#and even my close family relationships are kind of.. tenuous. (This does not count my siblings they're lovely and I'd die for them)

[malhare-archive]

To anyone in America who is estranged from their family or who has a bad relationship with their family, I'm thinking of you today. Take care of yourself <3

[hookingminor]

isn’t it strange? - nico hischier

a/n: this took so long to finish and once again not sure if I even like it but I will perhaps make a bonus epilogue to post later if I get inspired <3 if some things seem vague (re: family dynamics and details like siblings and parents) it’s because I wanted to make it as ambiguous and universal as possible, though this does center around a relatively close-knit family on the reader's side

word count: 12.7k (good god y’all)

warnings (18+): smut (unprotected), minor alcohol mentions, wedding antics, close family dynamics

teaser / part one

-

Things were awkward to say the least when you arrived at the large house your family had rented for the week.

It was awkward when Nico picked you up to take you to the airport, your favorite coffee and breakfast sandwich in hand when he greeted you at the door. As always, he turned up earlier than expected, leaving you to invite him in while you scrambled to collect the rest of your things.

The drive had eased some of the tension since you had nearly half an hour to chat on the ride over. A portion of the time was spent catching up on the last month though you both kept details vague, but most of the conversation centered on your family and the itinerary for the week ahead of you since you wanted Nico to be prepared.

Nico had met your immediate family many times before over the course of your relationship since he chose to spend holidays during the season with you and your family because he couldn’t make trips back to Switzerland with hockey going on all the time, but this was the first time he would be meeting your whole family: all the nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins, everyone extended. It was a week sure to be filled with intrusive questions about your relationship and future together.

By the time you had your bags checked, Nico surprised you with upgraded first class seats from the coach ones you had purchased all those months ago.

“I asked you on this trip as a favor,” you quipped when he flashed the tickets before you with an amused smile that you did not return. “You shouldn’t be spending any money on this. Or me.”

“Who said this was for you?” He smirked. “I’m used to a life of luxury on private team planes. I don’t want to spend the next four hours with a kid kicking the back of my seat and you hogging the armrest.”

The tone of his voice let you know he was joking, but you half believed the excuse.

“Plus, you’re going to have to deal with your family for the next five days. I think you deserve to have at least a few hours of comfort before all this goes down,” he added after a moment.

“You’re too kind for your own good, Nico, you know that?” You replied with an agitated huff, taking the ticket with your name from his hands. Who were you to refuse a first class ticket you knew was nonrefundable?

“You did say that was one of my most lovable qualities.”

“And sometimes most infuriating,” you grumbled. “I’m paying you back for this later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Both of you knew full well Nico would never accept a repayment.

The flight got delayed an hour due to air traffic, and you hated to admit you were extra thankful for the first class seats as you sat and waited for the runways to clear when suddenly Nico grabbed your right headphone to pop it into his own ear.

“What are you listening to?” He asked when the podcast started back up.

You waited a few moments and allowed the audio to play where the hosts where in the middle of describing a gruesome murder. “True crime,” you stated when they finished their story.

Nico never had the stomach for all the horror and gore you were fascinated with, though he tried valiantly to get into the same interests as you. More times than not it led to terrifying nightmares or unwanted paranoia or tenuous nausea.

“I always hated these,” Nico said, but he made no move to remove the headphone while the story continued on.

“That’s because you scare easily and get nightmares,” you chuckled. After the third time Nico woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night after watching a horror movie with you, you declared him unfit to watch any more (something Nico was eternally grateful for.) He would do anything for you, and if that meant sitting through awful movies and documentaries that scarred him, he would do it, but he was glad he didn’t have to.

“Nightmares were never so bad when I woke up next to you.” Nico let his eyes fall shut after the plane settled into a cruising altitude.

“Speak for yourself.” The corner of your mouth tugged into a smile. “You were always sweaty and clung to me like a koala.”

Nico’s own lips quirked up at the mention of his clingy bedroom tendencies but said nothing more, and within a few short minutes he was fast asleep, which was another quality you envied him for: his ability to pass out whenever and wherever.

-

You were grateful it was well into the evening by the time you made it to the rental home. The hour-long taxi ride gave you some time to unwind from the plane ride and figure out some last minute logistics before launching yourselves into a busy week. And it helped that you weren’t bombarded at the dinner you expected to be at but sadly had to miss.

Your parents greeted you at the front door, tackling you both in hugs before your father went to handle the luggage while your mother squished Nico’s cheeks and made comments about how he needed to eat more.

Nico wooed her with that dazzling smile of his that had her heart melting every time, complimenting her on her new hairstyle and giving her a big hug. Your dad clapped him on the shoulder in one of those fatherly squeezes, commending him on the past Devils season. Before you brought Nico home, your father never dared to follow New Jersey Devils hockey like any respected person would, but Nico easily converted not only your dad, but your entire family into Devils fans.

They traded some commentary on the playoffs currently going on as you entered the home before your mom showed you to the room you’d be staying in and updated you with the arrival times of your siblings the next day.

The conversation didn’t last long considering it was almost ten in the evening and they wanted to give you time to settle in. Plus, it was past their bedtimes as middle-aged adults and they were more interested in getting some sleep themselves than catching up with you right now.

“Are you sure you’re okay with being here?” You asked after your parents left, lounging on the bed while you waited for Nico to finish up in the bathroom.

“Of course I am,” he replied, flicking off the light switch before slipping under the covers. “I like your family. They always make me feel welcome.”

“That’s because everyone’s in love with you,” you chuckled. “You’re, like, every parent’s wet dream.”

Nico laughed, having heard you say some iteration of that same phrase multiple times over the years you dated. It was insane how much your parents loved Nico. Every time you brought him home, he stole the show. Your little cousins flocked to him like moths to a flame, and all the guys loved being able to discuss sports with a professional athlete even if your family wasn’t a hockey one. He had a stomach the size of an elephant and could eat his weight in food that your aunties made, and he was an even better complimenter and flirt. Your older brother adored him and your younger sister fawned over him. Hell, even the grocer at the local supermarket asked you periodically how Nico was doing when you came home to visit.

There wasn’t a single person he couldn’t win over. Both in your family and in life. He was just that perfect.

“Besides, having your mom’s cooking at least once this weekend will be worth all of this,” he added after a moment.

“You say that when you’re so clearly the favorite here.” You slid under the covers and pulled them up to your chest.

“What can I say? Moms love me.”

Everyone loves you, you thought.

“Goodnight, Nico,” was what you said instead, rolling onto your side and away from Nico. You hoped that if you didn’t have to look at him, your mind could forget that he was right next to you, but it was a fruitless attempt. Not when his body was denting the mattress just a few inches away and you could practically feel his heat radiating across the distance.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied while settling himself deeper into the sheets.

The situation gave you flashbacks of the end of your relationship when you were still sharing a bed but acted like you were strangers. A pit settled in your stomach at the memories of Nico coming home late and crawling into bed without so much as a goodnight kiss and where you pretended to be asleep so you didn’t have to ask him about his day.

You pushed the thoughts aside and burrowed yourself deeper into the bed. If anything, maybe you could come out of this weekend as friends. You could only hope for the best.

-

“What’s for breakfast?” You asked, entering the kitchen where your mom and dad were already bustling around cooking.

Nico followed in behind you while you peered over your mom’s shoulder at the stove where she was flipping chocolate chip pancakes. Your lips turned down in a frown, but you didn’t say anything.

Turning around, you spotted freshly cut strawberries in a bowl on the counter, and another glance in a different direction showed turkey bacon slices resting on a plate. All of the dishes were Nico’s favorites.

“Is there anything for me here?” You scoffed teasingly when you saw your dad poaching eggs in a pot just how Nico liked.

“You’re not the guest here,” your mother replied with an eye roll. “We have to be good hosts.”

“Right. It’s not like Nico’s stayed with us multiple times and knows what to expect.”

“Oh hush, you know you’ll eat it anyway,” your mom said.

“Would’ve preferred waffles,” you mutter under your breath, which earned you a light hit with the nearby dish towel.

“This is all wonderful. Thank you so much. You guys didn’t have to go to all this work,” Nico stepped behind you, pulling you back into his body before you started arguing with your mom.

“And that’s why he’s my favorite,” your mom gushed with an affectionate pat to Nico’s cheek. “Help yourself.”

You rolled your eyes at your mom’s blatant favoritism, but Nico only smiled down at you and wiggled his eyebrows in amusement. He knew your parents loved him, arguably more than they loved you, and he was by far the favorite significant other between you and your siblings.

Your mom smacked your hand when you tried to plate your food first, reprimanding you to let Nico go first, who stood grinning and on the verge of laughter at your put-out face as you waited for him to finish.

“Now you’re just being an ass,” you said, snatching some bacon from Nico’s plate because he thought it would be funny to take them all.

“Careful,” Nico whispered as he leaned in closer, “or I’ll tell your mom you’re being mean to me.”

It was too early in the morning for your stomach to be filled with butterflies at Nico’s close proximity, so you teasingly shoved him to the side to put some space between your bodies. You were only given a short reprieve before Nico joined you at the table and pressed his thighs flush against yours underneath the table.

You tried not to think about his thigh against yours or the jokes and stories he shared with your father or the way he helped himself to all the extra leftovers your mom insisted on giving him because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. And you especially tried not to think about how your heart rate sped up when Nico reached up to wipe a smudge of jam at the corner of your mouth.

Yeah, it was going to be a long day and an even longer week.

-

When you first agreed on Nico accompanying you back home, you both decided that the less time you spent lying to your family, the better. It was hard to avoid spending any time with them due to the fact that it was a family wedding, so when the opportunity came up to run some last minute wedding errands, you jumped to volunteer yours and Nico’s time.

While you loved your family, the day had been full of a lot of interacting, and tomorrow would be even more taxing when the rest of your extended family arrived. And then your brother and sister stopped by to catch up with everyone, and you were faced with another onslaught of questions about when you and Nico were finally going to settle down.

“If you’re waiting for permission, you know you already have it,” your brother had joked, clapping Nico on the shoulder with a laugh.

It didn’t help that Nico was absolutely incredible with your brother’s kids, tossing them in the air and letting them hang from his back like he was a human jungle gym. His ever-lasting energy devoted to playing with your niece and nephews only had your sister-in-law nudging you with her elbow and commenting on just how good Nico was with kids.

“He’ll be a great dad in a few years, huh?” She smirked. Laura loved Nico because she thought he was good for you and also because every time you brought him around, she always got a few hours of peace while he entertained them. “You don’t even know how excited they were in the car that they got to hang out with Uncle Nico today.”

You laughed at her comment though it lacked genuine feeling. You weren’t sure you even wanted kids in the future, but the remarks about how everyone loved Nico only stung more when you knew you didn’t have him anymore and that he wasn’t yours.

You practically had to drag him out of the house after a hectic lunch when your father asked if anyone wanted to check in on the vendors in town to make sure everything was still in order. Your family was great at asking too many questions and insinuating that they were waiting for Nico and you to get engaged yourselves, and the atmosphere was starting to become stifling.

“You okay?” Nico asked the second you stepped out the front door to take a deep breath.

A hand raised to cup your cheek before you could reply, and Nico met your eyes with a worried look.

“Yeah, sorry,” you sighed. “I just didn’t think I’d feel this bad about lying to everyone. I’m sorry you have to deal with all their dumb comments.”

“I’m okay, I promise.” Nico engulfed your face with both hands now and scanned your eyes for reassurance. “Why don’t we take our time in town? We can say something went wrong so we needed extra time to handle it and we can get dinner or something after so you can have some time to breathe.”

Nico honestly didn’t mind the inquisition from your family. Over the years, he’d become used to their fun-loving and sometimes invasive nature, but he knew they meant it all with love. They cared about both of you deeply, and it was endearing to hear that they still did. It warmed his heart and filled his body with such an intense longing that, for brief moments, Nico would forget you were actually broken up.

Those moments were usually when he caught you laughing with your sister at something and you’d glance over at him for a split second before turning away. Or when your niece would quietly whisper to him to ask if he could braid her hair, to which Laura would reprimand her for bothering Nico but he gladly entertained her anyway. Or when your mother took him to the side to ask about when they’d be flying back for Thanksgiving, and Nico’s initial reaction was to give her an answer instead of deflecting.

He especially felt it now with his hands warming your face as he watched your brows draw together in anxiousness, and Nico knew he needed to get you away from the house as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, okay, let’s do that please.” Your shoulders release some tension on your next breath to calm yourself down.

The drive into town settled your nerves the further you got from the home, and you were feeling more at ease when you rolled up to the flower shop your cousin enlisted for the wedding.

The florist was a lovely elderly woman who gushed over Nico immediately.

“The girls in your family have some real luck with gorgeous men, huh?” She blushed when Nico shook her hand, instantly feeling the charm of a handsome young man.

She ushered you to the back where she had started assembling the table pieces, blue iris and white hyacinth bundles scattered across her workspace. “My daughter will be in tomorrow to help me finish the rest, and we will be there early Saturday morning to drop them off and help set up if you need it.”

“They’re gorgeous,” you complimented, taking one complete bundle in your hands to inspect it. “Really, they’re incredible.”

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” the woman smiled, evidently proud of her own work.

She showed you around the rest of her shop after you were sufficiently confident that the flowers were taken care of, delving into the history of the store that she opened thirty years ago with her husband.

A phone call from the dress store had you excusing yourself and stepping outside while Nico finished up inside, and you thanked the lady again for her help.

Nico joined you on the sidewalk after a few minutes, the bell above the door alerting you of his presence as he bid farewell to the florist with a bright smile. A singular red tulip stem was between his fingers, and he held it out for you to take like it was a precious present.

“Ruth thought red seemed like your color,” Nico said. “I agreed.”

“Ruth knows me well.” You took the flower from Nico and brought it to your nose to sniff it.

Nico cleared his throat. “So what’s next on the list?”

“The tailor said the dress would be another hour before we can pick it up, so we should probably check on the cake and catering.”

You ran all over town with Nico, popping from shop to shop and checking on all the orders on your list.

The caterer ran through the list with you three times when you arrived, double and triple checking the vegetarian and special diet options and numbers while simultaneously having you try a few samplers to make sure everything was how it should be: a task that Nico was all too willing to participate in.

The cake decorator had barely begun baking the cake by the time you got there, so there wasn’t much to check in with, though she also had no concerns at the time and even sent you home with a complimentary slice for making the trip out there.

“Last thing on the list is picking up the dress. Emily said she had her final fitting earlier this week, so it should all be good to go.”

It was still early in the day by the time your cousin’s dress was tucked safely in the backseat of the car, and Nico could feel your hesitation behind the wheel when you realized it was time to head back.

“Hey, are you hungry? I’m starving,” Nico said. “We should get something to eat before we go home.”

“My mom is probably making dinner as we speak,” you chuckled, not opposed to the idea of skipping out on family time.

“She’s got the grandkids and your siblings. We’ll just say it was my idea and that we wanted some alone time. You know she’ll never get mad at me.” His lips pulled into a smirk. It was true. Nico walked on water in your mother’s eyes.

“Well, when you put it like that…” A smile slowly spread across your face. “Should we play a round of restaurant roulette?”

“You know me so well,” Nico laughed, already pulling up the list of nearby restaurants into his google search.

Restaurant roulette was something you often played when you were dating and couldn’t decide on a place to eat. It was your own way of discovering new restaurants and also how you made decisions when you were both too stubborn to agree.

Back in New Jersey, you had a list of all local restaurants and would randomly shuffle them and draw a number to decide which one you’d be going to, but in a town you weren’t familiar with, a random google search would have to do.

Nico didn’t show you the phone, viewing the list of places on his own and counting the total number of restaurants before asking you to pick a number.

“One through eleven, which will it be?” He asked.

“Four,” you answered.

Nico smiled wickedly before punching in the address.

The surprised restaurant turned out to be a Western country bar like one straight out of the movies. It was an odd choice of restaurant to be in a town that was most certainly not a small country town, but like every restaurant roulette choice, you embraced it with open arms.

You embraced the grizzly men sitting at the bar drinking glasses of dark liquor and the old, bearded bar owner serving the drinks. You even embraced the sticky booth table with the flickering light above.

The waitress was definitely a high schooler who would rather be doing anything than serving the two of you on a Thursday evening, but you figured she had no choice but to be there if you were going by the way she called the bar owner ‘grandpa’.

The menu, which was surprisingly long given the small establishment, had everything from fried appetizers to salads to steak. “There’s no way they can be doing all of this right,” you commented as you perused. It was nearly two full pages just of food and another full page of drink options.

“What do you think are the safest options?” Nico asked.

“Not the grilled salmon… or any fish option for that matter,” you replied.

When the teenager came back, you stuck to a simple burger while Nico chose a chicken sandwich, hoping that the bar at least had good classic bar food and handed the menus back.

Nico took your mind off your family while you waited for your meals, delving into updates on his family and his plans to go back home in the next couple of weeks.

“Is everyone doing okay? Your mom and dad? Siblings?” You asked.

It dawned on you then that you hadn’t spent much, if any, of your time together this week asking Nico about his life and his family. You’d been so worried and focused on your own issues that you neglected to check in with him.

Whereas Nico had met your family multiple times, you only had the privilege of meeting his when you traveled to Switzerland with him in the summer, and even then it was difficult for everyone to be together with his siblings both involved in sports. There was the rare event of his parents spending a week in New Jersey just last year, and that was the last time you’d heard news about them now that you thought about it.

“Everyone is good,” he answered. “They ask about you sometimes.”

Nico’s family liked you just fine from what you could tell and from what he would tell you. They weren’t given as many opportunities to hover and ask questions like your family did with Nico, but they were always welcoming when you visited. You had a good enough relationship where you would talk to his sister and mother separately on your own every now and then, though that had slowly fizzled out along with yours and Nico’s relationship.

For the most part, though, they only had Nico’s word to go off of when they developed their opinions on you, and Nico never had anything bad to say about you. Even when you were fighting or didn’t see eye to eye, Nico would never bad mouth you behind your back.

The waitress arrived with your dishes in record speed—a perk in ordering in a place that rarely seemed busy—and you were pleasantly surprised by the quality of them.

“I take back every bad thing I said about this place. I would definitely get this burger again,” you announced, polishing off the crisp fries on the side.

“I think this might be the best chicken I’ve ever had in my life.” Nico all but moaned around his sandwich, sending zings through your body at the melodious sound.

“How long are you going to be back home for?” You coughed awkwardly, trying your best to ignore the heat flooding your body by turning the conversation to something mundane.

“Till practice starts up again, hopefully,” he replies, dousing his own fries in an abundance of ketchup. “I already postponed going back because of this new trainer I’m seeing, so I want to stay there as long as possible.”

“You make me feel like a bad daughter because I’m here wishing this weekend was over so I can get back to Jersey,” you chuckled.

“Yeah, but your parents are coming to visit you in a couple months anyway.” His remembrance of your parents annual NJ trip just to see you stirred something inside you. “I get tired of my family when I’m home too. I think everyone does. Too much of a good thing sometimes, you know?”

Boy, did you. There was always a pang of guilt every time you thought about how you didn’t want to be around your family that made you feel like a disgrace or unworthy, so it was nice to hear you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

“Thanks for saying I’m not a bad person,” you said after a moment. “Even though this entire week has been based on lies.”

“But you’re lying because you care about them, so the pros outweigh the cons here.” You weren’t quite sure if you believed that, but Nico always said everything with conviction that you couldn’t help but mooch off his confidence.

“Yeah, maybe.” Perhaps the pros did outweigh the cons in this case, not to mention the lying saved you from unnecessary pity and coddling which was fun for no one, but that small bit of guilt still lingered in your chest despite all your attempts to settle it.

-

With a terrible turn of events, you woke up the next morning with a painful migraine. The few rays of light coming in through the blinds had you turning your face into the pillow and squeezing your eyes shut.

It was a rare occasion that you were overcome with debilitating migraines like this, but when they happened you knew you wouldn’t be moving for the next few hours at the very least. At most, you’d be out the entire day if you didn’t follow the very specific ritual and medications that you finally figured out to cure the headache.

The only bad part about following your migraine ritual is that it was hard to get yourself up to get the things you needed when your head was in splitting pain.

Curling the pillow around your head to block out the sounds of clanging pots in the kitchen, presumably your mother making breakfast, you let out a muffled moan at the overstimulation.

The moan had Nico stirring awake beside you.

Your migraines weren’t so rare an occurrence that Nico couldn’t immediately pick up on what was going on, but it had been months since your last migraine as far as Nico could remember.

“Oh no,” Nico said quietly, rubbing a hand across your back. “Is it your head?”

You let out another pained moan as an affirmation.

Your body was curled into a fetal position and burrowed under the sheets with the pillow wrapped around your head, and Nico kept his hand running softly over the fabric of your shirt in gentle circles for a few moments while he woke himself up and threw himself into mom mode.

“Wait here a minute, I’ll get you a towel for your eyes.”

The sound of curtains rattling against the rod let you know Nico was trying his best to close them despite the fact they wouldn’t completely block out the light. Then he shuffled off to the bathroom to find a washcloth to soak in ice cold water before coming back to you.

“Roll over, honey,” Nico instructed quietly, making sure to keep his voice as low as possible so as to not irritate your migraine further.

With your eyes still pinched shut, you rolled onto your back, and Nico placed the cold towel over your eyes.

“You don’t have any of your pills or stuff here, do you?” He asked, stroking your leg through the blankets.

“No,” you croaked out. “I need my ginger ale.”

“I’ll make a run to the store and get your things, okay? Think you can hang out for an hour?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I guess not.”

“Then drive fast, please.”

Your mother didn’t blink twice when Nico asked if he could borrow a car to drive to the nearest pharmacy to gather your migraine medication and items you needed. She was mildly worried about your condition since you planned on having family over for a barbecue in the afternoon, but she also knew the best way to cure your migraines was to get you the ingredients you needed.

“Would you mind making her a cup of coffee while I’m gone? Be sure to give it to her with a glass of water too, and she’ll ask for cream and sugar but don’t give her any because she needs black coffee for it to actually help her.” The instructions fell from Nico’s mouth in a hurry, and he shocked himself when he realized that he still knew this small tidbit of you. Knowing you was like riding a bike, Nico thought. He didn’t think he’d be able to forget you if he tried.

Your mom’s eyes sparkled with adoration at Nico’s order. “Should I make her any food?” She was half asking because she did want to help you if she could, but the other half of her just wanted to see what Nico would reply.

He didn’t disappoint. “Not now, no. She always takes some buttered toast with her pills and ginger ale, but I have to go and get that stuff first. I don’t need to get any bread, do I?”

Your mother shook her head, and suddenly Nico felt sheepish. Which he shouldn’t have since your family still believed you were dating, but in all the family events you took him to, he didn’t think he’d ever shown so much affection for you then than he did just now.

“You better get going,” your mother said, smiling at the blush slowly creeping across Nico’s cheeks.

The trip into town and back took forty-five minutes since Nico sped as much as he could without raising suspicion and enlisted the help of a teenage clerk to show him where everything was so he didn’t waste any time looking.

He had everything you needed: cold pack for your head, pills for the migraine, eye mask to block out the light, ginger ale for whatever magical purpose it worked on you when you were sick, and the few obscure snacks you absolutely needed to eat when the headaches hit. Some of your rituals were weird and Nico didn’t think they really helped in any medical sense, but he also knew that if you skipped even one step you’d be out for the entire day.

You hadn’t moved an inch since Nico left, and he found you in the same position with your cold towel no longer cold. The coffee cup was nearly empty on the nightstand, which was the best Nico could usually get out of you since you detested plain black coffee.

“You didn’t drink any water,” Nico noticed and tutted his disapproval while he unloaded the rations from the grocery bag.

You grunted your own disapproval as Nico divided up the proper amount of pills for you to take. He placed the pills in one hand and the glass of water in the other hand, and you took them gingerly, moving as little as possible to swallow them.

“Toast time,” you whimpered.

“I’ll go make it in a minute,” Nico said. He eased the towel from your face and patted your skin dry before sliding the eye mask over your head and then the cold pack on your forehead.

Things started to look up after you blindly ate your toast that you washed down with a glass of ginger ale when Nico gently maneuvered your body until your head was in his lap so he could massage your throbbing temples.

“You don’t have to stay here. You should go help my parents get ready for the barbecue later,” you said. “I’ll probably end up taking a nap soon anyway.” As good as the massage felt, it wasn’t Nico’s responsibility to care for you anymore, and you already felt bad enough for everything he’s done for you this trip.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind,” Nico replied, sending a flurry of butterflies through your stomach.

“Yes, I feel bad enough already. Please go do something more fun than this,” you groaned and attempted to push him off the bed, though with your depleted strength it was a gentle nudge at best.

Nico didn’t put up much of a fight after that, knowing you well enough to understand that you meant what you said and also needed to be alone to recover. It only took a few minutes after that for you to fall back into a dreamless sleep, hoping that when you woke up that this migraine from hell would be gone.

-

Even after years of bringing Nico around, it still baffled you how well he fit into your family. It baffled you in general just how well-liked he was by everyone.

After sleeping off the migraine and chugging another glass of water with pills, you managed to peel yourself from bed to join your family out back. You kept on a pair of dark sunglasses as an extra precaution, and even with the shades shielding your face, you still managed to lock eyes with Nico the minute you stepped outside to greet your mother.

In a motherly fashion, she patted your cheeks in her hands and checked for any sign of distress on your face before declaring you were well enough to fetch more fruit from the kitchen. Across the yard stood Nico, who was currently playing goalie for your tiny cousins’ soccer game, and he flashed you a bright smile at the eye roll intended for your mother.

After grabbing another bowl of strawberries for the patio table, you strode across the grass to check in with your ‘boyfriend.’

“Auntie!” Your niece crashed into your legs before you got within ten feet of Nico.

“Hey, bug.” You scooped her up in your arms and continued on your path.

“Are you going to play with us?” She asked hopefully, batting those long lashes she got from her mother.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to embarrass Nico by scoring too many goals on him,” you replied, causing her to erupt in a fit of giggles.

“I’ve already scored five on him!” She held up all five fingers right in front of your face.

“She’s on the way to the Women’s National Team, I’m telling you,” Nico confirmed from the goalpost. “You sure you don’t wanna take a shot?” He asked. Then he dove dramatically to the side on a shot by another cousin of yours, easily letting the ball through his side.

There was a cocky smirk on his face, put there to intentionally rile you up as he added an extra eyebrow wiggle. And if it weren’t for the cheers and screams of six kids under the age of ten yelling for you to do it, you would’ve passed. But you were nothing if not competitive and easily swayed.

You set your niece back on the ground and one of the kids kicked the ball over to you. You’d played these silly backyard games with your family in the past and with Nico, and you knew enough about how he played hockey to know he preferred his left side over his right.

By no means were you a soccer superstar, especially compared to Nico who played two-touch with the team before every game, so you banked on him acting predictably.

“I’m not going easy on you,” he said as you dribbled the ball in front of the goal.

“When have you ever?” You quipped with a smirk of your own.

He bent his knees and got into position, which was a funny image considering the goal wasn’t all that big to begin with. You kicked the ball between your feet a few times to get a feel for it before you took off towards him.

His eyes zeroed in on the ball, intently tracking its movements as you went in on the right side. Your foot reared back to kick before you passed it to the left, a move Nico expected and followed easily. At the last second, right when he committed for the dive as your leg swung back, you spun around and kicked the ball back to the right.

With Nico on the ground, you let out a victorious laugh, taking your sweet time in squaring yourself up to take the shot into the open goal.

Choruses of cheers sounded behind you, both the kids and adults from the patio chiming in as you raised your arms in celebration. Nico laughed from his position on the grass, sitting on his ass with arms resting on bent knees.

“You thought I’d go for your weak side, huh?” You asked, strolling over to his hunched figure.

“Nice shot,” he said, rubbing his hands off of dirt.

You extended a hand towards Nico to pull him up, but you underestimated Nico’s pettiness and sore loser attitude because the next thing you knew you were on the grass too and half rolled under Nico’s body.

“Sore loser,” you laughed underneath him.

Nico’s smile was almost as bright as the sun shining above him, illuminating him in a golden halo that had your breath catching in your throat. “You’re a sore winner,” he remarked, poking your side.

The sweet moment only lasted a second longer before your nephew was jumping on both of you, inserting himself in the middle and effectively starting a dogpile of tiny children. One by one they tackled you until Nico was completely blocked from your view, replaced by cherub cheeks and sweat.

“Okay, okay, I think that’s enough for now,” Nico’s voice sounded from above you somewhere, and you got a brief peek of your cousin hanging from his back like a monkey.

Gently, he moved the kids to the side and off of you all while balancing the kid clinging to his shoulders until he could extend a hand to you.

Your cousin jumped off when Nico bent down to help you up, steadying you with both hands while you pushed to your feet. Fingers picked at pieces of grass and leaves sticking out your hair, and you brushed off the dirt dusting Nico’s shirt.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, removing a smudge from your cheek with his thumb.

Summer always looked good on Nico. The sun did wonders to tan Nico’s skin and always made his brown hair look lighter, and when the light caught his eyes they resembled melted honey.

You cleared your throat and stepped out of his hold. “Much better. Thanks again for everything this morning,” you said. “I’m going to get some water.”

It had been so long since you had Nico’s hands on you, or his attention for that matter, and you momentarily forgot how intoxicating it was to be near him: to have his scent surrounding you, to have his arms around you, to have his eyes on you and looking at you like that. It messed with your head.

“You and Nico are so adorable,” an aunt commented while you helped yourself to a glass of water.

“Thanks,” you replied with a tight smile.

“And he’s so good with kids,” another aunt chimed in.

Nico had started a game of keep away with the kids, acting as the monkey in the middle that they were trying to keep the ball from. “Yeah, he is,” you said, your tone genuine.

More comments about Nico’s suitability came into the conversation, but you pushed them out. It was getting easier with the passing days to ignore them and all their comments because even if you weren’t together anymore, they were all true. Nico was a good person and he did treat you well before everything fell apart. He was good with kids and caring and compassionate. Hell, he’d agreed to this weekend knowing the stress it would put on him, but he did it because he was inherently good.

But damn was it going to suck breaking the news to them in a few months.

-

Emily held the latter still while you stood on the highest rung, hooking the string lights along the wooden beams across the ceiling and looping them intricately per your cousin’s instructions.

“You can do this yourself, you know,” you huffed after her third ‘no, not like that’ order.

“I’m the bride. What I say goes, remember?” She smiled sweetly below you. “Besides, you’ll be the one calling the shots soon enough when it’s your turn. You can get your revenge then.”

The ladder step slips out from underneath your right foot, and you go stumbling downwards. Emily gasps below you while you scramble to find purchase on the metal rungs, clinging your arms around the side and catching yourself on the third step.

“Oh god. Are you okay?” Emily asked, coming to steady you with her hands after you stopped moving.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you grunted. There was probably going to be a bruise on your thigh after this ordeal.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something?” Emily questioned. She paused for a moment then gasped. “Oh my god. Did Nico bring up marriage or something?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No. Not exactly.”

Confusion settled over her face. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly and pulled yourself up slowly. “Do you wanna hand me the other end of the string lights?”

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Emily held the lights firmly. “Is something wrong with you and Nico?”

You hesitated, biting your lip in contemplation while she waited for a response.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

And maybe it was the soft tone of her voice or the concerned look in her eyes, or maybe it was the combination of an exhausting week of lies and deceit taking its toll on you, but you broke at her words.

“Nico and I broke up,” you replied, slowly climbing back down until you were on solid ground.

“Broke up when? When did you guys get back together?” She asked.

“Broke up almost two months ago,” you answered. “We didn’t get back together.”

It took Emily a minute to process your words, her mouth opening to respond before shutting again. Her eyebrows drew further together and she crossed her arms. “What do you mean you didn’t get back together? What’s he doing here then?”

“I asked him to come back with me as a favor,” you said sheepishly, averting her gaze.

“Oh, honey,” she cooed softly. Grabbing your hands, she led you over to one of the dinner tables set up for the wedding and sat you down. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Everyone loves him,” you scoffed. “I already told everyone he was coming, and it’s not like I can fake a hockey emergency in the middle of the summer. I didn’t want to take any attention away from you with everyone pitying me.”

“Why’d you break up? Did he do something stupid?” Her eyes turned sharp. “Do I need to kill him for you? What did he do?”

“Nothing,” you said. Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “Promise.”

“If it was nothing then why’d you break up?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” you sighed. “It was like we fell apart, I guess. I don’t know. We just stopped caring about each other’s lives. He stopped calling when he was away from home, and I stopped waiting up for him at night. We stopped going on dates and making time for us. It was like the spark died and we didn’t know what we were doing together anymore.”

“And he still came back? It doesn’t sound like he stopped caring about you if he did that.”

“He’s a good guy. You know him.”

“I do know Nico, and I know he’s a terrible liar. I haven’t seen him upset or uncomfortable once this week being with you. I wouldn’t have even been able to tell you two weren’t still in love.”

“Well, he loves you guys.”

“He loves us because we’re your family,” she pointed out. “What about you? Do you still care about him?”

“Of course I do.” There was no hesitation in your answer. “It’s just—”

“Weird.” You both said at the same time.

“You know, when David and I took a break, I thought we would never get back together. I was twenty and thought I had my whole life ahead of me. And looking back, the space was good for us. I don’t think we would still be together now if we hadn’t taken that year apart and figured some stuff out about ourselves,” she confessed. “You’re young, and sometimes you need time apart from someone to discover what you truly want.”

“This week with Nico has been so confusing,” you admitted. “It’s like he’s the perfect boyfriend from when we first started dating. He took care of me the other day when I got a migraine and helps my mom cook dinner and remembers small things about me. He even went to town with me to run all your dumb wedding errands and didn’t complain. The way he’s been acting this week makes me question why we even broke up in the first place.”

She hummed quietly beside you.

“What’s that look for?” You asked.

“What look?” She smirked.

“Just say what you’re thinking, Em.” You rolled your eyes. “I know you’re dying to give advice.”

“It’s not my place to tell you what to do,” Emily started cautiously, “but I do think he still cares about you.”

“But do you think Nico’s it for me?” You played with the hem of your shirt, pulling at a loose thread.

She shrugged. “Who’s to say? I’d like to think so because I love him, but I also love him for you. I’ve never seen you light up like you do when you’re around him, and he’s always looking at you like you’re the North Star; always somehow knowing exactly where you’re at in a crowded room and always gravitating towards you whether or not he realizes it. Even now he still looks at you like that,” she remarked. “If you guys find your way back to each other, it was meant to be. And if you don’t, he’s not the end of your world. Either way you’re going to be okay. I’m sorry you felt like you had to lie to everyone this week.”

It was your turn to shrug. “It hasn’t been the worst, I guess. Definitely better than dodging everyone’s ‘so what happened?’ questions. Knowing dad, he’d probably lie and say he never liked Nico to make me feel better even though I’m sure he would date Nico himself if he could.”

Emily laughed at that, nodding along to agree with your statement. “If it gets too much, feel free to dip out tomorrow whenever you want. I know everyone can be a lot sometimes.”

You squeezed her hand in acknowledgement. “Thanks, Em. We’ll be fine though. Just two more days, right?”

-

Later that evening everyone had gathered in the barn reserved for the reception, the one you helped set up earlier that day with your family. Save for the tablecloths and centerpieces, everything was in place and ready for the big day tomorrow.

The rehearsal dinner consisted of just your close family for tonight and gave both David and Emily’s side time to mingle and get to know each other before the eventual ceremony while also thanking everyone for their help in planning and setting up for the wedding.

Once the best man and maid of honor speeches were done and everyone had eaten and the rehearsal dinner was finished, more drinks started flowing and a few more impromptu speeches were given. They were nothing scripted or long, mostly just family members extending their congratulations to the happy couple, but you still weren’t prepared by the time the microphone made its way to you.

Nico patted your thigh encouragingly as you stood up.

“Emily was my best friend growing up. She snuck me desserts from the kitchen when I was a kid and taught me how to tie my shoes. She even took me shopping for my first thong when I was in high school and was too scared to ask my mother.” Everyone chuckled while your mom shook her head at you. “She was always someone I looked up to and aspired to be: a successful career woman and a loving partner.”

“I’ve known David since the first time I caught them kissing in the driveway when he dropped her off at Thanksgiving, and Emily gave me five dollars to promise not to mention anything to the family. I was thirteen,” you said. “And throughout the years, I got to watch them grow as individuals and as a couple, and I couldn’t imagine a better man for my cousin. Even when they broke up in college, Emily always told me she’d marry him, and she was right.”

“I’ve been so blessed to grow up with incredible role models and literal couple goals, and everything I could hope to have in a relationship one day is what they have. So congratulations guys, I love you both.”

You felt unexpectedly uncomfortable when your speech concluded, heat rising to every surface of your body as you collapsed back into your seat. Nico’s hand immediately reached out for yours, squeezing reassuringly as the next person took the mic from you. You were scared to meet Nico’s eyes, opting to take a large drink of your champagne before casting him a sidelong glance.

His eyes were soft and full of emotion, a tight smile on his lips as he squeezed your hand again. You okay? His face asked silently, concern etched across his features.

Not in the slightest, you thought, but you managed to send him a tight nod anyway.

“Nice season this year, by the way, Nico,” your aunt gushed after the final speech ended.

You knew it was only a matter of time before someone brought up hockey as it was a popular topic around your professional athlete boyfriend. As far as you knew growing up, your family didn’t even like hockey and two years later they were experts in all things Devils. Well, all things Devils past 2015. Your parents had even called Nico when he was promoted to captain to tell him congratulations.

“You guys are definitely heading in the right direction,” your uncle chimed in.

“Thanks.” Nico nodded his appreciation. “We still have a long way to go, but we just take it one day at a time.”

“Heartbreaking way to end the season, though. Sorry about that,” your aunt sympathized with a frown.

She was referring to all his injuries, which had remedied themselves just in time for the end of the season to roll around, but sadly it wasn’t enough for them to get into a playoff position.

“Not as heartbreaking as Y/N’s year though,” your mom said, causing you to straighten your  spine in defense.

“Damned West Coasters,” your dad huffed. “If they didn’t want my baby, they don’t deserve her.”

Nico sent you a sideways glance, a question in his eyes that he didn’t voice because if there was anything Nico learned in the last few years, it was how to read your social cues. So he played along with the family until he could corner you later.

“Yeah, it was a shame.” He took your hand comfortingly, giving it a reassuring squeeze before bringing it to his own lap.

Thankfully, the conversation didn’t linger on you much longer before your uncle was launching into a different story about something completely unrelated like the annoying neighbor he had that didn’t know how to properly trim hedges or understand property lines.

Nico’s gaze shot back to you briefly, one that you met with a sheepish expression and you understood what he was saying immediately.

We’re not done discussing this.

-

“You should’ve told me.” Nico’s soft voice jolted you back to reality, disturbing the silent night you were taking comfort in.

You escaped the party as quickly as you could to take a breather outside, finding solace in the empty patio porch out back while the party continued on inside.

“What difference would it have made?” You chuckled humorlessly.

A glance over your shoulder revealed Nico standing in the side exit, the door shut behind him and secluding you from the party. His hands were in his pockets as he leaned casually against the wood, tie undone around his neck and hair disheveled.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything either way.” You mindlessly drummed your fingertips on the railing.

The back porch overlooked nothing but vast, empty land, but the real sight you were here for were the stars. In the city, the stars were so hard to see sometimes, but out here in the country they lit up the sky like a million tiny fireflies.

“Maybe not,” he shrugged, pushing off the side to walk over to you. “That doesn’t mean you should’ve gone through it alone.”

He came to a stop next to you at the rail, mimicking your stance identically. “I didn’t even know you wanted to do all that, and I’m not even sure I fully know now what it is you wanted. You never mentioned it to me.”

It was your turn to shrug now. “I didn’t know either,” you said quietly. By the end of your relationship, it wasn’t like you and Nico talked much about what was going on in your personal lives. “Besides, I didn’t think I’d get into the program, and I didn’t. It was some respected company in California that would’ve taken up six months of my time. There was no point in getting anyone’s hopes up. I only told my mom because she always bothers me for information and telling her about the partnership seemed safer than talking about our failing relationship.”

“When did you find out?”

“Mid-April.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Even when we had all our shit going on I still cared,” he questioned.

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted. “I knew you had your own shit going on with the team and injuries, and I didn’t want to add to your stress. It’s not like we were close at the end. It didn’t seem fair to dump my shit on you too.”

You fiddled with a piece of some chipped paint. “And I was embarrassed,” you added. “I put in all that hard work in my application for nothing. They didn’t want me. I was disappointed in myself.”

“Oh, honey,” Nico said. With one movement he took your fidgeting hand within yours.

You still refused to meet his eyes, ashamed of the tears that began welling there. It had been three months since the rejection email came in, and you thought you were over it. You really did.

Nico shifted your body to face his, bracketing you in between him and the railing. One hand tilted your chin up to meet his gaze while the other held your waist comfortingly. Those butter soft eyes of his only made the tears threaten to spill over. This is exactly why you didn’t tell him. You couldn’t handle the pity.

“And now you feel sorry for me.” You let your head fall forward to his chest in defeat.

“I feel sorry you went through that all alone.” He stroked your neck gently. “Had you told me, I would’ve said you’re not a disappointment and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. From what I heard it was highly prestigious and selective. To be in the final round is an achievement itself. And there’s always next year, right? Other programs? You’re not a disappointment.”

They were words you needed to hear but hated to admit it. It’s one thing when your parents told you ‘oh, well you did your best sweetheart’ because they were obligated to support you, but it was another thing entirely when the love of your life was comforting you.

“Thanks,” you croaked, lifting your head slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry I was a shitty boyfriend and that you felt like you couldn’t tell me,” he apologized.

“I’m sorry I was a shitty girlfriend,” you said. “I should’ve put in more effort to fix us.”

“Hey, we were both to blame.” His thumb ran over your cheek in soothing circles. “I miss you though, you know?”

“Yeah,” you sighed wistfully, knowing the feeling well. “I do know.”

“We weren’t so bad together though, were we?”

“No, but we weren’t great either, Nico,” you chuckled. “Remember all the late nights and unread texts and missed dates?”

“I try to remember all the vacations and post-game celebrations and midday movie marathons.” He smiled weakly.

“It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t all clouds and thunderstorms either.” His index finger tilted your chin up just the slightest. “Would it be bad of me to say I wanted to kiss you right now? You looked really pretty tonight, and I don’t know if I told you that.”

“Yes.” It came out breathy and didn’t help your case in trying to dissuade him, but you made no indication to move away from him either way.

The telling smirk on his face said he knew what you were thinking. You wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss you. So you did.

Damn the consequences that would come from kissing your ex that was pretending to still be your boyfriend, he looked too good in his dress pants and baby blue button up with the top two buttons undone, giving you the slightest peek of his chain underneath. You grabbed the back of his neck with your hand and crushed your lips to his.

It was full of passion and urgency, both of you making up for the two months apart and overcome with the emotions the wedding atmosphere brought out.

Nico deepened the kiss with a slide of his tongue into your mouth, claiming you with the force of a man possessed by need. Hands dropped to squeeze your ass. “It’s probably even worse if I suggested we get out of here, huh?”

“Terrible idea,” you confirmed, taking a moment to catch your breath before going in for another kiss. “Let’s go now before someone comes looking for us.”

The short drive back to the rental house was a blur with Nico speeding along the back roads to get home as quickly as possible just in case any of your family members decided to check out of the party early.

You shuffled to your shared room in the dark, bumping into the wall nearly three times on the way there, and locked the door with a click behind you. Walking Nico backwards, you knocked him onto the bed and clambered on top of him in a frenzy while working your fingers on the rest of his buttons.

His hand guided your mouth back to his as you worked on his shirt, shoving it down his arms after untucking it from his pants and throwing it to the side carelessly. The hem of your dress rode up your thighs as you straddled Nico’s lap, shamelessly grinding yourself along the bulge of his pants to pull a pained groan from him.

“We should probably talk about this,” Nico managed to grit out, eyes casting upwards towards the ceiling in agony.

“We can talk later,” you said, tugging the rest of your dress up over your hips to give you unrestricted access to rub your barely covered pussy against him. “I need you so bad.”

Nico was hard as granite under you, and you watched him visibly gulp as he considered his options. The more logical part of his brain knew you should discuss sleeping together before doing it and the repercussions it would have on your relationship, but the reckless part of his brain couldn’t get over how beautiful you looked above him and how good you felt on him.

Future Nico could deal with the fallout. Present Nico needed to be inside you before he combusted.

You raised an eyebrow in question, waiting for his go-ahead.

“Fuck, okay. We’ll talk later.” Your hands immediately went to his belt buckle and zipper. “You’re still on birth control, right?”

You nodded your response, taking his cock out of his pants and giving it a couple tentative squeezes. Nico gripped your hips tightly as he released a loud moan, and you gave him another leisurely pump before rising above him, shoving your panties to the side, and lining him up with your entrance.

Nico guided you onto his length until he was seated to the hilt and your thighs made contact with his. You palmed his shoulders as pleasure rang through your body.

Fingertips dug into your ass when you tried to move. “Give me a second.” His voice was raspy and breathless. “It’s been a couple months, and fuck, you’re tight.”

You tried not to think about him not having sex in a couple of months and the implication that he probably hadn’t fucked anyone since you, but your walls reflexively clenched around him at his words.

Instead, you busied yourself with another kiss, tangling your fingers in his soft locks and taking his slack mouth in yours.

You waited for Nico to shift beneath you to let you know he was ready before rolling your hips forward and off his cock just to sink back down when you rocked back. Synchronous moans left both of you at the drag of Nico’s cock along your walls, and his hands found their home on your hips to help move you the way he wanted.

It’d been so long for you, since you and Nico broke up, that every slide of his cock into you had you spiraling towards that edge in record time; especially when one hand grasped your tit and worked your nipple between two fingers and the other hand fell to stroke your clit in determined circles.

“You close?” He asked, lips brushing against your ear when you leaned down for another kiss.

You gave him a tight nod, eyes falling shut while you focused on the exquisite feeling of him filling you up. Picking up your pace, you bounced harder atop him to bring yourself closer to the edge. A few more thrusts had you cresting that hill, an unrestrained whine mixed with a moan leaving you as you came on Nico’s cock, your walls fluttering and pulsating around him while the thumb on your clit strummed you perfectly.

After your grip on his chest loosened, Nico was flipping you onto your back in a smooth movement, and he hitched a leg over his hip while he pounded you this way. His breath was heavy in your ear as he chased his high, taking only a few more thrusts before he halted and then came inside you.

His moans always sounded so pretty when he came, and mixed with the way he lightly bit your shoulder as he finished, it sparked a second, smaller orgasm to wash over you.

Once Nico came back down, he captured your lips in another kiss; this one softer and slower than your previous ones. Then he slid out of your dripping cunt and rolled to the side in a boneless heap.

You both laid in silence, catching your breaths while you each waited for the other to say something first—to burst the euphoric sex bubble and have reality set back in, but it never came. Wordlessly, you got up from bed and used the bathroom to dress for bed. Nico followed in your steps when you climbed back under the covers and came back shirtless and in a pair of clean boxers before tucking himself in beside you.

Neither of you said a thing as Nico folded himself around your back, nestling himself nice and cozy against you and wrapping an arm around your middle to pull you in deep.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered with a kiss on your shoulder.

“Goodnight, Nico,” you repeated back, making yourself comfortable in his hold.

‘We’ll talk tomorrow’ was the unsaid conclusion you both came to that neither of you minded. But for tonight, you’d enjoy what you had.

-

Emily stole your breath walking down the aisle, the long white train of her wedding dress catching the red rose petals as she drew closer to the altar. You all raised out of your seats when the music started playing, standing with Nico in a row near the front with your brother and his family on your other side.

The weather was perfect for an outdoor July wedding, the clouds providing just enough cover to keep the heat from becoming sweltering. A long white carpet extended through the aisle that led to a beautiful floral altar overlooking a large expanse of fields.

Nico stood on the edge of the row, giving him a view of everything: the bride, the altar, David tearing up underneath it, but the most important view for Nico was you.

Your skin glowed in the afternoon rays, which also illuminated the pale yellow dress you wore, transforming you into sunlight itself. He couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker back to you despite his efforts to watch Emily walk down the aisle, but nothing compared to how pretty you looked beside him.

He was even more grateful when you were finally seated and you took his hand in yours, resting them both on your thigh. Your intertwined fingers rested comfortably throughout the ceremony, and at one point you even allowed your head to fall on Nico’s shoulder as your eyes filled with tears at their sentimental vows.

Nico produced a tissue he had tucked away for this specific purpose, handing it to you and watching adoringly as you blotted your eyes carefully. Maybe he even took a risk and kissed your temple softly when you were too busy cheering at their walk back down the aisle.

There were a lot of questions unanswered and more problems that needed to be resolved after last night’s slip-up, but Nico was just thankful you didn’t run screaming from him when you woke up in his arms this morning. In fact, you indulged him in a few minutes of conscious cuddling before pulling away to get ready for the day.

And maybe he was seeing things, but Nico swore your stare lingered on him for longer than normal over breakfast pancakes and that you nudged his foot with yours under the table, but he could’ve also been delirious and shamelessly hopeful.

Even at the reception, you sat closer to him at the table than you did the night before, occasionally letting your elbows knock together or letting your thighs brush momentarily. You didn’t shy away from his grasp like you normally did when you mingled with other guests, seamlessly introducing him as your boyfriend to strangers and leaning in closer to his touch. And when Nico pulled you onto the dancefloor, you twirled happily in his arms for three whole songs, whatever awkwardness that had been surrounding you all week was gone for those ten glorious minutes.

“Stop staring at my cake.” Nico laughed. “Just go get another piece.”

After burning off all the calories from dinner, you settled back down for dessert and easily tore through your own slice of cake. And Nico knew you had your sights set on his slice now.

“You took the largest piece. I’m not hungry enough for a whole slice. I just want one more bite.” You batted your eyelashes at him. “Please.”

Nico rolled his eyes but scooped up a chunk of cake on his fork and held it in front of your face. You gladly opened your mouth to take the bite. He watched with heated eyes as you licked the remaining frosting off your lips, and without overthinking his next move, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a kiss.

It was chaste and sweet and only lasted a second before Nico pulled back, the sweet taste of icing now coating his mouth.

“Nico…” Your voice was strained, your eyes downcast.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said, standing up abruptly.

The night was winding down already, a couple people had already left the reception and those who remained were well on the way to getting drunk. You looked around hesitantly.

“Come on.” Nico held his hand out for you to take. “No one will mind us leading a little early. Besides, we have some stuff to talk about.”

“I guess we do, don’t we?” You took his hand and let him lead you away.

Nico gave you the opportunity to say goodbye to Emily and David, but you skipped on telling the rest of your family lest they try to convince you to stay.

The July air had chilled significantly since the afternoon, but it was a welcome cool compared to the stifling air in the barn.

Nico’s hand still held yours as he steered you towards the backyard area, leading you down a cobblestone trail that continued into a thick copse of trees.

“I don’t think this is the way back to the house,” you commented as you traveled further into the woods, the trail illuminated by the occasional lamppost stuck in the ground.

“I figured this would be easier than trying to talk it out at the house with your parents and family there. And I found this cool spot when I was helping your dad set up yesterday.”

The destination came into view just a few short minutes later, a small wooden gazebo in a garden clearing, completely vacant and adorned in hanging lanterns. In the middle rested a large bench.

You both sat on the old bench, close enough to still hold hands but not nearly as close as you were back at the reception. The chirping of cicadas engulfed you from all sides while you sat in silence, internally debating how to address the situation.

“So I was—”

“We should—”

You nodded for Nico to go first.

“Last night was incredible,” he started, glancing down to your intertwined fingers. “For me, at least. This whole week with you has been great, really. Your family, the wedding, you, everything. I wanted to know if it was as good for you as it was for me.”

“Yeah. It was,” you admitted with a sigh. “It has me all different kinds of confused if I’m being honest.”

Nico’s chin tilted down in agreement. “Yeah. I know.”

Another silence filled the air between you.

“I think this week made me realize how much I missed you. How much I missed us,” you said. “And not us at the end where we didn’t even want to be around each other but us before everything went to shit.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone as much as I’ve missed you these past months,” he confessed. “What do we do? What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. We can’t go on like it is now, and we certainly can’t go back to how it was. I don’t know what other option is left.”

“Then we’ll start over.”

“Nico…” you scoffed. “We already know everything about each other. We can’t just start over.”

“Who says we can’t? You said it yourself we can’t exist like this and we can’t go back. The only other option is to start over. It’ll be our version of a do-over,” he said.

“And how would that even work?”

He shrugged. “We start from square one. Start with the dates and weekly phone calls and go on from there. I’ll give it some time before I ask you to be my girlfriend and then you’ll start spending the night. Slowly you’ll infiltrate my apartment like you did the first time by leaving some extra clothes around and bringing your own throw blankets.” He grinned as he reminisced. “We’ll do it all over and do it right this time. We’ll talk when shit gets hard and not let other obligations monopolize all our time.”

Nico lifted his arm to sling it around your shoulder, all the while keeping your hands connected. You leaned into his embrace and rested your head on his shoulder.

“What happens if I want to apply to another program that takes me away from New Jersey?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, but now that I know that’s something you want, we can work out a plan. God knows I have enough money to fly you back whenever you want, and we’ll always have the summer. It’ll be a temporary problem that’ll require a temporary solution. Past that? Who knows, but we can figure it out.”

“You sound pretty confident for a guy who ignored my text messages for days on end just a few months ago,” you chuckled.

He laughed at your joke and pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’ve done a lot of growing up,” he teased. “But it’s like you said with David and Emily. They needed their time apart, but you always knew they were meant for each other. I think you’re meant for me and maybe that was supposed to be our time apart.”

“How philosophical and romantic of you,” you remarked with a smirk.

“It’s the wedding vibes,” he replied. “And don’t act like you weren’t crying earlier at the vows.”

“Only if you admit they made you tear up as well.” You had seen the slight sheen of tears in his eyes after the ceremony.

Nico elected to ignore your comment. “So what do you say?”

“To starting over?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “You really think we can do it?”

“I don’t know, to be honest, but I think we have a much better chance than last time. And we’ll never know until we try, and I really want to try with you.”

You gave it a moment to ruminate. There was no doubt it wouldn’t be easy, especially since you knew that you did want to leave New Jersey at some point, but somehow even that fact didn’t bring you down. Maybe knowing everything you knew from last time would set you on a better path this time around. And there was no way to know unless you tried.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Let’s give it another try.”

“Really? You want to?”

“Yeah. I do. I want this with you.”

You looked up at him then, gazes connecting and a mutual compromise was reached. One more try.

“Should we get back to the party?” You asked, after a considerable pause of longing stares.

“Not yet,” Nico answered, and then he leaned forward to peck you sweetly. “I wanna spend a little more time here with you. We can count this as our first date.”

[songofclarity]

The theory that Nie HuaiSang pushed Mo XuanYu to suicide, especially the theory that he killed Mo XuanYu as some kind of eye-for-an-eye revenge against Jin GuangYao for killing Nie MingJue, doesn't make any sense to me because Jin GuangYao never wanted Mo XuanYu alive to begin with. Jin GuangYao was afraid of Mo XuanYu before they even met. In fact, he was likely more afraid of Mo XuanYu than he had ever been afraid of Nie MingJue!

[Jin GuangYao,] “Do you think that I’m in a steady position, here at the LanlingJin Sect? Do you think that I can rise into power the moment Jin ZiXuan dies? Jin GuangShan would rather bring another illegitimate child back than want me to succeed him! You think that I should be afraid of nothing? Well I’m afraid of everything, even other people!” (Ch. 49, ERS)

So Nie HuaiSang getting rid of Mo XuanYu would have done Jin GuangYao a favor. I just can't fathom Nie HuaiSang doing Jin GuangYao's dirty work for him at any point in time after Nie MingJue’s death. After all, Jin GuangYao had done a fine job getting started destroying Mo XuanYu’s life without anyone else’s help.

However, before Mo XuanYu [could] achieve success in cultivation and inherit his father’s position, he was driven back.

On top of that, he was driven back shamefully.

Like adding frost to snow, aside from the event itself, when Mo XuanYu returned, he often behaved in a crazy manner, almost as if his life was scared out of him. (Ch. 2, ERS)

Jin GuangYao was already playing with the dangers of incest, but now he’s going to make it work for his benefit. Claiming Mo XuanYu was toying with incest was possibly the one and only thing Jin GuangShan could not have tolerated. Mo XuanYu could have had anyone he wanted! Jin GuangShan knows it best! But his own half-brother? Absolutely not. Mo XuanYu was so psychologically damaged by whatever happened to him that he can’t defend himself. And to the rest of the family, Jin GuangYao is nothing but the victim of Mo XuanYu’s perversion. Jin GuangYao becomes someone they defend from Mo XuanYu.

[Jin Chan, Jin Ling’s cousin], “Mo XuanYu, you still have the face to return?” (Ch. 47, ERS)

It’s a win-win for innocent A-Yao. But Mo XuanYu could always come back if he’s alive. Reputations can be repaired, especially if they were falsely damaged. Mo XuanYu dead? That would be much better, but it’s not a pressing matter once Jin GuangShan is dead and Jin GuangYao is Chief Cultivator.

But to Nie HuaiSang, Mo XuanYu is far more valuable alive. We only get a few hints of what Nie HuaiSang is thinking, and here’s one of them:

[Sisi,] “But after my savior heard about what happened to me, he decided not to let that pretentious, immoral man continue to fool the world.” (Ch. 85)

Mo XuanYu was just another one of Jin GuangYao’s victims. He was a witness to Jin GuangYao's crimes just like Sisi and Bicao. If Nie HuaiSang went to talk to Mo XuanYu as is commonly believed, the evidence points to him trying to get the dirt on Jin GuangYao. Sisi told Nie HuaiSang about the rape-murder of Jin GuangShan. Bicao revealed Jin GuangYao’s incestual relationship with Qin Su. Mo XuanYu, as well, can reveal Jin GuangYao's ties to practicing demonic cultivation.

This is important because the lack of this information drives part of the story. No one knew Jin GuangYao had a hand in demonic cultivation or the Stygian Tiger Seal until the end at Guanyin Temple. Because no one knew this, there were no other suspects except the Yiling Patriarch wrecking havoc at the Burial Mounds before the second siege, and the cultivation world moved just as Jin GaungYao wanted it to move. Jin GuangYao was able to continue pulling strings from the shadows with Su She.

Xue Yang might have been a slim follow-up after Mo XuanYu to pin Jin GuangYao’s connections down, but even Nie HuaiSang’s role with Yi City is tenuous at best. And then Lan WangJi both killed that evidence and Su She whisked it away via teleportation. Jin GuangYao had many crimes, but the malicious use of demonic cultivation he neatly evaded, just as he evaded having to admit to murdering Nie MingJue.

Again, Mo XuanYu was more more valuable to Nie HuaiSang alive than dead.

Let’s still go ahead with the idea that Nie HuaiSang went to Mo XuanYu to ask questions. What happened to Mo XuanYu at Koi Tower? What did Jin GuangYao do that drove Mo XuanYu insane? What demonic cultivation did Mo XuanYu learn from Jin GuangYao? Where is the entrance to Jin GuangYao's treasure room? How does one get into the treasure room?

Don’t forget that Nie HuaiSang is still looking for the rest of Nie MingJue's body at this point. All he has is an arm. Might Jin GuangYao be keeping Nie MingJue's body close to home? Is that why Nie HuaiSang can’t find him? And he’ll find out not much later that yes, he was partially correct. Nie HuaiSang’s reaction in the treasure room could very well be half and half. Half of him suspected as much, but it doesn't change how shocking or disgusting the reality of it is to the other half. The best lies are based on truth, and Nie HuaiSang showing a weak constitution when faced with horrible news and frightening encounters might not have been completely fake.

(Nie HuaiSang was afraid but he didn’t let fear stop him. It’s the one trait he shares with Jin GuangYao, although their means and ends are quite different.)

Nie MingJue’s head was likely in the treasure room when Mo XuanYu was reading Jin GuangYao’s demonic cultivation collection all those years ago. Mo XuanYu could have told Nie HuaiSang of this, except Mo XuanYu might not have been in his right mind to be telling anyone anything of value.

Worse case scenario here is that Nie HuaiSang, as a willing conversationalist about demonic cultivation, stirred Mo XuanYu up from whatever abused docility he'd succumbed to for years. Mo XuanYu was kept locked up and abused and treated like an animal. Now here is someone willing to talk to him like a real person. Just as Nie HuaiSang saved Sisi from her imprisonment, he could have very well have saved Mo XuanYu from his, but the results were wildly different.

Any hints or reveals that Nie HuaiSang is out for vengeance could stir such wishes in Mo XuanYu in turn, his own trauma provoked, his own need for justice inspired. Mo XuanYu moves forward with his revenge just as Nie HuaiSang is trying to move forward with his.

Perhaps Nie HuaiSang name drops Wei WuXian or perhaps he doesn’t, it doesn’t really matter. Mo XuanYu would already have known who is the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. Mo XuanYu already knows what evil spirit he needs to call upon for help. Demonic cultivation was likely the only thing he had left to make him feel empowered, and so Wei WuXian is the one who will take care to right all wrongs when no one else will.

Sadly, Jin GuangYao is not on the list of people Mo XuanYu wants revenge on -- because Jin GuangYao is already experienced at making himself look innocent. Mo XuanYu would have had no idea how wronged he was by his half-brother. So Mo XuanYu only wants the death of his immediate family. His immediate abusers.

But Mo XuanYu is missing something: knowing he needs to convey his wishes to Wei WuXian. Without it, Mo XuanYu’s sacrifice is in vain and the both of them die. Or that would have been their fate if Wei WuXian had not figured it out for himself in time.

We already know Jin GuangYao can put an extra piece into a cultivation technique, such as the Collection of Turmoil into Cleansing. It stands to reason that he is just as able to take a piece out of a cultivation technique.

After all, Mo XuanYu got the technique from him. The gap of this knowledge is thus a ticking time bomb just waiting for Mo XuanYu to give it a try and cut the wrong wire. Jin GuangYao also immediately knows and is quite happy to tell everyone the details of what Mo XuanYu did, despite finding out this is Wei WuXian in front of him barely thirty minutes ago and Mo XuanYu was banished years ago:

Jin GuangYao continued, “I’m sure that none of you know this, but back when XuanYu was still at Koi Tower, he had seen a copy of the YiLing Patriarch’s manuscript at my place. The manuscript recorded a dark technique that ‘sacrificed’ one’s body. With the price being the soul and the body, one could summon a powerful spirit to seek revenge in place of themself. Sect Leader Jiang wouldn’t be able to test it even if he hit him with a hundred more strikes. It’s because the person who used the technique sacrificed their body willingly. It doesn’t count as a possession at all!” [Ch. 50, ERS]

“I’m sure that none of you know this,” Jin GuangYao says, because this was all a plot of his own secret design. It benefits him now to reveal the truth of Mo XuanYu’s demise just as it doesn’t benefit him to ever reveal the truth of Nie MingJue.

But Mo XuanYu was as much a victim of Jin GuangYao as Nie MingJue. Jin GuangYao made sure they destroyed themselves on their own time rather than holding the blade himself.

Nie HuaiSang might not have been a holy avenger and mistakes were very likely made, but there is a lack of motive and evidence here that he ever wanted or sought Mo XuanYu’s death. Too much damage had already happened by the time Nie HuaiSang arrived on the scene. I can picture him throwing up his arms in despair and letting Nie MingJue’s arm go free onto this already crazy crime scene. Imagine the struggle the whole Lan Sect had had with the arm and now imagine Nie HuaiSang trying to manage it all on his own. He was not having a good time!

Mo Village was already a crime scene and now here was one more piece of evidence. The Lans knew inquiry whereas Nie HuaiSang did not. Let the Lans take the arm and find the rest of Nie MingJue for him. Let Nie HuaiSang continue to play innocent in front of Jin GuangYao. Let the arm claim more of Lan XiChen’s attention than Jin GuangYao.

But then Wei WuXian survived his resurrection trial and was taken in by Lan WangJi.

The next time Nie HuaiSang sees Mo XuanYu is at the Stone Castles, and by seeing Mo XuanYu, he knows immediately that the sacrifice worked.

But just because he knows and he saw doesn’t mean it was Nie HuaiSang’s doing, especially when Jin GuangYao’s bloody fingerprints were already encircling Mo XuanYu’s neck.

[millennialfangirl]

Take My Hand (take my whole life too) - a Daisy/Daniel post S7 oneshot

Fandom: Agents of Shield

Pairing: Daisy x Daniel

Rating: G

Word Count: 3033

Author’s Note: Here’s a little post season 7 oneshot. Just some ideas I had for how the series could end for our lovely ship. I’m sure the next episode it will get ‘Jossed’. 

Take my hand (Take my whole life too)

Daisy found herself alone, sipping on the last of her champagne. Sounds of laughter fill the backyard where the small reception is taking place. She’s filled with happiness for May and Coulson, but as she stares across the patio, eyes lingering on Sousa as he plays with little Diana Fitz-Simmons, she can’t help but feel a deep well of sadness. May and Coulson have known each other for two decades, and they’ve just now settled down and committed to a life with one another. It makes her hurt for all the missteps and loneliness that her pseudo-parents took to get here. 

 It makes her hurt for herself, and the man she’s just starting to realize means more to her than she’s comfortable with. 

 The sliding of a chair brings her out of her melancholic reverie, and a warm hand settles on her shoulder. Without thinking, she leans her cheek on it as she continues to stare out across the party.

 “Do you want to talk about it?” Coulson prods. 

 Taking in a deep breath, Daisy exhales her sigh. She doesn’t want to dampen his night, but she knows he won’t settle until she’s given him something. 

 “It took so long for you to get your happy ending.” 

 That’s all she says, and she thinks it’s enough to convey all the things she’s feeling. 

 Coulson follows her gaze, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her shoulder. He has easily put two and two together over the past few months as he’s watched Daisy stumble and dance herself around Agent Sousa. 

 “You’re wondering if it’s worth it?”

 She nods, a hand reaching up for his to pull it down with hers as she turns her body to face him. He’s so happy right now, which should be answer enough to her concerns. The burdened weight of years of sacrifice have lifted from his face and posture, replaced with soft laugh lines and warm eyes. A mist settles over her eyes when she remembers that she had lost him once upon a time before traveling to the past, and fixing that one wrong that cut deeper than all the others. He was flesh and bone once again, and he was happily married with a gold band on his finger. He’ll be able to grow old with May instead of having to watch her die one day. 

 “Happiness seems tenuous at best. Our life takes it away so often, why risk it after so many years of not getting to this place?”

 “I get it, I do,” he admits. He takes a swig from his bottled beer and sets it back on the table. His fingers fiddle with the bottle wrapper as he gathers his thoughts. 

 “We took a long time, and yeah, sometimes I wished we hadn’t. I wish we’d figured things out sooner, but I have to believe that it gave us the foundation we need to make it last, that otherwise we would have started something we couldn’t finish.”

 “You know more than anyone what I’ve lost. I know what you’ve lost. I don’t know if I can survive losing someone else.”

 The smallest tear squeezes out as she admits her fears. Coulson wipes it away immediately, and then tucks a few stray hairs behind her ear. 

 “You can survive anything. You’ve always been capable of so much more than you know. It’s the very reason you deserve your own happiness. I know you’ll get it one day, because there’s no one that deserves it more than you...except maybe a displaced WWII veteran,” he pauses with a soft chuckle as he glances back at the dark-haired man shuffling a toddler around on his feet.

 Mirth fills his eyes as he returns his gaze to Daisy, her face burning red while she pointedly stares at the ground. 

 “And when you do, you’ll know. The bones will be good, and the time will be right. Every couple is different. Your happy ending might be a lot closer than you think.”

 Daisy scoffs.

 “Nice. Subtle.” 

 Coulson gives her that dad look. 

 “People arrive, so we celebrate, and people leave us, so we grieve. We do what we can with the time in between,” he pauses and gives her a knowing look. “For a sentient chronicom, Enoch understood the crux of humanity. Life can’t be just the things we lose.”

 “I’ll try to keep an open mind,” she begrudgingly acquiesces. 

 He looks mollified as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. She’s reminded of how lucky she is to have him back in her life, to have someone who cares enough about her wellbeing to have this conversation. As they sip their drinks under the night sky, she thinks back on their first night of freedom at the rundown motel after Hydra was exposed. Even then, with half of a chocolate bar, he was trying to take care of her. Not for the first time, she wonders what her life would have been like, and what choices she would have made if she had had a father figure like Coulson in her life all along. Would she have chosen people like Myles and Ward?

 She does know that Daniel’s unlike anyone she’s met before, and she doesn’t just think it’s because he’s a man out of time. There’s a goodness and steadfastness that is woven through him like the suits he still insists on wearing. Somewhere in there is a joke about how girls fall in love with men like their fathers. There are a lot of differences between Daniel and Coulson. There are also a few similarities. Apparently Daniel is the original Agent Suit, and apparently he also likes to take care of her. After going through countless time loops that proved over and over the type of man Sousa is, she’s doing her best to accept the help, and maybe let down her defenses a little bit. But accepting help is one thing, and jumping heart first into a relationship is another. They’ve barely been able to catch their breath since defeating the chronicoms, much less have any time to see if their feelings were more than surface level. 

 A small wrapped box is placed in front of her on the table, bringing her out of her conflicting thoughts.

 “I got something for the new Director. Something every Director of a super top-secret spy organization should have,” he finishes with a grin, looking so much like the adorable nerd he is. 

 “Um...this is your wedding day. I��m pretty sure I’m supposed to be the one giving you a gift.” 

 Coulson merely shrugs. Daisy starts pulling the string on the wrapping paper.

 “It’s also the first day of my life as a civilian.”

 She can’t help but laugh as the dark blue paper falls revealing a simple wooden box.

 “I don’t think you’ll ever be just a civilian.”

 Her wide grin drops from her face when she sees the familiar keys nestled in the now opened box. She looks up at Coulson with wide eyes, words of refusal already in her mouth.

 “No, I--” but he doesn’t let her finish. 

 “Yes. It’s time to pass the torch. She deserves to keep going on adventures, not sit in my garage,” he insists, closing his hand over hers, folding the keys into her palm. 

 ****

 She watches as Coulson steps in, lifting Diana into his arms, swinging her around in a half waltz. Daniel laughs with his hands on his hips in mock anger. Daisy looks away before she gets caught staring, and instead looks to her phone for a distraction. She flips through her photo album, gazing at candids from the small ceremony. Eventually she lands on the infamous picture of Daniel in an alley from literal decades ago. 

 “Looks like I could use a new dance partner.”

 In an instant her phone is fumbling out of her hands, falling hard on the patio underfoot. Her face burns red with embarrassment as her brain tries to catch up to what he said. She blindly reaches for the phone while looking up at him.

 “Dance partner?”

 And she wants to slap herself in the face for her lack of finesse.

 Daniel leans down a bit, holding his hand out for her to take.

 “Let me try that again. May I have this dance?”

 And Daisy doesn’t think she’s ever felt a rush of butterflies quite like that before. No one has ever asked her to dance with them. There weren’t many school dances she actually went to, and all the boys she’s been with before...well dancing wasn’t their style, at least not the kind with soft music and romantic lighting. She’d had a lot of experience with thumping bass, dark rooms, and wandering hands. 

 She likes to pride herself on the growth she’s made, the woman she’s become. She wears her independence like a badge of honor, but in that moment staring at Sousa’s hand, she feels young and completely smitten. 

 Unprepared. Unprepared is what she is, but it can’t be that different from sparring, right? She’s nothing if not ready for a challenge.

 Sousa takes the hand she places in his, and a large grin spreads across his face. It takes her breath away. 

 “I don’t exactly know how to do this,” she admits, embarrassed. 

 “Do what? Dance? No way.”

 Daisy nervously places her hand on his shoulder like she’d seen in the movies, while their fingers spread and squeeze into a firm hold with each other. He feels solid under her touch.

 “True story.”

 “Well, we’ll just have to fix that. Just follow my feet. When I step back with one foot, follow it with your opposite. When I step to the side, just go with me. When I step forward, you step back.”

 “So it is like fighting,” she mumbles mostly to herself. 

 “Hmm?”

 “Nothing.”

 And it’s not so bad after the first couple of awkward shuffles. Eventually they find a rhythm, and Daisy’s surprised to find she’s enjoying the moment. She stops staring at their feet long enough to relax and watch the people around them, her people. She’s lost in thought while staring at Mack and Yo-Yo swaying to the music, arms wrapped tightly together.

 Sousa clears his throat. “It was a beautiful wedding.” 

 “Long overdue, and exactly what they deserve.”

 “You really love them.”

 “More than anything. They’re my family.”

 “You’re lucky to have them. And they’re lucky to have you.”

 “I’m so sorry, Sousa. You must feel so alone,” she responds guiltily.

 “I don’t feel so alone. Not right now. It’s hard to feel alone when I’m dancing with a real-life superhero.”

 “If I’m a superhero, it’s only because of people like you.”

 “People like me?”

 “People who save people like me, who follow us into the dark, and pull us back out. People who roll with the punches and have good hearts. Solid people.”

 “If I didn’t know any better Director Johnson, I’d say you were still trying to sweet-talk me into the Co-Director position.” 

 “That works too.”

 Sousa looks at her skeptically before Daisy continues.

 “So, what do you say? Ready to accept the position?” 

 With that, he is distracted. He chews on his lip in thought.

 “You know I want nothing more than to help you, help SHIELD...It’s just hard for me to imagine being that useful in the 21st century. I’m so behind on modern technology and culture. I worry that I’ll be more of a burden.”

 Daisy’s hackles raise at his blatant disregard for his worth. 

 “You think you’d be a burden? You’re a brilliant detective and strategist. You’re the guy that figured out Hydra’s involvement in SHIELD before anyone else, and was willing to give his life to stop them. You’re the guy that saved me from Nathaniel Malick. You’re the guy who took every time loop in stride and helped me break that time loop. You’re the guy that I…”

 Daisy stops herself mid-sentence, almost saying something that she can’t take back. Something she’s too afraid to voice. Sousa looks down at her, hanging on her every word as she pauses. She shakes her head as if to clear it of her runaway thoughts. She decides to go with a much more palatable truth.

 “You’re the guy I trust to have my back,” she finishes with a gulp. 

 For a moment she thinks she’s gone too far. He’s staring at her intently like he’s trying to crack a code or needle an interrogation suspect. After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks up. 

 “Well, Director Johnson, how can I say no to that vote of confidence.”

 She releases a nervous laugh. “You can’t. That’s the point,” she says with a satisfied smile.  

 “No, I suppose not,” he says with a twinkle in his eye that she has become increasingly fond of. 

 They settle into a comfortable silence as a new song comes on. Neither one of them make to leave the makeshift dance floor, so they drift into the opening tunes of Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love.” 

 It’s soft and whimsical, and Daisy can’t help but let her mind wander to the man in front of her. He makes her feel things she doesn’t remember feeling before, not even with Lincoln. She’s hyper aware of how perfectly their hands fit together, and the gentle touch of his fingers on her waist. She has to physically stop herself from leaning forward and resting her head on his shoulder, to seek out the comfort she remembers from the barn. She wonders if he would follow her lips willingly just like he had in the time loop.

 She thinks he might always look like he stepped out of a classic, black and white, Hollywood film. 

 As if he can read her thoughts, he pulls her a little closer, their arms wrapping around each other a bit more than what’s expected of two colleagues or platonic friends, but not quite as intimate as Mack and Yo-yo. She can’t stop the next words out of her mouth, because they’re simply true and pure. 

 “This is nice.”

 Because it is. It’s so nice, and she’s still struggling to accept that she deserves to feel something this good. 

 With a knowing smile, he hums in agreement before gently turning her out, guiding her into a slow spin. When she steps back into his arms, neither one hesitates in drawing in a bit closer. The world is spinning around them, but he’s her only focal point. His kind eyes with slight crinkles, the touch of gray around his temples, the mole just below his Adam’s apple...the softness of his lips.

 “You look beautiful tonight.” 

 And if that doesn’t take her breath away. When was the last time someone called her beautiful? She’s heard plenty of other adjectives: strong, stubborn, leader...destroyer. She wants to be all those things, and beautiful too. 

 “Thank you,” she responds quietly, not quite capable of meeting his eyes.

 Then he says her name softly, prompting her to look up. The way he says, “Daisy,” instead of Agent Johnson, the way he’s asking for the answer to a question he doesn’t even know...she’s sure she knows the question.

 It probably sounds a lot like, “Why does this feel so right? Why do your arms feel like home? Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

 And her answer would be, “Because your favorite people are people like me. Because you’ve held me close before. Please, kiss me again.”

 She never told him about the time loops. She never wanted to take away his free will. But right now she’s ready to tell him everything. She’s ready for a kiss that can never be erased. 

 An alarm starts blaring from her wristwatch, and the two of them jump apart. She can see several other members of their team all stop what they’re doing and look to their phones and smartwatches. 

 Daisy knows the night is over and duty calls. She’s surprised the whole wedding wasn’t interrupted, but she can’t help but feel angry nonetheless. 

 “Want to catch a ride with me?” she asks the suddenly sullen looking man out of time.

 His face lights up with a smile, and he gestures to her to walk in front of him. 

 “After you, Director.”

 She can feel his eyes on her as they make their way to the tables where she picks up the keys to Lola along with her belongings. It doesn’t feel like he’s leering. It feels protective and comforting, just like someone who’s got her back. 

 Coulson hugs her tightly, and May wishes them luck as they head out to chase down their next mission. It should feel sad, leaving them behind, but it somehow feels right. They’re her family. They’ll always be there for her, but now it’s time for her to lead, and she has one hell of a right hand to help her out.

 As they make their way to the parked car, red and shiny in the moonlight, Sousa can’t help but ask, “What’s an 0-8-4?” 

 He must have taken a moment to read the alert sent to his phone.

 “It’s an object of unknown origin. Probably alien. Think you can handle it?” she asks, and she can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement for the unknown.

 “I’ve traveled 70 years into the future, I don’t think much will surprise me now.”

 At that, she laughs out loud as she slides into the car.

 “You might be right. Alright, last chance. Sure you want in?”

 “Positive. I’m where I need to be.”

 The way he looks into her eyes when he says it lets her know he means so much more than just the next mission. 

 “That’s good to hear. Now buckle up, I just might surprise you now.”

 “I’m counting on it,” he says with an excited grin.

  Daisy can feel his stare, even as they rise above the trees, Lola taking flight. Without looking at him, she takes his hand in her own. 

 If her cheeks turn red and her heart beats harder, well at least Coulson’s not there to notice it.

[jaskier-cult]

Different not Normal

Different Not Normal [OR; Blue Moon Eyes]

AO3 link here!  (Might write a second part! Leave a reply if you’d like to see that). 

Madeleine Caillebotte of Armeria and Alfred Gabriel Pankratz of Lettenhove were married in August under an arch braided with buttercups.

Both noble families were in attendance to witness the arranged marriage that would solidify the union between Armeria and Lettenhove, which were now trading partners and past long-time feuding neighbours. Her Lady Madeleine wore a baby blue dress that hung with a golden lining. His Lord Alfred bore his father’s ceremonial sword at his hip, adorned with jewels of far off lands.

Young and terribly in love, the nobles kissed under the arch.

Three months later, they fell pregnant.

It was a joyous occasion when Madeleine Caillebotte of Armeria, now countess of Lettenhove and newlywed wife of Alfred Gabriel Pankratz, discovered her pregnancy.

They were complimented by their noble peers and people alike when it took little effort on Madeleine’s part to fall pregnant. They were praised by their healers and midwives when the pregnancy was smooth and easy. Madeleine practically glowed. The pregnancy milestones hit like clockwork. And when the nine-month mark hit, she went into labour.

That’s when complications arose. 

The countess fell faint with painful contractions. Labour lasted a consecutive twenty-six hours. The midwife and healers were late. The babe was delivered without help.

Her babe is stillborn.

It would have been a girl.

But there is was no use in what would have been, or naming the stillborn, because there was no fruit for their labour. The babe is buried in the back of their garden with an unmarked gravestone, for mourning.

A few months pass before the two nobles try again, still and love and wanting for a child.

Again, they fall pregnant easily. Celebrations are twice as boisterous as before, putting stock in the second chance the gods had given the Lettenhove noble family. Their would-have-been firstborn is forgotten in the wake of a new expected babe.

When the nine-month mark hit, complications arose.

The delivery is difficult. Labour lasts for sixteen hours and counting, shorter than the last pregnancy, but more painful. Madeleine almost loses too much blood, the babe is breeched, and the countess passes out during labour, unable to keep up pushing.

Her babe is stillborn.

It would have been another girl.

Tears are shed for another would-have-been babe, but there was no use for naming, because there was no fruit for their labour. The babe is buried in the back garden alongside the last with another unmarked gravestone, for mourning.

The nobles try again, hopeful.

This time they do not have celebrations. They do not accept favours from neighbouring noble families, they do not throw a party, they do not announce it to their lands. Instead, this time, they visit as many healers and mages as possible, and pray to the gods every day and night in hope for a healthy born babe. Their prayers must be heard, because the pregnancy is once again easy. Madeleine practically glows. It’s even easier than the first two times.

But then the nine-month mark hits, and complications arise.

The babe is stillborn.

Another girl.

Another unmarked grace.

Again, they try. And again, they fall pregnant. And again, the babe is born at nine months to the second and is stillborn. All are girls and all are buried in unmarked graves.

The gravestones line up on the Lettenhove estate.

Six stillborn babes and nothing, and the Pankratz family is desperate.

Tension runs high. Arguments and fights break out amongst the once lovers, so happy with their arranged marriage, now angry and bitter. Fingers are pointed every which way for who is at fault for the problems with fertility and birth. Madeleine breaks down sobbing in another man’s arms for comfort, a secret between the countess and the young minstrel presiding in their manor. Alfred leaves for hours and drinks away the sorrows in the bottom of a bottle when he laments over the loss of children and an heir. At the end of the day, both always go back to one another, but the relationship is tenuous and wearing thin. Courting offers from close noble families lay at the viscount’s desk every morning.

Then the viscountess begins to panic.

If Madeleine can’t produce an heir for their estate, she knows she will be killed or divorced, with nothing to her name. She was the fifth-born daughter of her family, only used for political gain, and has no place back at her home estate. She must bear a child, and there’s only one thing she can do.

It’s early spring, and in the middle of the night, Madeleine sneaks out and runs to the forest.

The viscountess knows she should not be in the forest, especially not alone. Predators prowl at night, and not of the natural kind.

But in the middle of a field of wildflowers, she prays.

“I need a babe,” she cries. “I’m tired. I want no longer. I need a babe.”

Someone must hear her, because she gets an answer.

A creature unlike anything she had ever seen before steps into the moonlight.

Black henbane and bloodroot flowers curl under their toes and their eyes gleam silver. They look human in a way one would if they saw a human once-upon-a-time and had attempted to replicate the image from a dream. They’re tall and willowy, and their skin is flushed pale under the moon. Their ears curl and their teeth are sharp. Something dances with their fingers.

They’re very much human, but Different. They’re Different in a way a Normal would know, even if they didn’t know they knew.

But despite this, the countess isn’t scared.

Madeleine is entranced.

“Who are you?” She demands.

Lettenhove was not known for its Differentness. They were more Normal than most parts of the Continent, and that was something the Pankratz family took pride in. They had a scarcity of monsters and magic. Or, they were supposed to.

“I can help,” the creature says, and their voice is deep and smooth. “I can grant you what you yearn.”

“But why would you help?” She says.

“I can do it, for a price.”

Now, the countess isn’t stupid. So, she becomes wary. She had long heard about the give and take of chaos as a child, through the ballads and tales wandering bards would spin.

“It’s simple,” the creatures assured her. “I will give you a child – I will give you back what you have lost – but I ask this only in favour for the first. I only ask for what you do not have, but for which you don’t know you want.”

Madeleine laughs. How can you take what someone does not have?

The creature is a fool.

“My name is Breuganaifìrinn,” the creature says. “And you shall but kiss me for destiny.”

She’s dragging him into a heated kiss before he can finish.

<><><><> 

Julian Alfred Pankratz is born Different.

He is born to the viscount of Lettenhove under a full moon that is blue. A blessing, some said. An omen, others said. Whatever they said, they were hushed into the shadows and secrets, for the viscount would not have his son spoken poorly of among peasants.

It’s winter, and he is born under the first snow on the thirteenth. A late winter.

And his mother, Madeleine, sweat shining on her brow, takes the little babe in her arms after hours of hard labour. Pride swelled in her chest. The pregnancy had been unbearable, and they thought they had lost the babe many times. But now in her arms is her sweet little Julian. He has a thick tuff of soft brown hair, almost golden in the dim lantern light.

And Julian is red and icky, but he is perfect. He is too quiet and too still, but he is perfect. He is small and thin, but he is perfect.

But then he opens his eyes, and Madeleine’s breath catches.

His eyes are blue.

His eyes are the moon.

Her little Julian is no longer perfect.

<><><><> 

Julian Alfred Pankratz is soon handed to his father, when the healers and midwives deem the babe strong enough. As consequence, his father is the second person to see his blue eyes.

The midwife ushers the viscount into the room once the babe is taken from his mother and hastily washed in a basin of water and wrapped. The viscount kneels by his wife’s bedside, eyes wide, as he takes in his firstborn son. Little Julian, who was too still and scared the healers, quietly gazed up at his father with his blue eyes.

He opened his mouth for the first time.

And he wailed.

And he never stopped making noise after that.

And instantly, Alfred Gabriel Pankratz was smitten.

<><><><> 

Julian hates the colour blue.

His eyes were blue, and his mother hated his eyes, so he hated the colour blue.

When they made eye contact, when she looked down at her firstborn son, every time his mother’s expression would tighten. Her lips would become pursed, her eyes would darken, and she would look at Julian as if he had done something wrong. As if he was disappointing her.

But Julian tried so hard to be perfect.

He sat still at the dinner table, he didn’t fuss when he was dressed, he listened when told what to do, and he never complained or wailed after the first spanking his mother gave him.

But still, it wasn’t enough for his mother.

He was enough for his father.

His father would praise his blue eyes. The estate staff would praise his blue eyes. A far cousin once said that she was jealous of his blue eyes, because all she had was brown.

But that was all Julian wished for, was brown eyes. He wished so dearly to have the brown eyes of his parents – to have the warm fondness lingering in his father’s eyes, or to have the vibrant woodsy brown of his mother’s eyes.

But Julian had blue, so he hated the colour blue.

<><><><> 

There was a common saying – “a face only a mother could love” – that seemed to apply to Julian. It applied because it was ironic. It was ironic because everyone but his mother seemed to love him.

<><><><> 

Julian is gifted a younger brother when he is yet old enough to talk. When he has not yet learned of his wanting for love, for Normal.

His mother and father try for another child too soon and fall pregnant almost too easily. The pregnancy is smooth, almost too easy. The midwives hold their breath as the viscountess goes into labour, expecting the same ill curse of stillborn babes to continue haunting the Pankratz family, but they’re pleasantly surprised. A healthy babe is born, a boy, that is named Hanson Alfred Pankratz. The spare to the Lettenhove estate.

Madeleine has done her duty to the viscount; an heir and a spare.

Hanson is born in early autumn, in September, on the thirteenth.

Hanson has blonde hair and beautiful brown eyes.

He wails as soon as he takes his first breath.

He’s pink and squirms and shakes his first.

And he’s perfect.

<><><><> 

More siblings follow, one after the other, all pregnancies easy and glowing. One babe each year, nine months to the second. The years are filled with bountiful harvest and good economy. The noble family thrives. After Hanson there’s Edmond, with dark brown hair and rich brown eyes. Following the first three sons, the Pankratz family is blessed with a healthy girl, whom they name Isemay Caillebotte Pankratz.

Isemay is the spitting image of her mother, Madeleine. Soft brown hair and woodsy brown eyes, and she has a cute little button nose, too. The first daughter is soon gifted a younger brother, another boy, called Oscar, who could be her twin they look so alike.

Two more babes follow, making a total of seven children.

A lucky number.

A blessed number.

Pricilla Caillebotte is born next, another healthy girl, who sports the same blonde as her older brother Edmond, and the natural brown of her father’s eyes.

Carellus is born within the same year, Priscilla in January, her younger brother in late autumn. He looks like his older sister’s twin, with slightly lighter blonde hair and sprite brown eyes.

All Pankratz children have brown eyes.

Except for Julian, the firstborn.

Julian is the only one with blue eyes.

<><><><> 

Julian grows up yearning for his mother’s love. All he wants is to feel her touch him without flinching, to see her look at him without contempt.

He wants to hear her tell him she loves him.

His mother tells him a lot of things, but she never tells him she loves him.

She tells Julian that he must be a proper noble boy. She tells Julian his infatuation with music and flowers and nature are bad and wrong and Different. She tells him to hide his Different nature. She tells Julian that he can be fixed, if he would just let her help him get rid of the Differentness.

She tells Julian he was born Different. He didn’t have a choice in the matter, but she could fix him. His mother doesn’t tell him anything else, but she doesn’t have to.

He knows he is Different.

It doesn’t have to be drilled into him everyday.

He is Different in a way that he blends in well enough, is almost impossible to spot out of the masses, but with which the Normal know something is off. Humans know he is not One of Them, even if they don’t know they know.

His blue eyes make sure of that, an inhuman feature on an otherwise human boy.

<><><><> 

Before any of his siblings were born, Julian is but a mere six months old when his teeth finally start to grow in. His father, Alfred, is simply delighted to play with his rascal son. He loves to indulge in Julian’s incessant need to chew on everything to alleviate the pain of his growing-in teeth. He’s hitting all his milestones perfectly, and the viscount could not be more pleased with his firstborn son.

His mother watches with unease.

When his teeth fully grow-in, they’re sharper than Normal.

But not sharp enough to be Different.

So, Madeleine leaves it be.

Until years later, when he’s six with six siblings, and he starts losing his baby teeth.

Fangs grow in.

Horrified, his mother takes to filing them down in secret.

It’s a messy procedure to do alone, but Madeleine Pankratz is not a foolish woman. She knows how the gossip would spread amongst her servants and ladies in waiting. She knows how the secret of Julian’s Differentness would escape their estate. She does not know how the viscount would respond to knowing his perfect firstborn son is not so perfect after all.

So, she grips her crying child in an iron hold, and she takes a file to his teeth.

This follows Julian all throughout his childhood, and he wishes he could stop his canines from growing in sharp every month. He wishes his eyes weren’t blue. He wishes he was Normal not Different.

Poor little Julian cries and screams and thrashes as his mother forces him into a dark room to file them down every month.

“Hurts, ma!” He cries every time.

He cries even when he is eight and is old enough to know that his Differentness is not okay. Is old enough to know he must do this to make his mother love him, no matter how much it hurts.

His mother holds him tighter.

Julian’s head vibrates with unease and pain as the file scrapes along his canines.

They’re filed down too low and there is blood, and it’s Julian’s fault, he’s told. He didn’t cooperate, he was too difficult. The metallic tang feels familiar in his mouth in a way that his newly shortened teeth do not. His mother holds him closer, not tighter.

“I love you, Julian,” she says. “I only do this because I love you.”

It’s the first time she tells him she loves him.

As far as he can remember, at least.

But for some reason, Julian feels his chest constrict painfully.

The admission did not feel as good as he wished it to be.

<><><><> 

Julian is eight, and his fangs are filed down, when he runs crying to the gardens of their estate. He runs and runs until he collapses underneath the biggest tree they have, where the estate gardeners do not bother with upkeep, where he can sit in shade and cover. And Julian tries so hard to be quiet. He doesn’t want his mother to find him; he does not want to hear that she does this because she loves him. It hurts too much to hear.

And as the firstborn son of the viscount of Lettenhove cries beneath the old oak tree, buttercups grow under his feet and dandelions blow in the wind.

His mother, who followed him, turns pale.

And she is terribly reminded of the black henbane and bloodroot caging the graves in the back.

<><><><> 

Julian hated his blue eyes.

They were too blue, too bright. They caught too much attention. That was all anyone ever saw when they looked at Julian, were his blue eyes, his Differentness.

And all he wanted was to be noticed for being Normal.

To try and distract from his blue eyes, Julian used clothes as another, more overpowering form, of attention-grabbing. He took to wearing brightly coloured garbs. He would wear everything from blood red to deathly purple. He would wear ridiculously gaudy clothes to drown out the bright blue. It didn’t work. He wore drab clothes, cloths and fabrics to make him look pale and gaunt, but still his blue eyes shone. He would style his hair just so, so that it hung over his face and shaded his eyes. He would do anything he could to stop others from noticing his blue eyes.

It never worked.

The more over-the-top the clothes, the more colour he drowned himself in, the more attention his eyes seemed to draw.

They would glow.

They would shine.

His blue eyes would do anything to draw attention to themselves, and Julian hated blue so fervently.

His mother’s lingering looks of discomfort and hate stayed, and Julian hated blue with his very being.

Blue ruined his life.

<><><><> 

Julian’s siblings were a grab-bag of friends. He loved them all very dearly. As the eldest, he felt responsible for them, felt a protective urge for his younger brothers and sisters.

All were close in one way or another, especially the three eldest brothers – Julian, Hanson, and Edmond – but none of them truly understood Julian’s struggles. His brothers and sisters grew tired of his lamenting over his blue eyes and teased him about being vain, about trying to draw more attention to his blue eyes, when that was the last thing he wanted.

They all had brown eyes and would scoff when he expressed jealously.

They didn’t understand his hate of blue because they all had the love of their mother.

Sometimes he didn’t think she was his mother.

<><><><> 

Of all the colours, though, Julian found solace in one.

Yellow.

Yellow was the colour of the gold his mother cherished so deeply. The colour that would drape across her collar and wrists and ankles in a beautiful fashion.

Yellow was the colour of the bright dandelions and buttercups that would grow, only for him.

Yellow was the colour of the sun and happiness and everything good.

Yellow had never done anything wrong.

And Julian loved yellow with all the love he didn’t waste on blue, because in his mind they were opposites; blue and yellow, one made of destruction and one made of light.

<><><><> 

The first time Julian dressed in yellow, he wanted to cry.

The colour he loved so much could still not drown away his blue eyes.

In fact, the bright buttercup yellow of his doublet made his eyes stand out even more. He tried gold and amber and dandelion, but his eyes were bluer than blue. And his mother still hated his eyes.

His eyes were blue, and his mother hated his eyes, so Julian hated the colour blue.

<><><><> 

One day, his younger sister suggested he try wearing blue.

Priscilla, the second youngest Pankratz, was rounding out to be a problem child. Where the other girls were learning how to be proper noble ladies, she was following her big brother Julian around their estate like a lost puppy.

Everything he did, she wanted to do, too.

Priscilla wanted to learn how to sew flower crowns like her brother Julian. Priscilla wanted to learn how to wield a rapier like her brother Julian. And when Julian’s interest in music was discovered, Priscilla wanted to follow him with a lute of her own.

Separated by five years, they were still thick as thieves. In line with his first two brothers, Hanson and Edmond, Priscilla was Julian’s favourite sibling. She was wild like he was, but held all the Normal that Julian was lacking, and he felt better when he played with her. Like somehow, he could blend in with the Normal just a little bit longer, because she didn’t care that he was Different.

And though Julian loved his little sister, the mere thought of touching a blue doublet made him physically shake with hate and anger and disgust.

Still, he indulged her, if only because she looked so hopeful.

“This will go perfect with your bright eyes,” Priscilla says.

Priscilla will use any number of words to describe Julian’s eyes. She will use descriptors like bright eyes and big eyes and beautiful eyes.

But she never just says blue.

He steps out from behind the divider and does a twirl to amuse his sister. He’s wearing a cerulean blue doublet with matching trousers, accented by red and yellow. He feels awful. But his sister’s breath catches, and her brown eyes go wide. Her expression is pale in shocked awe.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, breathless, like she’s seeing him for the first time.

He turns to face his mirror.

His blue eyes blend in with the doublet, making them shine twice as bright, and the yellow and red are stark in contrast. He looks unusually pale in the get-up, his freckles more prominent, his hair darker than the blonde it had started to grow into.

He doesn’t see what Priscilla sees. All he can see are his eyes, too blue.

Julian rips the doublet off in anger, upset with everything and nothing, and his sister never asks him to wear blue again. She never mentions the word again.

Priscilla may not know the reason behind it all, because Julian sees the love she holds for their mother and would never forgive himself if he ruined that, but she learns to avoid blue. Because Julian’s eyes were blue, and his mother hated his eyes, so he hated the colour blue.

<><><><> 

One day Julian woke up and realized he didn’t want to be himself anymore.

It was a startling realization. It hurt too, like a sudden wound, and for over an hour he laid in his bed and stared up at the ceiling with impossibly blue eyes, heart hollow and aching. He didn’t want to be himself, but he didn’t want to be anyone else. More specifically, he realized, he didn’t want to be what his mother so desperately tried to force him to be.

He was Different not Normal.

He was born like that, his mother said. It was wrong, she said. He needed to be right, she said.

But she never told him what was right, only what she wanted him to be. And for years, his entire life, he tried to meet her expectations. He tried so hard for her love.

How fucked up is that? He thought, for the first time.

<><><><> 

That was the day Jaskier was born.

[arofili]

Father to Son [snippet]

for @feanorianweek days 1 & 2 - a snippet of a longer fic I wrote last year, featuring the Kidnap Fam (Elrond, Elros, Maglor, and Maedhros). I am very proud of this fic, especially this section, and I wanted to share it again :)

This is a chunk in the middle section of the story; you can read the full piece here!

~

It is the new star that signals the beginning of the end.

This brief period of respite had never felt wholly earned. There is still danger everywhere, and Maedhros is still haunted by the ghosts of the children he lost, but now he has living children to bother him in his waking hours. Only, Elrond and Elros are not children any longer, but gangly youths with burning resentment against their captors.

Well, it is not resentment exactly. It is guilt and anger and loneliness, as any adolescent feels at the dawning of their self-realization, compounded by the confusion brought by the unfortunate circumstances of their upbringing.

Maedhros and Maglor have discussed the new star privately. Maedhros is certain it is a Silmaril that shines in the West, but he is troubled by how it came to soar across the sky. Had Ulmo discovered it in the depths of the ocean and taken it back to Valinor? Or had Elwing, its bearer, somehow survived her plummet into the ocean—and if she had, how had she found the power to bear across the heavens?

Years pass; the boys hear the rumors. This only adds to their youthful frustrations. They push against the constraints placed upon them by their guardians, needling Maedhros and Maglor where it hurts the most.

"The jewel in the sky is our birthright," Elros argues one night after supper, picking at a pimple on his neck. (Maedhros is intrigued by the imperfections of their mortal blood. The twins look so elven from a distance, with pointed ears and tall bodies, but up close they smell and act like humans.)

Maglor scowls. "If it ever descends to the earth, it is our inheritance," he says, a warning in his voice. "The Silmarils are the creations of our father. We have suffered and killed to win it back."

"We know," Elrond quips. "You killed our parents." He leans forward, a fierce light in his eyes. (One day, Maedhros thinks, he shall grow into his wisdom. Now, it is too big for him; he does not know how to wield it.) "Would you kill us, if we took our mother's property?"

"The Oath yet sleeps," Maedhros interrupts softly, before Maglor can ruin the tenuous relationship he has built with the twins in a moment of bitter honesty. "Do not waken it with foolish words."

He casts a warning glance to his brother. Maglor takes the hint and stalks off into the night.

"I wish I could get my brother to fuck off just with a glare," Elrond mutters.

"Give it a thousand years or so," Maedhros says. "And mind your language."

"You're not my father." The casual jibe stings more than Elrond knows. After all he has endured, Maedhros is an expert at hiding his pain, but he feels each hurt like it was the first.

"And yet I am the one who clothes you, feeds you, and keeps you from getting yourselves killed," Maedhros points out.

"Maglor does most of that," Elros pipes up.

"He's the prettier one," Maedhros says, straight-faced. "He always gets the credit."

That startles a laugh out of Elros, and even Elrond's lips twitch. Maedhros's own amusement is of the ironic kind. Once, that had not been true; once, he had been Maitimo, the handsome elder brother, but no longer. Now he is scarred and hideous, and the Light that shines from Maglor is more pure than the broken brilliance from Maedhros' shattered visage.

"One day you'll have to let us go our own way," Elrond says. "One day we'll be all grown, and you can't stop us from chasing down the Silmaril."

Maedhros looks at him and raises the fork he currently has attached to the prosthetic at the end of his arm. "Do you think I got this, and all my scars, from lying around and doing nothing?" he queries. "No, don't answer. It was hypothetical. I had six brothers, once. Now I have one. They all perished in that same goal, and we have far more right to the Silmaril than you. Take care to cherish the family you have before you lose them in pursuit of an unachievable goal."

"And do you count yourself as our family?" Elros asks. He just his chin out proudly.

Maedhros shrugs. "I have lost every person I care for, save Maglor. I don't let myself get attached any longer." He taps the fork-prosthetic to his knee. "Well, except for literal attachments."

It's a lie, and he knows it, and he knows the twins know it too. He has always cared for them, just as much as Maglor. They remind him of Eluréd and Elurín, the children he lost before ever gaining them. They remind him of Amrod and Amras, the children he should have protected better than he did.

Ever since meeting little Kanafinwë, Maedhros has been an older brother. The oldest brother. He has carried more infants in his arms, babysat more screaming toddlers in his "free" time, put an end to more sibling arguments, than perhaps any other person alive. He has certainly seen more of the children in his care perish than anyone else. He does not wish to see the same happen to the boys before him.

"You can't replace our parents," Elros says. "I know you feel bad for what you did to them. Well, you should. What you're doing for us, it's out of obligation, not love. We don't have to be grateful."

"Have it your way." Maedhros rises and makes to catch up with Maglor. At least he had been spared the twins' ire; he was the one who cared more openly. Maedhros was fine with letting Elrond and Elros project their anger onto him, if it meant sparing his little brother.

"Yeah. We will." Elros huffs. Elrond stays silent, but Maedhros can feel his watchful glare.

He hopes that when they do go their own way, it will not be with so much hatred in their hearts. Maedhros loves them, but he does not expect their love in return. He only wants them to be happy and wise, given time.

And he does not want them chasing the Silmaril.

~

[Read the full fic on AO3! And leave a comment, please!!]

[stoiicist]

character study: reyna ramírez 

—    basics.

▸     is    your    muse    tall    /    short    /    average ?

she’s just under 6′ she’s my tall girl and i love her so fucking much.

▸      are    they    okay    with    their    height ?

totally! i don’t doubt she could be just as intimidating and commanding if she was average height, but having a few extra inches on most people definitely helps. it also gives her some advantages when it comes to fighting, so there’s that.

▸     do    they    spend    a    lot    of    time    on    their    hair     /    grooming ?

reyna is my fav femme lesbian. she’s busy as hell running camp and looking after a hundred and some half-godly teenagers, but she still makes a point to put time into her appearance. she’s super into skincare, to kind of balance out how frequently she wears makeup. she has her daily/nightly routines and is committed to them with the exception of when she’s on quests. reyna is also dedicated to hair care; her hair is almost always pulled back in a braid, but it’s sleek and shiny and she’s very mindful of the products she uses because she wants to keep it healthy. also, reyna with her hair down is an absolute wonder to behold.

▸      does   your   muse   care   about   their   appearance   /   what    others    think ?

she’s in a position of great power; naturally reyna cares about her appearance. she cares immensely because she knows that her appearance is a reflection of the legion as a whole. she knows she has so many people looking to her, expecting so much from her and if she falters for a second, they’ll eat her alive. so in relation to her position as praetor, it’s important that she look and act the part of strong, unshakable leader. it’s important for morale and maintaining authority. she couldn’t care less if people disagree with her/don’t like her ideas/don’t like her/whatever else they make think about her, so long as they listen to her.

—    preferences.

▸     indoors    or    outdoors ?     outdoors. ▸      rain    or    sunshine ?    sunshine. ▸     forest    or    beach ?      beach. ▸      precious    metals    or    gems ?      metals. ▸      flowers    or    perfumes ?     perfumes. ▸     personality    or    appearance ?     both. ▸      being    alone    or    being    in    a    crowd ?     being alone. ▸      order    or    anarchy ?   order. ▸      painful    truths    or    white    lies ?     painful truths. ▸      science    or    magic ?     science. ▸      peace    or    conflict ?     peace, thought it’s a rarity. ▸      night    or    day ?     day. ▸      dusk    or    dawn ?     dawn. ▸      warmth    or    cold ?     warmth. ▸      many   acquaintances    or    a    few    close    friends ?      a few close friends. ▸      reading    or    playing    a    game ?      reading.

—    questionnaire.

▸      what    are    some    of    your    muse’s    bad    habits ?

by far her worst habit is completely shutting down the minute her emotions get too messy to understand. when they can’t be tucked away neatly in a box, it infuriates her to no end so she pushes them away. out of sight, out of mind, you know. and she flings herself into her work as a distraction, which is another bad habit of hers, overworking. it’s leftover from when she was running camp jupiter by herself and had so much on her plate and felt she had no one to really turn to. also i don’t know if this counts as a bad habit, but reyna is competitive as hell and can get a little too into what’s supposed to be friendly competition.

▸      has    your    muse    lost    anyone    close    to    them ?      how    has    it    affected    them ?

for demigods, it’s a fact of life; you’re going to lose people you care about, people who are close to you. reyna has a handful of people she considers “close” and she’s fortunate enough that they’ve all managed to ( sometimes narrowly ) escape death. but she is constantly losing comrades and even worse, reyna often feels directly responsible for the lives lost. she’s the one leading them into the battle. she’s the one calling the shots, choosing tactics and making the big decisions. every death of every solider in the legion falls on her shoulders and it weighs down on her like a ton of fucking bricks. never mind the fact that they are all children. she’s leading children to their deaths and she can barely be considered an adult herself. i think overall, it’s made her into a very self-sacrificing individual. she puts the needs of others far above her own and she’s more than willing to take on dangerous tasks in place of others. but she also recognizes that, as a leader, this is her duty. and she bears it, so others don’t have to.

▸      what    are    some    fond    memories    your    muse    has ?

finding camp jupiter. after passing up the amazons and the chance to stay with her sister, after going through lupa’s trials, even the difficulties to adjusting to life as part of the legion, reyna finds it all to be worth it. the moment she realizes she wants a home more than she wants power or family or control, more than she wants anything else, and finding that home in new rome is one of the happiest moments of her life. being elected praetor is a fond memory, as well; it speaks volumes that she was voted into the position by her peers despite only being part of the legion’s ranks for a few years. despite the circumstances, reyna definitely looks back on her date walk with annabeth around new rome very fondly. maybe it was a bit tenuous, but annabeth basically poured her heart out to reyna who just got to sit and listen to another girl with too much on her shoulders, someone she could really relate to. 

▸     is    it    easy    for    your    muse    to    kill ?

the amount of times reyna in the fucking books is like “we should’ve executed this kid it’s a shame he got away” or “let us execute you it might solve the problem” and just. the fact that she killed her father out of rage because she thinks he killed hylla........... leads me to believe that, yeah, it’s not difficult for her to kill when she sees the killing as just. she doesn’t kill for the sake of killing, without reason. reyna firmly believes in justice and sometimes death is the suitable punishment. maybe it’s harsh or cruel, but it’s also kinda the roman way. and reyna kills monsters without batting an eye, so.

▸      what’s    it    like    when    your    muse    breaks    down ?

it’s all done in private. reyna will keep it together right up to the moment she’s finally alone, and only then does she let it all out. only then does she allow herself a reprieve from that mask she wears so well, allows herself to be weak for just a moment. it’s a lot of fingernails digging crescents into the palms of her hands, hot tears streaming silently down her cheeks, jaw clenched so fucking tight she should be worried about breaking her teeth. hands shaking as she rubs her temples and fingers through her hair. and then there eventually comes a point where the dam breaks and she just starts... fucking sobbing. and she’ll just cry until she’s tired herself out and falls asleep with aurum and argentum curled up next to her. this made me really sad to think about i hate this actually.

▸     is    your    muse    capable    of    trusting    someone    with    their    life ?

to some extent, she has to. she much more used to having people put their trust in her, to being the pillar that everyone else leans on, but everyone has to trust someone. and it definitely takes a while for reyna to trust someone with her life. it takes time, it takes an individual proving that she can trust them. it’s not very easy to earn her trust, even with her dogs there to alert her when the truth is being told, but it’s possible. reyna is just accustomed to the politics of CJ being a den of fucking deceit and she’s felt abandoned by very important people in her life that it really takes a lot for her to trust someone to such a huge extent. 

▸     what’s    your    muse    like    when    they’re    in    love ?

there’s this... change in her disposition, you can tell she’s a lot more content. more relaxed, not so uptight. she’s not running around camp all starry-eyed and silly, but she just seems to be more at ease. getting to show someone the parts of herself that are usually kept hidden, getting to be tender with someone, it elevates reyna to this level of happiness she’s never had before.

she’s a distinguished lesbian, disaster adjacent so she’s still beyond awkward at times especially during those first few weeks. love, like everything else, has a learning curve. but reyna eventually figures it out, finds how love and maintaining a relationship fits into her routine, and she surprises herself with how much of a romantic she really is. there’s a balance to be kept; she’s still praetor with a boatload of responsibilities, but the reality is when reyna is smitten, there’s very little she won’t do for her gf.

tagged by : @sunbruise​ <3 tagging :    anyone who wants to!!!!

[ghostofviperwrites]

Suzuki Gunz Crime Family - Chapter 13

Word Count: 1868

Warnings:  Language, light violence

CHAPTER 13

March 1, 2003

“Obviously our relationship is tenuous at best,” Naito admitted as he strolled casually around Minoru’s conference table.  The two groups had gone underground to Minoru’s meeting room which was located just down the hall from his office and the room where the kobun met.  “We need something to tie us together and cement us as family.” 

“What exactly are you proposing?” Kanemaru asked skeptically following the man’s movements around the room. 

“An answer as old as time.”  Naito said flashing a grin.  “Marriage.” 

Shouts erupted from the Guns filling the room with their contentious responses to his proposition.  

“Quiet.”  Minoru shouted making a hush immediately fall over the room.  “You do realize we are rather in a time crunch don’t you?  How to you propose we pull off a marriage and all it entails when we’re gearing up for a war.  We need guns yesterday.  Not months from now.” 

“Marriages Suzuki-san.  Plural.”  Naito said with a grin.  “We marry one of yours. You marry one of ours. As for the time frame, there will be no big weddings.  One officiant, two brides, two grooms.  We’ve told you Minoru, we are ghosts and we plan on staying that way.  There will be no big weddings or announcements or anything of the sort.” 

“Arranged marriages are a bit antiquated aren’t they?”  Iizuka asked.  “This seems rather, barbaric.” 

“We are barbaric men.”  Hiromu said with a lackadaisical shrug of his shoulder.  “This is kill or be killed for your family.  You wish to strengthen our bond and get your greedy little hands on our guns, then you meet our terms.” 

“Just who are you proposing gets married?”  Taichi asked Naito who looked at Sanada who gave an almost imperceptible nod to his leader.

“Sanada has a sister.  She’s young and hot and knows her place.  Of course as she is his little sister Sanada gets the ultimate approval.”  Naito said.  “As for our side same rules apply.” 

The two groups separated, the Guns moving over to their conference room to discuss Naito’s proposal. 

“I know this is a rather unexpected development,” Minoru told his men as they sat around the table.  “But I can’t deny that it is the quickest way to seal our families together.  Things will remain as they are, none of them will be joining our kobun.” He reassured them.  “I believe Naito wishes to keep his family off the radar and will stay out of our way.  Do you agree Taichi?” 

Taichi lit a cigar and took a deep drag off it blowing the smoke towards the ceiling as he contemplated his response. 

“It makes sense.”  He finally said.  “If they were just wanting our side to commit I’d be a little more concerned, but they seem to be making effort to equalize things.”  He took another drag.  “And at the end of the day they have the upper hand.  They have the guns we want and it seems there is no other way to get it then to go through the Ingobernables.” 

“Does everyone agree?” Minoru asked, looking at his men one by one and gaining their tacit approval for this undertaking.

“That’s settled then.  Now the hard part.  Whose sister is on the table?”  Taichi said leaning back in his chair and looking over the table. 

“Chie is really the only choice.”  Minoru said speaking of his sister.  “Taichi doesn’t have one, Lance and Davey have no family, Taka has no family, Desperado has no family, and Zack’s is estranged.  Would have to be either Chie or Nobu’s sister. Or Iizuka’s though she’s a bit old.”

“You sure about giving over your sister?”  Kanemaru asked.  “Might need her for later negotiations.” 

“No, MiSu’s right.” Taichi said.  “This is the strongest allegiance we need.  We need those guns.  That’s our future.” 

“Alright so we’re turning over Chie.”  Iizuka said.  “Who’s getting hitched?  And don’t you dare say you Minoru.”  He said sternly.  “They don’t get the boss.”  Minoru’s protests died on his lips as he saw the mutinous expressions on the faces of his family giving a reluctant nod of agreement.

“I’ll do it.”  Taka said.  “It’s my fault we’re in this mess.”

Various chorus of denial and exclamations of it’s not your fault rang out.

“Not happening Taka.” Minoru said firmly.  “You’re not ready for marriage just yet.”  

“Better pick someone who’s going to meet pretty boy’s standards.”  Lance said with a laugh. “I mean does nobody find it odd they’re going to be marrying the sister of a guy who hasn’t spoken a single word in the time we’ve known him?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now Lance.”  Minoru said. 

“I’ll marry her.  I mean she’s gotta be hot. Look at her brother.”  Desperado said with a smirk.  Minoru nodded in acceptance of his offer, casting his glance around the table for any other volunteers. 

“I’ll step up.  Give pretty boy some options.”  Kanemaru said with a smirk.

“You know I’ll do it for you.”  Taichi added. 

Decisions made the Guns filed back to where LIJ were waiting.  Naito leaning back in his chair, eyes closed as if catching a nap while Bushi and Hiromu sat on either side of him carrying out a hushed conversation around him.   Evil and Sanada sat silently next to each other, eyeing the Guns as they entered and took their seats. 

Naito lowered his arms, eyes opening and looking at Minoru.

“My sister Chie is our offering.”  Minoru said smirking as he made the generally unflappable Naito look surprised, which he quickly covered.

“Okay. Pick whoever you want. We’re all on the table.”  Naito said.  “Though I would suggest avoiding Evil if you care for your sister’s wellbeing in the slightest.”  Naito grinned at Evil who simply smirked in response as the rest of them shared knowing smiles. 

Minoru templed his fingers looking over the Ingobernables.  He honestly didn’t care.  His sister was little more than an accessory in his life.  Never seeing her more often than every couple of months.  He could thank his father for that.  Minoru had never formed an emotional connection with either his mother or sister.  His gaze lingered on Sanada for a moment before moving on.  The man was already giving up his sister, he would let him be.  

“Bushi.”  Minoru pronounced after several long moments of introspection.  Bushi nodded in acceptance.   “On our end they’ve decreed I’m off limits but anyone else is available to you.  Desperado, Kanemaru and Taichi have all volunteered.”

“I’m agreeable to Desperado.  Marry off both our masked men.”  Naito said.  “Sanada?  Does that suit you?”  Sanada looked up from his phone heaving a sigh of annoyance at having been interrupted. Nodding without even glancing in Desperado’s direction making Naito laugh.  “Don’t know why I bothered to ask. He doesn’t give a shit.” 

As one Los Ingobernables rose to their feet and headed towards the doorway.

“Weddings will be in three days.  12:00 here.”  Naito said as they walked out.  “Hope you don’t mind if we borrow your car to get home Taka.  No hard feelings.”  He laughed as they walked out of Minoru’s home and in to the crisp night air.

The next morning Minoru woke early, enjoying a peaceful breakfast while his family slept in the home around him.  He had a feeling this little interlude was going to be his only peace for a while.  Pushing aside his plates Minoru grabbed his jacket and headed to his car.   In the fifteen minute ride to his mother’s home, which up until a few years ago had been his home, Minoru contemplated the reactions he was going to get from both his mother and sister when he imparted the news.  His mother he was rather sure was going to accept his decision.  It was the way she was raised and she had been in an arranged marriage with his father, so she knew the way things were.  His sister was a wild card.  He didn’t know her that well, hadn’t bothered to spend much time with her.  The two were practically strangers. 

As soon as he was inside Minoru accepted the barrage of affection his mother laid on him with a grimace, letting her kiss his cheek and hug him until he disengaged and stepped away his discomfort clearly evident.

“Oh Minoru, what your father did to you I will never forgive.”  Asako lamented shaking her head sadly.

“We’re not discussing this.  I need to see Chie.” Minoru said shortly straightening his jacket. 

“Why Chie?” Asako asked, her heart sinking as she realized the implication of his words.  “No Minoru. You can’t do this.”  She said softly, casting pleading eyes at her son.

“Just get her.”  Minoru demanded heading towards the study.  

He was sipping from a tumbler of scotch when Chie made her appearance.  Minoru ran a critical gaze over her frowning at her trendy jeans with holes ripped up the legs to her crotch and a crop top that was revealing entirely too much cleavage. 

“Okaa-san said you needed to see me.”  Chie said flopping down in the chair across from Minoru without invitation making him frown. 

“You look like a stripper.” He said coldly. If she was under his care she would never be so blatantly disrespectful he thought as she rolled her eyes and flipped him off.  His mother was weak allowing her to behave and dress like this.  This marriage would only benefit her.  He had a feeling Bushi was not the type to allow his wife to run wild. 

“Are you a virgin?”  He asked making her gasp and blush.

“How dare you Minoru!  That’s none of your business.”  Chie shouted started to rise and run from the room. 

“It is my business.”  He snapped.  “Now sit down and shut up.”  Chie felt chilled as Minoru stared at her coldly, challenging her to not listen to him.  Hesitantly she sat watching her brother as he drank.  “In three days you will be married.  My driver will pick you up at 11:00 to drive you to my home where you will marry to secure a family allegiance.” 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!”  Chie shouted forgetting her fear and pushing out of her chair.  “I don’t belong to you Minoru.  You can’t order me around. I don’t give a fuck what kind of badass mob boss you think you are.” 

Fury burned through his veins as she carried on and Minoru stalked around the desk backing Chie across the study until her back hit the wall.  His hand wrapped around her throat and he squeezed threateningly. 

“You will do as you’re told.”   Minoru hissed.  “You will be ready when my driver gets here.  You will be pretty and compliant.  Do you understand?”  Chie nodded her face turning red as Minoru kept his grip firmly on her neck.  “And you better pray that you managed to keep your legs closed and preserved what belongs to your husband.” 

Minoru released her and watched with disdain as she fell to the floor gasping, looking up at him with fear in her eyes. 

“I’ll see you Tuesday.”  He said walking out without a further glance. 

[adventures-in-asexuality]

‘Home’ Alone

You may have heard that Boris Johnson has recently become the leader of the Conservative Party in the UK, and, as such, the Prime Minister. This wasn’t an election open to the general public; party leaders are elected by the members of that party, and it’s no real surprise that the Conservative Party members like conservative candidates.

This isn’t a post about that, per se; there are plenty of other people detailing all of his failings and horrifying attitudes and behaviours. It’s just an illustration of how the political situation in this country is devolving faster and faster. I started talking about this in 2014, just a couple of years after I first got on tumblr at all, and I’ve been talking about it ever since, whenever I have the mental fortitude to do so - which, right now, isn’t often. 

But, hey, what’s another list of my deepest fears? 

I wrote a post a year or two ago with some of the things that we’re facing here, in the UK. I’ll link the entire post, but here is the most important paragraph:

‘But. I have been saying this. I said it when reports came out of the huge number of people dying within a few weeks of their disability claims being denied or revoked. I said it when a coroner went so far as to name the DWP as the cause of death on a death certificate for a disabled person. I said it when we started seeing stats of the huge proportion of cases of denied benefits that were winning at appeal or tribunal (and the huge barriers to even getting to appeal or tribunal in the first place). I said it when we heard about the suicide baiting in disability assessments. I said it when we heard that, even if you could get them, disability benefits were leaving people cold and hungry.’

These aren’t stopping.

Back in 2015, the UN Committee on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities announced that they were going to investigate how the UK was treating disabled people. The report came out in 2016, and, as summarised here, found ‘‘grave and systematic’ violations of the rights of disabled people’. There’s no enforcement method for this, though, and the government were free to disagree and to carry on exactly as they were. Which they did. 

In 2016, the Brexit referendum happened. One of the topics that I remember very clearly from that time was the Conservative promises that they could write a new Human Rights Bill, since we would no longer be bound by the EU’s rulings on human rights. This was, of course, presented as a good thing, though I’m not even sure entirely how. All I remember was thinking about all the rights that we already knew were being violated, about how it was so obvious that a UN Committee was investigating it, and thinking: Why would a government ever write their brand new human rights bill to enshrine rights that they are already violating?

The answer, of course, is that they won’t. 

We haven’t heard anything more about the supposed brand new human rights bill since then - hell, we haven’t even left the EU yet - but this is always at the back of my mind, casting a shadow over my day-to-day life.

Because what this means for me is that my country does not want me. I can never be at home here because I am not wanted here; because my country would rather people like me die quietly, preferably in a way that doesn’t impact on their statistics, and leave the abled people alone. 

What does this have to do with asexuality, then? Well, I am ace and arospec and a lesbian, and there are two very obvious consequences of this.

Firstly, I don’t have a family. Anyone who’s been following me for a while will know this already, but here’s the bottom line: I am estranged from my family for many reasons, including that I am queer. This is a story everyone knows, I’m sure - it’s easier to list queer people of my acquaintance who do have a family - but it does remove one of the common support networks that people have. 

Secondly, I don’t expect to be in any kind of significant relationship any time soon. Don’t feel sorry for me or tell me to meet more people; it’s just a natural consequence of liking very few people and also being a bundle of trauma and disability. I’m used to it. The real problem is that this removes the other common support network, and most people in life assume that you have either one or the other. 

Coyote wrote a piece recently, On “single”, that’s relevant here. The whole post is well worth reading, but in it, ey comments on one of the conversations we’ve repeatedly had with each other: the issues with emergency contacts. You’re supposed to have someone who would drop everything to come help you. And, realistically, people expect this person to be either your partner or your immediate family. After all, those are the people that you can count on, right?

(Wrong. But we all know that.)

Coyote commented on how untenable this is in ir post, and I’m just going to quote the relevant part here. 

‘Ever since I left my family, I’ve been intensely aware of how, if I were to go for too long between jobs, or if I were to get severely sick, there’s practically no one close at hand to intervene or take care of me. And that weighs on me. That makes my life feel tenuous and unstable in a way that’s more far-reaching for me than simply not having a romantic partner. It would be different if I had solid career prospects and enough savings to coast on indefinitely, but I don’t.’

I want to underline that this is how the state of being singled affects us all. Not just the traumatised ones, not just the disabled ones, not just the ones who face other difficulties and marginalisations. All of us. This is always only survivable by the lucky ones. 

So where does this leave me? I have a bunch of progressive disabilities. I’m barely managing to hold down a job at the moment; I’ve given up having hobbies, seeing friends more than a couple of times a year, leaving the house at all except for essential errands, and I’m still constantly exhausted and in severe pain. All I do is work and rest for the next day’s work, and I’m still ill too often for my employer. I drag myself to work in so much pain that I’m propping myself upright, typing one-handed and slowly collapsing over my desk, and people still assume that I’m malingering, that I should just stop complaining and do my job better. 

And these are progressive disabilities. They are only ever going to get worse.

You can see, now, why the gutting of social safety nets is a very personal issue for me. 

Let’s recap. The government is aggressively uninterested in supporting disabled people, so when (and it will be when) I can’t manage to hold down a job no matter how much I injure myself in the process, I won’t be able to rely on them for such extravagant things as a roof over my head and semi-regular meals. People who support such cuts often say that people on disability benefits are just malingering, that real disabled people would have their family or partner care for them, but even setting aside what an awful situation that puts carers in even if it works as planned (and it is an awful situation), I don’t have either of those support networks. I’m on my own now, and, barring some extremely unlikely events, I’ll stay that way even when I can no longer support myself. 

This means that I don’t have a home. 

That’s a little overdramatic: I have somewhere to live at the moment. I’m even lucky enough, now, that I can live by myself; I have lived with strangers before, and it didn’t work well. I don’t want to repeat the habit. I can shape my space around me to some extent, and I do have a roof over my head, and both of these are important; I don’t want to trivialise that. 

What I don’t have, though, is any sense of security or welcome. I live here, and I have possessions here, and, bit by bit, I’ve even acquired nonessential items (even if every time I acquire something that wouldn’t fit in a suitcase packed in the dead of night, I panic a little bit). I’m always aware, though, that this place is only mine for as long as I manage to keep up full-time employment; as soon as I’m forced out of that sphere, I’ll need to be elsewhere, and I won’t have elsewhere to be. 

My welcome in this country, in this city, in this house is measured only by my participation in the capitalist workforce, and as soon as I involuntarily exit it, I will be unwelcome everywhere. 

Home is supposed to be the place that you’re always welcome, right?

Yeah, I don’t see that happening any time soon. 

This is the point where people start talking about wider communities, like the ace community. It’s an understandable impulse; if the normal support networks fail people, we want to think that there are backups. That smaller communities are still there to help us. 

I’ve talked before about not feeling welcome in the ace community for a variety of reasons, but that’s not entirely relevant; sure, I’m not at home here, but even if I was, there’s a bigger barrier here: we don’t have resources for this. (I feel like I should be talking more explicitly about the aro community here - because, at least to some extent, this would seem to be a more common aro-specific issue than an ace-specific issue - but I find it hard to think that it would be appropriate, since I'm not meaningfully involved in the aro community, largely because it's pretty clear I am unwelcome.) Most ace community resources are focused on dealing with people’s journey to recognise themselves as ace and how they can navigate their relationships afterwards - and even though that can be a large part of people’s lives, it’s not the be-all and end-all, and isn’t even on the radar for some of us.

This isn’t to say that this entire issue is just due to a failing of the ace community; this is a large and systemic problem, and it feels pretty self-defeating to throw any amount of effort at it at all. We also don’t talk about it, much, though, and that, I think, is the greatest disservice. It can feel like so much of ace community resources are devoted to reassuring aces that they are okay as they are and, from that basis, helping aces find partners, or at most reassuring unpartnered aces that just because they’re single now won’t mean that they’re single forever, that we ignore almost completely the logistical challenges of going through life without the societally expected support networks. 

We can’t solve this entire problem by ourselves - that would require completely rewriting society. But maybe we can include it in our directory of problems, understanding that this is an ace issue and finding or creating resources for it accordingly.

[puppetmaster55]

Thoughts on VLD

What is there to say about this series? How does one encapsulate in one sentence all that this was, all that it ultimately came down to be?

You can’t.

But, in this essay, I will try.

So, let’s start with the simplistics.

The first two seasons are the strongest of the series, with the tightest storytelling and does so much to convey things about the plot and characters to the viewing audience at a pretty fast pace, one that makes you want to keep watching.

The characters, all of them, throughout the series, are memorable. They are unique personalities and are pretty decently individualized in design. They’re great, and I love them. The lore, too, I love.

...I came into this series with about as much understanding of what voltron is, as any new viewer. The most I could say about it is what Deadpool described it: five mini lion bots come together to make one giant megabot.

I thought it was gonna be a lot like power rangers. But, like, in space (no, not like that one iteration of power rangers literally called Power Rangers In Space).

Instead, the series looked gorgeous, the animation from beginning to end is stunning, the music incredible, the voice acting stellar.

And the writing?

The writing had so much potential, the kind of potential that you can physically see on the screen.

But getting back to the point. The first two seasons are the strongest, and for one simple reason.

The protagonists had a clearly defined end goal: to defeat the antagonist.

Voltron must defeat Zarkon.

And they do! In the incredible finale, Voltron defeats Zarkon at the end of the second season, culminating the end of the first arc.

Which makes everything that happens afterward hurt so much more.

Because what happens next? What happens when you have the protagonists defeat the antagonist one-third of the way through the series?

A mess, apparently.

Lotor comes into the scene, and is framed as an antagonist, until he isn’t, until he is, until he isn’t. Shiro returns, but not even the writing can decide if this is Shiro But Brainwashed or Clone Shiro. And then he is a clone, but he’s brainwashed, but he’s evil, but he’s not, and also the Shiro from before is dead, and…

Yeah, they needed better writing.

The clone storyline was something that, done well, I would have accepted wholesale. As it stands, it was drawn out for far too long, criminally underexplained, and had an ending that I am still upset about.

The Galra Empire was the enemy, with the Galra being the enemy, until they weren’t, and then they were, and then they weren’t again. And while I love the Blade of Marmora, and I love the idea they presented of things being murkier as the dismantling of the empire happened, and while “what do we do with the Galra afterward” is a great question… we didn’t get that.

The Galra Empire effectively was reformed under the Blade, in the end.

And Allura died.

Every character deserved better. No one had any real development after the second season, since they didn’t have a goal anymore to grow towards, no end villain that the series was building up to.

And no, Honerva doesn’t count at this point. She could, but with what her final endgame was… no. Her endgame is not what the series was building up toward.

Frankly, there’s only tenuous connections between the starting point and the end point of the series, and while protagonists evolve (I guess we can count what happens as character evolution) and new antagonists appear, where a series like this ends should be the rightful culmination of where it began.

Which isn’t to say that it couldn’t have had a better ending, that we couldn’t have kept Zarkon’s defeat at the end of s2 and still had a great ending without him. It was there, for sure (yes I know, this is getting into my fix-it territory).

But with season 3, with the dogged determination to put Keith in the leadership spot, came the dismantling of what could have been a great series. Allura’s leadership was undercut, and everything she tried to do she somehow got punished for (connecting to Altean culture? Oh, her new love has been hiding a secret Altean colony whose members worship him and whom have had a number of their people straight-up die/get siphoned for quintessence. Build the coalition? Oh, it’ll fall apart as the war starts back up. Make a new Voltron? Oh, it’s gonna be used for Eeeevil).

Allura sacrifices and sacrifices and loses more and more until all she has left to give is her own life.

I have never read The Giving Tree, but at this point I don’t think I have to. Is it at all like Allura’s treatment? Yes? Okay, I don’t need to read or know anything more.

Pidge finds her family, after a pair of fake-outs that, while yes one of them does provoke a lot of emotion, amount to nothing that really challenges her. She’s never presented with a situation where she has to choose between helping her team or finding her family, not intensely.

Lance constantly worries about his place on the team, and it’s never addressed or resolved and in the end he comes across as depressed and sad and deciding that his only worth is loving Allura. He’s never given support by his team, instead they end up mocking him or making fun of him or not standing up for him when a literal god-like entity does the same.

Shiro dies and dies again and again, losing more and more with each death, until he ends up losing even the most basic of story points afforded to him (defeating Sendak) or even being a main character.

Hunk… gets one arc, in the first season, and then gets the arc steal from Lance on Earth. He doesn’t get anything else. Once upon a time he was an engineer, a brilliant one, and in the end… he wasn’t. Yes, he was also always something of a gourmand and a chef and he ended up being a chef.

Which… yes, that’s nice and fits what he liked to do, but not at the expense of the series completely forgetting that he was a brilliant engineer.

Keith… honestly? He was better in the Red Lion, as the red paladin. He took too much spotlight away from the others, the story twisting itself to make him out as the better person even when he was shoving his way out of Voltron. The narrative forcing him to combat Shiro for a spot that he shouldn’t have: the central protagonist. There’s even an entire episode about it, where they literally fight and in the end the Black Lion flies to save Keith, the Black Bayard appears for Keith, and much later on the original black paladin gives his approval to Keith.  

He comes out of the series with a magical dog, a magical sword, an alive parent, the status of leader, and the status of main character. Of those, only one we have seen him struggle to retain (the magical sword).

Lotor was set up and played out as an antihero, someone who tried hard to do good but through evil means, someone with a terrible past that he was working hard to overcome and be better than, and… he ended up accused of something that we still don’t know if he really did, was pushed to the breaking point and then left for dead. He was accused of becoming his parents whom he didn’t want to become anything like, was forced by the plot to become that which he dearly didn’t want to become, and died horribly for it.

I could go on, could list out characters that were underutilized (Coran, Kolivan, Matt, Olia, Slav, the rebels, the blade, the coalition, the generals… basically the whole group of side characters, and half of the main characters) but instead…

Lost potential.

Wasted potential.

These are the most I can say of this series. There was potential, even to the very end there was potential. But instead there was nothing left that didn’t get explore enough, didn’t get anything enough.

The potential is there, more than enough to fuel fandom for years, but none of it got explored or developed within canon.

Lance got a sword upgrade, and did nothing with it.

Hunk got a turret upgrade, and nothing came of it.

Keith got a teleporting cosmic dog, and… honestly? When it went off was so strangely placed that it didn’t feel like a payoff. That whole fight with the druid felt so strangely done, that I didn’t feel as engaged as I should have been.

They could track the comet in s3? Well then why did Voltron stop tracking the comet entirely.

Pidge and Hunk were combining Galra and Altean tech and using it to improve the Castle? Well then why was it someone who didn’t do exactly that to build the Atlas. Why was it Sam Holt and not Coran, Hunk, and Pidge leading the construction?

Why, then, did we have to have that weird backdoor pilot to the MFEs in the middle of season 7? Well because they’re a better found family than our Paladins, apparently.

Seriously, they are. The MFEs are a group of people all brought together and become more like a found family than our Paladins, simply because we see them all dining together, and hanging out when they’re off-duty. They come across as actual friends, having actual conversations with each other instead of grouping off and low-key antagonizing one another when they have half a chance.

Our Paladins are not a found family. I hesitate to say that they’re even friends. At best they’re close workplace colleagues. The Paladins we assume would be friends (Lance and Hunk, the Garrison Trio) are not, and we’re heavily lacking in seeing them together in groups. Shiro and Hunk don’t share a conversation, nor do Keith and Pidge, and Lance is just… again, I use the term “workplace colleague” to describe his relationship with anyone on team Voltron.

I’m biased toward Lance, I admit that, but even then I still wanted more. Not just for him, but for everyone. They are all fantastic characters in an incredible world and they deserved better writing than they got.

Entire elements are missing from the story, to the point where having transcripts of showrunner interviews is required to understand what’s happening.

And that’s not good.

Shiro is revealed as gay in the same scene where he’s revealed to be slowly dying of an unnamed illness. It’s not explained in the series that he was ever cured, or that his clone was ever cured.

Shiro is brought back to life, is saved from a permanent death by the Black Lion, and what comes from it is… he’s suddenly not a part of Voltron anymore.

No, really. Discount anyone who heard from that interview, and just from the text of the show nothing about Shiro has said that he was unable to fly the Black Lion, or is no longer the Black Paladin. Nowhere in the text of the show does it say that, only that for some unknown reason Shiro just isn’t a part of the team anymore.

The mark of a good story is that you can create meta connecting the lore and everything tracks perfectly. You’re as much filling in the blanks as you are discovering that there are no holes in the story. It’s not necessary to understand the story, but the meta uncovers new depth and puts to words why and how the story comes together.

The mark of a poorly done story is that you have no choice but to create headcanons and fanon to get everything to track. The more you’re filling in the blanks the more you’re discovering that the holes get bigger and bigger, and there are more and more of them. Eventually you’re not doing meta, you’re doing fix-it fic. The difference is that meta helps understand the story, while fix-it fic makes the story make sense.

In an earlier point I said that the first two seasons are the tightest and the best of the series, and I meant it. I still mean it, even in light of the series itself.

To make a good series, or to make a story, means that there needs to be an end goal, something for the plot to have a climax toward, and all the development to build up toward.

Fitting that, is the first two seasons. And only the first two seasons.

Everything that happens after the first two seasons, lacks something that it was all building up toward. The series lacks something that it was all building up toward. From the start, the thing that it was building up toward was the defeat of Zarkon. Which was what we had happen one-third of the way through the series.

If Zarkon was not the end goal for the series, then the tilt-shift should have been better done.

If the clone storyline was meant to exist within the series, then it should have been better done.

There is a way to have kept a solid track, where Haggar/Honerva was the Final Villain, that could have had good buildup. There was a way to have the clone storyline, and to have the Lotor storyline, and not have it all feel like set dressing to the Next Big Battle.

Everything from season three onward is a series of events with little connection or bearing beyond “here’s a set of character names and putting them into different events with different accessories that have no bearing beyond the episode they appear in” and even then it’s a stretch.

Oriande meant nothing. The White Lion meant nothing. Atlas meant nothing. Sincline meant nothing.

Kuron meant nothing.

Lotor meant nothing.

They were all pretty set dressing on the way to the Next Big Battle.

All of it was either buildup with no payoff, or payoff with no buildup.

VLD, in the end, was like a flat painting that tried to play at being a sculpture without any of the necessary work. It looks pretty, and has great individual parts, but the depth is fake and only gets even more fake when more fake depth is piled on top of it to distract from all the depth that isn’t there.

And eventually, it got to the point where you can see the seams.

The final two seasons were written with certain things in place, and then the final season was rewritten, supposedly because Keith was most desired in the Black Lion. And then that gave us most of what we got for the final season (subtracting the late-stage additions).

But those certain things that the final two season were written with?

Shiro’s return to the Black Lion.

Keith’s return to the Red Lion.

Lance’s return to the Blue Lion.

Allura taking up the helm of the Atlas.

But season eight was rewritten, late in the game, so season seven was altered into what we got, removing all of that.

Removing Shiro entirely.

At least until he was put back in.

Others have said it better, the copy-paste theory. They’ve also said it better about the morals and lessons the latter part of the series meant viewers to take away compared to the early part of the series.

But honestly? Whatever better version there ever was, it’s long gone. All we can do is see in the final two seasons the ghosts of that better version, in the dialogue (Shiro’s lines are now Keith’s, Keith’s are now Lance’s, and Lance’s are now merged into Allura’s and Shiro gets the scraps) and in the visuals. The furthest that better story ever got was into the storyboards, working with those scripts, and other than that it is long gone. There’s no getting it back.

So… what do I have to say, in the end?

We got so close to a perfect iteration. By hook and by crook, we got close to something great. 

Maybe next time we can actually have it within our grasp.

[hollyhomburg]

Just For You (PJM)

PART ONE: DON’T WORRY LOVE

SUMMARY: In the wake of your eating disorder; it’s not your boyfriend Hoseok who understands you best; but  Jimin- who cares about you just a little too much. 

PAIRINGS: Hoseok x y/n, unrequited! Jimin x y/n, 

TAGS: Anorexia, Bulimia, Established relationship, unrequited love, mentions of recovery and relapses, body dysmorphia, Hurt/ comfort.

W/C: 2.4K

A/N: anon asked ~ Hello! I'm sorry If your requests are closed or if you don't take any, but I'm wondering if there's a possibility for you to do a part 2 of Don't Worry Love? Maybe when Y/N have the talk to Jimin and such? Anyway I'm sorry if something sounds weird, English isn't my first language 😂 I love all of your writing 💕

while I usually don't do requests my mind got turning and I wrote this in a single sitting! this is pure angst with unrequited love and there will not be a part 3 because y/n will never leave hoseok, but I couldn't not write it! enjoy!!!

Whenever Jimin touches his lips he remembers the taste of it, the burn of bile and the burn in his eyes when his whole body clenched. As if it was convinced- as if it needed to hold onto every calorie, ever bite. He’d realized belatedly that this was probably true, his body probably had needed it at the time. But Jimin had been determined at his lowest point; to rewrite his body’s needs with his own wants. 

He wanted to be skinny, wanted to be perfect, wanted to eat screams of praise up enough so that he’d never need another bite of food again, all he had to do was get there. 

All he had to do was not eat. But after it was over. The hardest thing he’d ever done was eat normally again. He’d fought against every negative impulse, fought to get every inch of self-esteem he’d lost back. 

So seeing you in that hospital bed, starved half to death, felt a lot like penance to Jimin. 

He’d never thought, having been so attuned to his own hunger, that he wouldn’t notice that someone close to him was struggling with the same illness. After he dealt with the guilt of not realizing how bad you’d gotten, he’d taken it as a caution to always be mindful of his own negative impulses. 

He wondered how Hoseok was taking the guilt- though he hadn’t found a private moment to ask just yet. Its been some weeks, since you’ve been discharged. Hoseok hasn’t been able to keep the worry off his face in the wake of what happened. And the look returns every time he leaves you behind to go to practice, or on the short trips that the group must take abroad to America. the times when no one can watch you and make sure you haven’t slipped backward are the worst for Hoseok, though you’d never know it.

Hoseok keeps himself mostly happy and worry free when he’s around you. Jimin knows it's not hard for him to be happy around you-you make Hoseok shine like nothing else does. That’s always been true even now during these tenuous months where recovery is a dirty word that hovers on the tip of everyone’s tongue. 

Since the boys moved into a larger dorm it was decided a little belatedly, that it might be best if Hoseok moved back into the dorm this time with you in toe. Every one of the boys lobbied for it from management. This way, Hoseok has more time to spend with you, and there are more eyes on you in general. they all ended up kind of taking care of you. How could they not? When you were so important to all of them. 

In the first couple of weeks, relapses where abundant. Seokjin found a plate of food that he’d made you at the bottom of the trash bag and told Hoseok. Yoongi heard you retching in the bathroom and told Hoseok. Jimin’s heard you have more than one crying session through the thin walls and got Hoseok to comfort you.

 Jimin knows how it feels, to sit at dinner and have someone count your bites. He knows how it feels to have to force yourself to swallow when all you want to be is empty for a little while, To have control again. 

Jimin watches you a little closer than the others- but then again he always has. 

Jimin didn’t know why he liked you- when you were his best friends girlfriend. It felt a little like betraying a family member with the way that he liked you a little too much.  Maybe it was the rush of being understood that made him like you, Or the possibility of someone not just accepting the better parts of him- but the worst parts of him too. Jimin couldn’t help but be possessed by the idea that you might not shy away from his faults like they where a wildfire that was flaring with the intent to burn.

Jimin’s ire was mostly self-contained, his disgust never growing beyond hate for himself.  In the beginning, a large portion of his energy went to making sure his disorder only hurt him and not the others.  But now he was older and he wasn’t as vulnerable as he had been in the past. His own mind was no longer his worse enemy and he no longer hated his body when he looked in the mirror. 

Jimin was better. Jimin had��recovered. But you were still struggling. 

He still hasn’t been able to talk to you; he hasn’t found the time to broach the topic of recovery. Hoseok had even mentioned to him that right now might not be the right time, that talking about it might trigger another relapse. 

It’s Yoongi and Hoseok’s turn to cook tonight on the chore chart while its Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s turn to clean. It’s a hearty meal filled with a little bit more meat than usual and more carbs for energy. Hoseok had even made sweet potato’s- knowing that those were your favorite. They’d been finishing up when jimin got out of the shower and Hoseok had asked him to go get you for dinner. 

You and Hoseok have commandeered the 2nd largest room, even though now Jimin and Jungkook have to share- they don’t mind, they’d end up in each other’s rooms often enough now anyways (Jungkook’s started to have nightmares again). And Jimin’s always been the one they came to for comfort. (Which had made it all the more shocking when they’d found out that he didn’t come to them for support after they found out about his eating disorder).

Jimin tiptoes into your half dark room quietly- suspecting that you might be sleeping.  The blinds are drawn on the windows and the only light that spills into the empty room is the light from the hallway and the light from the closet. The bed is empty- thought the blankets are turned over in a way that leads Jimin to believe that you’d recently vacated it.

The double doors to your walk-in closet are parted and Jimin can see you, your hair done up in an (adorable) messy bun, clad only in a pair of yoga pants and a bralette. Jimin flushes, momentarily ashamed of himself for creeping up on his best friends girlfriend. He’s ashamed of admiring the way he can see the ghost of your darker nipple through the white lace, of how much he wants you. 

But then his eyes fix on your ribs, how he can still see every single one, and worry turns like a riptide in his gut whisking away everything else. 

You haven’t noticed him standing in the darkness and he’s just about to say your name when your hands move. You pinch at the skin underneath your ribs dragging out the skin there- and the little tiny bit of fat that you’ve managed to gain back in the last month. You pinch at it hard and then release it leaving it red underneath your skin- maybe hard enough to bruise.

“You fat fuck” you spit at yourself, the words no more than a whisper. “Why can’t you do even this right?” 

“Y/n-ah!” Jimin says, his tone chastising and loud in the empty room. Your eyes meet his in the mirror and he watches you as you scramble to pull the nearest thing over your head- a thin grey sweater that belongs to Hoseok. 

“Jimin oppa!” you flush, looking down at the ground, “you startled me,” you avoid his prying eyes, trying to diffuse the situation; the air feels heavy and charged. “Was there something you needed?” From the way you look at him up through your eyelashes; your eyes a little too unblinking to be honest, Jimin knows you hope that he won't pry, that he’ll let what he saw you do go. Jimin knows it’s not you, but your illness that’s driving you to be dishonest, he knows it because he was there in your shoes at one point. 

He’d nearly bit Yoongi’s head off 2 weeks post-hospital visit because he’d asked Jimin if he was lying when he said he’d eaten enough. Jimin had in fact been lying. It hadn’t mattered that Yoongi had been coming from a good place, he didn't care that he hurt Yoongi with his harsh words. All Jimin had wanted in those first few weeks of recovery was to go back to feeling the way he had before. 

He’d been so selfish. 

Jimin would have had many more relapses if it hadn't been for Yoongi. Yoongi had been the only one to keep Jimin together in those first fragile weeks. he still checked in from time to time. 

So Jimin crosses his arms and levels you with a defiant look. “Hoseok told me to tell you that it’s nearly time for dinner,” you smile at him strained, pushing past him in the doorway of your closet. 

“Let's go then?” you say brushing past him, Jimin catches your wrist in his hand gently; it’s still boney, still thinner than it should be. Jimin wants to ask you if you’ll throw up your dinner tonight if you’ll ever let Hoseok back in again, but his crowded mind barely manages to say anything. 

“Are you still… is it still bad?” you freeze at the end of his hold. And Jimin can see your shoulders fall underneath the sweater. He wants to pull you in close to warm your body with his and comfort you in the way he knows is easiest. But he makes himself maintain the space between you. 

You nod, the small movement barely a confirmation. “Did you…did it take you a while to get better?” you ask, your voice so soft, so small and unsure that Jimin almost thinks he’s imagined you talking.  He guides you to the bed, his muscular thighs straining against his pants in a way that they didn’t use too- a way that he had fought to want, to love, to have.

“It took me years- andI’m still- it still takes effort.” He can tell by the way you look away from him that this isn’t what you wanted to hear, Jimin wishes he could tell you that it was easy, easy to learn to eat without being prompted or forced again, but it wasn’t- and he won't fool you into a false sense of security. “Dose Hoseok know that you’re still- that it’s still hard?” 

You shake your head laughing a little bitterly, “He suspects it is, but I can't tell him, it’s like It won't let me tell him. It’s not easy, I want to be easy, but all I end up being is difficult for him.” You confess, meeting Jimin’s eyes, he can see self-loathing in your eyes, the way that your lips curl down in disgust when you talk about yourself and Jimin wonders if this is what he looked like.

Jimin doesn’t have a response for what you said- he merely sucks in his lower lip, exhaling through his nose. “How did you do it?” you ask. In all this time Jimin has not let go of your wrist instead his finger runs a trailing path up the side of your arm. A little too intimate for friends, but he gets away with it. “Get better I mean.” His thumb stops its tender trail. 

“I guess I just let them in” Jimin confesses, startling himself with how true the words feel on his tongue. “I let their voices into my head and didn’t let the other voice- the voice that kept telling me I wasn’t worth anything- win.”

You run your other hand through your hair as you look at the open door, one of the rings on your finger catches on a strand of your hair. And it’s such an intimate tiny thing and Jimin finds his heart clenching erratically. He can hear Hoseok laughing at something Namjoon said, their rich laughter filling the apartment- their home. “It can’t be that easy.” you say, looking at the door, the light that spills through.   

Jimin scoffs, and you look up at the sharp noise. “None of it was easy, but letting them help me? That was the most rewarding part.” Jimin lifts his hand to your face, tilting it up to level with his. “You’ve got to let them in Y/n, they all care about you,” Jimin swallows back the lump in his throat that makes the next words hard to say, “I care about you too much. You can’t keep going like this,” you close your eyes, a single tear drifting out of the corner of your eyes. 

“I know- I know- it’s just...” now its Jimin’s turn to nod in agreement because he knows. He understands keenly how addictive hurt can be when you think you deserve it. Jimin drops his hand, and you open your eyes, watching as he smiles softly, with a bottomless tenderness and gentleness at you. And he knows from the way your gaze flits away that it will take you a while still, To get better by any capacity. 

Your lips part and Jimin knows how easy it would be, but he doesn’t let himself lean forward because he won’t ruin this, this closeness with you. In the end, he’d rather have a friendship with you. Than threaten this intimacy, the kind he’s always wanted, the kind that comes from being understood but not necessarily from being loved. 

Though god knows he’d do anything for that too. Jimin has always been someone who was desperate and aching to be loved. 

He doesn’t think you’d choose him over Hoseok anyway. The two of you have been through too much, been together for too long to let anything ruin your relationship.

“Jagiya?” comes Hoseok’s voice from the open door. He doesn’t look startled at all to find Jimin and you sitting on the edge of the bed. Jimin sees the light return to your eyes a little when you see Hoseok silhouetted there, a bit of sauce and sesame seeds on his cheeks, an apron pulled on over his clothes, smiling like you're the only one in the room. 

“We’re coming- we were just talking,” you say easily, Jimin rises and tries to stuff down the guiltiness. But Hoseok only has eyes for you, he holds out a hand and you take it letting hoseok pull you up. Jimin watches from behind as Hoseok’s hand hovers on your lower back as he follows you two back down the hallway to your kitchen. 

Half of the boys are already sitting at the table. Jungkook helps Yoongi bring the meals various side dishes to the table. You sit across from Jimin. Namjoon scoops you out a double serving- still not quite understanding that you shouldn’t eat so much so soon. But Jimin knows you don’t have the heart to remind him anymore, not when you know it comes from a good place. 

Jimin can’t help but look at you over his own spoonful’s of hot soup, at the way that Hoseok’s arm is placed behind you. At the special, soft glances that the two of you share. The smiles he sends your way after every bite you take.

And Jimin can’t help but think that there are other things besides hunger that can consume you.  

[its-just-like-the-movies]

The Killing of a Sacred Deer (17, C)

The absolute best thing I heard going into The Killing of a Sacred Deer was the specific, Ohio-based dread it possessed to one critic who knew that Yorgos Lanthimos had shot the film in Cincinnati. He also lives in Columbus, close enough that I could theoretically run into him at the Wex, and it was his comments I remembered as Lanthimos’s camera somehow made the architecture of the hospital Dr. Steven Murphy (Colin Farrell) works at seem even sharper and more angular. Just as quickly, another review calling the film hollow sprung into mind, as we see Murphy and his anesthesiologist friend discuss watches, a conversation we see as the characters briskly walk towards us while the camera tracks away from them. Already the director’s style and mannered dialogue ring odd somehow, and not in the way he surely is hoping for. My friend Jack and I spent the film’s entire run time scouring for anything worthwhile it had to say and came up empty, which feels even more dismaying given how much we got out of The Lobster after one sitting, let alone multiple viewings. But the ideas here are buried under the inflexible stylization of its writer/director, some unplayable scenes, and a tenuous connection to the world at large that makes the unreality Lanthimos is going for seem out of place and poorly contextualized. Congratulations to Lanthimos for being able to sustain a truly unique tone, but it feels restrictive on a story that badly needs a reason for being.

We spend about half an hour - at the very least - with these characters before the plot itself kicks in, as the odd son of a dead patient of Steven’s says that his wife Anna (Nicole Kidman) and his children Kim and Bob (Raffey Cassidy and Sunny Suljic) will die unless Steven kills one of them himself, all as their bodies starting shutting down along the way. Until now, we’ve seen Steven as this boy Martin (Barry Keoghan) interacting with the closest thing to warmth the film or the cast can conjure up, only for the relationship to degrade once Martin begins following Steven and violating personal boundaries, acting even weirder while he does it. Wife and children are met with all of their bourgeois non-peculiarities, and no one is either given or seizes a chance to make any of the film’s protagonists something more than muted ciphers for ideas about Cruel Fate and Comeuppance and Righteous Vengeance that Cape Fear does with so much insanity and gusto. Worse than that, the film has a hard time clearing up or enunciating these ideas. If we can laud Sacred Deer for being somewhat unpredictable on a scene-by-scene even as the blueprint can only point us one way, we can criticize it for the way Anna is never ever, for no explained reason, afflicted by the strange malady that is killing her children and should frankly be killing her. Longer scenes veer into increasingly unplayable dialogue, and the lies and enigmas swirling around Steve in particular never grow the ironic resonance that Lanthimos wants. Declarations of loyalty and partnership from Anna, bickering among the children as to who will die, a continued insistence on Bob’s status as the favorite and additional prominence from being the first to fall ill, all seemed to point me fruitlessly in the direction that either mother or son will die, while Kim’s romance with Martin seems specifically to combat how little she’s really present in the family unit. I never thought she was going to die, because the film itself seems to think of her as an afterthought.

In terms of unplayable scenes, what would be worse: Telling your son about a horrific childhood sexual exploit with a sleeping relative? Having to jack off a colleague in close-up for information the film undermines as he tells it to you, even if it is true? A story about how people eat spaghetti while you’re wearing cheap boxers and covered in meat sauce? The many horrific stories and absurd statements that litter Sacred Deer have none of the firepower that they’re clearly meant to, and we are left watching the actors not so much struggle with these lines as watch them push them out without any seasoning or creativity beyond what this admittedly unusual tone has to offer us. Alicia Silverstone, cat-grinning and slurring her way through her only scene as Martin’s widowed mother, is the only performer who creates more than one mood or emotion at once while still attuning themselves to the film’s style while everyone else does the one thing that’s asked of them capably and with barely anything else to offer. Meanwhile, no one moves their facial muscles and struggles to maintain their American accents for more than ten words at a time. Raffey Cassidy’s stiff heaving of herself across the floor and somewhat emotive line readings kept me at her attention compared to her other scene partners. I spent whole scenes imagining the actors pitching their characters at a higher volume, trying to actually make them people until certain lines sank the scene completely. As I said earlier, no one else manages to rise their character above anything but a cipher to expound on ideas I don’t think Sacred Deer ever articulates, makes vital, or does anything remotely interesting with. Maybe finding a human person in this script is a futile effort, but why did only Silverstone seem to try?

It doesn’t help, I think, that the world of Killing of a Sacred Deer is so ill-defined in its relation to the world at large. The Lobster’s oppressive rules on coupling and outlandish locations helped create an atmosphere where Lanthimos’s style doesn’t just make sense but utterly thrive, and contextualizes the world so fully that trips to “the city” do nothing to dissipate the film’s tensions. Here we have nothing to go on in terms of where this is, what kind of reality we’re in. Yes, it’s one where a young boy can cast curses without any explanation, but he seems to be an outlier overall. What kind of world are we supposed to take this as, if our protagonists cannot count on anyone to believe their story? Maybe I’m being unimaginative to balk at this, but this is not the stilted camera of The Lobster, nor are our protagonists trapped against the frame like insects stabbed into a display with pin needles. The camera follows them and is followed by them, the world expansive and open even with the angular geometry of every building seeming so much sharper and confining than it would normally be. Instead of a relatively closed setting, we’re in an unnamed city, where this could happen to anyone, except the premise and execution are both too outlandish and too watery to have any gumption or blood or piss and vinegar to back up its convictions. I never cared much about Martin’s quest for vengeance, about Steve or any of his cursed family members. Nothing in Killing of a Sacred Deer is as funny as the incredibly awkward finale, where opera music blares at full volume while a surviving member of Steve’s absolutely drenches their fries in ketchup, without breaking eye contact with Martin, before the whole family just decides to not pay for their food and leave the diner rather than keep eating in the same building as that creepy fuck. The whole film feels like a hollow exercise for Lanthimos to flex his idiosyncratic style, and I wish there was anything for see in this except for how empty it ultimately is.