fandom in January of this year. My art blew up, something I wasn’t expecting considering my 2-year hiatus. Following this, I was invited into a discord server containing some of the biggest writers, artists, editors, and analysts in the fandom. I had no idea there were so many talented people in the fandom, some already with degrees, some getting their degrees-- creating stuff for it on the side just for fun. The amount of passion and productivity level here is insane, and so is the amount of discussion that has come out of it.

I didn’t realize it at first, but it was actually helping me gain back the courage to share ideas. I lost my confidence in pitching while I was taking the time to heal, and graduating meant there would no longer be a classroom setting I could practice in. This group helped immensely. 

I have made so many friends through this wonderful series, and I have so many fond memories talking to like-minded creatives, getting feedback and a myriad of sources for inspiration, as well as all of the memes and jokes and weekly theorizations that came about as we all waited on the edges of our seats for episodes to air. I needed this so badly, I needed to get back in touch with my roots, when I would go absolutely hog-wild over a cartoon I loved with people who loved it as much I did. Future has been a blessing for me in this way. I graduated feeling like I was back at square-one, but now I feel like I’m on my way again.

It’s 2020 and while I’m doing great right now, I am honestly still recovering from the total exhaustion that followed after graduating a few months ago, and finally leaving the campus where my life fell apart behind. Needless to say, watching Future was like looking into a mirror. Watching one of my favorite characters of all time-- one that grew up with me-- go through so many of the same things I went through not too long ago was absolutely insane to watch unfold. It’s such an important thing too, to show a character go through the process of breaking down over trauma and all the nasty things that come with it, and to have them go on the road to healing. Steven got that therapy. He wasn’t blamed. The gems were called out. The finale was everything I could have ever hoped for. The catharsis I experienced watching it was out of this world.

As I continue my own healing journey, I will always look up to the storyboard artists, revisionists, and designers that I have been following over these past 7 years, as well as the new ones introduced in Future. It's been such a joy watching these artists release their promo art for episodes, talk about their experiences working on the show, and post the work they've done for it alongside episodes airing.

Thank you Rebecca Sugar, the Crewniverse, and the fans, for making this such a truly wonderful and unique experience. Thank you for reminding me that I am, and always will be, an artist, a cartoonist, and a fan. Thank you, my followers, for the overwhelmingly positive response to my artwork. I have had so much fun interacting and discussing the show with you all again over these past few months. Steven Universe and it’s fandom will always have a special place in my heart, and it will always be a classic that I will return to for comfort and inspiration for decades to come. I am sad that the cartoon renaissance is over, but so many doors have been opened thanks to this show. I am so, so excited to see what this show will inspire in the future, and I hope one day I get the opportunity to be a part of that. 

Goodbye Steven, thank you for everything. I wish you healing, and I wish Rebecca and the team a well-deserved rest. ♥️

-Cynthia D.

[tennessoui]

Hi miss Kit! So um, I'm not the anon who had the idea about the Pokemon obikin AU but I saw that you're still looking for a prompt so I did some brainstorming?

Obviously Anakin is aiming to be a Pokemon Master which is why he'll have to fight the elite four eventually. Which is not an easy task despite what the games might imply! So what if, despite breezing through the gyms before, beating Team Rocket and having a team that is powerful and adores him, he still fails his first attempt at the league.

I remember Prof Oak telling your rival after you beat him in gen 1 that he lost to you because he doesn't love his Pokemon enough which is bullsh*t!! But must surely be a cutting remark.

So ofc he goes to caretaker!Obi-Wan afterwards because he is a former Pokemon trainer so how has he dealt with loss before? Does Anakin really not love his team enough? Bonus points if Obi has challenged the league before (and won??)

I just realized that this is way too angsty for the Pokemon universe >.< everything is nice and soft here

alright!!!!!! finally!!! here is that pokémon au, a bastardization of this prompt and @sinhalbutnoangst 's prompt "24: Right before a passionate/first kiss & 16: “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.” For a Pokémon AU !!!"

I hope y'all both enjoy or at least find parts to be happy about!!!

(fair warning i don't know a lot about pokémon so who knows how accurate this is at ALL)

(3.3k)

(i've linked each pokémon name with their pokedex picture just so everyone knows what they look like. no need to read the descriptions or anything)(god knows i didn't half the time)

Obi-Wan is in the water, tending to a shy gyarados a trainer had left behind as a Magikarp a few months ago, when on the shore his flareon raises its muzzle and barks loudly. That’s her signal that someone’s arrived at the Daycare center proper. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, as he strokes his hand down the gyarados' side.

“I always tell them to call ahead,” he mutters as the pokemon nudges closer for more attention. “Why do they never call ahead?”

Gyarados knocks him hard in the arm. It’s clear she wants more pats, but business calls.

“Would you mind terribly taking me back to shore, dear?” Obi-Wan asks politely. It’d be faster than swimming all the way there, and it would strengthen the Pokémon's connection with humans.

On the shore, Flareon bounds around in a circle, tail flickering back and forth. It must be someone she recognizes the scent of. A regular then. That means Obi-Wan can take his time getting back to the counter to greet them, but he probably shouldn’t show up dripping wet in only a pair of swim trunks.

Luckily, Gyarados gives him a lift, bellowing mournfully to be left alone again when Obi-Wan alights onto the sand. When her trainer comes back to pick it up, Obi-Wan has half a mind to offer to buy her from them. No one who actually cares about their pokemon would leave a magikarp to become a gyarados under the care and instruction of someone else.

But becoming known as the Daycare Runner who gets attached to Pokémon and tries to keep them is perhaps a serious threat to his business as a whole. And he’s already done that too many times.

No, the best thing to do is to wait for the trainer to come back and sit them down to give them a serious talk about their Pokémon’s emotional needs. They’re probably young. Most trainers are these days. On some level you have to be in order to have the energy to travel as much as you do, to sleep on the ground more nights than not.

Yes, they’re probably young, and more focused on gym battles than their Pokémons’ growth and happiness. It happens sometimes with tunnel vision like that. Too many advertisements for the Pokémon League, the Elite Four, the Gym badges. Obi-Wan had been the same way when he was a kid.

He gathers his clothes from the shoreline and slips on his shoes. Flareon tries to help dry him out by wrapping herself repeatedly around his ankles and cooing out gusts of warm air, but all it does is create a new and unusual tripping hazard.

Especially when she suddenly perks up, about halfway to the building and jumps forward into a run. Obi-Wan stares after her, confused, clothes held in a slackened grip until he sees a very familiar growlithe running fult tilt from around the building. It hops the fence with practiced ease that makes Obi-Wan inwardly despair at the lesson it’s unwittingly teaching all of the other Pokémon.

But he can’t deny the way his heart thuds when he realizes what its presence means. His flareon, embarrassingly enough, seems to be thinking along the same lines, as she bounds up to the growlithe and starts winding between his legs instead, rubbing her head over every part of black and orange fur she can reach.

Obi-Wan sighs and shucks on his buttoned shirt, shaking out the water from his hair. He doesn’t even really bother with pants, seeing as his wet swim trunks go almost to his knees.

It’s Anakin. Anakin’s here. Anakin hasn’t been here for four months when he left in the midst of a shouting match. Obi-Wan has been trying--unsuccessfully--to put Anakin out of his mind. And now Anakin’s growlithe is prancing towards him like it’s a special present to see him at all.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pausing in buttoning up his shirt so he can pet at the growlithe’s--what does Anakin call him again?--muzzle. For a second, the Pokémon nuzzles back, scenting his face and neck as territorial Pokémon are wont to do, before it moves quickly forward and grabs Obi-Wan by the shirt, swinging him up onto its back.

Out of shock and a latent survival instinct, Obi-Wan drops the rest of his clothes and clings to the Pokémon’s back. “Shit!” is on the tip of his tongue the entire two minutes it takes to bound back to the fence, over it and through the welcome doors of his own Daycare.

Anakin is standing, back to the entrance, furiously tapping the bell on the desk, looking somehow both desperate and bored.

Growlithe barks once, twice, and shakes himself hard enough that Obi-Wan knows to let go before he gets rolled over upon.

It’s not the most graceful entrance he would have chosen after going months without seeing Anakin, to land on his back, partially dressed and smelling like the sea at the Pokémon trainer’s feet.

Anakin at least has the wherewithal to be both surprised and immediately worried. “Obi-Wan!” he yelps, turning around immediately upon his growlithe’s bark of victory.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan says dryly sitting up from his sprawl and combing a nervous hand through his hair.

“Where are your clothes?” Anakin asks shrilly, turning a very interesting shade of magenta and looking quickly away from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan couldn’t be more different, what with the way he looks at Anakin as if he’s starved for the sight of him. It’s been several long months since they last saw each other. The fight had been...awful, to say the least. Anakin had accused him of not really wanting him to succeed. Obi-Wan had accused him of the same tunnel vision he diagnoses most young adults to have.

Neither had been true. Obi-Wan hadn’t even meant it, but he’d been mad. He’d been mad that Anakin hadn’t even thought to listen to him more than a Gym Leader he’d just defeated.

Palpatine had urged him to go straight to the League. Obi-Wan had thought it prudent to return home to his mother, give his Pokémon a break, work his way to the island of the Pokémon League naturally as a means of bonding with and further testing his Pokémon. He has no idea who Anakin ended up listening to. It’s been something that has haunted him for weeks.

“Out in the back,” Obi-Wan grunts, standing and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity under the Pokémon trainer’s wide-eyed stare. Anakin’s grown older in the past few months, his face sharper. What is he now, newly twenty-three? Halfway to twenty-four? “Your Growlithe was quite enthusiastic to bring me here as soon as possible.”

Anakin flushes and looks down at his feet. He looks tired, Obi-Wan decides. Like he’s walked the entire continent just to show up at his door.

“Sorry,” Anakin says sheepishly. “I had--”

“Him out and walking with you, I know,” Obi-Wan finishes with a fond shake of his head. He buttons the last necessary button on his shirt and sweeps past Anakin to stand behind his desk. “You always liked having one of them out with you. How’s your Jolteon?”

“Twilight?” Anakin asks, sounding surprised Obi-Wan even remembered he had a jolteon. He tries not to feel offended. It’s an unfortunate truth that Obi-Wan remembers almost everything about Anakin, the trainer that used to hang around his daycare as though he couldn’t bear to step more than fifty paces from his front door. “He’s fine. A bit angry with me, I think.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, furrowing his brow as he looks up at his guest. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Anakin is quiet for a few seconds, and his hands clench down on the edge of the counter-top. When he speaks, his voice wavers. “Obi-Wan...do you think my Pokémon love me? Like, do you think I am a good trainer?”

Obi-Wan stares at him. This isn’t a conversation he should have without pants on, he decides. He slowly puts his pen down. “What happened, Anakin?” he asks gently, reaching out and laying a hand on the arm Anakin still has resting against the counter.

“I lost,” his favorite trainer whispers, looking down. Growlithe--Resolute, that’s what Anakin had named him--noses into the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan is not jealous. “I challenged the Elite Four, and I lost in the second round.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightens completely involuntarily. He hates hearing that after their years-long friendship, the last few years where he’d thought perhaps they were on the verge of being something more, despite his reservations, Anakin had listened to Palpatine over him. Palpatine.

“Come around back here,” he instructs after a second’s thought. Somehow, still, after all these months, he thinks he knows what Anakin needs. “And release all of your Pokémon from their Pokéballs.”

“All of them?” Anakin asks, sounding so unsure Obi-Wan’s heart aches with the doubt of it all before he reigns that in. This isn’t about him.

This isn’t about him, but he can’t stop himself from asking, just once, “Yes. Do you trust me?”

Anakin’s fingers hesitate on the seal of his first Pokéball, and Obi-Wan’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah,” Anakin finally says gruffly, pressing the release. “Yeah, I do.”

His altaria pops out of her Pokéball with a trill and a flap of her cloud-shaped wings. He just catches a hint of the jolteon materialize into existence before he turns his back. “I’m going to put on proper clothes,” he tells Anakin over his shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure your Pokémon will remember half the ones here.”

And all of the ones Obi-Wan calls his own, he doesn’t add. Anakin should know. Anakin’s known them since he was fifteen years old and surly over the fact that his mother wouldn’t let him go out and hunt legendary Pokémon until he finished schooling.

He finds his abandoned clothes quickly, and shuffles into them. Flareon noses around him curiously, with more than a bit of excitement. She probably smells Anakin on him. The thought doesn’t warm his cheeks, but if it does, he’ll blame it on the sudden amount of heat she’s giving off.

He leaves his shirt as is and doesn’t even bother with the vest or tie. He’s not here to be Professor Kenobi. He’s here to be Obi-Wan, Anakin’s friend. That’s what Anakin needs from him right now. A friend.

He fixes his hair anyway in a mad bout of nerves, but no one, not even his mienshao or flareon, obsessed with appearances as they are, are paying enough attention to him in order to soothe his sudden insecurities.

More than anything, he wants to be back in the sea, surrounded by the gyarados’ coils. He doesn’t understand humans as much as he would like to, and he certainly doesn’t understand Anakin. Not anymore. Perhaps he never did.

His flareon bumps at his wrist with the crown of her head and he looks down with a sigh. “Someone’s excited, I see,” he murmurs wryly, smoothing down the stuck-up fur of her hair and chest mane. She purrs. “Not the most excited though,” he adds with a huff as he sees a blur of white and blue from the corner of his eyes as the female Meowstic who spends most of her time strolling the parameter of the Daycare abandons her position to dart towards the backdoors where a newly emerged navy male Meowstic stands waiting.

They collide and curl into each other, two halves of one whole brought back together.

Well, that’s as good as any sign to approach Anakin, who has decided to collapse on the soft grass of the enclosure. Other than the Meowstic, his freed Pokémon have curled around him. The jolteon, Artoo, rests by his head, while his charizard, Mustafar, brackets the length of his body with his own. The growlithe sits watchful at his feet, while a new, unfamiliar pancham curls up on his chest. Finally, his gallade sits cross-legged to his side.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawls before he can help himself, “It’s very obvious that your Pokémon don’t love you.”

Anakin bolts upright at the sound of his voice. The pancham growls at him, a baby noise that Obi-Wan didn’t necessarily think the species capable of.

The Pokémon trainer hushes it quickly with a stern, “Vader, no.”

Obi-Wan comes to sit cross-legged in front of the man. “You didn’t have a pancham last time,” he says easily. What he really wants to ask is much more complicated. He wants to know everything. He wants to know how Anakin changed. When. Why. He wants to know what’s still the same.

It’s always complicated when it comes to Anakin. It’s never been easy.

“He was injured when I found him,” Anakin admits, stroking the top of Vader’s head. “But a fighter. I think I was injured when I found him too.”

The man seems so lost in his own recollections that Obi-Wan hates to interrupt. Carefully, Anakin’s jolteon, Twilight, noses his hand. When he’s not pushed away, he jumps into Obi-Wan’s lap with a trill. Flareon lets out a hiss, but acquiesces when the jolteon licks at her snout, accepting her ownership of Obi-Wan.

“I had just lost,” Anakin says slowly. “I wanted to come back here, rent a Lapras and just ride until I saw the shoreline I knew was yours. But I didn’t know what you’d say to me. How mad you’d still be.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip. He wouldn’t have been mad. He’d been worried, from the second Anakin left his property. But how to tell the man that? Would the other even want to hear it? Would he think Obi-Wan was trying to infantilize him, to protect him?

“I didn’t want you to be right.” Anakin whispers, arms tightening around the Pokémon. “I didn’t want you to be right and say that I wasn’t ready. And then I was in the forest, walking home, and I found this guy. He’d been attacked by a bug pokémon who was probably a higher level. But he was so angry still. I...I wanted him on my team. I needed that fire back.”

Obi-Wan suddenly thinks that there’s much more distance between them than there should be. He wants to be hugging Anakin, to be kissing his temple. These were allowances they had given each other before the fight, things that Obi-Wan had squirreled away, close to his heart.

He wants them back.

“But I keep thinking about how the professor who gave me my first Pokémon told this guy I beat in my first battle that he lost because he didn’t love his Pokémon right, and I...I’m just worried that’s why I lost.” Anakin stares down at his pancham, who puts his paws on his cheeks and pats a few times.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He thinks it sounds too fond, too revealing, but Anakin looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’ve never known a trainer to love his Pokémon more, dear one.”

“Then why?” Anakin asks plaintively, scooting forward until their knees brush. “Why did I lose? The gym leader of Cinnabar Island told me I would win!”

Obi-Wan, quite maturely in his opinion, doesn’t mention the fact that the recently defeated Palpatine probably had ulterior motives for Anakin to challenge the league too quickly and then fail. “You weren’t ready, Anakin,” he says instead, placing his hand on the other’s knee and holding it even when the trainer jerks out of his grp. “Please, listen. It's about sheer time, training experience. It’s not about you or your relationship to your Pokémon. You have such an amazing, strong relationship with them! They love you. Anyone could tell. And you’re not lacking in skill either. I know your mind is sharp and ready for battle.”

Anakin looks at him teary-eyed. “I’ve been so worried that maybe they didn’t know I loved them,” he admits in a wavering voice.

Obi-Wan can’t resist moving impossibly closer to his trainer. “Oh, Anakin, of course they do. Pokémon don’t always express or interpret love the same way humans do, but they do have their own ways of showing it.”

“Like what?” Anakin sniffles, wiping at his wet eyes. If Obi-Wan had really been listening, he would have noticed the change in his tone. As it is, he continues immediately, too focused on trying to stop his trainer from crying to think of anything else.

“A fire-type Pokémon wil try to warm you if they think you’re cold, even if it means staying up all night to keep you in in its flame. And fighting-type Pokémon are capable of throwing a blanket over you if they think you need to rest. Psychic-types have been known to read their trainer’s emotions and either hug them or give them distance whenever they want. Ground- and bug-type have been known to bring berries to their trainers to get them something to eat, and electric--why are you looking at me like that?” Anakin’s nascent smirk grows bigger at this interruption and he cocks his head to the side as he studies Obi-Wan’s face. “And what does it say about a man who spends all of his time around Pokémon, that he would do those exact same things for me?”

Obi-Wan at least understands enough to scurry backwards a few paces, much to the jolteon in his lap’s distress, who jumps away with a huff.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he says quickly.

Anakin inches forward, setting the pancham, Vader, aside. He really has grown in the past few months. The loss of the League, the months apparently spent on the road, have aged him so that he’s both recognizable and something new and wild. “What if I knew of a man,” Anakin murmurs, falling to his palms as he closes the gap between them. “One who warmed me when I was cold, covered me when I was tired, hugged me when I was needy, and fed me when I was hungry? What would that mean, in terms of Pokémon?”

Obi-Wan swallows nervously. His entire body is bracketed by Anakin. Anakin, who seems to have discovered his most-guarded secret in their months apart. Anakin, who is hovering over him now with a dark look in his eyes. Finally something in Obi-Wan gives way. This is it. He will give Anakin everything he asks for. Everything he needs. He’s always tried to do this exact thing.

“I suppose that would mean he loved you,” he whispers, closing his eyes so he does not have to see Anakin’s recoil, Anakin’s disgust.

Anakin hums instead. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers, exhale hitting his lips. “Obi-Wan, open your eyes. There’s nothing to be scared of, beloved. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

At these words, Obi-Wan’s eyes jump open of their own accord. Anakin’s lips press down onto his in a movement just as sudden. He whimpers involuntarily and reaches up to clutch at the trainer’s hair, hold him to his mouth. Just as involuntarily, his lips part and Anakin’s tongue licks around the gap before darting inside. He moans. It’s shameful, the way he goes from scared to sucking on Anakin’s tongue as if he’ll die without the warm intrusion of it.

It hardly feels like the first time they’ve kissed. It feels like they’ve been kissing for years, like Anakin knows his mouth completely and utterly.

There are so many secrets left between them. Obi-Wan’s one unopened Pokéball, sitting on his belt. Anakin’s relationship with that last Gym leader. What he’s been doing these past few months. What Obi-Wan Kenobi made his fortune off of.

But none of it matters now. Not here at this moment. All that matters is showing Anakin that he’s been just as missed, just as wanted.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan rolls on top of his trainer and shoves his hands up inside Anakin’s shirt to trace along the muscles of his chest and back. This was his. His, his, his. He had come back to him. Everything else could wait.

[doloresdraws]

‘When I look back on my life It's so hard to face you I never wanted to fight this fight I'm ashamed of the truth No, I don't want to hurt you, baby I don't want to hurt you, baby I didn't mean to hurt you, baby

God, I'm sorry’

When I look back on my life I never wanted this fight (I don't want to hurt you baby) If I could turn back time (I don't want to hurt you baby) I would make it alright (I don't want to hurt you baby)

I love you, I love you sunshine’

Unbelievable, but I painted something new and even managed to finish it in two sittings.

Finally a proper painting of my Sabbat Nosferatu character Fox for our upcoming Sabbat game set in San Francisco. Since his story didn’t start yet I can only share something about his background.

Fox came to San Francisco from a small town in Ohio to escape a brewing unhappiness and resentment towards his mother and responsibility of caring for his two younger sisters that in his eyes slowed him down. He was tired of having to act like an adult in his family and also having to endure the looks and gossips of his classmates, because everyone knew what his mother did for a living to be able to take care of her three kids.

He had these naive dreams that living in California will bring him more and better opportunities to make good money and to live the life he often saw on tv growing up. He really wanted to become something, to prove his mother that you can get money with honest, not self-degrading work. He really hoped that he will be able to earn enough money to ensure that his sisters will never end up in the same line of work as his mother.  Of course the reality was not quite how he imagined, he struggled to find work at first, having to even spend a few nights sleeping in the park, but with his determination and eagerness to do just almost any work he was able to find various construction work and other small odd jobs to sustain his basic human needs. A lot of his colleagues were of Mexican and Venezuelan origin and through daily socializing with them he actually picked up some Spanish. He was still looking for a better, stable job but even though he often had little money to go on, he was adamant to stay clear of any criminal work. After about 6 months he was able to secure a job as the sewage treatment plant worker, it wasn’t as glorious work as he dreamed of and the surroundings were often very unpleasant, but he hid his pride and put his best efforts to do his job well. He quickly became very good at it and was even promoted, with the extra money he was able to rent a small apartment.Although far from how he imagined it, his life for the next few years was quite good, he managed to find himself a girlfriend and was planning to get marry to her, the biggest problem was that Gloria was in the US illegally, so he had to figure out how to make it happen.

Unfortunately everything changed when Fox got into an accident during his work when a gas pipe exploded and a fire had started. He was one of the few people injured, but unfortunately for Fox, he was the one who got the most severe burns that covered about 40% of his body, unfortunately also his lower half of the face, neck and hands. After this accident his life spiraled quickly, his company had friends in higher places, so instead of paying for health bills of their workers, they actually scapegoated Fox and sued him and his group of workers for the accident. He had no money for a fancy lawyer, so he lost the case, together with his medical bills his debts started piling up. His personality changed, he was angry or didn't speak at all for days. Gloria tried to help him and tried to be by his side, but he hated the fact that he could see the pity on her face whenever she looked at him. So he really started being mean to her so she would leave him alone, right now he didn't want anyone around. One day it got out of hand and he pushed her out of the door and told her never to come back, that she should get back to her Taco country or something offensive like that. He also managed to shout some Spanish insults at her, his words really hurt her as she ran away with tears.After a few days he felt really bad for breaking the things between him and Gloria in such a horrible way. He knew deep down that he needed her and wanted her by his side, even if it hurt to see how she looked at him, he knew that she was worth it. She actually never showed him where she lived before, so obviously the only places to look for her were the areas where she used to work. He hated to go outside and interact with people as they would always look at him the same, with pity and disgust, but he wanted to try to make up with Gloria. Yet when he asked in the bar the manager said that Gloria didn’t come to work in a last few days. He then went to ask around in the market she used to help and one of the women there told him that two days ago there was a police investigation and that they took a lot of people without proper papers away and that Gloria was among them.

Once again Fox felt absolutely helpless, she was probably detained and ends up deported back to Mexico and there is nothing he can do about it. He had no money, he didn’t even know where exactly she was. That night he bought a few bottles of tequila, drank as much as he could before he felt sick and threw up, which fucking hurt as all of his scars weren't fully healed yet. He hated himself, it was his fault she ended up on the street and now she is gonna end up back in Mexico with her last memories of him will be him yelling all this horrible shit to her face. He was ashamed of himself.

After this his life got even worse, now he had no emotional support, no friends, no job, painful scars that made him look like a monster. He usually spent his days staring at the ceiling, he couldn't really drink much as it was just too nasty, so he just existed for a while. His debts forced him to find work, but he couldn't do physical jobs he was used to anymore, he managed to find some odd jobs, probably because people felt bad for him which he resented. He even worked in 7/11 store, but all of his jobs were just temporary, he couldn’t keep any of them for more than for a week. It was not that his employers were unhappy with him, but Fox couldn’t just stand all the stares and pity looks he got from his employers, coworkers and customers. It didn't take long and he couldn’t keep up with the rent and when he lost the apartment, he became homeless. He could of course get back to his mother, but he actually didn't even notify neither him or his sister about his accident, he didn't want to be a burden and also he had too much pride to ever getting back to that shitty small town. All he wanted was to hide from people, to be spared of their pitiful glances and their talk about how strong he was. He wasn’t strong, he was a shitty, pathetic person who abandoned his family, resented his own mother, he failed his sisters and he treated the person that he loved as a Punchbag for his spite and insecurities, and now she will probably end up in some kind of human trafficking ring, because of him.

I will talk about his Embrace in more detail in some future post, but basically he was a shovelhead who somehow managed to get a chance to prove himself to the Sabbat. Although he loves his pack( some more than others) he still isn’t quite convinced by the Sabbat’s ideology, his biggest difficulty being the ever-present unnecessary violence, he still tries to cling to the last bits of humanity inside of him and that often leads to dissatisfaction from the Bishop and thus reflecting badly on his pack. He is torn between trying to fit in and wanting to measure up to his fellow Cainites and to do what feels right in his heart…

I am honestly very excited to finally play a Nosferatu. ❤

Fox © me/doloresdraws lyrics  ©  Hurt by Meg Myers

[notquitetwilight]

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART ONE

The Cullanos head to Boston to take care of some business.

“Well?” Carlisle Cullano asked his wife from across the table. “How does Boston pizza compare to Jersey pizza?”

“It doesn’t,” Esme answered her husband automatically. “Especially not ours.”

“Typical Jersey girl,” he smirked. He looked to their daughter beside her. “Rosie?”

Rosalie wrinkled her nose, looking up at him from the slice she was chewing on. “It’s too thick. I don’t like it. But then again, Jersey pizza doesn’t compare to New York pizza, either.”

Esme gave a deep sigh and threw her daughter a look. “Really?”

“What? You know I’ll always be a Manhattanite.”

“You were born in Jersey City Med,” Esme pointedly reminded her.

“Where I was abandoned,” Rose said slowly. “…To be raised in Manhattan.”

“You weren’t abandoned at the hospital,” Carlisle countered.

“She wasn’t abandoned at all!” Esme hissed before he could continue. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

“I know, I know, you were just kids, younger than I am now,” Rose waved the hand that wasn’t holding a pizza slice dismissively. “I’m over it. But I don’t know why you always get mad at me for saying I’m a New Yorker when you’re the ones who chose not to raise me in Jersey. Well, chose not to raise me at all.”

A tense silence fell over them. Rose lowered her eyes to the table of their booth as she continued chewing. Esme glowered out the window, her jaw clenched. Carlisle nudged his foot against her leg in an attempt to comfort her, but she ignored him.

It was a little over a year since the couple had gotten their daughter back. Though she had left her adoptive family and seemed to have settled into their lifestyle, the topic of their lost time together still occasionally raised its head.

The couple had had her at the tender age of 17, unbeknownst to their families. Both of them decided they were too young, too broke and already too involved in the mafia game to raise her themselves. She was adopted by the Hales, a wealthy couple of lawyers who raised her in a Manhattan townhouse and gave her the finest private education New York City had to offer. Carlisle and Esme secretly watched her grow from park benches and the back of school auditoriums. They never interacted with her or allowed her to see them, but watching her grow up safe and happy from a distance filled the void that giving her up had left.

Well, it did, until it didn’t. A year and a half ago, right before the couple finally married, Esme’s sister gave birth to her first child. The family rejoiced in the arrival of the baby boy, with Esme’s mother proudly parading her “first grandchild” around. “Aren’t you jealous, Esme?” Mrs. Platt had asked at the wedding. “You hate it when others have something you don’t.”

“No, mom, I don’t get jealous,” came her answer. Carlisle stifled a laugh at that. The death certificate of his previous wife proved otherwise.

“I always thought you’d be the one to give me my first,” Mrs. Platt continued, causing her daughter to bristle. “But your little sister has beaten you to it.”

Esme’s knuckles went white around the champaign glass she held. “She’s just drunk, baby,” Carlisle muttered in her ear. “Fuggedaboutit.”

But it didn’t matter. Esme’s moods worsened in the weeks that followed as she grieved 17 years’ worth of parenting the daughter they tried to do right by. She stopped parking outside the Hales’ Upper East Side building in hopes of catching a glimpse of the girl, or regularly checking her social media pages for updates on how she was doing. Carlisle knew it had become too difficult for her, particularly when her sister got to be a mother so openly. Mrs. Platt was right; Esme hated going without what others had. And Carlisle could never let her go without.

So one day, he pulled his yellow Alfa Romeo into the garage of the couple’s home and paged Esme to meet him there. “Hey doll,” he greeted her from against the bonnet as she entered and closed the door behind her. “I gotcha somethin’.”

She looked around in confusion. Normally when he asked her to come to the garage it meant he had bought her a new car. “What?” She wondered, but before her husband could respond, she was answered by a chorus of thumping and muffled screaming from the trunk.

“Who’s in there?” Esme asked, bored. Visitors to their home arriving by car trunk wasn’t exactly new. He grinned at her smugly as the thumping continued. “What?” She said again, but he could tell he had piqued her interest. He sauntered over to the trunk and opened it, a flurry of blond immediately lunging at him from inside. Esme instinctively reacted with a raised gun, but as Carlisle restrained the girl, her eyes widened and she lowered her weapon. “Is that…?”

He beamed at her as Rosalie struggled in his arms. Her wrists and ankles were tied, but still she writhed around. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and fear, and duct tape covered her mouth. “Take that thing off of her,” Esme commanded. “I wanna proper look.”

“Hold still or it’ll hurt,” Carlisle told the girl. She stopped wriggling long enough that he could gently remove the tape without ripping her skin. She immediately attempted to bite his hand, but he was too fast. Then came an ear-piercing screech that caused both adults to wince, but Esme was smiling.

“You wait,” Rosalie said once she was finished screaming, her voice hoarse. “Just you wait. If it’s money you want, good luck. You might as well kill me now.”

“She looks just like you,” Esme said as if she hadn’t heard her, though she didn’t take her eyes off the girl. “We knew it already, but up close, it’s crazy. I didn’t get a look-in.”

Rosalie’s face contorted to an expression of both confusion and disgust. “What the fuck…?”

Carlisle laughed at her exaggerated expressiveness; the narrowed eyes, the over-the-top frown, the grimace that caused her cheeks to apple. He had seen Esme pull that face a million times before. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he told her as they both went back to staring at Rosalie — who was attempting to naw at the rope around her wrists — with the kind of fascination people usually reserved for newborn babies.

“Carl, untie her,” Esme instructed. He gave her a hard look, thinking it was a terrible idea. She arched an eyebrow in response, and he knew better than to argue with her.

“Wait ‘til my father hears about this,” Rose grumbled as he began cutting through the thick rope. That amused him, and he couldn’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?” She demanded.

He shook his head. “Nothin’,” he tried, but he heard Esme giggle and he started laughing again.

Rosalie’s face flushed angrily as she looked wildly from her almost-free hands to Esme and then to Carlisle. “I said, what’s. So. Funny?” She said it slowly and punctuated, as if she thought he was stupid. Esme’s laugh was turning into the loud cackle she gave when she was particularly thrilled. He sniffed with a smile and shook his head again.

Rosalie was then red-faced, her eyes flashing with rage. “What the fuck is so funny, you piece of shit?”

The couple collapsed into full belly-laughs for what had to have been at least a full minute as Rosalie could do nothing but glare. “It’s funny—“ Carlisle started, pausing to try and compose himself. “It’s funny that you said ‘wait ‘til my father hears about this,’ because I am your father.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes, irritated. She clearly thought that was his lame attempt at a joke.

“It’s true, saweetie,” Esme tried to turn her amusement into a sincere-looking smile. “Your our daughter. I’m your mommy! Were you ever told you were adopted?”

“What kind of weirdos are you?” Rosalie mused, her eyes still narrowed. “Don’t normal kidnappers just tie someone up and leave them be ‘til they’re paid ransom or get arrested? What is this, some sort of house-play shit? I saw something about that on TLC once.”

“Look, princess,” Carlisle started, struggling to get the blade through another bit of rope. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s the truth. I didn’t bundle you up in my car for money, or to hurt you. I bundled you up in my car to bring ya home, where you belong. We’ve missed you your whole life, and now that you’re a lil’ older, we’d love to make up for lost time.”

She looked silently from one to the other. Carlisle could see that it would take a while to convince her. She was suspicious, defensive, and unyieldingly stubborn. Just like her parents.

“Whadiya say, kid?” He smiled at her. “Wontcha give your ol’ man a hug?”

The last of the rope snapped and Rosalie immediately punched him so hard in the nose that it made a horrible crack. He held it as she tried getting away, having seemingly forgotten about the rope around her ankles.

The pair of them allowed her to hop around the garage as both exits were locked. Esme handed him a tissue for his bloody nose and they stood side-by-side against the car, watching Rosalie noisily hunt for something she could either free her ankles or hurt them with. It took him a second to realise Esme was quietly crying.

“Don’t worry, doll,” he put a consoling arm around her and pulled her into him. “She’ll come round eventually. She just needs time. And maybe a car, or a pony, or whadevathefuck teen girls are into deeze days. Whadeva it takes, we’ll do it.”

“It’s not that,” Esme swiped at her tears and turned to him. He was surprised to see she was smiling.

“Then what? What is it, baby?”

Esme wiped another tear away as she proudly cried, “she’s got my uppercut!”

Getting the three of them to work as a family unit had been no easy feat. After showing her the paperwork that proved they were her biological parents, the couple brought Rosalie back to her adoptive home the same evening they had taken her from it in an attempt to show her they were no danger. She didn’t tell the Hales about what had happened, instead blaming her broken curfew on losing track of time while at a friend’s house. Carlisle knew that this was more out of anger at them for lying to her her whole life than it was out of loyalty to the Cullanos. The couple returned to watching her, but this time it was on a daily basis, and they made sure she saw them either by waving across the street or approaching her if she was alone. They often arrived with bribes, but she rolled her eyes each time.

“Hi, Rosalieeee,” Esme sung one day, the two of them having waited for her to get home at the corner of her block. “How was school?”

“Get lost,” Rose muttered as she went to walk past them as usual. Carlisle caught her arm, so she begrudgingly came to a halt and rounded on them with a glare. “What? What do you want?”

“I bought us matchin’ Birkins!” Esme said excitedly, unfazed by Rosalie’s attitude. She held up her arms, each hand gripping the handles of a bag.

“I already have expensive bags. I don’t need more. You know what? I already have parents, too.”

“Who had about as much of a hand in raisin’ you as we did,” Carlisle said. “Tell me, Rosie, which nanny was it you used to mistake for your motha?”

She flinched for a second before recovering her steely expression. “I told you not to call me that. You don’t get to give me a nickname. You don’t get to ask me how my day was. You don’t get to wait around for me every single day. Seriously, you’re both stalkers. You’re already breaking the law by seeking me out before I’m 18. Stop before I call the police and report you for harassment.”

“I don’t think you will,” Esme said gently.

“Oh yeah? What makes you so confident?”

“If that’s what you wanted, you’d have done it already.”

There was a pause. Esme took her chance to hand Carlisle a bag, freeing a hand to caress Rosalie’s arm. “Look, sweetheart. All we’re askin’ for is for you to get to know us. If you get to know us, and you decide you want nothin’ to do with us, we’ll walk away, no questions asked.”

Rosalie considered this for a moment, then looked back and forth at the two of them. “You swear?”

Carlisle traced the cross-my-heart motion on his chest. “Hope to die.”

“Promise,” Esme said firmly.

She let out a sigh. “Fine. But how will it work? I can’t just disappear to go live with you. I’m in my senior year, and my parents would have the mayor turn the city upside-down looking for me.”

“Well, they work ‘til late, right? So we’ll start pickin’ you up from school, and get you back before they come home,” Carlisle said.

“No, you can’t pick me up. Friends will see me getting into some random car. Plus, I’ll have homework...studying....that kinda thing.”

“Ahrite-ahrite,” he nodded. “Responsible, I like it. Education is very impawtant.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, it seems to have played a huge role in your life.”

“How about we get you a cell that you can use specifically for us?” Esme asked. “And you can call or text us whenever you’re finished with schoolwork? We can take ya out to eat or...well, do whateva you wanna do.”

Rosalie paused again. “Do I get to pick the phone?”

“Of course,” Esme smiled. She had told Carlisle the bribes would pay off eventually.

“What about your...business?” Rosalie asked curiously. They hadn’t explicitly told her what they did, but she was bright enough to guess.

“We do most of our work at night, anyway,” Esme answered.

And so the months that followed were filled with evening family bonding. Rosalie would call or text, they’d go out to eat, do different things around NYC or Jersey City, drop her home, go take care of business, get home either a little before or after dawn, and sleep while she was at school. She seemed to enjoy her time with them; she never said she was happy to continue allowing them to be in her life, but she never again brought up wanting them to leave her alone, either. So they continued the way they were as her 18th birthday drew closer.

One evening, when the family had gone go-karting, Carlisle noticed Rosalie’s ability to drive with extraordinary speed and precision. He decided to test it out in an actual car, just the two of them, and was thrilled to discover this skill was transferable.

“Guess what, baby?” He approached Esme from behind at their kitchen counter the next afternoon, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What?” She smiled sleepily as she prepared breakfast, though it was 1pm.

“I think I’ve found us a driver.”

“Really? Who?”

“Rosie.”

She frowned and pulled away so she could properly look him in the face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Remember how great she was when we went go-kartin’? Well, I brought her to a track last night and she was amazin’. Turns out she’s actually really into cars — kid knows more about ‘em than me!”

“First of all, drivin’ round an empty racetrack at night is very different from drivin’ the streets when you’re fleein’ a scene or bein’ chased,” Esme said, pulling fully out of his arms and heading for the sink. “Second, Rosie’s goin’ to college.”

“Whadiyamean, she’s goin’ to college?”

“I mean what the fuck I said: she’s goin’ to college!”

“We just got the kid back and now you’re gonna send her off to some otha parta the country to go to college?”

She turned back to him with a glare. “The whole reason we left her in the first place was so that she could have a normal life. College is a normal life.”

“Normal life? She was bounced around from nanny to nanny! We didn’t give her a life with normal parents, we gave her human cash cows and babysitters!”

“Well, at least she was safe.”

“We’d never let anyone hurt her.”

“We couldn’t guarantee that. We still can’t. That’s why she should go to college like the rest of her friends.”

“What, because college is so safe for young girls? Have you neva read a newspaper?”

“Don’t tell me about the dangers young women face,” she practically growled.

“She’d be with us,” he said, his tone much softer. “Where else could possibly be safer for her to be than with the two people who’d die for her?”

She stared at the counter for a moment. “Her 18th is comin’ up,” she said slowly. “That’s her opportunity to decide if she wants to come live with us or not. If she does, she does; if she doesn’t, she goes to college like the private-school kid she is should. But I don’t wanna force her like we did last time. If she chooses us, I want it to be because she chooses us.”

“Okay,” Carlisle smiled, then added, “and she will.”

And she did. She turned 18, deciding to finish out the school year where she had always lived. After graduation, she packed her bags, told the Hales she knew the truth and that she was leaving them for good, and came to live in the Cullano house. The Hales were a little persistent in trying to convince her to come back to them, but it was nothing that couldn’t be solved by sending Emmett, the most intimidating-looking member of the crew, over to their house to smash a couple of things up. As Carlisle had envisioned, Rose started driving for the Cullanos and their team, initially just the occasional, stress-free errand here and there. But she found it brought a certain amount of thrill and excitement her life had been missing, and so she worked her way up to riskier jobs. This trip to Boston would be her riskiest job yet.

“Is everyone done?” Carlisle now asked. Esme still had a slice left over while Rosalie sat with nothing but crust in front of her.

“Mmhmm,” Rose answered. Esme mumbled something about being full.

They gathered their things and headed back to the borrowed Bugatti that Emmett had arranged for them. Though Emmett was a Brooklyn boy, Boston was his father’s city, and he had relatives all around it. Relatives that would be more than happy to see the Cullanos through what they planned to do tonight.

Rosalie set the GPS to their hotel. “How many Ivanovs are there, again?”

“Six— well, 4 Ivanovs, a Petrov and a Ryan,” Esme answered from the back.

“Who’s the head?”

“Mmm, Tatiana. Or at least she thinks she is,” Esme smiled.

“Is she the one who...did she kill Emmett’s dad?” Rosalie met Esme’s eyes in the rear view mirror. She had developed a bit of a soft spot for Emmett over her time with them.

“No,” Carlisle answered instead. “That was Katarina and Garrett.”

“Garrett doesn’t sound very Russian.”

“Garrett is the Ryan. Irish mob, like Emmett’s dad,” Carlisle said.

“They worked together ‘til he fell for Katarina,” Esme added. “So it was a real blow when the two of them killed him. A big betrayal.”

“Then how come no one’s taken them out yet?”

“They’re powerful. Ruthless. Batshit crazy,” Carlisle said.

“Look who’s talking,” Rose said with a slight smile.

“That’s why Emmett’s mother left here and raised him in Brooklyn,” Esme said. “That’s where she grew up, so she knew she’d be safe. The Ivanovs have people everywhere around Boston. And with a target on the back of every McCarthy, stayin’ woulda been a death sentence.”

Rosalie frowned then. “If they’re that bad, what are we doing here? There’s three of us— two, technically, since I’m just the wheels. Those don’t seem like very good odds.”

“There’s also Alice, virtually,” Carlisle reminded. “She’ll be there behind every camera to tell us what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Cool, so she can say, ‘hey guys, you’re about to die’ right before we die. Helpful.”

“It is helpful,” Esme said. “Even the shortest of warnin’s can buy you just enough time to save your life.”

“Besides, we’re not plannin’ a massacre,” Carlisle said. “I’m expectin’ only one to be there. We hit ‘em, we go. Then we’re even for how they fucked us over with the Kiev deal they were supposed to facilitate.”

“So it’s...a blind hit? It doesn’t matter who you get, as long as you get one of them?”

Carlisle nodded. “But it would be...convenient, if it was Tatiana.”

Once they got back to the hotel, they freshened up and changed. The couple pulled out the stuffed bags Emmett had also organised for them. They took only what they needed, a couple of guns and knives each, and shoved the rest back under the bed.

“Don’t forget my favourite,” Carlisle smirked, waving Esme’s thigh holsters in the air.

“Never,” she said, holding up two pistols that were identical to her favourites back home. “Put them on for me?”

He knelt down, lifted up her skirt and strapped one around her right thigh. Then he moved to her left as she slotted her gun into it. After buckling the left one, he ran his hand down her inner thigh, causing her to giggle. Rosalie burst through the door of their adjoining rooms and froze as she registered them, her face immediately screwing up in disgust.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” she said. “Get a room.”

“This is our room,” Carlisle pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Why aren’t you in all-black?”

She was wearing head-to-toe black like they taught her, as she always did. Carlisle was dressed like an office worker from Mad Men, while Esme looked like a housewife from the 50s. Neither of them said anything.

“This isn’t one of your weird sex things, is it? Like, you can’t possibly get off on killing people together?”

The silence continued. “Ugh, don’t answer that.”

They made their way down to the car and Rosalie silently drove them to a street two blocks down from the address they’d given her. As the pair got ready, she drummed her fingers against the wheel.

“You scared?” Carlisle asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she said, a little too forcefully.

Esme leaned forward into the gap between the two front seats and put a hand under Rosalie’s chin, directing her so she could look at her intently. “Remember the plan. Stay inside the car at all times. Stay put here, lights off, engine off. Only turn it on when you see us. Or when you see people who aren’t us carryin’ guns. If that happens, you drive and you drive and you don’t ever stop. Same goes if we’re gone past, mmm, a half hour. Forty minutes, tops. There’s a loaded gun in the glovebox if you need it. Got it?” Rosalie nodded. “Good.”

“Stay safe, princess,” Carlisle kissed her on the cheek, opening his door. “Love ya.”

He closed the door and Esme took her hand and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine. But in case it isn’t, you know what to do. I love you, sweetheart.”

She nodded wordlessly again. She never said it back; it was probably still too weird for her. But she swallowed tightly. Esme brought the hand she held onto up to her lips and kissed her knuckles. She then let go and opened the door.

“Esme?” Rose choked out just as she was about to close it.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Come back to me, like you did before.”

Now Esme was the one who could do nothing but nod. And with that, she closed the door, and the couple walked off into the night.

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter iii

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist. It’s being constantly updated

       Leaving work later that day, Ransom was submerged in his own thoughts in a way he hadn’t been ever since he was a teen. Of course, his family - with the exception of his grandfather - thought he didn’t have much in his head, but the truth was that sometimes, he felt like he had too much. So, in an effort not to lose his mind, he decided to let it all go just before he turned fifteen. Everything. Every preoccupation, his mother’s expectations, his fear of never being good enough.        That had served him well up until a couple of months ago. Sure, it meant that he’d created quite a reputation for himself and he’d been involved in one too many drunk endeavors he would have preferred not to be associated with, but at least he had something to share, stories to tell. That would ultimately be extremely beneficial to him if he ever did decide to take his grandfather’s advice and write a book.        But then came the news that Harlan would cut him out of the will if he didn’t get his act together, along with the proposal that he should take over the publishing company, since his uncle was being reallocated to another family business, and he thought to himself, maybe this is it. Maybe this is the time to settle back and become what he’d dreaded so much. Maybe it’s time for him to forget about fun and amusement and discover what exactly was so great about maturing.        So he accepted the job and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing. Who he was supposed to be. It seemed like the right thing to do after he’d spent so long trying to run from any sort of difficulty in life. It seemed like he owed his grandfather at least that. But over the next few months, it became increasingly difficult to fulfill his duties without seriously reconsidering everything he had been before and everything he had tried to avoid thinking about, which had lead to his admittedly stupid impulsive behavior.        Ransom was in his late thirties now, and he was only starting to realize just how messed up he was. And that meant that the last thing he thought himself capable of becoming right now was a father.        Actually, Ransom had never even considered the possibility of ever becoming one. I mean, he liked the part that came before, very much in fact, but despite his playboy ways, he’d always been very careful about using a condom, especially since he didn’t want to deal with precisely the type of problem he was going through right now. But of course, even he knew that condoms failed and with his luck (and the amount of sexual partner he’d had) it was only a matter of time until it happened.        Fuck. What the hell was he going to do? It’s not like he even had a proper parental figure to learn from, considering his father was an even lousier son-of-a-bitch than him and his mother was a controlling freak. What was he going to do?        Ransom was startled when he realized he was nowhere near his house when he’d finally been able to snap out from his thoughts. In fact, his feet had taken him in the opposite direction, and he found himself easily following the familiar path to his grandfather’s house.        Just as the castle-like mansion appeared in front of him, he sighed, looking up at the window of Harlan’s office. It seemed like he was awake. He wondered what his grandfather would have to say about this situation. Harlan managed to be even more unpredictable than Ransom most times.       Still, Ransom knew that if there was ever someone who was capable of giving him any advice he’d actually follow, it was him.       Harlan, of course, knew something was up the second Ransom stepped foot in his room. He’d always been the one person capable of reading his grandson, and that meant he was probably the only one who actually somewhat understood him.       “Well, Ransom, it’s very nice of you to come and visit me when there’s no family dinner forcing you to, but care to share what actually made you drive all the way here? I know it has nothing to do with the company, otherwise, I would have already heard about it from one of the managers.”       Ransom couldn’t really be surprised about Harlan and his knowledge of him, so he settled for some feeling kind of comfort at knowing at least someone in this world could see right through him and actually cared enough to ask about his problems.       “I… I got someone pregnant.” The words came out weirdly easily, and it felt like some of the weight that’d been placed on him had now disappeared. He raised his eyes to meet Harlan’s, after his grandfather didn’t offer any immediate reaction, and the anticipation made him grow irritated again.       He really should learn other automatic responses.       “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Harlan took a deep breath before answering, a tiny smile playing on his lips.       “What are you expecting me to say? Congratulations or I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner?” The young man rolled his eyes, impulsively getting up from his seat to pace around the room. His mind was failing him, he couldn’t hold on to a single thought for more than a millisecond. He’d come all the way here in the hopes that Harlan would know what to do, the right thing to say to shed some light on the mess that was his mind, but he should have known better. That was not how his grandfather worked.      But his grandfather knew how *he worked. So he patiently waited, watching with piercing attention as Ransom tried to get a grip over his thoughts. He knew his grandson would need time, but he would voice his concerns sooner or later. And then, he’d be able to actually help, once he determined what precisely was Ransom’s problem with the entire situation.        “I’m not father material,” the young man suddenly blurted out, running his fingers through his hair and inadvertently messing his usually impeccable styling. Harlan smiled to himself, knowing only a year before this would never happen, not without his grandson suddenly leaping towards the nearest reflective surface just to adjust his hair. He’d changed so much already, but he still was overcome by doubts. “I don’t think… I think the baby would be better off not knowing me.”        And there it was. That overwhelming sense of insecurity was the reason for Ransom being the way he was. No matter how hard he tried to run away from it, pretend it wasn’t there, Harlan knew his grandson too well. And now that he was starting to change his life, facing his biggest problem was going to happen sooner or later. Since there was a baby in question, thank God it was sooner rather than later.        “My boy, I understand why you would think that. It’s not like you have had great parental examples to guide you in such a journey, and I even accept my part of the blame in that. But I think you have the wrong idea of what being a parent truly is like. No matter how it may seem to our kids, no single adult suddenly is struck by the obvious guidelines of how to be a perfect parent. We figure out as we go, and we make mistakes along the way. A lot of them. So I think the question that really matters here is… do *you want to be around to witness your child grow? Or would you be okay never really knowing what became of him or her?”        Harlan braced himself for the answer, knowing it would deeply affect him one way or another, but also aware that he couldn’t let Ransom see what his reaction would be like. It would only make the younger man angry. It was important for him to think he was the only one in charge of his decisions, and the only one affected by them.         When it became clear that Ransom was too lost in his own mind to come out with an answer just yet, his grandfather pressed on. “Look, Ransom, parenting is a skill, just like writing. Some people are born naturally talented, others have to rise to the occasion. You just have to figure out if you’re up for the challenge, because if you aren’t… I think it’d be best if you let them be.”        A few more seconds of heavy silence where Ransom still wouldn’t meet his eyes passed, and Harlan decided to ask, “Tell me, is *she ‘mother material’?” His grandson took a deep breath, once more running his fingers through his hair before admitting, “I don’t know. I barely know her at all. But she’s a professor. Of law, out of anything. And she seemed… good. Better than me, at least, and that’s a relief.”        The older man couldn’t help but laugh at how Ransom’s sense of humor tended to show its face in the weirdest of situations. He knew what his grandson should do, that he’d regret not giving this a try, but he also knew no good could come from trying to force Ransom into doing something when he wasn’t ready for or didn’t want to do it. So all he could do was wait, and hope the younger man would find the right answer by himself.       “I think I know what I want to do.”       Harlan couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in Ransom’s eye as he left the house without even remembering to say goodbye.

[missymurphy1985]

Secrets & Lies

Your brother's best friend has been asked to pick you up from college after your brother's car broke down - you've not met Jim before now, but you were keen to get to know him more.

Taglist: @queenshelby @margoo0 @cloudofdisney @peakyscillian @ntmynouis

Warnings - smut.. a lot.. outdoor sex.. virgin reader

A request from @noctvrnalmoth

*************************************************

"Thank you so much for the ride home, Jim, really appreciate it." You smiled at the driver as you pulled up outside your parents house.

"No problem at all y/n, it was nice to finally meet you, your brother has told me so much about you." You and Niall were really close, despite the 10year age gap. When you were younger you didn't get along at all, but when your parents divorced three years ago, shortly before your 15th birthday, you'd moved in with him and his girlfriend Ilona and become closer, finding you had more in common than you thought. Your mother and you never got along, your father couldn't take you in as he worked away so much, but your older brother welcomed you with open arms, without question.

"I don't understand why he's never introduced us before, I've met all his other friends?"

"Yeah, strange. But at least I've met you now." He smiled, making you blush. There was no mistaking he was very attractive, but he was your brother's friend - with those eyes and that floppy brown hair, he had the pick of anyone he wanted, what would he want with an inexperienced 17year old like you?

"I guess I'll see you at your birthday party, right?" You smiled again, your brother had arranged a house party for your 18th birthday this weekend. Your parents were no longer around - mum had packed up and gone to live with her toyboy in London, your father had turned to drink following the divorce and sadly passed away following a binge, driving his car into the wall of the local supermarket.

You nodded and got out of the car, feeling a little giddy but holding it together enough not to let it show.

The party was in full swing - your 18th, surrounded by those you loved the most. Only Niall was blood family, but you considered your combined group of friends to be your adopted family - you'd all known each other for years, and you adored them. Except Jim. You couldn't work out why your brother had never introduced you to him before, but you'd met now, and you were excited to get to know him better.

"Happy Birthday y/n," his thick Irish accent pulled you from your daydream as you turned to face him. He kissed your cheek and handed you a small gift bag. Thanking him, blushing, you placed it on the kitchen counter with the others and you each poured yourselves a drink from the punch bowl Ilona had made that afternoon.

"You didn't have to, thank you so much Jim."

"Can't let your 18th birthday go by without a gift now, can I? Enjoying the party?"

"It's amazing - I think a few of my friends are a touch worse for wear already!" You laughed watching your friend Becky try to walk to the bathroom - looking remarkably like a duck with a limp...

"Yep, she's not gonna feel good in the morning! You seem to be stone cold sober? It's your birthday!"

"I'm not a big drinker and I know my limits - slow and steady, wake up fresh as a daisy." You winked at him and his lips turned up slightly to smile at you.

"You like slow and steady then?" He leaned forwards to whisper in your ear and you felt an unrecognisable feeling in the pit of your stomach, it felt like a hot coil turning and you couldn't help but bite your lip. Jim smiled at the reaction he gave you, and winked. "I'll see you later, y/n." What the hell was that? Was that flirting? Was he coming on to you?

"Don't even think about it y/n..." You brothers voice suddenly snapped you out of your daydream. You took a deep breath and smiled.

"Think about what, Niall?"

"He's off limits. He's 29 in a few weeks y/n, waaay too old for you!!" You scoffed.

"How olds Ilona, Niall? Isn't she nearly 35?" You giggled.

"You're barely 18, y/n, he's pushing 30! No way am I letting him anywhere near my baby sister." You rolled your eyes.

"I'm not a baby anymore, I'm an adult now - a proper one! It's all official n shit.." you smirked. You'd been older than your years since the divorce, but you loved playing childish around your older brother.

"Y/n please - you deserve so much better than him okay? He's not worthy of you."

"And why not Niall? Huh? Give me one good reason why not."

"All he's after is a fuck, and a fuck off. He'll just break your heart, okay? He's never held down a serious relationship with anyone, he doesn't know how." He was whispering now, so no one else could hear him. "He's had more one night stands than I've had hot dinners, and I'm not prepared to let my sister become another of his conquests." You looked at Niall, he was serious. A look of worry etched all over his face.

"And this is why we've never met?"

"Exactly why. You're a young, impressionable, attractive girl y/n - you deserve the world on a plate. All he can offer you is likely to be something you'd need antibiotics to get rid of." You chuckled at his humour.

"Okay, okay... I'll keep my distance. I promise."

The party was drawing to a natural close, lots of drunk people but all in good spirits - dozens of cheek kisses, hugs, and happy birthday wishes later, it was you, Niall, and Ilona left at the end. Niall and Ilona were already snoring on the sofa. You sat in silence watching the movie Niall had chosen before they fell asleep drifting yourself, when the door suddenly knocked you awake. Groaning, you made your way to the door and were surprised to see Jim stood in the doorway.

"Sorry y/n.. left my phone!" You let him in to look for it.

"Want me to ring it?" You offered, taking your phone from your jeans pocket. He dialled his number and listened for the ring. Hearing it in the kitchen, he went to pick it up before coming back to you in the hallway.

"You're a star, thanks y/n! I'll see you soon, yeah?" He handed you your phone back and you couldn't help but feel the electricity surging through you when his fingers brushed yours.

"Get home safe, yeah?" You opened the door to let him out. He maintained eye contact with you as he walked out the door. "Player..." You mumbled. "Hot player... Damn fine, sexy player.. but still a player." You made a promise to your brother and you were determined to keep it.

Leaving college the following Monday, your phone pinged with a message.

"Hey, great party on Saturday - hope you weren't too hungover the next day! Jim xx" you heart lurched.. how did he - ah wait, the missing phone... Probably used that trick dozens of times. You deleted the message and put your phone back in your bag. You won't play me, Jim, you thought to yourself, suddenly smiling at the control you were taking in this situation. It was clear he was attracted to you, and you couldn't deny you were attracted to him too - but there was no way you were going to let him fuck and run with you. You'd never gone that far with anyone before, your first time wasn't going to be a one night stand.

**********************************************

3 years later....

"Niall!!" Your brother was waiting on the platform for you with Ilona and their newborn baby. You were so excited to see them - you'd been in England at university and you were finally home, your degree finished, and now meeting your niece for the first time. Your brother swept you up in a massive hug and Ilona held up baby Emily in her arms. You placed your bag on Niall's shoulder smirking, and took the tiny baby from Ilona, cooing over her.

"Oh she's beautiful... She's just perfect..." Choking back a sob as the little one gripped your little finger in her tiny hand. Ilona wiped a tear from her eye.

"So glad to have you home!! Come on, let's get back to the house and you can tell us all about it!"

"So how's things been here?" You asked once you'd settled back at home, your brother pouring you a glass of wine. Ilona feeding Emily in the armchair in the window.

"Same old same old - although it appears your old crush has settled down nicely now!" You choked on your wine as your brother smirked at you.

"What crush??"

"Oh come on y/n, everyone knew you fancied Jim, it was only because your brother put a veto on him that you didn't act on it!" Ilona chuckled. You felt your heart sink a little at the news.

"Settled down? I thought he was the biggest playboy in Dublin?"

"Apparently he's put it all behind him - been with Danielle for about 8 months now, seems to be going well." Niall eyed you, watching for a reaction. He knew the two of you had exchanged texts years ago, your better judgement getting away from you after your initial reluctance at first. Nothing more than a few flirty texts, as you'd left soon after to attend Leeds University studying Law. You'd bagged yourself a new job at a law firm back home in Dublin following your outstanding Degree results, and started the following week. The messages between you had dried up after you'd left home, clearly he'd lost interest now you weren't as physically accessible as before.

"Good for him. I'm glad he's sorted himself out." You smiled, hiding the sadness in your eyes as best you could. Regardless of the time that had passed and the certainty that he would have broken your heart had you let him, you still held a torch for him deep down inside.

Niall knew you better than to pry further, so he left it alone, and you spent the rest of the day chatting about your uni experience, and cuddling your baby niece. You'd be living back with Niall until you had enough saved to buy your own place - they'd left your room as it was before you'd left, but they'd need it for the baby before long.

Your girlfriends were so excited to finally have you home, they'd arranged drinks at Murphy's Bar in the city centre that evening to welcome you back. Walking in, they all screamed your name and you were suddenly drowning in hugs from all 4 of them. After settling in a booth, you were all catching up on the last 3 years - you hadn't come home much while you were away as in between classes you'd been working as a clerk at a law firm building your experience. Time off had been limited, but you were home now, looking forward to making up for lost time.

"Oh you will not believe who's just walked in here..." Your friend Kim nodded at the bar a few hours after you'd arrived. Stood at the bar, you noticed his dark hair first, then his eyes when he turned round to lean against the bar, his beer being poured. He didn't look happy, but you still felt a warm glow in your stomach as he suddenly caught you looking over. You saw him take a breath and smile warmly at you, and that glow burned a little brighter. You made your way over to him, smiling gingerly and he gave you a warm kiss on the cheek.

"Long time y/n, how've you been?" He smiled before asking the bartender to add your next drink to his tab.

"Busy, finished uni last week and I start my new job next week so catching up with everyone this weekend. How are you? I hear you're doing well, with Danielle now, right?" He looked to the floor.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? Ilona said you guys were practically married!" You laughed, but he didn't.

"Yeah. So where are you working?" You chatted about your new job as a paralegal in Holland & Taylor's Law Firm on Dublin's high street, and he smiled, eyes never leaving yours. Suddenly, he ordered 2 shots for the pair of you, and raised a toast. "To you, y/n, and the success you absolutely deserve." You were already fairly tipsy, but you never refused a shot. You both knocked it back and he ordered another two.

"Jim I think I've had enough, but thank you..." Jim smiled at you.

"Still know your limits huh? Fair enough, I'll drink yours." You saw pain in his eyes again.

"Jim stop.. what's going on? Are you okay?" He knocked both shots back.

"Since when did you care? Fucked off to the UK, didn't even tell me you were going, just did one. I thought we were onto something, I wanted to get to know you better, then one morning poof! You were gone?"

"Jim come on, it was a few texts! We had a cheeky flirt - no doubt I was one of a dozen girls in your phone, it was years ago! Come on now?" He laughed, the drink taking a hold and he stumbled slightly. You turned and headed back to your friends at the booth.

"Girls, carry on without me, I'll catch up later. I need to make sure he gets home safe..." They knew better than to argue - you'd always had a soft spot for someone in need of help. They nodded and headed to the next bar, you'd catch them later once you'd got Jim home. "Come on," you said, hooking an arm under his and wrapping his arm over your shoulder.

As the air hit you both, you felt him stand next to you.

"I'm sorry I snapped... I didn't... I'm sorry." He sat on a bench by the taxi rank, sobering up.

"Hey it's me who should be sorry Jim. I should have stayed in touch, it was just so busy with uni and work.. but I'm home now yeah? We can catch up?" A taxi pulled up outside the bar and Jim stood, making his way to get in.

"My head's a fucking mess y/n.." He paused, standing in the open door of the cab.

"Jim? What's happened?" Without thinking, you found yourself getting in the car with him as Jim gave the driver his address.

"Found out she was fucking around with her colleague. She doesn't know I caught them. Went to her flat this afternoon, finished work early, and saw them upstairs through the window, all over each other, bending her over the bed I fucked her in last night." He grimaced at the memory of it. "This is karma, isn't it? For all those times I screwed around years ago... Fucking deserve it I guess." You noticed a tear falling down his cheek and you took his hand gently.

"Jim, no one deserves this.. yes you played around when you were younger but no more than any other single lad in Dublin!"

"Yeah I wasn't always single when it happened y/n. I was a dick, a complete dick. I'm not destined to be happy, and that's fine. I can live with it. Clearly better suited to being an eternal bachelor eh?" The taxi pulled up outside the flat he shared with another friend, and you helped him out the car and up the stairs, telling the taxi driver you'd be back in 2 minutes once you'd made sure Jim was inside safe.

His arm over your shoulder felt nice, you couldn't deny that, and you both staggered up the steps while he fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

"Thanks for taking me home y/n.. really appreciate it. I'm sorry I'm a wreck."

"Hey it's fine okay? Let's just get you inside, yeah? Get to bed and you'll be fine." He paused after opening the door and you felt your cheeks burn. He was definitely sober now, but his eyes were burning into yours. Without thinking, you leaned forwards and caught his lips in your own, before pulling back quickly. He caught your hips and pulled you back against him, pulling you inside as you kicked the door closed behind you. You tried to pull away, but your body was screaming for him - three long years of fantasising about this moment, you couldn't stop now even if you wanted to. Crashing onto the sofa, he pulled you into his lap, hands roaming up your back as he pulled away from the kiss quickly.

"Y/n, do you want me to stop?" You shook your head.

"Don't you dare.. but..." He held back slightly. But?

"You okay?"

"Danielle..."

"I've already sent her a text telling her to go to hell and her fuck buddy too. It's over, y/n." He ran his fingers through your hair.

"Okay.. but.. don't laugh okay?" He lifted you off his lap and sat you on the sofa next to him.

"I promise."

"I'm.. I've never.. I'm still a virgin Jim..." His eyes widened in shock.

"Wow.. really? But you're beautiful y/n... No one has ever.." you blushed, feeling embarrassed at his compliment.

"Just never got round to it I guess... Work and uni.. busy.. few dates here and there but I never really took a shine to anyone enough for them to be my first.."

"We should stop... It isn't that I don't want you, I do, but not like this.."

"I want you Jim... It's always been you.. since that day in the car? I've never wanted anyone else.. I sound like a crazy stalker don't I," you rolled your eyes and laughed, making your way to stand and leave. "I should get back, my friends are waiting. I'll see you soon yeah?" He watched you move to the door and pulled your hand so you fell back onto the sofa with him.

"Your brother will kill us both for this..." He moaned into your mouth as you kissed him, back in his lap, you could feel how hard he was under your legs.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" He chuckled at your response. This was going to be fun. You teased, grinding your hips against his and stood up, leaving him speechless on the sofa. "My numbers the same - call me, yeah?" He nodded, watching your body sway out the door.

********************************

He picked you up from work Friday afternoon, around a week later. Your texts becoming increasingly heated over the last few days, you were excited to jump in the car. You felt like a giddy teenager again, sneaking round behind your brother's back.

"Where did you tell him you were going?" Jim asked as he pulled away, heading towards the hotel on the outskirts of Dublin.

"Said I was staying at a friend's house in Cork for the weekend - he doesn't have her number, it's a 'new' friend I've invented that I met at uni. We're safe for a couple of days." You felt nervous. Excited, but still nervous. The text exchanges between you making it clear exactly what you both wanted, and when he said he'd take you away for the weekend, you had been online and bought something especially for the occasion - wearing it underneath your smart work clothes.

"Sounds perfect - you okay? You're sure you wanna do this? It's not too late y/n.."

"Shut up and drive, Jim."

Pulling outside the hotel you gasped. It was beautiful.. out in the sticks, completely secluded, you couldn't wait to get inside. The room was laid out beautifully, and the view from the window went on for miles - green countryside, the flowers in the grounds blooming, farm animals off to the distance.. idyllic. He placed your bags in the corner and walked over to you, snaking his arms round your waist from behind.

"You look amazing..." He pressed his lips against your neck as you tilted your hair back, pushing your backside against his hardening erection. Considering your inexperience, you seemed to know exactly what you were doing - it's like your body was taking over. He pushed forwards against you, letting out a soft growl.

"I promise I'll take it slow y/n.. so gentle.. I've wanted you for years, I'm not gonna mess this up now.." you turned your body round to face him.

"I trust you - I do. I'm just nervous.." he kissed your worries away and pulled you down with him onto the chair into his lap. "I want to to have me, right here, right now... Please Jim..." You ground your hips against him, and he gasped at the friction. You stood up, and pulled the wrap-around dress you were wearing off, letting it fall to the floor. You smiled as his expression changed, seeing you stood in the lacy, navy blue lingerie, complete with thigh high stockings. He pulled you back into his lap and kissed you again, this time his hands roaming over your breasts slowly, moving down lower across your hips, and over your toned thighs. He looked up at you, before teasing his fingers over the lace thing covering your burning core.

"Can I?" He questioned, still in shock that you'd chosen him to do this. You nodded, lifting yourself up slightly to grant him easier access. He slipped a finger between your wet lips, bringing some moisture up to circle around a bundle of nerves at the top - you shuddered when he found it, and gasped when he put pressure on it.

"Relax.. this will feel good, I promise.." he noticed your tension and realised just how inexperienced you were - this was all new to you, all of it... He continued circling with his fingers as you rocked on his hand, his fingers driving you insane.

"This... Jim... Oh god that feels good... What... Oh...." You had no control now, his fingers circling a little harder as you threw your head backwards gasping for air.

"You're gonna cum y/n... Let it happen, just relax baby..." You gasped again, feeling an unfamiliar burning coil in the pit of your stomach. Rocking your hips involuntarily against his hand, you felt it. A white hot release, accompanied by a loud cry from your lips as your breath caught in your throat. You felt your core soak him, and blushed as he brought his now wet hand back up to lick the juices from them.

"You taste good baby.. I'm getting a first hand taste of this later.." your breath returning to normal now, you lifted your still pulsing body off his lap and sank to the floor between his knees.

"How about we take care of this first?" You pulled his jeans down, he lifted his body up to help and you bit your lip as his hard cock sprung out from them.

"It'll be fine y/n... Trust me?" You nodded, before he took your hand to wrap it around the base of his shaft, before moving it up and down slowly. You felt your core twitch again as he moaned gently, now releasing your hand to let you carry on.

"Do you want me to go faster?" He nodded down at you, and you tightened your grip slightly, moving your hand up and down a touch quicker. A flash of inspiration, and you suddenly moved your mouth over his cock taking him by surprise.

"Fuck y/n... Oh god..." You were doing something right... his balls twitched as you rolled them around your hand slowly, your mouth sucking lightly on his cock. "Harder, y/n..." You complied and took him down your throat a little further, sucking a little harder. His fingers in your hair now, guiding your head up and down. "That's it... This is so good but y/n.. if you carry on it ends here babe..." You smiled removing him from your mouth. He pulled you down on top of him again.

"I want you to control this - it's yours for the taking y/n... Reaching down to his jeans pocket, he grabbed a condom. Pulling it over his cock, he lifted your hips over him and eased you down slowly. "Go slow... Take your time okay.. stop when you need to.." you felt him enter you slowly as you gently brought your hips down. Pausing every few seconds as you adjusted to his size. You suddenly stopped, feeling a barrier...

"I need to break past this, okay? Relax for me..." Bringing a hand back to your clit, he rubbed gently as he spoke softly. "Relax... You feel so good y/n... Wrapped round me... I'm gonna make you feel so good..." Without warning he thrust his hips up taking your breath away, and you fell onto him taking him fully inside you. He held you close as you caught your breath, the pain beginning to subside, replaced by a full and pleasurable warmth inside you.

"Move those hips against me y/n... Like we're dancing..." You did as he asked and gasped at the feeling of pleasure coursing through you. Every movement of yours met by a gentle thrust up from him, making you moan against him.

"This... Fuck this feels good Jim..." Your hips moved faster now as he leaned forwards slightly to kiss the base of your throat, his hands roaming over your still-covered breasts under the lace bra.

"Need more of you..." He stood up, lifting you off him and carrying you to the bed, laying you down on your back and spreading your legs wide. "I'm gonna fuck you y/n.. just like you wanted..." Your core spasmed at his words, fuck this was turning you on... He moved over you and entered you again, this time harder. He brought one of your legs up against his chest and rocked his hips back and forth. You moaned loudly, hands gripping the headboard behind you as that feeling coiled up again inside. He could feel it too, and brought his thumb down to massage your clit hard. Stars now - shit you swore you even saw a fucking unicorn at one point - your orgasm washing over you as you came hard against him, his fingers and cock taking you to highs you'd never been to before but desperately wanted to see again.

"Fuck y/n...." He suddenly stilled, panting your name as his own climax overtook him, filling the condom inside you. Slipping out, disposing of it, he lay down next to you and pulled you close to him.

"That was amazing Jim.... Thank you..."

"It gets easier y/n.. next time will be better.." you smiled, better than that?? Now you were intrigued..

"I want to experience it ALL with you... Show me everything... Show me what I've been missing..." You looked up at him as you lay on his chest.

"Everything? You sure you can cope with that?" You nodded. "Buckle up baby, we're not leaving this room all weekend..."

********************************

He was bringing out a side of you you didn't know existed - and you loved it. The thrill of the secret, the excitement of the fact no one knew but the two of you.. it was a constant turn on for you. He'd taken you away for sex-filled weekends away, where he'd introduced you to different positions, different toys, bringing you both a new level of climax every time. He stunned you with his stamina, often making you cum at least three times before he did.

Your brother had invited him and a few others round for drinks and a games night one evening, the first time you'd been in each others company around other people since your first encounter six months ago. You'd spoken about making your relationship public a few times, but the opportunity never arose. You'd have to really hold back tonight if you were to keep your feelings for each other a secret.

After winning against him in Monopoly for the second time after he demanded a rematch, you headed to the kitchen to top your drink up. He followed a minute later.

"This is fucking impossible y/n... You know how many times I've wanted to bend you over that table?" He sneaked up from behind and breathed in your ear, pressing himself against your back. You bit your lip and pushed your hips against him, before turning to kiss him quickly before anyone saw you.

"You'll have to wait til this weekend Jim... Only another week..."

"I don't think I can wait much longer... Fuck I want you so bad..."

"Drink up. I've only had one. You're drunk, and you need a ride home, don't you now?" He smiled, getting the idea. He knocked his drink back and staggered into the living room

"I think I've had enough lads, beers gone straight to my head! Should've had food before coming over..." He was a cracking actor, you thought, almost convinced you!

"I'll drive him home, a taxi will cost a fortune and I've only had one. I'll be back soon okay?" Your brother eyed you suspiciously but you just smiled and guided a 'drunk' Jim out the house to your car.

"When are you moving out y/n? This sneaking around is getting really tricky...

"I get the keys next month, not long now and we'll have our own space to do as we please yeah?"

"Pull over..." He growled, and you pulled into a quiet side road leading to the beach in the distance. Leaning over to kiss you, he placed a hand over your thigh, parting it slightly before gripping you hard under your skirt between your legs causing you to gasp.

"Here??"

"No, keep driving until we're at the beach... About time we had sex in the dunes..."

"What? I'm not going there with you now, it's the middle of winter!!" Despite your protest, you still found yourself driving to the dunes anyway, his hand still between your legs, then pushing past your underwear to tease you as you drove. You tried to focus on the road ahead, but his fingers were making it difficult...

"Wanna make you scream my name on the sand baby..." Was the car getting hotter?

Rocking your hips against him as he thrust up to meet you, you found yourself riding him hard on the sand, gasping and moaning with each thrust.

"That's it... Ride it... Come on..." You paused for a second.

"What's wrong?" He held your legs and questioned softly.

"My legs are freezing!!!" You both laughed.

"Do you wanna stop?"

"God no..." Your hips moved again riding him faster this time - you needed this to end quickly before frostbite set in. "I'm gonna cum Jim.... Do it with me..."

"Cum on my cock y/n... Let me feel it..." Taking his hands in yours, you leaned back slightly and rode him hard, your organs flooding you as he came deep inside you. Condoms gone now you were on the pill. You felt him fill you up, before both of you started to laugh at what had just happened.

"Shit... Jim we've been gone an hour, my brother's gonna kill me!"

You both scrambled to get dressed, thinking up excuses as to why you were so late getting back.

"So you broke down..." Niall questioned when you finally made it home.

"Yep. Lucky he knows how to change a tyre eh!"

"And you broke down by the beach, did you?" You paused, what did he say? "You've got sand in your hair, and a dune reed too... Right - what's going on y/n?" You stumbled slightly.. shit - thought you'd brushed all that out...

"I um.. look it's not how it looks Niall..." Your brother's eyes flashed angrily.

"I fucking knew it... I'll kill him!" He flew out the door enraged, and you heard the car pull off the driveway. You followed, grabbing your keys, before Ilona stopped you.

"Let him go - Jim can look after himself y/n okay? Come on now..." You fell into Ilona's arms and sobbed. You knew this day was coming, but it was meant to be when on your terms, not like this.

"We didn't mean to hide it Ilona... We just knew what the reaction was going to be, and we were scared... I know he's got this playboy image, and he's a 'scumbag with women' but he's never been anything other than kind, wonderful, loving, and patient with me.. I've completely fallen for him Ilona..."

"And if he feels the same about you, he won't let your big brother get in the way now, will he?" Your phone suddenly rang. You answered, hearing Niall's voice on the other line.

"How long?" He asked, sternly.

"Six months. Give or take... Where are you?"

"I'm on the road outside the house y/n.. I've had too much to drink to drive..." You scoffed at your idiot brother and walked out the door to see him standing by his car on the pavement.

"The hell are you doing Niall? I'm a grown woman capable of making my own decisions!" You were shouting now, but you didn't care.

"He's only in it for the fuck Y/n, that's all!"

"For six months Niall? You think he'd be seeing me for six months if that's all it was about for him? It's more than that, he cares for me -"

"He doesn't care about anyone but himself! Even Danielle saw through his lies! I told you, you're too naive for this!"

"I'm 22 years old Niall, I'm not a child anymore!"

"Guys stop before you wake Emily!! Come inside and calm down yeah?" Ilona ushered you both inside, dying of embarrassment, hoping the neighbours hadn't heard you.

"Niall think about it - have you ever seen Jim as relaxed and happy as you have recently?" Ilona brought the three of you a coffee each and you sat round the table. Niall had to admit Ilona was right. He had noticed a change in Jim just lately. A positive one - he did seem happy..

"And have you ever seen y/n as happy as she has been just lately? How did you not see the connection?" Ilona smiled at you, almost smirking.

"You knew?" Niall gasped at her, stunned.

"Oh come on, you knew too... Those stolen glances when they thought we weren't looking? The weekends they were both away at the same time, but apparently not together? Are you really that blind Niall?"

Your phone ringing interrupted the silence in the room. Jim's number flashed on your phone on the table. Niall looked at you and took your phone into the kitchen. He wanted to talk to Jim away from you.

"He's gonna shout isn't he..." Your head fell into your hands, Ilona reaching a hand over to squeeze your shoulder.

"He's had his suspicions for a while y/n.. he won't shout. He doesn't want to wake Emily. He's disappointed you didn't tell him, that's all. You're still his little sister, and that's his best friend. He doesn't want him to hurt you."

"He hasn't hurt me, he's completed me... I haven't felt this way for anyone before.. I'm sorry we kept it from you.."

"Oh please, I've known something was going on for months and so has Niall, he's just refused to believe it." Ilona giggled. She thought it was brilliant - Jim needed someone like you to ground him, and it appeared to be working well for both of you.

"He's coming over tomorrow." Niall re-entered the room, sullen. "I can't stop the two of you seeing each other, as much as it pains me.. but I'd rather have a conversation with you both in person, together.. you okay with that y/n?" You nodded, smiling a little. No going back now.

The following day, Jim was sat next to you on the sofa, your brother sat opposite you on the armchair. Ilona watching from the dining room with Emily feeding her.

Silence.. for the longest time, before Jim broke it.

"This is silly.. you just gonna sit there looking at the floor making your sister nervous Niall?" You rested your hand on his knee.

"Niall... Please listen okay.. we didn't mean to go behind your back -" you started but Niall cut you off.

"It's okay. It's okay. I've had time to think about it all.. and.. it's okay."

"What??" Jim looked up at your brother, stunned. He was expecting a slanging match, not this..

"Ilona was right. You two have had a certain spring to your steps just lately, and it's clearly due to this 'thing' you have going on.. I'd be a fool to stand in the way of that.." you stood up, and pulled your brother to his feet to embrace him. He hugged you back, before pulling back to turn to Jim.

"You hurt her, and I'm coming for you, understand?" Jim gulped a little and nodded.

"Agreed - but it won't happen Niall. Your sister would rip my balls off before you even got close." He smiled, the tension now officially gone between them.

"Also agreed. Are we all good lads? Niall, you satisfied your alpha male complex?" Ilona came into the room laughing holding Emily, who was reaching out for you. You took your niece and blew a raspberry on her neck making her giggle. Jim watched you both, smiling.

"You are NOT knocking my sister up Jim, get that thought out your head right now!" Niall pointed at Jim's doe eyes and you laughed.

"Don't worry, we've had enough surprises to last a while, Niall."

[venusdeus]

Court of Kings - Chapter 1

Summary: Sent to a neighboring kingdom to secure an alliance, forced to give up your dreams and ambitions, disregarded as a means to an end. You however have no desire to fulfil their wishes. And neither does Oikawa.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x female reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy, angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au (more like enemies to allies to friends to lovers), eventual smut?

Word count: 2700+

Warnings: All the characters are adults unless specified. This chapter is sfw. Minors do not interact.

Notes: Part 1 of a long series I’m planning to write. This is my first fic in this blog so I would greatly appreciate comments, follows and feedback!

Read Prologue first <...> Chapter 2

August 5th

The first messengers arrived when you were having afternoon tea with your literature instructor in the gardens of your summer residence, as your brother was practicing his sword skills not too far. A maid sent by your mother brought you the news of their negotiation a few hours later, accompanied by some of the strawberry macarons you loved so much.  

If it were up to you, you would refuse such a ridiculous offer even before it was brought to your attention. Now that they had a male heir to the throne however, there was no use of a girl that had no claim to become the future ruler, other than being sent to create diplomatic relations now that you were over twenty summers.

“Where do you think they are from?” your brother asked as he tried to dust off his clothes, quite tired from following the orders of his practice partner all day long.

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t see any flags with them.” you continued as he looked disappointed “But they were wearing blue, so at least we know it's not from the south.”

He nodded; his eyes wide with worry “I am glad they are not sending you there.”

“No one is sending me anywhere yet Hiro.” you answered quite annoyed, turning your head sharply to glare at the boy.

It was not his fault per see but him being recognized as the heir has left you in an awkward situation for the past twelve years. You loved your brother dearly, unlike the distant relationship you had with your parents. It was not because you had the ambition to rule the kingdom either. Of course, it was unfair as you were the firstborn, and if not for what was between your legs, you would also have been the one to inherit the crown.

Even if that was so, you simply did not find it in yourself to become a leader. You, however, did wish to be able to shape your own future. One that did not involve fulfilling the selfish wishes of others.

“It would be awfully lonely without you.” he sighed, instantly making you feel guilty for sounding a little bit too harsh.

Hiro looked incredibly small for his age, standing there with his shoulders slouched, fingers flicking, a skinny and sickly kid since the day he was born. He took after your father with his dark hair and almost pitch-black eyes, but with your mother's facial features, a contrast to your own looks that bore no resemblance to any of them, another reason for your alienation from the rest of the family.

“And it would be awfully quiet without you.” you teased “Maybe then I would be able to read in peace.”

Several footsteps coming behind you silenced you both before Hiro could retort, cutting the joyful air and replacing it with a heavy feeling.

Your mother was a beautiful woman that much was true, but in a different way to that of her kids. The Queen had extremely sharp features and her painted lips always supported a displeased frown. She acted as her title suggested, prim and proper, she fit her role perfectly.

Renowned for her charm when she was younger, she did not lose much to the ages if not for the wrinkles next to her keen eyes and the white threads on her hair. Likewise, she was as smart as she was alluring. Coming from a family that lost their wealth a long time ago even though they still supported titles, no one would even dream of her being second to the sole ruler of their beloved country. She was a success-driven woman, which made her a threat in the eyes of many in the court, thus she was not given the right to make a decision when it came to the education of the heirs she produced. Although affectionate towards her kids first, she had no say on the time she had with them, causing their family ties to weaken, and mostly spent her time with foreign ambassadors. A responsibility entrusted upon her by her husband.

“I see you received my message.” she declared not looking at you directly “We will talk more about this after our guests leave. For now, I want both of you to go to your rooms and stay there until dinner.”

You could sense the irritation in her voice. It was not for her kids, however, as you could see the dark circles under her eyes, a sign of her losing sleep for the past few days.

“Won’t we meet our guests?” Hiro questioned before you could.

“It is not needed as they are only messengers.” the Queen answered shortly before continuing her walk towards the main hall, her maids trailing behind. “I will see you two in an hour.”

Leaving your brother behind, you decided to head down towards the observatory. You knew that you would get an earful from your maids later for not changing your garments for the dinner, but your head was filled with too many questions and negative possibilities to care about dresses. It was not as if you did not know that this day would come. It even took longer than expected if all things considered. Most in your position would be engaged before they even stopped using diapers. It was a more political alliance than anything else, decided by the respective kingdoms and the advisors.

You even saw the letters that were exchanged since last year with multiple seals supporting different coat of arms. The council of your father must have declined the offers before this. Not for your sake, at least you didn’t think it was, but for not suiting their taste. It was a big deal for the princess of a country, whether being the heir or not, to marry someone as it reassured the ties you would create.

The only positive thing that happened so far was the fact that you would not be sent to the south. The Southern Kingdom was placed across the sea and was an important trade partner to your own.

It was a wealthy country for sure, but also too grim and the people too wild. Other than the traded goods it wasn’t a traveller-friendly country. They kept to themselves and even though the only thing that separated the two port kingdoms was a narrow sea, they had a vastly different culture. These differences resulted in legends and the rumors about the country becoming more and more outrageous over time.

They called their men barbaric, only interested in hunt and the art of war. Their women proclaimed witches, quite beautiful unlike the stereotype, but worshippers of a different God. All just foolish rumors said your history instructor. He was a wise man that travelled a lot when he was younger and according to him these tales were nonsense. Their folk did not originate there but immigrated over a few centuries ago. He taught you that the people of the Southern Kingdom were that of culture and arts. They just did not like intruders. His words didn’t ease your or Hiro’s heart however as you were fed these tales since you were younger.

If you could find a way to escape from this responsibility you would. Yet, since the first time you sensed what was going on you were looking for an answer, just to be disappointed every time.

The dinner was cold and tasteless even though it was made from the best ingredients one could manage to find. “The lady that makes them must hate her occupation with a passion” claimed your brother when you were dismissed “I can’t understand how mother likes it.”

Once again, the King did not join you at the table. It was always the same excuse, politics, responsibilities. But you knew better. You knew why your parents did not share a bed anymore and you could see the looks women of the court gave to your father. It was not because the King was a good-looking man, quite the opposite in fact, but power attracted people.

You were fully grown now and even when you were younger, you knew what these actions indicated. You even had the most unfortunate memory of seeing one of them, who was not much older than you, leaving your father's chamber looking quite flushed. You would have not cared if only the woman did not give you a curtsy while supporting a smirk.

Lady Winna was her real name, daughter of a lord that was close to the King, nicknamed Lady Whore by you. And most of the time, she was the reason your father would skip the meals altogether only to receive a feast in his room later that night. Which was why you knew that you should never hope for a love match. If lucky you could maybe be friends with your future partner.

“She does not hate her job, she hates her life” you replied “Not that it would matter, she will leave soon. I heard she was pregnant with a lord’s child. A married one on top of that.”

Hiro gasped “What if someone were to hear you talking about these rumors” he exclaimed hitting your arm quite forcefully “you could be punished.”

“Don’t act as if you never say such stuff you little bridge troll. I know how you talk behind your instructors.” you mused rubbing the pain off. “And who will punish a princess I ask you? If not for mother or father?”

“Do I need to know what I should punish you for?”

Both you and Hiro jumped at the unexpected voice of the Queen, a gasp leaving your mouths. She was holding a box in her hand and her face was supporting a rare, serene expression.

“Nothing of importance.” replied Hiro quickly “We were just afraid of falling behind our studies.”

The Queen did not seem convinced as her eyes narrowed, but she had a small genuine smile on. “I see. Why don’t you go on ahead and start your nightly studies then? I need to talk to your sister privately in the meantime.”

Hiro let out a snort that he tried to cover with a cough. You are in trouble he mouthed before bowing to your mother and disappearing through the corridor.

“I would like you to know I was just repeating what the ladies in the court were saying. Not that I believe the rumors of course, it is quite indecent.” you tried to explain quickly but the Queen cut you with a shake of her head.

“That is not why I wanted to talk to you dear. It is however quite incident for a lady to talk that way you are right.” she sighed “Why don’t we talk in my study?”

You knew what was coming now, after all you could not remember the last time you had a conversation with your mother alone, the relaxed expression on her face, however, gave you hope. Maybe, you thought, they decided it was not time yet. Or maybe they did not like the offers that came through.

“Close the door, will you?” she asked walking towards the desk that stood before the bookshelves that covered the walls.

“Where are your attendants?” you questioned as you followed her inside “Is there something wrong?”

“I thought you would be more comfortable if it were just the two of us that’s all. I need to show you something.” She answered motioning towards the box she was holding. “It came this morning. For you of course. Go on, open it.”

The box itself was made from heavy oak, painted black with a family crest carved on top of it. The symbol looked familiar enough, but you could not concentrate enough to remember where you knew it from over the heavy beating of your heart. Opening it cautiously you took a sharp breath between your teeth, observing the contents.

Inside stood a tiara that was made from white gems shaped in intricate designs that you have not encountered before and in the middle stood an icy blue diamond so big that you could have sworn it must have cost the yearly earnings of a whole country.

“Not a ring.” You stated matter of factly “A very bold choice for a gift.”

“Indeed. But you cannot expect less from Seijoh.” Your mother replied with a cautious voice, almost as if she was calculating your reaction.

“Seijoh…” the box cluttered on the table as you let go of it abruptly “You are sending me up north? We waged war against them for years! Even before my grandfather! And now you are sending me there?”

You knew the country itself was wealthy enough and that it had a strong military presence. They had many allies within the countries that bordered yours as well.  But they also claimed right on your countries throne by sighting territorial dispute as well as a marriage between the two countries that produced no heir.

Now they were sending you there as a scapegoat. To secure his claim to the throne. And maybe even to theirs. An eye for an eye.

It took another week for your father to send a response and invite the Crown Prince and the King of Seijoh for a short visit before the decision was finalized and another two for them to arrive on the outskirts of your kingdom with their entourage behind.

As you sat in your suite biting your nails and waiting for their arrival, your maids were going in and out with different dresses in their hands looking for your approval. You on the other hand did not have the mental energy to entertain their ideas. It was bad enough that you had to attend a ball given in their honor that very evening, but you also had to be in the throne room soon enough to welcome them into the castle. Not to mention this would be the first time that you were to meet your possible future husband.

You heard of him before of course. How could you not when his reputation preceded him? A very cunning and ambitious young man, yet it was his looks that brought the most gossip. You heard his name whispered among the staff when they did not know you were listening and heard the ladies giggle when they mentioned the time that they spent in their court, with him.

It was enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth. Was it too much to ask that your future partner was a man of intelligence and few words? At least you would know that you could get along with him then. But a sharp and striking Casanova? They had to be jesting. That was the only possible explanation for this mockery.

As if your fathers’ ridiculous behaviors wasn’t enough now you had to entertain another man like him. It was pretty common for monarchs to take on other lovers, but you would not be embarrassed by a man you did not know in your own house, husband or not.

When you finally entered the throne room you could hear the commotion outside caused by non-other than the infamous man that was plaguing your thoughts for the past week. Your mother motioned you to hurry and take your place with a sudden turn of her chin just before the doors opened.

The rumors did not do him justice you thought as he strutted towards you and your family, your breath caught in your throat.

Oikawa Tooru was without a doubt the most beautiful man you ever laid eyes on.

He was beautiful alright.

And with his charming eyes staring straight at your own and his delicate hands placed on his sword, he looked ready to murder.

It might look like a filler episode, but I needed to give background and I love to build anticipation. Sorry not sorry? Reblogs are appreciated! And also this was not edited I posted it right after writing it so if you see any mistake let me know.

Disclaimer:  No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without permission. I do not own the character of Oikawa Tooru. This is a work of fiction.

TAG LIST: Let me know if you want me to tag you.

@triskoof​ @sassyglassesbunny​ @m-a-r-i-a-s-b-l-o-g

[ciggylungz]

Eat your heart out

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(request: ok but what if u wrote one where y/n is a virgin and they finally did it after dating for months and then Harry's friends came to visit him and you overheard h talking how bad u are and all that angsty stuff...)

 Virginity

The word means a something different to everyone. Some people save it for marriage, some don’t care about it, others tie it to religion. It’s all up to personal interpretation and value. For Y/n, it’s not that she didn’t want to lose it, she just never felt ready until she met Harry.

She had met him through a mutual friend, they were both invited to a birthday party and just got on so well they decided to get to know each other better. Dates, hangouts, and many hours spent together later they had become official and now they’re 5 months in and going strong.

A few nights ago, she had finally felt ready. She had communicated to Harry at the start of their relationship she’d never been intimate with someone before and it might take her a while to feel ready to be so vulnerable with him, but eventually the night came and while it was a bit clumsy filled with trial and error she thought over all it was a special experience. Harry had made her feel comfortable, he had made her feel like she was beautiful and made him happy, so she’s completely confused and crestfallen at the words she’s hearing come from his mouth echoing through the spacious house.

“mate, it was bad. Like proper awful, I almost gagged at some points from how bad it was.”

A cruel laugh followed his words. Her chest felt hollow, like her heart had caved in just from his words. She couldn’t bring herself to stop listening, she guessed she was just a glutton for punishment because the hurtful words just kept coming.

“I thought being with a virgin would be hot!”

She heard the voice of one of his friends exclaim, she had never hated the sound of someone’s voice before that moment.

“so did I! it’s why I put up with the wait, thought she’d be bloody tight and a good shag, but I was dead wrong. She barely got wet; she didn’t even taste good! I couldn’t stay hard for shit, pretended to cum and everything just to get it over with. I didn’t know sex could be so bad!”

Another round of cackles and random bullying comments were made about Y/n among the group of men, at this point Y/n felt worthless. She felt like she failed, she felt dirty and stupid. Everything he’d ever said to her was now being questioned. she swears she could vomit.

“Jesus H, what a waste of a pussy innit? Don’t worry can get some girls lined up for you this weekend. Can trip and have a proper orgy, deserve it after pity fucking that dud.”

“Thank god! Need a good fuck after that nightmare. Line up a good few for me yea?”

Humiliated didn’t even come close to describing how Y/n felt right now. Not only had her boyfriend objectify and completely embarrass her to his friends, she’d just heard first hand that he hated it so much he had faked his orgasm, and was planning to cheat on her with multiple women in less than 24 hours. She was sick, her heart stomped on and her feelings completely crushed. She’d never felt so worthless, stupid, used and disgusted with herself. She had confided in Harry how she was scared to be vulnerable, afraid to be intimate with someone because she wasn’t ready to be so open and bare with another person. Harry had told her how she was worth the wait, how she was beautiful and he loved her but now she knew none of it was real. He’d just wanted to be with a virgin, and he hated the experience.

The vomit crawling up her throat had finally reached her mouth, the girl darting towards the bathroom to empty her churning stomach into the toilet tears springing to her eyes as her body tried desperately to purge out all the hurt yet the waves kept coming.

If anyone had heard her getting sick, they didn’t care since no one even called out her name. The girl didn’t even feel like an actual person anymore, just a defective object who was disposable. She couldn’t be here anymore, the emotional pain starting to manifest into physical symptoms as well. Her head pounding, stomach turning and ears ringing. It took all the energy she had left to shove some of her things into her bag to take back to her flat.

The girl was too humiliated to even face them, to confront Harry or mention what she had heard. She internalized all of it, pulling her hood up and ducking out of the front door silently. She suddenly felt lucky that the living room wasn’t in view of the entry way so she could slip out without detection.

 ----

y/n didn’t bother to leave a not nor text Harry about her departure, making her way on foot to the underground to get home. She hadn’t driven her car there since Harry had picked her up, and she didn’t have any service to get an uber so she opted for the easiest option.

The majority of the train ride she spent with her head down, thoughts racing as she desperately tried to suppress the sobs begging to be let out. she somehow managed to keep it together until she got into her flat, as soon as she shut the door her back was against it pained sobs wracking through her body.

When her bottom finally hit the ground she was reminded of the bruises she’d woken up with on her hips and ass from where Harry had gripped onto her.

Maybe that’s why he made me switch to all fours, he was so disgusted he couldn’t even look at my face. Maybe that’s why he seemed to get angry, I couldn’t make him feel good.

The soreness didn’t even compare to the internal injuries his words had left her with. It was as if she’d been clawed from the inside out, every hurtful word slashed at her organs. Her mind burning with self-hatred, insecurity and disgust towards herself. Y/n had always been insecure, she struggled with body image and confidence since she was a child and this ridicule of her natural state and what was supposed to be special tore her limb from limb.

She didn’t know how long it had been, she seemed to zone out finding herself laying in fetal position on the wood floors of her home. Her back was still pressed into the cold steel door, using what was left of her to stand to her feet and lock it, sliding the chain lock as well just to make sure there would be no chance of anyone disrupting her decent into the void of pain.

She didn’t get much sleep that night, her head wouldn’t stop pounding and her thoughts never eased up. She’d gotten a text from Harry asking where she was, her only sending a simple message saying she was feeling poorly and went home in reply.

Harry left her on read.

It must have been many hours since the sun had rose then set again in the time she’d laid still between her covers. She hadn’t gotten up to use the bathroom or eat. She didn’t feel like a person anymore. She didn’t feel like she held any worth in any sense to anyone, seeing as no one had reached out for her in the hours she’d been MIA, not even the boy who supposedly loved her.

Y/n shifted her gaze to the clock on her nightstand, she then knew it was Sunday. It had been almost an entire 48 hours since she’d moved from her spot and by now she was sure Harry had been balls deep in numerous other women. Women who could give him everything she failed to, women who he desired and could get off with. They must be everything she’s convinced she’s not. Pretty, sexy, desirable, loveable, worthy of Harry’s intimacy. Something he regretted ever engaging in with his own girlfriend.

 ---

It was 10 in the morning on Monday when Y/n’s phone finally dinged. By Sunday night she had managed to drag herself to the bathroom to relieve herself and brush her teeth, yet she only then returned to her bed to lay in a depressed shame filled coma of sorts, she truly felt so heart broken it was like her body was giving up on her.

She caved and looked at the message, feeling another stomp on her deflated heart when she saw it was from Harry-

“you alright? Stopped by your work, they said you haven’t called out but you never showed?”

Y/n had forgotten about her job in her spiral, but even now she couldn’t bring herself to care. She knew she was already on thin ice with her manager for taking so many days off to see Harry preform or visit him on his breaks so it wasn’t a surprise if she got fired. She didn’t care though; she knew if she lost her job she’d be another month late on rent and end up being evicted since she couldn’t scrape together enough for last month either. This would lead to her likely having to move back home with her mother or find a hostile somewhere for women, yet she didn’t care. It seems silly that something as simple as someone commenting on her sexual skills would put her in such a state, but that’s not really the main focal point in her mind.

The thing that hurt most was knowing Harry had only been with her to get to take someone’s virginity, and she’d disappointed him so badly he talked shit about her to his friends and made plans to cheat on her. Harry had completely disrespected, objectified and crushed her, and he didn’t even know she knew but she decided he shouldn’t have to know she knew what he said for him to realize it’s wrong. He’s an adult man who knew full well how hurtful and horrid his comments were about someone he had claimed to love. He should have spoke to her if he felt that way, yet instead he played her and tossed her out like rubbish.

Harry broke her heart, one he’d known was already fragile and timid. He’d still said all those nasty things about her even after the nights he’d let her cry into her chest about how much she hated her body, how bad her self-image and confidence was, the way she felt like she was never good enough for anyone. His actions only confirmed what she’d always feared to be true.

Harry didn’t love her.

[literaila]

Further down down down

spencer reid x reader 

summary: spencer tells reader he loves her. she doesnt say anything. 

warnings: it sucks. probably typos, probably confusing... angst kind of? 

I hope you enjoy it! 

______________________________

There was an unread message sitting on her phone. 

And although it held nothing, felt like barely anything. 

It was weighing her down. 

It was pulling her body down down down, and she wondered when she had decided to hold onto this incredible weight. When she had decided that today was the day to go weight lifting. Nevermind the fact that she’d never been weight lifting a day in her life, nevermind the fact that she hadn't chosen this, that in reality, she wanted nothing more but to put it down. 

It only took her a few seconds to be pulled back down when she finally found the ground. 

And there she was, going down down down and she could barely remember why. 

It all seemed stupid now, silly, immature. It all seemed like she was being ridiculous, acting like an eight-year-old child and she should learn how to be an adult. 

A couple of days ago she wouldn't have thought that, a couple of days ago her mind was set, her body was no longer anxious with the decision making she’d been putting it through. A couple of days ago everything seemed final, and she knew exactly what was to come, knew exactly how it would all turn out. 

A couple of days ago her mind was set. 

But then everything started feeling heavy, it started with her hands, started with her hands feeling like they were baring the whole world, it started with her hands and then it moved up, up up, and she could feel it in her arms, could feel it filling her like it was something pleasant like it was warm and she was welcoming it. She felt it fill her arms like she was accepting it into her body. 

She wasn't but that didn't matter. 

And then it traveled further up, further down, everywhere else it could touch. Her shoulders, her chest, her stomach, her thighs, her fingertips, her feet. It filled and filled and seemed like it would never stop. 

It would never stop, this weight. This terrible, dreadful weight. 

Holding her down. Pinning her to the ground, screaming in her face that she couldn't get up yet. That she had to go down down down some more, that this wouldn't be over for a while. 

It was so ridiculous. 

And if she were a different person, she might beg it to stop, might beg the weight to stop making her chest feel heavy every time she tried to breathe in air, might beg for this weight to let her mind go, to let her think again without pounding on her skull, sending her body down. If she were any different, she might beg, she might scream for it to set her free, to get her out of this hell, to stop making her feel like this. 

But she was who she was, and the weight wouldn't leave. 

Eventually, after she heard the ring of her phone dancing across the room after she’d walked the distance over to it after she’d picked it up carefully, already familiar with the sound, already aware who was texting her, after she’d read it, once, twice, again and again. After all of that, she’d realized that this weight had been building up, that this weight was all leading up to this moment, this message. 

This girl who was sitting in the dark, sitting, waiting, trying not to fall on her face. 

A couple of days ago she’d been sure. 

Sure that it was over, that it was done, it was just done, that they wouldn't speak again, that they wouldn't talk, wouldn't fight, that his eyes would never meet hers again, that he would no longer look at her the way he always did, that he wouldn't smile, wouldn't laugh with her. 

She’d been sure that it was over. That it was done. 

She’d been so sure. So sure. 

And now she was falling down down down. 

A week ago, Spencer had told her. He’d breathed the words out into the world, exhaling, inhaling, forcing this moment between the two of them, putting this secret out into the world and begging her to take it in. 

He’d told her he loved her. 

He whispered the words, quietly, so so fast, inhaling, exhaling. 

It was all she could do to look at him. To notice the dwindling hope in his eyes, the familiar color she’d stared at for months. It was all she could do to sit there and watch him and let her mind flutter away to a different place. 

He’d told her he loved her and she hadn't said a thing. 

She’d watched though. Oh yes, she’d watched every moment, every flicker of emotion go through his eyes. 

At first, he’d been hopeful, blissful, watching her, laughing at her. He’d breathed this secret out into the world and she could see that he’d been relieved, that this secret was a relief to let go of. And then she noticed his smile fall, slowly, not all at once. She’d notice while his face shifted, changing into something less, something no longer blissful, no longer relieved, like he’d realized he’d said the wrong thing. The wrong thing. 

And then, she watched his eyes become confused, watched as he scowled at the world, scowled at this cruel world that he’d hoped in only moments ago. And she watched and she watched and the last emotion she saw was sorrow, grief like he’d lost something. It was the last thing she saw before he got up, got up off of this picnic blanket they were sitting on, and left. Walking away. Walking home she assumed. 

She didn't see anything after that. 

But she’d sat there, in the dark, cold, the wind fresh against her cheek, the world angry with her, angry that she hadn't grabbed onto the secret Spencer had left for her, that the world had to harbor that secret alone. 

She could barely tell. 

Because her mind was fluttering back, returning to her in the wind, and this event, this secret, this weight had all hit her at once. 

Spencer had told her he loved her. She hadn't said a thing. 

She hadn't done anything. She hadn't blinked, hadn't breathed, there were no whispers of affection, no smiles, no scenes that she was so familiar with in movies. 

There hadn't been anything. 

Every piece of her, for only a minute, had left, had fluttered away in the wind, and she hadn't had a thing to say. 

That night, she cursed to herself, cursed, and had wanted to scream out into the world. But it was too cold, and she was too aware of what had happened to do anything but curse. A couple of minutes later she’d got up, hoping she could find him. 

But it was too late. 

And a couple of days ago she had decided. 

After days of him avoiding her, or her avoiding him- she didn't know, she couldn't decide which it was -after days of that, of not looking each other in the eyes, of not talking about anything unless it was absolutely necessary, of sitting in different rooms, different worlds. Yes, after that she decided that it was done. That it was over, that clearly their friendship wasn't strong enough to last her stupidity, that her immaturity, her tactic for avoiding things, had ended it all. 

It was over. She could tell it was over. It was over so the weight could go, so the weight of Spencer’s secret, his confession, the weight could leave. It could go, she didn't need it, she didn't need to go down down down if they weren't friends, if that moment hadn't mattered at all. If it was over. 

The weight could go now. It could go, she didn't need it. She didn't. 

And for the last couple of days, she’d been firm on her decision, set, final, she was sure that it was the answer. They were over, done, and she would have to cope with that. Surely she couldn't cope with that. 

But then her phone had blared, had stopped her heart for far too long, had sent a brand new wave of weight down her body and, and, ouch. 

Ouch. 

After that, she was being forced further down, down down down, and the weight was telling her that this was it, that it wasn't going to leave, that it had made a nice home in her body, that she was just far too comfortable for it to leave, and she wanted to scream and cry and she didn't understand any of these emotions that were coming out of her from a simple text a simple, “I’m coming over” a simple statement, one she shouldn't, one she never had been, afraid of. 

The weight was only pushing her further. Only throwing her body down further into the ground, down down down. 

She had to talk to him. She knew that she’d always know that, she’d known that even if it was over, even if they really weren't going to be friends anymore, even if she would still have to talk to him once more, she would still have to apologize, still have to put an end to it completely. 

But she was good, no she was excellent at avoiding her problems, avoiding talking to people. And she had wanted to avoid him, at least for a couple more weeks, until she could get herself together, could cope with the reality of the situation, until she was ready to tell him, to listen to him tell her that it was over. 

She’d wanted to wait longer. 

But he was coming over, he was coming over to her house right now, he would be there in no less than ten minutes, and she wasn't ready, she didn't want this. 

She was an idiot, she was, and she wasn't ready to admit that, she wasn't ready to admit that this was her fault, that she should have said something. 

And god, she couldn't breathe with all this extra weight on her chest. 

And she was still going down, further down, so far down she was on the edge of the earth, down down down, until she wasn't anything, until there was nothing, until she was just dust in an old-world, until she couldn't-

She was still going down when there was a knock at the door. 

She didn't move, didn't think, didn't breathe. 

She didn't go up and answer the door. Usually, even when they were still being proper friends, Spencer would only knock as a courtesy. After she’d explained her dislike of greeting people at the door, at the awkward silence that usually followed, he’d stopped waiting for her to answer, he knocked, waited a couple of seconds, and then came in. 

She’d given him a key a long time ago. 

She waited fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds. She pretended she couldn't hear him breathing against the door, inhale, exhale, she pretended that he wasn't there, this was a normal day, normal day, it was just a normal day. 

After fifteen seconds he quietly opened the door. She saw him peek first, notice all the lights off, and then she saw him step in, taking his shoes off while she tried to be as quiet as possible. Maybe if he couldn't see her, couldn't hear her, he would leave. 

He would leave and she would be alone, so alone with this weight and she would go so far down, and she could just keep avoiding him and it could be over. 

But, he turned on the lights, so familiar with her apartment, and his eyes met hers, where she was curled up on the couch, staring at him. 

He gave her a sideways smile. 

A smile that wasn't like him wasn't normal, it was an awkward smile like he was trying to make peace with her like he was trying to make sure she wasn't mad. 

She couldn't feel the weight press against her chest, forcing her to breathe out. 

She swore she could see Spencer flinch. 

He moved quietly, taking his bag off of his shoulder, placing it on her counter, and neither of them were saying a word, and she couldn't remember why he was there, why he had said he was coming. 

Maybe he hadn't. 

She wanted him to be the first to speak, she wasn't going to utter a word until he did. 

And with every second that passed, every awkward second of them being in the same room, alone together, silent, she could feel the weight getting heavier and heavier. 

It seemed impossible that it could be any heavier than it already was, but then again she thought that it was impossible yesterday too. 

“Are you cold?” Spencer finally said, his voice unfamiliar, almost scared. 

It was the first thing he’d said to her in a week. 

And all she could respond with was a “huh?” 

“You-” Spencer swallowed, his hands gesturing toward her “You’re all curled up, and you usually do that when your cold… and I can” he breathed “I can go check the thermostat if you want- I already know where it is so-” 

“Spencer.” 

“Yes?” he asked, his voice quiet now. 

“I’m fine.” 

He nodded. Took a deep breath in. Inhaling, exhaling. 

And then both of them were thinking. It was like their brains were connected, both of them remembering the same thing at the exact same time. 

I love you 

A whisper into the wind. A secret, now told. Grab it. 

Grab it. 

Nothing. 

Goodbye. 

Spencer was shaking his head. Trying not to remember her rejection, her silence. He told her he loved her and she had nothing to say. Nothing at all. 

And she was sitting, staring, willing that moment to fade into the distance forever. The weight on her chest was expanding, throwing itself at her heart, trying to make her fall, trying to get her to go down down down. It was whispering in her ear, reminding her. She willed it to go away. 

They both looked up at the same time. Their eyes mee. And it was awkward, it was so incredibly awkward. And it almost felt like there was nothing to say, nothing at all. 

And she knew she had to get this over with. She needed this weight to go away, to let go. 

“Spencer,” she said again. 

He looked up, nodded his head as a way of answering. 

“Why are you here? If you’re not going to talk to me? Why are you here?” And her voice was so different, such a different shade of herself, a different sound. She wondered when she would be able to move without falling. 

“I needed… We need to talk, we can't work together and just…” Spencer’s voice faded off, his intent clear, his words clearer. 

“Then talk Spence.” the nickname fell from her lips, an accident that scarred the both of them. 

It was silent for a moment. Spencer dwelling on the past, Y/N trying not to fall, not to fade into her couch, willing this weight to go away because she didn't want it. It was supposed to be gone by now. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all Spencer said, breaking the silence. Then breaking it again. “I’m sorry that I’ve made this awkward. And I’m sorry that I left that night. I shouldn’t have left. I just- I just needed some time.” He stopped, and she wondered if he was done. He wasn't. 

“I shouldn't have thrown that at you, and I don't expect you to say anything back, all of this, every awkward thing that has happened this week is my fault, and it was never supposed to be awkward with you and… I’m just sorry.” 

He stopped. Rubbed an ashamed hand over his face. 

And she could see the resistance on his face, she could see the sincerity, and she realized. 

It wasn't done. 

And oh god, oh god. 

She had missed him so much. She had willed herself not to miss him, repeated over and over that they were done, that it was done, that it wouldn't happen, that it was too late, far too late and she fell further and further down, the weight of fear and longing enough to push her down down down. 

But she had missed him, she had missed him and she’d only just realized it. 

It couldn't be over. It couldn't just be over when it was someone you loved as much as she loved him. 

“Why are you sorry?” she asked, her voice strangled, coming out in one breath as she tried to breathe in, tried to breathe in air. Just air. 

“I didn't… I never meant to throw my um,” he paused an awkward hand scratching his neck. “I never meant to tell you like that. It was just. I- I’m sorry.” 

And for just one second, just one moment, the weight faltered, flinched, and she pushed against it, pushed back, fought it. 

She got up off the couch. 

She went to stand in front of him. 

“I know Spence, but why are you sorry?” and her voice was softer now, her chest less resistant. 

“I love you. I’m sorry.” 

And it was those words again, that secret that he had breathed out into the world once before, only once before, that weight that he had placed on her chest, the secret he had handed her. It was that secret. Those words. 

Down down down, breathe breathe breathe. 

“I know you don't feel the same, and I’m sorry. I never should have told you.” 

And that weight, that goddamn weight was pushing against her, making her feel so much, too much, but she couldn't just let herself flutter away again, she couldn't just ignore him like she had been, couldn't avoid his emotions again. She couldn't. She wouldn't this time. No. 

And this weight was forcing her down, so far down, but she had more to say. No. She had more to say she wouldn't go yet. 

“Spencer,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper, awed, hesitant. “You don't have to be sorry.” 

“Yes I do, and you can say that-” 

“No,” she said, her thoughts out in the open. “No, you don't have to be sorry. You never have to be sorry for how you feel.” 

Spencer stood in front of her, confused, his eyes questioning. 

“I’m sorry Spencer, I’m so so sorry.” She said, taking one step closer, resisting the weight that tried to pull her back. 

“Why are you sorry? You haven't done anything.” Spencer said, and she could see his eyes thinking over the moment, going over everything she had said, but he wouldn't understand, he wouldn't get it, not until she told him. 

“I have though. That night, when you were smiling at me, laughing with me,” she giggled at the memory, looking right at him like she could see him for the first time. “When you told me when you said you loved me, something inside of me ran away. And I know you understand everything, but you won't understand this okay? So just listen.” She said when she could tell he was about to interrupt. 

“A part of me ran away. I think I was so shocked, I think it was just too much for that moment. It was too much and I didn't know what to say. So I ran, not literally, but figuratively, I ran. And I’m sorry because you didn't deserve that, you didn't deserve to be upset because I couldn't open my mouth, and you have not deserved me avoiding you this past week because I was scared. Spencer, I was so scared.” Her face was reserved now, her voice almost catching, almost falling. 

“I thought that was it. I thought I had made a mistake. I thought that I didn't get another chance, that I was never going to be able to tell you how I felt. And so I didn't say anything, I didn't want to admit the truth to myself, to you, so I’ve been avoiding you, and I’m sorry. Because you don't deserve that, you never have.” 

Spencer was looking at her, staring at her still like he was confused, and so she went on, the words too much to keep trapped inside of her body. 

“And I’m sorry, I never meant for anything like this to ever happen, and we can just go back to being friends we can just-” 

Spencer cut her off, her words disappearing as he moved closer to her. 

And she looked in his eyes, looked and she saw something she recognized. She saw hope, she saw bliss. Bliss. Hope. 

She saw him, she saw the same him she had seen a couple of nights ago, when he had told her he loved her, she saw that same guy, sitting in front of her, smiling, and she was confused, what had just happened what was happening? 

“You were never going to be able to tell me how you felt?” he said, his voice clear as day, his smile breaking her in half. 

“Ye-yeah.” She said, now aware of how close he was, of the weight pounding in her chest. Pounding, pounding, and she was sure, she was so sure, that she was going to fall down, was going to be buried by this pounding, this weight, she was so sure

And then Spencer spoke again. 

“How did you feel?” he asked, and she could understand why he was hopeful, why he was looking at her like that why he was smiling. Because he finally understood, she hadn't even said the words and he understood. 

And it was almost like they were in a completely different place. It was almost like she was completely new, almost like, almost like 

“I love you. I loved you. And I love you.” she said, her words rushed, her secret banging out into the world, her secret so similar to his. She wished he would grab it. Grab it. 

“You love me?” he asked, his smile wider, his dimples more clear. 

And his eyes, and his eyes. 

It was so much different from last time, so much different, so so different because now she was there, her brain wasn't somewhere else and she could feel her heart pounding could feel the butterflies in her stomach, could feel everything, she could think, and 

Spencer looked happy. Hopeful. So so different. 

Inhale, exhale. 

“I love you,” she said again, reassured, tried to smile at her confession, tried not to feel nervous. 

“You love me,” Spencer said once more, this time as a statement, this time sure, this time this time this time. 

And he kissed her. He moved forward, his hands heading for her face, his body colliding with her, and 

Oh god oh god. 

He kissed her. It was different than she had imagined, different, but she was learning to accept the difference, and so she kissed back. Meeting his lips with just as much passion as he met hers. 

And this weight was pulling her down, pulling her down begging her to come with it, grabbing onto her shirt, her hair, any inch of skin it could find. This weight was screaming at her, pulling her down down down, and she was accepting. 

She was going down. So far down. Fading into nothing. 

But, she realized, this wasn't a bad weight. 

She realized that if she had accepted earlier, if she had not tried to keep herself up, if she had let herself fall, fall, down down down down down down. If she had just gone with the weight. 

She would have realized sooner that it was Spencer, that Spencer was pulling her down, taking him with her, loving her, desperately, intensely. 

They were pulling this weight together. 

Down down down.

______________________________

thank you so much for reading! 

my masterlist here. 

[linxuelian]

I found a Chinese BL Warring States Game of Thrones, three years older than The Untamed

And I just had to write a review about it! It’s 60 episodes long so I haven’t finished it yet at the time I’m writing this - but I decided to just go ahead and recommend it anyway.

Why, you ask?

For one, it’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms with all the Hollywood action and adult HBO things. It’s got explosions:

Horses falling down:

People getting flogged:

Sweaty soldiers getting mauled to death:

Children used as hostages:

Dead bodies presented in court:

Stylish dye jobs:

Loving father figures:

A Jon Snow lookalike:

And very gay innuendo:

That’s right, unlike The Untamed, which was first written as a straight series featuring Wen Qing as the main female lead and then rewritten again after fans of the novel decided to boycott it, this series was written to be gay from the very beginning. It got taken down by the Chinese Censorship Board after twelve episodes and river-crabbed to death, but a good number of scenes survived censorship. Those that did not made it to BiliBili in the form of “hidden” videos and disguised as “music videos”.

That’s not all. For a warring period Wuxia series, it’s got very beautiful actors, backdrops and clothing. It’s dressed like a fairy tale, with different kingdoms sporting different colours and styles in fashion and tastes.

In terms of art direction, it’s pretty low-budget for a series but the team makes good use of existing props, locations and brighter-coloured fabric to make up for the quality. The costume design is more fantasy-based than period, and the vivid takes and angles in the first season add to its charm.

There’s also its complex story line, which brings us to...

Men with Swords is not a title for the faint-hearted. There is an acute absence of black-and-white morality depicted in it.

If you think a BL series with such beautiful backdrops and fairytale-like clothes is for the simple-minded, one-track-good-vs-evil sort, think again. The series is a tale about Murong Li, a vengeful prince disguised as a musician and his rise to power, leaving behind a trail of death and destruction in its wake.

Where The Untamed fails at delivering gray morality unlike the novel it’s adapted from, choosing to alter its script to fit a more general audience (a commercially-wise decision which got it into Netflix), Men with Swords succeeds in faithfully telling a tale where there is no good or evil, only humanity, jealousy, grudges, rebellion, loyalty, life, death, greed and love.

Everyone has both good and bad sides, just different camps and motives. Men with Swords tells the story from not just one person’s perspective, but from the perspective of many different people, all of whom become entangled in a battle for their figurative Iron Throne - to become the king of the world.

There are no “what ifs” in this story, only decisions, reactions and repercussions

A prevailing theme in this series is that there are no “what ifs” and no turning back in life, only things that have happened and will happen. Murong Li starts his journey as a prince who has lost everything and a victim of war, wandering around for three years while being put down and getting sexually harassed, eventually losing it, taking his chances and hardening his heart as he walks down his conniving, badass path of destruction towards the top.

Men with Swords is not a series for the faint-hearted. It’s a game of chess where the main character, Murong Li, is cunning and decisive, cold and ruthless and many recurring characters die horrible, sudden deaths, friend and foe alike, a la Attack on Titan.

The series is filled with political strife and warfare, peppered with some sweet, comedic and romantic undertones. There is a stark contrast between fluffy and dark in its narrative, which is pretty refreshing overall.

With that all aside, I know what you’re probably scrolling down for:

The main characters and their boyfriends

This is it. This is what you’re here for. Most “BL” series are actually bromances, but the real upside for a BL fan is that this show is not a bromance - it’s a BL title, and even with censorship, the love stories prevail.

I’m going to put this under a cut because it’s LONG AF, but what that means is that there is a LOT of BL content available, and not the type that you have to hunt for. They’re very open about it.

While the show itself has a lot of ships, there’s a larger focus on three main ones, namely the beautiful Murong Li and two powerful kings, the fairy-like Ling Guang and his servants, and King Jian Bin with his general.

Murong Li: Da Ji 2.0 and his rich and powerful kings

If you’re a Jin Guangyao fan, you’ll probably enjoy Murong Li and his elegant, charming viles and ruthless scheming. He’s a surprisingly good fighter too, and unlike most elegant and waif-like beauties in dramas and novels alike, he’s a beauty with brains who uses his physical weakness as his strength, bending and seducing his way up to power.

Murong Li only really goes after rich and powerful people, worming his way into the kingdom and taking them down from the inside. Two main love interests are King Zhi Ming, the childish but rich king of Tianquan:

And Yu Xiao, a powerful barbarian king with a soft heart:

Murong Li, while wandering around as a musician, picks up many tricks along the way to hone himself. He’s adept at dressing up, making himself look helpless and alluring to bewitch powerful men, for one:

See that small smile right there? Yes, our boy knows what he’s doing.

Aside from that, Murong Li’s also pretty good at manipulating people by using their jealousies and insecurities, getting them to fight with each other over him.

Murong Li, although modeled after the cruel and beautiful Murong Chong, the Emperor of Wei, is likened to Da Ji, the favorite consort of the King Zhou of Shang. Da Ji was said to be a malevolent fox spirit who started the art of foot-binding to hide her fox feet. Everyone else looking in can see it, but the King was blinded, just like Murong Li’s powerful love interests. In fact, the series draws a direct parallel to it:

The Guo Shi here uses the term “yao”, which alludes to a malevolent spirit.

It’s not that Murong Li doesn’t have a weakness, though. Just like every Jin Guangyao has a Lan Xichen around to cause him to slip now and then, Murong Li surprisingly is weak towards the most naive and childish character in the series, the truant King Zhi Ming, whose only qualities are having purple bangs and being rich and playful.

No matter how calculative and ruthless Murong Li is in the series, he does end up almost slipping up and giving everything away when it comes to this bumbling fellow:

He’s saved only at the nick of time by one of his followers. Murong Li tells a lot of lies, but the one thing he can’t lie about are his feelings towards King Zhi Ming, who is ultimately the one thing he can’t give up next to his kingdom.

There’s a lot more one can write about a complex character such as Murong Li, but the second ship is just as good. It features:

Ling Guang: The Ex-Arrogant Depressed Hamster hung up over a dead ex

Ling Guang, the mortal enemy and foil to Murong Li, is a baby-faced, very-much-older-than-he-looks character whose sole purpose in this series is to wear frilly magenta clothing, destroy the kingdom of Yaoguang, set Murong Li down a path of vengeful destruction and piss off eligible, probably younger bachelors by comparing them to his very handsome, very loyal and very dead boyfriend, his personal guard, Qiu Zhen, who died sometime over thirteen years ago.

The bachelors’ pissed off takes to this are particularly priceless:

Here’s another one from season 2:

That HMPH face is to die for.

Ling Guang’s delusions are met head-on by these eligible bachelors, his ministers and his allies alike:

Only to be met by a, “haha, NO.”

Frustrating, right? It only gets worse as the series progresses. Due to Wuxia’s fantastical existence of sword souls, he begins to actively test his subjects out to see if they’re his dead boyfriend, whose sword soul is still alive:

Gu Shi’an: WTF.

So why do these eligible, handsome bachelors, particularly this guy from season two, jump at his lap every chance they get?

First off, he’s very, very pretty. He’s arguably the prettiest and fanciest king in the series, with a cute rounded face, favoring fluffy organza, frills and feathers in his garb, and sporting fabulous curls like that of a swan princess on a good day.

Secondly, and more importantly, it’s likely because he’s the type loyal dogs adore.

He’s stupidly and openly attached to his bodyguards and servants, unable to hide his feelings or control them. Ling Guang’s relationships are technically the opposite of Murong Li’s. While Murong Li hides his feelings and goes after men of power and tends to use them before leaving them, Ling Guang’s willing to sacrifice everything, including his kingdom, his health and his own life for men who are merely servants.

He's a king who doesn’t know proper protocol. He’s the type who’ll demand to eat with you at the same table:

Creeps outside the palace to see you off:

Hugs your sword around like a pillow while he waddles around listlessly and sleeps with it by his side after you’re long dead (grand total: 13 years):

Coddles you when you’re sick:

Takes arrows for you:

Isn’t afraid to cry and tell you how it is:

Faints violently and won’t rest until he can get your stolen body back:

The results?

If he’s not what loyal bodyguards like, I don’t know what he is. If Murong Li’s love interests have to pit themselves against each other to show how useful they are for his sake, Ling Guang’s love interests need to wrestle with a dead man he can’t let go of... which is hopeless, because you can’t kill a guy who’s already dead.

As a foil to Murong Li, what’s also interesting to note is that it’s alluded to and foreshadowed that he’s exactly the sort the loyal Yu Xiao, the current barbarian king, would have loved to have as a lover - honest, loyal and doting - unlike Murong Li himself. Gongsun Qian, a deputy minister with great foresight, had wanted Ling Guang to go to see the new barbarian kingdom, but he had refused to go outside the palace, shutting himself inside like an otaku. This decision ultimately gave Murong Li a step forward with his plans, at the great cost of four kingdoms, including his own.

Jian Bin: My boyfriend can (REALLY) fight

Next up is Jian Bin and his general. Jian Bin’s the king of Tian Ji, a new kingdom founded by astrologers. The catch here is that Jian Bin and his boyfriend, Qi Zhi Kan, are both men of science, and this tank of a boyfriend is a genius on the battlefield who doesn’t give a single shit about star signs, astrology and superstitions.

A story between a serious, loving king and his handsome general who was once a simple sword-maker in the woods, King Jian Bin meets his handsome ex-lumberjack boyfriend when he’s attacked, falls down from his horse and is rescued by the man himself.

Jian Bin then brings the guy back to his palace and dresses him in armor:

This puts the king’s general on the war path of several ministers and the superstitious people in their kingdom. As lovers, the two go through various trials together in an attempt to run their kingdom their way.

Qi Zhi Kan may seem like a herbivore in front of the king, but he’s really not one at all. He’s terrifying to a degree when it comes to warfare, and very, very difficult to take down. Unlike the other ministers, Qi Zhi Kan knows that he can expand the kingdom quickly and solve problems by waging war.

Even his allies are scared of him:

Ultimately, it’s a ship meant for those who like watching the king teasing his loyal subject and caressing armor whenever he’s around AND not around. Jian Bin even admits to it on-scene:

This loving and devoted couple were originally blessed as the ones with the most piggyback scenes, tender bandaging-your-chest and armor fondling, but they got censored unfortunately.

Scenes like these made the cut, though:

And that’s it! There are actually other minor ships, but these are the main ones for now.

If you’re sold and interested in the show, the series is available online on Rakuten Viki. https://www.viki.com/tv/35524c?locale=zh

[nestasgalpal]

Walk me through it [Nessian fic]

Fixing ACOSF part 5

Masterlist | AO3

Summary: Cassian accompanies Nesta to the cottage in the Mortal Lands where she and her sisters used to live, so she can get closure.

Tagging:  @gwynriel​ @rhaenystargaryn​ @clolikescloquetas​ @amelievrstr​ @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector​ @lordlorcan​ @esrahiba​ @queenestarcheron​ @ko0mbayamylord​  @jemstan300​ @nessiantrashh​ @mothergwyn @poisonus-bloom  @loveadora  @frosted-crackers​  @mireillemystique​ @pataytayo​ @968sunflower968​ @caram267​ @jainadurron​ @darkshadowqueensrule​ @amphiptree​ @finae-bookshelf​ @niytavia​ @brainlessfruit​ @dontgetsalmonella​ @messyhairday-me​ @sunsummoner​  @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens​ @wannawriteyouabook​ @psychoticminx​ @misswonderflower​​

N/A: Sorry I erased the comment about Feyre painting the cabin in Illyria but I didn’t get what that had to do with anything lol.

Nesta’s heart thundered as she laid a hand against the cold wooden door. Claw marks still gouged it.

“Tamlin’s handiwork, I take it?” Cassian asked behind her.

Nesta shrugged, unable to find the words. She and Elain had rehung the door after Tamlin had broken it. Their father, his leg wrecked beyond repair and unable to bear weight, had watched them, offering unhelpful advice.

Her fingers curled into a fist and she shouldered the door open. Its rusted hinges objected, creaking, and a dusty, half-rotten scent swarmed her nose. Her cheeks heated. For Cassian to be here, to see this—

“Just a brute, remember?” He stepped to her side. “I’ve lived in far worse. At least you had walls and a roof.”

Nesta hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words, and her shoulders loosened as she stepped into the cottage proper. In the chill dimness, broken only by rays of sunlight, she frowned at the ceiling. “This house used to have a roof.” The damage had let in all manner of creatures and weather—the former had made themselves comfortable, judging by the nests and various scattered droppings.

Nesta’s mouth turned dry. This horrible, awful, dark place.

She couldn’t stop her shaking.

Cassian laid a hand on her shoulder. “Walk me through it.”

She couldn’t. Couldn’t find the words.

He pointed to a long worktable. One leg had collapsed, and the whole thing lay at a slant. “You ate here?”

She nodded. They’d eaten here, some meals in silence, some with her and Elain trying to fill the quiet with their idle chatter, some with her and Feyre at each other’s throats. Like those last meals they’d had with her in this house.

Nesta’s stare drifted to the paint flaking off the walls. The intricate little designs. Cassian followed her stare. “Did Feyre paint that?”

Nesta swallowed, and managed to get out, “She painted every chance she got. Any extra coin she managed to save went toward paints.”

Except for that one time she saved enough to get flower seeds for Elain.

Her two sisters had somehow found a way of keeping themselves entertained. Feyre spend every minute she could out of the house. She had to go hunting for food, but even in the summer and the spring, when they had plenty, she made excuses to be away from them. Isaac Hale had been there to help her get distracted, but Nesta knew Feyre didn’t find time for him just for the sex. Feyre had wanted to be far from them, sitting in the meadows, practicing knots or whatever she did when she went away.

She only stayed in the cabin when she had paint. She had found happiness in that —and so had Elain in her little garden.

As much happiness as they could, in a place like this.

But Nesta never did. She had never wanted to.

She had barely wanted to survive.

As if he had felt the air around her shift, Cassian took a step closer, his chest close enough to her back that Nesta could feel the heat he irradiated in the bare skin of her nape. He was there for her, to be a pillar she could lean against if she needed to —to support her.

A calloused hand brushed against hers, the touch so soft and careful, Nesta almost didn’t feel it. He gave her hand a tug, but Nesta didn’t take it. Not yet. Only when she really needed his touch to bear what they were doing in this place, she would take his hand. She would try to do this on her own first.

Cassian aimed for the bedroom. Nesta followed him, and gods, it was so cramped and dark and smelly. The bed was still covered with its stained linens. The three of them had slept here for years.

Cassian ran a hand over the painted dresser, marveling. “Feyre really did paint stars for herself before she knew Rhys was her mate. Before she knew he existed.” His fingers traced the twining vines of flowers on the second drawer. “Elain’s drawer.” They drifted lower, curling over a lick of flame. “And yours.”

Nesta managed a grunt of confirmation, her chest tight to the point of pain. There in the corner sat a pair of worn, half-rotted shoes. Her shoes. One of them was bursting at the toe’s seam. She’d worn those shoes —in public. Could still remember mud and stones creeping in.

She had asked for new ones, and that had leaded them into an argument too. Feyre didn’t understand the shame Nesta felt when she walked around wearing that in her feet —as far as she knew, Feyre didn’t even remember what their life used to be like before that village; she had known nothing else. But Nesta had, and even while they starved, she still refused to let go of the life she had once enjoyed. The silks, the pearls, the luxuries she had been surrounded by when growing up. She hadn't been raised but rather crafted by her mother and tutors to belong in palaces and great halls. No, she had been forged to thrive among dozens of other rich heiresses who shared her same goal. She had become that. And then, her world crumpled down to become this.

There were wholes in the lower parts of the rotten wood panels big enough for a small rodent to get inside the house that hadn't been there while her family inhabited the space. Nesta felt sick in her stomach, just as she had when she came inside the cabin for the first time and realized it was likely to be the place where she died. No castle and no prince awaited in her future.

She had never found a way to explain to Feyre what it was like for her. Nesta was quick with words, fast coming up with the perfect answer to make everyone wary of her, make them stay away. But when it came to opening up and risking showing vulnerability, she realized, she had never learned how to do it.

She could only hide. She could only hurt.

And Feyre never made it easy either. It was so hard for Nesta to talk to her —to anyone, but specially to her little sister. Whenever they clashed against each other, she felt judged by someone who didn't even know her. Every time, Nesta let pride win and burn bridges between them, instead of trying to explain herself to a person who wouldn't even wait and listen before she decided Nesta was too much of a brat to deserve the benefit of the doubt. Feyre never considered that there might have been a reason for her to feel and act the way she did, even if it was not the right path. Because Feyre couldn't come up with any, and fooled by her own pride, thinking herself smarter because she was able to function and Nesta was not, she concluded that there wasn't a reason in the world for Nesta to just let time consume her instead of stepping in.

She hated that, and resented Feyre for years. Because they were the same. Two side of the same coin battling to stay on top once it fell to the ground. For years, Nesta felt like the only way to win, was to make sure Feyre lost.

Every day, it grew bigger —her resentment towards her. For being able to overcome difficulties she could not. Towards their father, who saw his daughters fight one another and starve and didn't get up from his chair once to try... anything. And resentment towards herself. She got carried away by it, every emotion she felt mixing together and forming a ball of anger in her guts that burned so violently that Nesta could no longer tell what was going on.

She saw red all the time, and burned with it. Burned anyone that dared come close.

Lost in her memories of how fighting had been more abundant than food, Nesta almost forgot Cassian was there too. Her eyes had gotten caught up on the torn shoes. They were such a perfect example of how her life used to be —how they had so little, that every single thing could become the reason for a night's worth of arguing... Nesta told him the story.

"Deep down I knew that saving the money was more important, that those boots could last a few more weeks. That would give Feyre time to get more money. But I pushed the logic down and picked the fight regardless" She had hated that those shoes had been a working pair to their new family standards when not so long ago only the finest leather slippers touched her feet.

Nesta looked around the room, to the bed she and her sisters had shared. “That bed in there … I was born in that bed. My mother died in that bed.”

Her mother’s death. She remembered that as well. Too vividly still.

"My father refused to send men into fae territory looking for a cure for her". And just like him, Nesta had refused to help when they lived in the cottage. Had refused to do what she thought was a servant’s work, thinking that death was better than the shame of loosing her status. "I hated him for that."

She had been so mad at him for not even trying, that she thought she ought to do the same thing. If their father didn’t do anything, she would do even less. To her, Feyre had been only collateral damage. She was willing to sacrifice her little sister’s safety for her own. That’s what she had seen others do with her before. It had been so wrong —but Nesta hadn’t realized it until it was too late for all of them.

She hated her younger self, now that there was nothing for her to do. Now that her sisters no longer needed her to step in.

She hated that she had been so wrong, so blind.

She hated that she failed at being smarter than the adults in her life.

She hated how much time and effort she had put into hating her father and not caring about Feyre only for them to be the ones saving her in the end. How was she supposed to find peace, when she had spend years being consumed by the anger his passivity ignited in her, only for him to finally be there to help when she needed him the most? How did everyone expect her to be able to deal with that when she had failed miserably at simpler tasks?

Nesta wanted to forgive her father. To forgive him and be hugged by him. Nesta wanted to finally have by her side the father she had so desperately needed her entire life.

But when he came to her and proved that his love was true and knew no limits —that he only needed a second chance, he was killed before her eyes. How could she forgive him now, when he had died before she got a chance to let him know that she understood. That she had done the same thing to others, and she understood. She knew. And she was willing to give him the second chance he wanted to do everything again, but this time right.

Her heart thundered, and she walked out of the room, back into the main space. She didn’t mean to, but she looked toward the dark fireplace. Toward the mantel.

Her father’s wood figurines lay atop it, thickly coated with dust and cobwebs. Some had been knocked over, presumably by whatever creatures now lived here.

That familiar roaring filled her ears, and Nesta’s steps thudded too loudly on the dusty floorboards as she approached the fireplace. A carving of a rearing bear —no bigger than her fist —sat in the center. Nesta’s fingers shook as she picked it up and blew off the dust.

“He had some skill,” Cassian said quietly.

“Not enough,” Nesta said, setting the bear back onto the stone mantel. She was going to vomit.

No. She could master this. Master herself. And face what lay before her. Only then she would be able to face what she had left behind —her past.

She inhaled through her nose. Exhaled through her mouth. Counted the breaths.

Cassian stood beside her through all of it. Not speaking, not touching. Just there, should she need him. Her friend —whom she’d asked to come here with her not because he was sharing her bed, but because she wanted him here. His steadiness and kindness and understanding.

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Did he ever make any for you?”

“He knew better than to do that.” She inhaled a shuddering breath, held it, released it. Let her mind calm. “I think he would have, if I’d given him the smallest bit of encouragement, but … I never did. I was too angry.”

She finally voiced it —Why she had behaved like that for so many years. Cassian probably knew already, but she had needed to let it out. She had been angry. She had felt abandoned. She didn’t know what to do to keep floating against the current like her sisters did with her hobbies and new-found friends in the village.

Nesta only felt anger at everyone and everything.

“You’d had your life overturned. You were allowed to be angry.”

“That’s not what you told me the first time we met.” She pivoted to find him arching a brow. She could go back and picture that day. He was a giant in her hall, tall even among the rest of the fae Feyre had brought with her. A dormant part of her human conscience, an instinct, reminded her how dangerous his kind was. But she had never felt intimidated. Not by him. Not really.

Just a worthy opponent.

“You told me I was a piece of shit for letting my younger sister go into the woods to hunt while I did nothing.”

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

Cassian’s gaze pierced through her. She squared her shoulders, turning to the small, broken cot in the shadows beyond the fireplace, thinking he wouldn’t reply.

“Can I still take that back?” Cassian was halted where she left him. The space was not big enough for them to be far from each other, but it certainly felt like it. A chill breeze came through a chink in the wall behind her, fluttering the bottom of her cloak and finding there the bare skin of her ankles.

Would you forgive me? He was asking. Or maybe not. Maybe he simply wanted her to pretend his words had never left his lips. Can we pretend it didn’t happen?  She only had to turn around and face his burning gaze to know, but she didn’t.

Yes, Nesta wanted to tell him. Please, go back and never open my eyes to make me see what I did to my sister. Don’t let the truth of my actions ever get to me.

Nesta had always been aware of everything surrounding her, always known who she could trust, who was a tool for her to use, what buttons to push to get what she wanted from others.

She had always known, she had always seen.

Now, standing in the space where she spent some of the worst years of her life, a period of time full of hunger, cold, screaming and resentment that still hunted her, Nesta would beg on her knees for a chance to be oblivious for the first time in her life —To not see. To not feel.

“Why would you want to?”  She asked instead.

Cassian didn’t come closer. Nesta wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. Standing here, in this ramshackle space where she still had to control her breath so she didn’t break down and become a crying mess, Nesta didn’t know if she was actually ready to discuss that.

To come back to face her ghosts was hard enough.

Nesta found a spot in the half rotted wood wall in front of her and locked her eyes there, not blinking, holding the tears that wanted to form in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to remember what had happened shortly after Cassian came into her house asking for her help. Her life was already almost too much for her to handle before Tamlin took Feyre, and that’s what they were trying to get closure for today. Not what had happened next, when the Inner Circle of the Night Court entered her life.

The thought threatened to make her breath erratic again, but Nesta remembered the exercices Gwyn had found for them and kept it under control. She mastered it and reminded herself why were here. Nesta forced herself to breath. Her lungs didn’t cooperate. Her mouth dry. She inhaled slowly and then exhaled the cold air. Once. Twice.

“Because I feel like that first meeting shaped everything else after, and I don't like what it did with it."

"It did nothing." It hadn't been that first encounter what had led her into the mess she was, nor had it anything to do with her choices back when they lived in this cabin that felt smaller and smaller with each of Cassian's words. She didn't want him to make excuses for her, she should have done more, and that was a fact she had already accepted.

"No, I did. I said that to you, and then the rest followed me."

"What does that have to do with this?" she vaguely waved her hands at the surrounding space. The room that had once been her house.

"Everything." he answered "Feyre wanted a peaceful meeting, you know? She wanted to do the talking, and for us to behave, and I couldn't hold my tongue. I fucked up, and only lately I've realized the damage my words actually caused.”

In the quietude of the room, his voice was a thunder. Nesta turned to face him and finally met his eyes, that were screaming for a chance to explain. But explain what? She already knew what she had to make up for, and didn't see what Cassian or the people who accompanied Feyre back to the Mortal Lands had to do with her past.

“I only thought of you as an extension of your sister.”  She was curious to know when that had changed for him. She remembered the exact second the illyrian Commander had stopped being just her sister’s friend to her, earning a place of his own in her heart “I heard Feyre’s story, felt her suffering, and forgot you were a person too. You were entitled to your fears and to make mistakes as we all are, and I had no right to call you out there, when I knew close to nothing about you, and who you were. I didn't see that you had been a kid too, and your family's wellbeing wasn't just your responsibility, just as it wasn't Feyre's. I had no right to get involved in that unresolved issue between you, and I feel like when I did... I kind of gave everyone permission to do the same, and feel entitled to an opinion that weights as much as Feyre's and yours do in the matter. If I could go back…”

“You can’t” Nesta cut in. She wouldn’t let him, because if she wasn’t allowed to, then none of them would. It wasn’t fair.

Cassian still didn’t move, his presence painfully obvious. Cassian didn’t miss the shaking of her hands, but said nothing about it. She tried to put some of her usual icy rage in her eyes, but couldn’t. She tried to hide the excruciating pressure in her chest, the ache in her heart, but couldn’t either.

“I know you blame yourself for not being a caretaker and provider for your sisters, Nes” he started again when she didn’t go on “I know you already blamed yourself before we met, and I know I... we only made it worse, pushing you down thinking we were being good friends to Feyre. We actually hurt both of you in the end. I can’t speak for my friends, but I can speak for myself and tell you how sorry I am for not seeing that sooner. For not seeing you. And for making this" he looked rround towards the cot, the dinning table and the room they had just been into "worse than it already was.” The floor creaked under his weight when he took a step towards her, next to the cob. “You were barely older than she was, it wouldn’t have made a difference if it had been you in the woods. The three of you were too young to take that role”.

Then whose was it? His father? That's what she had thought for most of her life, but now... what about his leg? The pain he endured just by walking outside? She was the oldest, she should have done more, and she knew that. She didn't want them —Feyre— to just forgive her and pretend it had never happened. Because if she had done something more back then, then their live would be different now, for better or worse. She didn't want people to pitty her, and to tell her that she was an innocent and blameless soul.

"Why can't you just let me take accountability?"

"To take accountability is good, and I'm glad you are ready to do so, because you have to, in order to move on." He took her face in his hands taking one last step closer, their bodies almost touching “But I think we've let you think everything that happened to your sisters could have been avoided if you had been the one carrying the bow, and that's simply not true.” His thumb brushed over her cheek “What no one told you, Nesta, is that surviving is not only about getting food and water, or even a roof. I would know about that.” He chuckled softly, trying to lighten up the atmosphere around them in the dimness of the room ” Feyre is a great huntress, she didn’t need you carrying the bow and shooting the arrows.” Nesta would have died on her first winter hunting, both of them knew that. “You were needed as an older sister, and that doesn't equal being a provider for your family. She needed your support and care when she came back from a long day looking for food. A family.”

Enough tears to make a new sea had been shed by both her and Feyre in her art studio not so long ago. Feyre had asked for that exaclty: an older sister who had her back. And Nesta had promised she would try.

Nesta didn’t really know how to use or control her powers, and Feyre had surrounded herself with fae strong enough to never need Nesta to save her again.

But Cassian was right. That was not what Nesta could offer her little sister anyway, and that was not what Feyre needed from her either. That was not what she had ever wanted from her father, either. In the end, it all came to the four of them failing at being a family.

Feyre needed had needed that as much as Nesta did.

She was ready to be that from now on.

When she didn’t answer, Cassian stayed quiet, allowing her once again to get lost in her thoughts as long as she needed to, but wary at the same time, in case she drifted back to the dark ideas that so frequently starred in her nightmares.

Nesta freed herself from his grip and went back to the cot, running a hand over its cracking wood frame. Splinters snagged at her fingertips.

Her father’s body crawled up on the chair, the small fire burning until late at night so he wouldn’t freeze under the shabby blanket he used to keep himself warm… Nesta could picture it clearly when she looked at the cot again. “He’d drag it in front of the fire every night and curl up there, huddling under the blankets. I always thought he looked so … so weak. Like a cowering animal. It enraged me.”

That was the issue, the whole point of coming to the cabin. Her soul needed to face this chapter of her life like her lungs needed the air she breathed to keep her body alive. Nesta had to find a way to cope with the matted of feelings, nightmares and emotions —with the contradictions that formed in her heart.

It was always about him in the end. Her father. Their relationship.

She wanted to forgive him. She was sure of that. But there was still so much anger, such immense feeling of abandonment inside her that hadn’t been cured in time. He had been there for her in the end, and somehow that was even worse, because now she couldn’t even despise him for his cowardice. He died for her before he could face the consequences of his decisions, as she was trying to do now. He died, leaving his daughter with even more guilt inside. Because now she finally knew he did love her enough to get up from his chair and try anything, but was gone before she got a chance to do anything with that.

Her father had finally done what she needed from him, and she couldn’t even thank him. Tell him that she forgave him and ask him to forgive her back for all the times she picked on him. Tell him that she loved him, that she was grateful and his effort had been worth it.

“It …” Her throat worked. “I thought him sleeping here was a fitting punishment while we got the bed. It never occurred to me that he wanted us to have the bed, to keep warm and be as comfortable as we could. That we’d only been able to take a few items of furniture from our former home and he’d chosen that bed as one of them. For our comfort. So we didn’t have to sleep on cots, or on the floor.” She rubbed at her chest. “I wouldn’t even let him sleep in the bed when the debtors shattered his leg. I was so lost in my grief and rage and… and sorrow, that I wanted him to feel a fraction of what I did.” Her stomach churned.

He squeezed her shoulder, but said nothing. Nesta didn’t talk for a moment, and Cassian put an arm around her to press her body against his, hugging her without a word. The warmth from his chest felt almost too good. She needed it, and also the calmness of his heartbeat.

“He had to have known that,” she said hoarsely. “He had to have known how awful I was, and yet … he never yelled. That enraged me, too. And then he named a ship after me. Sailed it into battle. I just … I don’t understand why.”

“You were his daughter.”

“And that’s an explanation?” She rose her chin to look at him and scanned his face, the sadness etched there. Sadness —for her. For the ache in her chest and the stinging in her eyes.

“Love is complicated. But he loved you.”

“I can’t for the life of me understand why.” she answered.

Nesta didn’t even have to think the words, they came out of her mouth before she even realized what she had said.

Cassian had told her that once last year —that he couldn’t understand why her sisters loved her. That simple sentence, said by him so casually in the middle of the street, followed her home and helped her already overwhelming self-loathing bring her even lower. Nesta had often wanted to know if he went over his words as frequently as she did after that night and the following months. She wondered if the confession he had made hunted him too.

Nesta had come to the conclusion that it didn’t torment him one bit the moment he came to her apartment to pick her up and take her to Feyre’s new mansion by the river. She was convinced at that moment that he actually couldn’t come up with a single reason why Feyre and Elain still wasted their time on her.

Yet he was here, so she wasn't alone whilst facing her past. He was by her side now, not giving up on her no matter how badly she screwed up.

Cassian opened his mouth to say something, but whatever he was about to say, she didn't want to hear it now. It didn’t matter how he felt back then, she only cared about the present. And he was by her side. He was being a friend, apologizing for things he regretted that Nesta herself hadn't even consider, but somehow made sense.

She forgave him. Because she knew what it was like to crack under pressure and be hurtful towards people you care about when you don’t know how to help them and become desperate.

And Cassian somehow could read through her too, as he closed his mouth, his lips pressed tight.

Both of them let the unspoken words float between them, saying nothing, only looking at each other. Nesta was not perfect and he wasn’t either —there was no need to be perfect. Not right now. There were so many things they had yet to find the courage to discuss, that Nesta didn’t care. Looking into his hazel eyes, Nesta found the reassurance she needed that they would talk about it, with time, and that was enough.

They would talk about every unsaid thing between them.

They had all the time in the world.

The forgoten room reappeared around them at some point, as if they had been somewhere else when they got lost into each other’s eyes.

She studied the calluses already building across her fingers and palms. She made herself meet Cassian’s gaze again. “I didn’t just fail Feyre by letting her go into the woods. There were plenty of other times. I feel guilty.” Nesta said the words aloud for the first time. It was a clear feeling, as much as she hated it. She had finally found the one comprehensible spot in the mess that was her heart. Using that, she could pull the thread until she untangled the whole thing. It would take time, but it was a first step. Maybe there was hope for her after all.

Guilt. She felt guilt. She would work on that.

“Have you ever told her this?”

Nesta snorted. “No. I don’t know how.” That was still a problem.

He studied her, and she resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. “You’ll learn how. When you’re ready.”

“How very wise of you.”

Cassian sketched a bow.

Despite this house, the history all around her, Nesta smiled. She pocketed the carved rose. “I’ve seen enough.”

He arched a brow. “Really?”

She clenched the wooden rose in her pocket. “I think I just needed to see this place. One last time. To know we got out. That there’s nothing left here except dust and bad memories.”

He slid an arm around her waist as they walked for the door, again surveying all the little paintings Feyre had squeezed into the cottage. “Az won’t be back for a little while. Let’s go flying.”

“What about the humans?” They’d run screaming in terror.

Cassian gave her a wicked smile, opening that half-broken door for her. Leading her into the sunlight and clean air. “It’ll add a little spice to their days.”

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light Chapter 14: Crescent Lagoon

A/N: Chapter 14 is here, and fairly short, especially after chapter 13′s monster length. Might even post chapter 15 today. We’ll see. 

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

Chapter 14: Crescent Lagoon

           The sombrosa swords were apparently a type of dual swords whose handles were half of the other, kind of like cutting a curved sword down the middle lengthwise.

           No, Seth wasn’t allowed to touch them, yes they were magic. The wielder, with proper concentration, could make the swords sharp enough to cut through almost anything, even dragon hide, or sturdy enough to withstand tremendous pressure, though only one affect could be applied to each sword at one time. Apparently the Knights of the Dawn had had a combat tournament back in the day, and Grandma Gloria and Grandpa Stan had been the two finalists.

           Vanessa took over discussing what an umbraka was and why them running loose is the perfect reason to end a tournament, but kept referencing other animals that Seth didn’t know, and it was decided there wasn’t enough time to get into that. There was another sanctuary that needed saving.

           He was helped out of the Canoe by Warren, who had gone through before him. Instantly the humidity hit.

           “It feels like I’m trying to breath in the ocean,” Seth complained.

           “You’re welcome to compare a bit of humidity to the real experience,” Vanessa said, gesturing to the harbor. Tanu came through, then Grandma Gloria. Holding the canoe steady were short halflings. They were covered in black tattoos over their reddish skin and more of them were scattered between their spot and the treeline.

           Their group gathered around a tall islander woman. Her long, curly black hair had a couple of gray streaks, but her age didn’t show otherwise. Next to her was a red-headed surfer dude.

           “Welcome to Crescent Lagoon,” the woman said, “I am the caretaker, and due to the assistance of Knights Warren and Vanessa, we were able secure this small area to be protected under treaty. Be aware that the boundaries cover the beach, the water inside the cove, and about ten meters out on either side of where the beach turns into forest. And of course, my home, which you are all welcome to.”

           Seth looked around, trying to make out houses around the enormous trees, but couldn’t see anything. Then a halfling came down an elevator from the big tree in the center, and Seth’s eyes went up. And up. Because this caretaker’s home made their old treehouse back at Fablehaven look like a doghouse.

           “Wow,” Seth said, looking over the rope system. “We sleep in hammocks, right?”

           “I’m sure we can string one up directly over the dragon-infested ocean for you, if you like,” Warren said with a grin.

           “There are plenty of dangers here already,” Tanu said, “I don’t believe we need to tempt more.”

           “Thank you for receiving us during these difficult times,” Grandma said, bowing to the caretaker, “I am Gloria Larsen, a knight of the dawn. Allow me to introduce my Grandson, Seth Sorenson, a shadow charmer, and Knight Tanu Dafu, an expert potion’s master. We will look forward to working together as we pursue our mutual goals.”

           “Well met,” the Caretaker responded. “I am Savani, and this is one of my assistants, Grady. We will speak of more sensitive issues inside, particularly our mutual goals.” Savani started leading them away from the beach.

           “Do we climb a rope latter to get up there?” Seth asked, looking at the interchanging platforms for a rope that hung all the way down.

           “Not quite,” Grady said, “The Maze keeps us on our toes, but we spare ourselves at least the effort of getting up there.”

           “It’s called the Monkey Maze?” Tanu asked, “Do the rooms shift?”

           “Against intruders,” Grady answered, “We work closely with Heliconia, the dryad of this grove, to keep them together for most uses. Certain parts are forbidden, of course.”

           “Is it required for all preserves to have dungeons for the horribly dangerous?” Seth asked, straining his ears to hear the sounds of the undead. There was a faint whispering, but it was slightly different than the Blackwell or even Fablehaven’s dungeon. He couldn’t make out anything but a low murmur, almost hidden by the sound of waves.

           “Yes,” Vanessa said, “it is part of the base foundational treaty that all the sanctuaries are copied after. The caretakers must remove those who threaten the integrity of the treaty, and the undead rarely agree to be bound while being attracted to the magical souls of those on a preserve. Or they do, then break their word, and wind up in jail.”

           “Noted,” Seth said.

           “I would tell you that you should disregard that information,” Grandma Larsen said, amused, “but I suppose you should take note.”

           “Here we are,” Savani said, bringing them to a platform that had a rope going up into the trees. “Please assemble on the platform.”

           “It’s easier if you hold onto the rope in the center,” Vanessa warned, and everyone but Warren grabbed on. Seth grinned and kept his hands off.

           “Brace yourself,” Warren said, crouching a little. The platform shot upwards, and Seth fell on his butt with a surprised laugh. He made it back to his feet before the platform stopped, and the adults were all chuckling at him.

           “Do we get everywhere in the treehouse with unbuckled rollercoaster elevators?” Seth asked, jumping onto the bigger room the platform had become a part of.

           Savani chuckled, “No, the rest is walking, I’m afraid. Come, the Menuhene have prepared refreshments to welcome you.”

           “Menuhene?” Seth asked.

           “Think of a breed of dwarves that hold agreements similar to brownies,” Tanu suggested, “Though their specialty if building, rather than maintaining households.”

           “Awesome,” Seth said.

           “Here we are,” Savani said, leading them to a different enclosed room via rope bridge. It had a couple of tables and wicker chairs. “Now, explain to me what brings a child to my nearly fallen preserve, former caretaker or not. Vanessa and Warren promised allies, not liabilities.”

           “Hey, I saved Wyrmroost, and I’ve handle more secret vaults than you would ever believe,” Seth said, “I thought we were past doubting me and Kendra.”

           “Be respectful Seth,” Grandma said gently, then turned to Savani, “It’s true, that Seth is young, and if it hadn’t been for the opening of the demon prison and the upcoming dragon war, we would have preferred him to grow up before venturing near any dragon sanctuary. He does have experience. Unfortunately, Seth is one of few true Dragon tamers in the world, able to move and converse with ease. Seth has also become a shadow charmer, and his skills are necessary for upcoming trials, one of which involves retrieving his sister from the Phantom Isle. One of our goals here is to find training for Seth from a demon whose interests are strongly aligned against dragons.”

           “A dragon sancturary is an odd place for a dragon hating demon to lair,” Savani said, “Who is it you seek?”

           “Talizar,” Grandma said.

           “I am familiar with him,” Savani nodded, “he’s one of the rare demons that invoke boundary magic as one of his tools, rather than relying on his own strength against dragon neighbors. Caretakers in the past have mentioned him activating Moai to more strictly enforce dragon boundaries. His lair is on the same island as the corrupted pool.”

           “Another of our goals,” Tanu said with a nod, “We have reason to believe that Ronodin kidnapped Seth’s sister and our dear friend, Kendra Sorenson. Any chance to capture and interrogate him needs to be investigated immediately.”

           “And, of course,” Warren added, “We want to help further restore the boundaries of Crescent Lagoon, prevent it from falling and all that jazz.”

           Savani nodded slowly, eyeing them. “I see where our interests align. I will lend you aid where I can, but my aid is further reduced by the fall of this preserve, though it improves with the aid of Warren and Vanessa, who were able to bring back the Moai that protects the Monkey Maze. As long as one Moai is active, the outer boundaries of this preserve are intact. Unfortunately, this is a temporary refuge.”

           “Why is it only temporary?” Grandma Gloria asked.

           “I see there was not time for complete explanations,” Savani said, going to a map on the wall, “We lost the Sunset Pearl, which was the magic source for all the Moai in the preserve. As a failsafe, individual moai can be activated independent of the sunset pearl, as the moai currently protecting here was by consuming a sacrifice of a person’s most treasured object. I will not be able to pay the debt I owe to Warren for being willing to sacrifice his.”

           “What was it?” Seth asked.

           Warren was looking at the floor, “A limited print baseball card I always carry with me. The player was my dad’s best friend, an Uncle to me, close as family can be. He died of cancer years ago, and it was all I had left of him.”

           “Warren’s sacrifice was accepted,” Savani said, “As was my sacrifice of my family’s ancestral tablets. I can read the Moai, and we have two weeks of protection before another sacrifice is required by someone else.”

           “It’s harder than you think,” Vanessa said, “Deciding on a most important object. I couldn’t think of anything then, and still can’t think of anything that the Moai would have accepted. Obviously the goal is to restore the Sunset Pearl before our current sacrifice runs out.”

           “Any idea where the Sunset Pearl was taken?” Tanu asked.

           “None,” Savani sighed, “I’ve lost many allies in the process of looking, but nothing has come from those sacrifices.”

           “They also need to know about the Triclops,” Vanessa said.

           Savani nodded, “Mombatu the Triclops is the designated dragon slayer of this sanctuary. He became active when the sanctuary fell, and he is savage. He will slay a dragon before a human, but he has lost his faculties over time. He is so ancient, my people supposed him dead, and now he is a danger to anyone who comes near him, including me. He has driven the dragons away from this particular island, and is therefore the current greatest threat to our borders.”

           “Really, there is no way to talk to him?” Grandma Gloria asked, “Seems a poor choice for a dragon slayer allied with the treaty makers.”

           Savani shrugged, “Our legends say the original caretaker could soothe him to peace with a flute song, but the song and the flute have been lost to legend.”

           “Shame we didn’t bring Newel and Doren with us this time,” Seth said, giving a little grin. The cowards would absolutely refuse to play their panflutes for the triclops unless the only other choice was to be eaten.

           “As Savani suggested,” Vanessa said, a wry grin on her lips, “The magic was in the flute, rather than being a fan of the instrument. We’ll let our satyr friends recover another day in Fablehaven before testing their bravery once again.”

           “Have you seen the site where the Sunset Pearl was kept?” Tanu asked.

           “I saw it with Hako,” Warren said, “We didn’t find much. Ten really big moai in a ring facing inwards. An altar of piled stones at the center with a bowl on top. Supposedly three guardians protected the pearl, but there was no sign of them. There were tracks from the triclops though.”

           “No sign of the three guardians and triclops tracks,” Grandma Larsen mused, “Were they dependent on the Pearl for existence?”

           “I believe so,” Savani said, “and the triclops tracks are likely from it’s rampaging, rather than having to do with the theft. The triclops appeared long after the pearl had vanished.”

           “Okay, so we need a pearl, would like a flute, have to watch out for a rampaging triclops, Ronodin was spotted lurking around a corrupted pool, and we need to locate a demon to negotiate some training with him. Anything else we should discuss before planning?” Seth asked.

           “What remains of your staff?” Tanu asked.

           “Grady here,” Savani said, “Hako, our gamekeeper. And Uma. Uma is frail and in a wheelchair, but she will likely interest you, Potion Master.”

           Tanu blinked, and his took on a bit of awestruck, “Not Uma Stormbrewer.”

           “The same. She joined our staff after her legs gave out, but she and her skills remain sharp,” Savani said.

           “That’s…she’s a legend,” Tanu said, “She’s a grand master of potion making, I hardly deserve the title compared to her.”

           “Good thing you got courage potions in abundance,” Seth said, slapping him on the shoulder, “And I suppose you two should know about another ally we brought. Calvin, say hi.”

           Calvin peeked out of his pocket, “Hello,” he waved. “I wasn’t sure to introduce myself or not, I’m one of those assets best left hidden. I’m Calvin the Nipsie.”

           “You are welcome here, small ally,” Savani said, bowing her head in a nod of recognition. She waited a moment, then said, “I believe we have reached a summation of our assets and current goals. Onto planning. Hako was planning on investigating the corrupted pool alone today, since we had no timeframe for how long it would take Warren and Vanessa to find allies, even with the small dragon’s help.”

           “I want to go with and help with the investigation,” Seth said.

           “I go where Seth goes,” Grandma Gloria said. “Depending on what we can locate at the corrupted spring, it would also be foolish to not to greet Talizar and open negotiations for training while we are already outside the protections granted. Just as it would be foolish to delay, if our time limit is really only two weeks.

            “I believe I will skip this venture in order to consult longer with Uma,” Tanu decided, “I have many fresh ingredient from dragons that I hope she will be interested in.”

           “I believe she will be,” Savani said with a smile. Everyone turned to Vanessa and Warren.

           “Well, what do you say?” Warren asked Vanessa with a smile, “It’s been, what, almost twenty whole hours since our last near death experience? I think we’re up for another round.”

           “Right, practically a vacation,” she said drily. “Wouldn’t want to become bored with existing.”

           “Count us in for one trip to the corrupted spring,” Warren said.

           Finally, he could start following a lead on Kendra. She just had to keep Ronodin’s slimy hands and stupid words away from her for a little bit longer.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

Extra #10b (chapter 3 of extra #10)

[Masterpost] [AO3]

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have both officially arrived in their childhoods after their time travel array, now they finally get to see each other again <3

--

To the untrained eye, Lan Zhan knows he looks as stoic as ever. There’s nothing at all in his face or his utterly correct posture to reveal that he feels ready to fly apart from the rush of adrenaline coursing through him and the painful knife’s edge of uncertainty that leaves his fists shaking where they’re curled into his sleeves. He has no idea if he’s going to get what he wants or not and that’s a strange combination of exhilarating and frustrating.

There is, thankfully, enough to focus on besides his own roiling emotions to make them somewhat easier to ignore, at least for the moment. It’s Madam Lan’s first attempts at venturing out into the Sect for business that includes other Sects, and he is acutely aware of this. Her re-entrance into the Lan Sect has gone disastrously so far even after making her case to the elders that she has served her penance and provided two heirs for the Sect. But neither she nor Lan Zhan are discouraged. After all - few people understand the unbending rigidity of the current generation of the Gusu Lan better than the man who had been whipped nearly to death by the elders for the sake of ‘righteousness’ and the woman who had once died in captivity enforced by many of those same elders - and for painfully similar reasons.

True acceptance within the Sect is going to be a long time coming, but Lan Zhan is patient and utterly determined down to his bones to see it through. There are few things he can’t accomplish when both of these traits are put to use.

“Zhan-er,” Madam Lan says softly at his side now and he looks up to meet her eyes, full of warmth and fondness that still melts his heart, as he’s sure will be the case for the rest of his life. “Don’t be nervous. He’ll come.” If Lan Zhan were the blushing type, he might have at that. Living with his mother over the last year or so - ostensibly to be raised by her while in actuality to hide the truth of his condition and make plans to improve the future - has been better than he could have ever imagined. It has also, however, resulted in another person (besides Wei Ying) who’s actually perfectly capable of reading him in ways that make him feel unexpectedly exposed, and while of course he trusts his mother to be kind and understanding in her knowing of him, it’s still a strange feeling. He’s getting used to it though - he’s overjoyed to have the chance to get used to it.

He nods once and reaches up to take her hand as movement down the path from the gate becomes visible.

“Lan-furen.”

Lan Qiren’s voice is cold behind them and Lan Zhan doesn’t even bother turning to look at him. He only has eyes for the Jiang delegation making their way up the stairs, his eyes straining to find a hint of the only person from Yunmeng he cares about seeing. Lan Qiren’s surprisingly petty disapproval of Madam Lan is a familiar irritation by now, one not nearly as deserving of his attention as the possibility of being reunited with his husband.

“Grandmaster,” Madam Lan replies, utterly serene as if she can’t even hear the edge of anger in Lan Qiren’s tone. “You didn’t bring Huan-er with you.”

“He has lessons. It is not appropriate to bring young children to formal greetings.”

“Oh dear,” she replies so dryly Lan Zhan very nearly finds the will to look away from the Jiang Sect still making their way up the stairs to look at her and share in the joke instead. Almost. “I was under the impression that Zhan-er’s manners are so lovely already, he should get a chance to practice with others outside of the Sect. He’s been working so hard, it only seemed fair.”

If Lan Qiren has a reply to that, propriety demands he keep it to himself as the Jiang Sect representatives have finally drawn near enough to make casual conversation too difficult to keep private.

Lan Zhan does not crane his neck nor does he start trying to push his way through the gathered cultivators, but to be entirely honest that has more to do with his mother’s hand still wrapped around his than any thoughts of exhibiting proper behavior. For a handful of anxious moments he can’t help but take note of the fact that Jiang Fengmian is, oddly, not at the front of the delegation. The reason becomes clear when the cultivators part to reveal their Sect Leader trying and just barely succeeding to contain a wriggling toddler with as much dignity as one can muster when wrestling with – and losing against - an extremely determined child.

His heart feels ready to leap out of his chest and straight into his husband’s tiny hands, currently curled into fists in the front of Jiang Fengmian’s robes as he pulls and tugs at them, crying something about not wanting to be apart from him. He desperately hopes that it’s for show. If he has somehow lost his husband through this experiment of theirs of course he will love this Wei Ying as desperately as he ever has, but he won’t be able to keep himself from mourning for the version of him that he lost. Again.

“A-Ying, you have to let go,” Jiang Fengmian is pleading quietly as everyone goes still and the silence that descends quickly turns awkward for everyone who is not Jiang Fengmian and Wei Ying. Or Lan Zhan, for that matter - he couldn’t care less if they all just stare at each other in silence for the entire afternoon, though it would make for a remarkably unproductive first day of a discussion conference. That is, thankfully, not his responsibility anymore.

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan tuts again, but this time it’s much softer than just moments ago. “Jiang-zongzhu,” she calls and offers a salute, though she doesn’t release Lan Zhan’s hand to do it so it ends up a bit lopsided. “Might myself and my son be of some assistance?”

“Your -“ Jiang Fengmian’s puzzled look only grows as he glances down at him, no doubt wondering just who he and Madam Lan are and why they’re at the gates along with Lan Qiren to escort them beyond the wards. “Oh. Thank you. Perhaps. A-Ying?”

Lan Zhan watches with his hands clenched once again into tight fists and his knees tensed as if to run as Wei Ying lifts his head reluctantly from Jiang Fengmian’s shoulder to look down at him, his cheeks wet with tears and his eyes red-rimmed.

“Uncle Jiang,” he whines, sounding like he’s on the verge of beginning to cry again, but Jiang Fengmian can clearly see that as well and he hurries to try to soothe him.

“It won’t be for long, A-Ying, and you can have a new friend, just like A-Cheng and A-Li. Alright?”

Wei Ying sniffles and scrubs his face on his sleeve before he peeks tentatively down at Lan Zhan again standing there practically vibrating with the desire to drag Wei Ying into a hug and never let go. His mother’s hand around his is a gentle restraint but after a moment she lets go and puts a hand on his back as if to ‘coax’ him forward, though naturally he needs no convincing. Lan Zhan steps forward and he only manages to maintain a measured pace by force of habit, and because his knees are shaking so much he’s afraid he would trip if he were to move any faster.

When he reaches the pair he looks up and, after a moment, he holds a hand up as well as he searches desperately for a sign that Wei Ying is just putting on an act for the sake of their ruse. If he is, Lan Zhan can find no fault in it and an interesting mix of dread and deep-rooted affection tangle messily together in his chest. He can do some things alone to fix what went wrong the first time, but he’s afraid that what only he can accomplish won’t be enough to give Wei Ying - and everyone else - the gentler, more carefree life they had intended.

Wei Ying scrubs at his face again and hides in Jiang Fengmian’s shoulder for a moment before he starts wriggling again, this time with the clear intention of clambering down out of his arms. Lan Zhan lets his hand drop again and takes a step back to give Jiang Fengmian room to set Wei Ying down and he somehow looks even smaller like this, standing there hunched inwards and scrubbing at his face even as he reaches out to take Lan Zhan’s hand in his and hold it in a death grip.

Whatever the rest of the adults say over their heads is lost on Lan Zhan as he patiently guides Wei Ying to Madam Lan’s side, his heart hammering in his ears loudly enough to drown everything else out. Whether this boy is ‘his’ Wei Ying or not is utterly irrelevant in this moment. Wei Ying is Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan is utterly devoted to him in any circumstances, in any life they may find themselves in. And right here, right now, he has the chance to love him wholeheartedly from the start, and so he will.

“Let’s go home,” Madam Lan ushers gently, herding the two of them in front of her with careful hands on their backs. They leave the cultivators behind quickly as they take the path that branches off to circle around the main areas of Cloud Recesses and head directly for the residences.

They’re walking along a relatively secluded part of the path and Wei Ying’s sniffles have slowed when Lan Zhan glances at Wei Ying in concern as his hand somehow tightens in his grip even further. All the breath is punched right out of his lungs when he spots that achingly familiar mischievous smirk on Wei Ying’s lips and then, as if that wasn’t enough evidence, Wei Ying winks.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan hisses and the three of them stop dead in their tracks, Wei Ying’s eyes going wide as he darts a wary glance towards Madam Lan still behind them.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Oh wonderful,” Madam Lan says, her smile so wide it warms her voice as well as her features. “That was quite a show, Wei Wuxian, I would expect nothing less after what Zhan-er has told me.”

“...What!?”

“Wei Ying.” Wei Ying’s eyes are still wide and beginning to look a little panicked as he turns his gaze sharply on Lan Zhan again. Lan Zhan glances around to make sure they’re otherwise alone before he steps forward to wrap his arms tightly around Wei Ying’s waist.

And just like that he’s got a Wei Ying-shaped burr clinging to him with every trembling limb, which Lan Zhan is certainly more than okay with.

“Mother knows,” he says as succinctly as he can. “It is alright, Wei Ying.”

“O-oh, okay,” he wavers. Lan Zhan holds him tighter and lets the rabbiting of Wei Ying’s heart calm his own.

“Missed Wei Ying,” he says quietly into Wei Ying’s shoulder and his husband laughs wetly.

Madam Lan delicately clears her throat and cautions, “I don’t want to break this up but we are still on the path, Zhan-er.”

“It’s okay Lan-furen,” Wei Ying is quick to reassure. Lan Zhan releases him with enormous reluctance when he tries to pull away enough to at least put his feet back on the ground. “I’m sorry, I just -“

“You do not need to apologize.” Lan Zhan has the absolute privilege of watching Wei Ying - so small, so cute - blink owlishly up at Madam Lan as he reacts to her affectionate soothing. She takes advantage of his stunned silence to continue. “You two have done the impossible, and I imagine it was as difficult for you to be apart from Zhan-er as it has been for him. There is nothing at all for you to apologize for.”

Lan Zhan is alarmed but not exactly surprised to see Wei Ying’s wide eyes go shiny with unshed tears as he looks up at Madam Lan, his chin wobbling dangerously. Lan Zhan is, after all, well aware both of how deeply Wei Ying’s emotions run under his cheerful veneer as well as how difficult it is to keep such strong feelings in check in these young bodies not yet equipped for it.

“I know that you are technically a grown man and you are capable of a great many things I can’t really imagine, but may I carry you back to the Jingshi?” Madam Lan says next when it’s clear that Wei Ying isn’t going to be able to reply. In the fraction of a second it takes Lan Zhan to blink Wei Ying practically flings himself across the space between them and Madam Lan hurries to scoop him up and put him on her hip, where he immediately burrows into her shoulder like he had been doing with Jiang Fengmian.

Lan Zhan settles in at her side as they begin walking again, one hand stretched up to curl around Wei Ying’s ankle as a silent reassurance for both of them that they’re together again, that this time fate has, against all odds, been merciful.

----

If his companions were anyone else, Wei Ying would have never allowed himself to break down like this. But it’s Lan Zhan, and actually he’s pretty sure that even were Madam Lan not his mother-in-law, even had he not gotten some sort of understanding of her from the few soft recollections he had managed to coax out of Lan Zhan over the years, he still might have been this helpless in the face of the soul-deep kindness she wears openly like an extra layer of robes, warm in the chill of Cloud Recesses.

His relationship with Madam Yu is infinitely better than what it had been in his first childhood, but considering what that had been, that isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement. She doesn’t hate him at least. She is polite to him on occasions that are about half as frequent as her few gentle moments with her own children, but her corrections to his behavior and theirs are always similar. So far she also seems to be uninterested in comparing him to Jiang Cheng, which is truly all he could have thought to ask for, and he’s infinitely grateful for these changes.

But this strange sort of tentative truce with Madam Yu can’t hold the flicker of a candle to the understanding and kindness Madam Lan has already extended to him - he thinks it’s only natural that he would gravitate towards such a presence, even were he not related to her by marriage. For as much as Lan Zhan so clearly loved (and loves) her, his halting moments of extolling her virtues had not prepared Wei Ying for the truth of her. And, much the same as a year ago when he had first allowed Madam Yu to pick him up and hold him - he is still very small, though certainly not as tired as he had been then, and it feels just as wonderful now as it had then to be picked up and held by a mother-figure. No one will ever be able to replace Cangse Sanren and he will long for his mother for the rest of eternity, but he can soothe some of the ache like this.

They reach the Jingshi and Wei Ying doesn’t protest as he’s set down on his feet again, mostly because it leaves him free to turn his full attention to Lan Zhan, standing there in his little robes and his ribbon, appropriately sized for a toddler. He feels giddiness slip in where he had been feeling raw in response to Madam Lan’s kindness and he allows it to take over, to stretch his lips into an impish grin as he darts forward to smash Lan Zhan’s face between his hands.

“Lan Zhan!!” he can’t help but shout, an almost manic joy curling through his chest. He wants to hug Lan Zhan, he wants to run circles around him, he wants to squish his cheeks and gobble him up like a steamed bun. Lan Zhan accepts the full force of his unfettered excitement with his usual fond exasperation, standing still to let Wei Ying walk circles around him to poke him and pinch him and exclaim, “Lan Zhan you’re so cute!! Look at your little hands! And your cheeks!! You’re so small!”

That earns him Lan Zhan’s version of an eye-roll, which means Lan Zhan squints at him with his eyes that are still slightly too big for his tiny features, overwhelming and arrestingly adorable even as he narrows them and says, “Wei Ying is smaller.”

“Aiyah, I know isn’t it ridiculous? At least we already know we’re both going to grow up to be nice and tall. Oh! Lan Zhan!! Let me check your core. Do you feel okay? Any side effects from the array? Did it hurt? Were you scared? Has it been hard to get used to being so tiny? Does anybody suspect anything?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t even bother to try to answer Wei Ying’s rapid-fire questions, he just lifts his hands to pull his sleeve out of the way of his wrist so Wei Ying can press his fingertips to his pulse. The overwhelming strength of his core nearly knocks Wei Ying flat on his ass - not only has he maintained his previous level of cultivation, he’s somehow significantly stronger, and Wei Ying laughs aloud to feel the thundering pulse of it echoing along his own meridians before he withdraws his hand again.

“Lan Zhan you show-off,” he teases as he cackles. “You’ll be an immortal by 15 at this rate!”

“Not by 15,” Lan Zhan sniffs with a bit of disdain, but Wei Ying of course notices that he doesn’t deny that he will at some point stop needing to measure his age as he will simply…continue existing.

“We’ll see - do you do anything at all but meditate?? It feels like you’ve added years to it already.”

“Meditation is an acceptable activity when the Sect expects me to be taking my lessons from Mother.”

“Oooo so smart, Lan Zhan, I should have come up with a way to get out of mine. They’re so boring but I get to take them with A-Cheng so it’s okay.”

Lan Zhan, seemingly reassured that Wei Ying is done poking and prodding at him, chooses that moment to step forward and fold him into another hug and Wei Ying instantly melts into it with a sigh, his arms tight around Lan Zhan’s waist.

“I missed you so much, Lan Zhan,” he whispers softly, such a far cry from his happy yelling of a few moments ago. “I hate being apart.”

“Mn. We will not be so again.”

It’s pretty enough to hear but Wei Ying knows that they’ll have to part again eventually - when this discussion conference is over, for instance, and he’ll be expected to return to Yunmeng with Uncle Jiang. He doesn’t see a need to spoil their reunion with such technicalities, though. Instead he just tucks himself into Lan Zhan and lets himself be held for so long they only pull apart when his stomach growls.

“You need to eat,” Lan Zhan says instantly and Wei Ying laughs, a happy giggle as Lan Zhan pulls him by the hand over to a table and sits him down, a very determined look on his serious little face. And Wei Ying knowsthat they’re adults, they’re grown, they’re fathers - but Lan Zhan is so adorable like this! He can’t resist reaching out to pinch his cheek like he used to do to A-Yuan, which Lan Zhan thankfully allows with very minimal glaring.

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan suddenly laughs and Wei Ying jerks his hand back as he remembers they have an audience, and that said audience is his mother-in-law. “Zhan-er, I didn’t know anyone was allowed to pinch your cheeks. May I?”

“No need,” he harrumphs and retreats, cheeks and ears bright red, and Wei Ying laughs until he falls over onto his back, too relieved and happy to be back with his husband in their home to think about containing himself.

“Lan-furen -” he begins once he has finally composed himself a little, but she immediately waves him off.

“There’s no need for that here. From what I hear you’ve been family for quite some time, and this is just as much your home as it is mine. I believe such official titles are unnecessary here.”

Wei Ying blinks at that, unsure of what exactly he’s supposed to say to that. Thankfully Lan Zhan chooses that moment to return to the table with congee (Lan food, Wei Ying thinks with a mental sigh).

“You are my husband,” Lan Zhan begins with the smallest hint of a smile twitching in his cheeks as he says it. “She is your mother-in-law. Her name is..” Lan Zhan trails off rather uncharacteristically and Wei Ying instantly widens his eyes, eyebrows ticking up with open concern as he makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. “Her name is Wen Yun. You should call her Yun-gu.”

Wen.

WEN?!

“Wen Yun?!” he yelps once his higher brain functions have marginally returned. “Wen?” he asks again, turning his shocked stare on Madam Lan, who looks as serene as she had before this earth-shattering revelation.

“Zhan-er has told me I have you to thank for providing protection for some members of my family,” she says softly and Wei Ying is unsurprised to find that he’s choking on tears again – he cries a lot these days both for show and simply because it’s difficult not to when his emotions run so high. “Your kindness and your sense of justice will not be forgotten, though I sincerely hope they will not be needed again for this purpose.”

And just like that Wei Ying is sobbing. With the Jiangs and now Lan Zhan returned to him, it seems it’s finally time for him to have the space to grieve for the Wens all over again. He’s done it before, of course - too many times to count. But it hits him anew that this time he hopefully won’t need to, he can save them too this time like he couldn’t before, and his mind suddenly floods with memories he’s been fighting hard for years to keep at bay for his own sanity’s sake.

Wen Qing brushing her slender fingers over the ropes and talismans holding her brother in one piece while Wei Ying had called for his wandering soul over and over. Wen Ning and his gentle face splattered in mud and gore in stark flashes of lighting, his lifeless visage suspended in glistening drops of rain each time the sky lit up. A-Yuan clinging to his legs too many times to count, calling him ‘Xian-gege’ and holding his little arms up to be held. Uncle Four and his wine and his hands so accustomed to farming after a lifetime of coaxing a living from the earth. Granny Wen’s gentle fussing over any- and everyone, her kindness and love for the broken remains of their family. The small cluster of aunties mending everybody’s rough, workworn clothes the best they could with needles he had carved for them out of bones he found while cleansing the planting fields.

“Shh Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs softly in his ear and Wei Ying becomes aware that he’s not alone, his husband’s tiny arms are wrapped around him and his forehead pressed to his temple. “They are alive, it’s alright. You will see them all again.”

It takes a while longer for the worst of his surge of grief to work its way through him but he manages it eventually. It helps that Lan Zhan – who by now knows well the shape of his grief - refuses to let go of him the entire time, his arms tight around him to hold all the broken pieces of him together until he can do it for himself again. Madam Lan for her part, simply watches and waits with the sort of calm patience Wei Ying has only ever seen in Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen. At least now he knows precisely where it came from.

“I’m s-”

“Do not apologize to me - I can see it in your eyes, ” she says when he can finally muster up the strength to speak. He snaps his mouth shut with a little click and leans heavily into Lan Zhan’s chest, suddenly tired. He has to say, that’s his least favorite part about being a kid again so far - he’s full of energy, full of energy, full of energy, and then all the sudden he crashes with almost no warning. His stomach is still growling though and so he frees one arm to reach out and dutifully start eating the congee Lan Zhan had brought him, his other hand curled tightly into Lan Zhan’s sleeve to keep him right there while he eats.

“We have to save them,” he says quietly when he’s about halfway through his little meal. “I don’t care what it takes. I failed them once, I can’t again.”

“We will,” Lan Zhan soothes. “We will make it so they do not need saving at all, they will flourish.”

Wei Ying finds that he really has nothing to say to that so he simply nods and snuggles closer to Lan Zhan as he finishes eating. He can’t keep himself from yawning widely almost as soon as the last spoonful is gone and Lan Zhan, being Lan Zhan, immediately bullies him up and over towards his bed despite Wei Ying’s laughing protests. In hardly any time at all he finds himself wrapped up in a little blanket burrito too tightly to move.

“Hey,” he protests weakly, already well aware that when Lan Zhan is in a mood like this there’s no swaying him.

“Rest,” he says in a tone that brooks absolutely no argument.

“You can’t really expect me to be able to sleep when I finally found you again,” Wei Ying retorts, though his argument would probably be more impressive were he not blinking long and slow and fighting not to yawn again. Thankfully Lan Zhan just blinks at him for a long moment before he clambers up to join him, laying down on his side facing him to press their foreheads together, the metal cloud in the center of his ribbon warm with his body heat.

“Rest,” he says again, his voice gentle and sweet. Wei Ying can’t help but smile at that, Lan Zhan’s cute little child’s voice, and he loses the fight against his eyelids (and the adrenaline crash) as Lan Zhan reaches up to stroke his hair back from his temple.

He’s not quite sure how long he sleeps for, but when something disturbs his rest it’s still light outside at least, and Lan Zhan is still laying with him with his eyes shut, though whether it’s in sleep or in deep meditation is impossible to tell.

“The boys are sleeping,” Madam Lan says softly. “A-Ying was tired when he calmed down and Zhan-er needed a nap as well, come back for him later.”

“Lan-furen I apologize for the intrusion,” a low voice replies and Wei Ying wakes up a little further as he recognizes it as Jiang Fengmian. “A-Ying has been very afraid of being apart from me since he learned of the discussion conference, I only want to make sure that he’s doing alright.”

“Zhan-er helped distract him from his distress,” Madam Lan replies smoothly and Wei Ying has to duck his head to hide his face in the blankets so he can giggle too quietly for anyone but Lan Zhan to possibly hear. “They’re quite taken with each other, thank you for bringing him with you. I understand that it is not typically done.”

“Thank you for offering to take him for the day. I didn’t think that word had reached ahead that we would have A-Ying with us, it was a…last-minute decision.”

Wei Ying has to hide another giggle as Jiang Fengmian so delicately dances around the truth, which is that the morning of his departure two days prior Wei Ying had clung onto his robes like a burr and wailed and wailed until he and Madam Yu had agreed that his separation anxiety was too strong for him to stay in Lotus Pier while Jiang Fengmian left. It wasn’t entirely a lie, anyway – he still struggled with having any of his family out of his sight for too long. He can’t help but fear that each time will be the last, though he’s getting better with it. He just…hammed it up a bit, just enough to be brought along.

“Oh I didn’t know to expect him,” Madam Lan deflects. “I wanted Zhan-er to practice greeting people he hasn’t met before, we were simply lucky that we were there and that they seem to approve of each other.”

“May I see him?”

“How long does he usually sleep when he naps?”

“A few hours.”

“Ah he should wake soon then. Alright,” Madam Lan allows and Wei Ying closes his eyes again to watch surreptitiously through his lashes as she lets Jiang Fengmian into the Jingshi. It’s…extremely strange to see the man in the space that Wei Ying very much still thinks of as his home despite having lived in Lotus Pier for the last year since the array. Perhaps ‘jarring’ is a better word for this collision of his past and present and…future?

He no longer knows how to think about time. It doesn’t move in an easy, linear fashion for him anymore. His past has become his present and yet he also longs for the things that he and Lan Zhan had left behind when they did this, the things that no longer exist how he knows them. He misses their son and their rabbits and everything that they had been sharing with each other since he woke in Mo Xuanyu’s body. He is a child of Lotus Pier, he runs and laughs and swims and plays with his siblings as any child should. He is the Yiling Laozu, he still remembers the screams of the dead and dying. He has nightmares full of blood and corpses, some of them friends, most of them strangers. He can usually ignore this strange doubling of his life, but here in Cloud Recesses with Jiang Fengmian, the face of Lotus Pier, in the midst of it, it’s…he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Whether it’s because he heard his mother talking, or he’s responding to the sudden tension in Wei Ying’s entire body, or perhaps simply because of lucky timing, Lan Zhan’s eyes flutter open just in time for Wei Ying’s breathing to grow a little too erratic as his heart pounds in his chest.

Lan Zhan nuzzles closer and sneaks a bare ghost of a kiss to his lips, soft as butterfly wings and nothing but sweet, chaste reassurance. As far as Wei Ying is concerned, it shows just as much love and care as every other kiss they’ve shared over the years and it works to remind him that at least he’s not facing this alone. Lan Zhan must be subjected to the same sort of confusion as well, living in their home with his once-long-dead, now-very-alive mother and reconciling the past he remembers with the present they had left behind to become their future once again. Or is it still their future when it won’t happen again?

Wei Ying has spent hours thinking himself in circles worrying over the same questions, his natural inquisitiveness unable to leave the problem alone even though he recognizes that answers to such things are impossible. As far as he’s aware, after all, this has never been done before. He and Lan Zhan only have each other to rely on in this, and while he doesn’t need anybody else it is sometimes disconcerting to realize that for perhaps the first time in either of their lives they are truly alone together against the world.

At least in this one way, he amends, because as Jiang Fengmian approaches the bed and reaches out carefully over Lan Zhan to run a hand through his hair Wei Ying is reminded that though his family will never know or understand what he has faced, they’re still his family. They’re still here. He and Lan Zhan can have their families back at least, even if their loved ones will never know or understand what has happened to them before.

He stirs as if waking and blinks one eye open to squint up at Jiang Fengmian with a little moue, bottom lip sticking out and a frown pinching between his brows.

“A-Ying, it is time to go to our own rooms.”

“No,” he pouts and wriggles one of his arms far enough out of his blanket cocoon to curl his fingers tightly in Lan Zhan’s robes. “Staying with Zhanzhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow at him and Wei Ying just barely manages not to crack up at his obvious disapproval of the nickname.

“A-Ying –“

“Zhanzhan is my husband!” he declares and that earns him a wide-eyed glare from Lan Zhan that finally does break his pout into a wide grin. “I want to stay!”

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan tuts from behind her hand and Wei Ying is positivethat it’s to hide a smile. “I did say they were quite taken with each other. Children say such silly things every once in a while, Jiang-zongzhu, I am not offended.”

“A-Ying you are too young to marry. Lan-er-gongzi is not your husband.”

“My husband!” Wei Ying protests and he lets go of Lan Zhan’s robes to instead take his hand, and because Lan Zhan can’t deny him anything he wants he tangles their fingers together, turns onto his back, and sits up and look up at Jiang Fengmian with his solemn little face. Wei Ying watches him blink a few times and then give a decisive nod, slow and ponderous.

“Married to A-Ying.”

It takes everything in his little body not to burst out laughing at the utterly nonplussed look on Jiang Fengmian’s face – in fact he’s trembling with the effort of keeping himself mildly under control, though his grin has certainly crossed over into ‘manic’. He looks at Madam Lan halfway across the room only for her to wink at him and he loses his battle of wills. With all the renewed energy from his nap he manages to squirm out of the blanket Lan Zhan had wrapped him in to throw his arms around his husband and hug him tightly, squishing their cheeks together and looking up at Jiang Fengmian with laughter dancing in his eyes.

“Married to Zhanzhan!”

Jiang Fengmian sighs and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing at his eyes. Wei Ying has absolutely made himself known as a mischievous little sprite of a child over the last year so he’s sure that Jiang Fengmian isn’t surprised, but he’s also quite sure that he’s currently thinking of the propriety and stuffiness of the Lan and wondering just how he’s going to get out of this one. Wei Ying, of course, has no intention of letting this get swept under the rug like a standard childhood affection might.

“Lan-furen,” he begins, sounding pained as he turns around to face her, and Wei Ying takes the opportunity to sneak a quick, silent peck of a kiss to Lan Zhan’s chubby cheek as thanks for humoring him. “I apologize for imposing further but may I leave A-Ying here while I fetch Lan Qiren?”

“May I ask why you would like to involve my brother-in-law?”

“If you are…amenable, it is..not outside of our practices to arrange a betrothal.”

“Really? So young?” she asks and this time she sounds genuinely surprised. Wei Ying is less so as he is, of course, aware of Jiang Yanli’s betrothal to Jin Zixuan since their infancies, but that had been arranged by the close relationship of Yu Ziyuan with her sworn sister, not the choices of the children in question. The idea that a betrothal could be proposed for him and Lan Zhan based first and foremost on their affection for each other isa bit of a surprise, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“If you are opposed of course we need not pursue it, it’s childish fantasy on their part. But I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t secure a strong allyship between our Sects. If the children are already fond of each other it may one day bloom into a good match.”

Oh Uncle Jiang you have no idea, Wei Ying thinks to himself with poorly-disguised glee.

“Married to Zhanzhan!!” he shouts, practically vibrating with the joy of the idea of being able to make that true literally as soon as physically possible. Of course he knows that that probably means they’ll have to wait until they’re teenagers at least, but that’s worlds better than how long he had made Lan Zhan wait the first time.

“No yelling,” Lan Zhan reminds him softly with a squeeze of his fingers and Wei Ying allows the correction with a nod as he lays his head down on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Whether Lan Qiren agrees to a betrothal now or later doesn’t matter. Whether Jiang Fengmian is willing to humor him now with the expectation that he’ll forget about Lan Zhan when they’re no longer in the same place together is irrelevant. What matters is that he has his husband back, and while he knows that he’ll have to leave him behind briefly to return to Lotus Pier, now that he knows they have an ally in Madam Lan he’s sure that he’ll be able to sneak Lan Zhan some letters, and receive some in return. And they’ll grow up together, and they’ll help everyone they can, and Wei Ying is going to get a lifetime to love him with everything he has.