#and any marriage she might have in the future does not have political weight to it the way that noble marriages did

[eldritchblaaaast]

i really, really appreciate the nuance in KCD and in A Woman's Lot DLC regarding gender and class in medieval europe

like yes theresa does have to get married eventually. that's an imperative for a woman in her station of that time period. the survival and economic stability of herself and her family depend on it, and she does not necessarily get that much of a say in the ultimate decision. but she's more upset at her future husband being older (and not henry) than the concept of getting married itself. and in the days leading up to the attack on skalitz, she can drink ale and haul flour and learn how to shoot a bow and arrow and traipse around skalitz with her dog and get mud on her dress.

there are absolutely Rules that structure her life, but they are definitely Not The Same Rules that structure the life of women born into a higher station.

like even the nuance with her father arranging a marriage for her! her father does spring the idea of marriage on her, which is a bad look for him. however, it is still his responsibility to take care of such things, and economics feature heavily in that decision making process. but it's not the end of the world if it doesn't go well immediately, if theresa gets cold feet for meeting with her fiancee-to-be. there are no potential alliances to be built or broken, no lands to be fought over, no livelihoods to protect - the stakes are generally lower.

there's room in the relationship between father and daughter for discussion, for apologies, for the potential of feedback that never gets realized.

i just. A Woman's Lot DLC.

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Alicent Hightower

Alicent Hightower x daughter reader (platonic)

warning: depictions of childbirth

-Your relationship with Alicent will really depend on whether you are one of her older or younger children. I have a feeling that if you are one of her elder children it might be harder to bond as she was young when having them. Then there is your personality. If you are closed off and values/interests greatly differ from Alicent's then it might be harder to establish a bond. That being said she does love you regardless.

Giving birth to an "older sister" reader:

This was truly the worse pain of her life. They had lied, and told the fifteen year old that she simply had to breath and push. But even that felt impossible. Her lungs felt like their were being compressed my a heavy weight. And pushing felt so disgusting, a gush of blood coming out each time. Alicent was in a pool of her fluids, the sent sending her reeling. Mercifully, thank the Gods, her first child, a daughter, made her way into the world. A wave of relief and dread washed over her. The placenta was delivered and Alicent was cleaned off. They fed her some milk of the poppy and finally, Alicent was laid down to rest. The last thing she heard were the wails of an infant.

Giving birth to a "younger sister" reader:

This time Alicent had requested a birthing chair for the delivery. She had her most trusted ladies with her. The only thing the Queen wore was a nightgown and a star of the seven, which she clutched tightly. The name of every one of the seven passed her lips, save the Stranger. At the hour of the wolf Princess Y/n drew her first cry. Alicent held the small baby against her breath. Y/n stirred and Alicent smiled.

-From an early age your mother will have you well educated. This means worshiping the seven, learning Valyrian and any other subjects a Princess might need. She will take an interest, asking you to recite a passage or showing off your music skills. Although she is rather reserved, your mother does love you.

The Queen reclined on a chair with her daughter Helena as her other one sang. Y/n's finger delicately plucked the strings of her harp, a gift from the year before by Alicent. Once the song was done Helena clapped and Y/n did a small curtsy, a small smile upon her face. Alicent, with one of her rare smiles, stood up and embraced her daughter. Placing a kiss upon her forhead. "Wonderful job, my dear."

-If you are an elder daughter you will probably marry earlirt. If you are a younger daughter,Alicent will wait till you are grown before marrying. But marry you will for political gain. Your more likely to marry a Lannister than one of your own brothers. She will take you to meet your future husband and also want to know him. While Alicent might not visit you very often, letters are exchanged. She will likely have a lady placed in your household in order to report back to her. Although this is more for your safety than spying.

Alicent's hands were shaking as she fastened the golden ruby studded necklace around her daughters throat. For most mothers a daughters marriage was a day for celebration and joy. But for Alicent it felt more like a funeral. No longer would she have her daughter by her side. Alicent looked to her daughter and realized she was still so young. By the laws of Westeros Y/n was a woman. But there were still the signs of babyfat still clinging to her face. Y/n gave her mother a comforting smile. Alicent tried, but knew her daughter would have to put on the same face she so often wore.

-Alicent tries to bond with her children. If you two have something in common then the bonding experience is easier. It becomes a time to relax. Alicent will also be more likely to lean on you as a refuge. If not, she will still try. Less likely to talk but will indulge you all the same.

If you have similar hobbies:

They walked in the gardens on an early morning. The dew brought a sweet sent to your lips. The Queen and Princess lingered between the rosebushes, a refuge for mother and daughter. Y/n read the story of the Conqueror, and Visenya's victory over the Vale. Alicent listened intently, enjoying when her daughter read aloud to her. "Mother?" Alicent looked down at her. "Why did Lady Arryn allow her son on the dragon?" Alicent thought. "Perhaps she did not want to upset him. Mothers want to see their children happy." Y/n made a "hm" and continued on. The short spell of anxiety Alicent felt dissipated as Y/n continued on.

If you have different hobbies:

It was difficult to pretend to be enthusiastic about this. Alicent winced every time the swing of a sword came a little too close to her daughter. Alicent had tried to disway her daughter, Y/n had gone to Viserys. Of course he said yes. And as usual he dismissed her worries, which he so often did. Lucerys swung his sword and only at the last second Y/n ducked. Its tip only just missing her eye. Alicents nails started to bleed. She was frustrated with all of them. But she kept it in.

[coldjustness-archive]

Name: Isabela - ( No last name, guess I'll take yours. )

Age: 50

How well do we know each other?: well enough that i'd take another antaam cannon to the face to peel through blight - just to search for you. again. ... i suppose also well enough that you get my tells in wicked grace. no fun, but you're damn good at the whole body-language thing. might need to spice things up.

Do you have a pet name for me?: winter, snow, darling of docktown, winter from tevinter ... need i repeat your grand entrance to the entire room?

Do I have a pet name for you?: yes, but polite company might hate it.

Are you attracted to me?: i would hope so.

Why do you want to marry me?: i took a chance on love with you, neve. i think i'm falling deeper and deeper into you every day. i'm glad it was you, neve

Big wedding or Small wedding?: name any venue you want, and i'll get it squared away. ( your choice. )

Do you see children in our future?: ... Does Taash count? ( No. )

"Isabela Gallus, does have a nice ring to it." She says after a glance at the paper. There's a glance about the room to seek out her prosthetic propped against Isabela's desk, a double check to ensure it's location before Neve twists her weight with the settle into the other woman's lap. The Detective leans back with a happy huff and then sets her scepter against Isabela's own desk, then settles with the parchment in hand once she adjusts herself. "Aged, like fine wine." She continues, happily inspecting the information on it. Her brow softens briefly, reading the sentiment laid down under the 'how well-' section and then her eye turns to her. The blighted days were always a nightmare still, and Isabela in that darkness was like a waking dream in it.

Neve hums, and quickly turns her eye back to her paper. "How can you spice up a game already named for the wicked, Captain." And she leans over and pecks her lips against hers, "by the way Winter from Tevinter, is my favorite. It's sweet." Spoken against her mouth then she flicks her head back with the toss of her hair as she turns to inspect further. "Does lover, count as a pet name?" An eyebrow raises, before moving on. "I don't know about the attraction level, we will have to see about that.." Her eye flicks up and down her, "Without a shirt."

But now she was getting sweeter, and sweeter, with affections laced in Isabela's sentiment with every word she said and Neve's expression softens. Unable to speak with the words caught in her mouth as she reads the rest of the written word, and she can't help it. Can't help the way her gaze turns to hold Isabela's eye, as awe reflects in her expression - and she smiles with the drop of the parchment onto her desk. Then wraps an arm around her shoulder, the other cupping the column of Isabela's neck as she settles into her fully. "Yes." She says softly, the smile growing into a grin as she leans closer, "Taash counts." And she kisses her.

100/10, Wife Material. A marriage at sea to a dashing seasoned ship captain? That's every Docktown gal's dream. - Spouse Application - accepting @fvrtvne

[liberty-or-death]

Yu Ziyuan - Character Analysis (Part 2)

I’ve discussed her name, and I’ll be moving on an analysis of her character. To fully understand Mdm Yu’s circumstance, you’d have to look at the historical context surrounding her. (We’ll be going back to the concept of Clans again ofc.)

The Yu Clan of Mount Mei.

Mdm Yu originated from the Yu Clan of Mount Mei (Meishan).   She’s well known for her martial arts, enough that she’s the only woman in the show with a 号 Hao, “The Purple Spider.”   Hence, we can safely assume that she has a rep in the Jianghu for her skills.  She also wields her own magic weapon that answers to who she chooses (Zidian), and her own sword. (The sheer act of carrying a sword was a sign of nobility) For the record, there aren’t many people who even have a magical weapon in MDZS.  And she was proficient with it too, as evident when she fought the Wens.  Her rank within the the clan was also high enough that she has two personal female body guards with her at all time.  Also she love to hunt at night so she could clearly take care of herself. 

This was a rather interesting observation as most cultivation clans are dominated by men in MDZS.  Granted, there are a few notable female characters but they mostly took a backseat when it came to cultivation levels as compared to the men.  In fact, the only other two female character who were famous for their cultivation was Baoshan and Cangse Sanren.  We can infer this as these two characters had cultivation levels that were so high they had titles. Sanren is a title given to prominent cultivators so we can guess that the two ladies were the GOAT of their time. (For the record, a Sanren is a respectable title used in real life and it does not refer to wanderer/rogue.)

Plus, we can surmise that this might have extended down to their common disciples as she has proficient female body guards.  So, it is likely that this clan gave women similar cultivation opportunities as men, even to those who weren’t highborn. 

(This clan was most likely based off Emei, a fictional  sect mostly dominated by women situated on Mount Emei. ) 

Just a reminder at this point, Clan 氏 were associated with military strength.  And a person’s cultivation levels were a sign of might and influence in most xianxia/wuxia shows.

Political Power

We are first introduced to her in Chapter 18 when Jiang Yanli’s arranged marriage was first mentioned.

“Jiang Yanli could have an arranged marriage with Jin Zhixuan was because her mother was from the Yu Clan of Meishan.  And the Yu Clan and Jin Zhixuan’s mother’s clan were allies. The two ladies grew up together were closed.”  - Translated by myself

This is not just any ordinary arranged marriage, this was a political power play to establish the Jin, Jiang Clan and Yu Clan as formal allies.  So she and Mdm Jin had a clear say in the future of their clan and were part of the decision making process  

in summary, Mdm Yu is a noble lady, who pulled her own weight during that period of time.

Arranged Marriages (Novel specific)

Before someone goes off in a rant about how arranged marriages are bad in this book, I’d just like to add a little pointer that political climate in MDZS was noted to be very unstable. 

In Chapter 17, the threat of the Wen Clan hung over everyone; they had the biggest man power, military might and land, and no one could match them.  They also clearly threw their weight around when they displaced the waterborne abyss into Caiyi City and expected others to clean up their mess.  This verse in the book summed it up

“If the Wen Clan did it, it wouldn’t help no matter how much you accuse or condemn it.  Firstly they would not admit it, and also, no compensation would be given.” - Translated by myself

It was also obvious that the Wen Clan would strike clans who showed signs of weakness and could get away it. (ie. Burning of Cloud Recesses or creating an aristocratic holding camp to keep nobility hostage (who were essentially successors to their Clan’s leadership) while the Wen Clan ‘educated them.’). So it would have been normal for the clans to establish alliances with each other.

Her Past - Why she would be resentful.

In a nutshell, JFM fell in love with Cangse Sanren, who then dumped him for his servant.  He was then pressured to marry Mdm Yu.  

From this alone, aside from obvious personality differences, it’s pretty obvious why she would be upset.  Firstly, Cangse Sanren was an orphan that was adopted by Baoshan Sanren.  She likely didn’t even even carry a family name at all.  And given Mdm Yu’s highborn status and prideful personality, word would have gotten around that she was likely JFM’s second pick, and it was likely a difficult pill to swallow.

Secondly, it’s also possible that the Yu Clan felt possibly slighted when JFM rejected them.  When the Yu Clan extended this proposal (hence, requesting for an alliance essentially), he rejected them, citing personality differences between and wanting to essentially marry for love.  And that might not have made sense in that era as his marriage might have been vital for the clan’s survival.  Cangse Sanren had nothing to give to the Jiang Clan so I personally felt wouldn’t be surprised if he stepped on a few toes. 

Related Meta

Yu Ziyuan Analysis - Her Name (Part 1)

The Differences between Clans and Sects | Sects and Clans with relation to Songlan and Xiao Xingchen

Jiang Fengmian - an ineffective leader

More MDZS meta

[moondustis]

remember when (m)

pairing: jaehyun + reader genre: angst, smut, soulmate!au, rich kid!au, convenience marriage!au, hurt/comfort, college!au (more details + warnings after read more)  word count: 12,7k summary: A story about vulnerability and the lines we draw to avoid it. About soulmates, desires, setting yourself free. And, of course, a story about love and discovering exactly what it is. song recs: skin by mac miller and pure love by hayley williams 

warnings: there are some mentions of drug use, brief mention of mental issues, bad parenting. just overall some subjects that might not be comfortable to read like i usually put on my fics but it's nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing graphics happens!  disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. none of the events described are real or are an accurate representation of the people and brands named. 

a/n: i would like to thank mary (neostains) for requesting this fic and cami (caiuscassiuss) for helping me with some informations about how ivy leagues work lol. this is my longest work so far, i think, and it’s a very special one. i hope you guys enjoy it! 

✶

There was a time in your childhood where you remember being obsessed with princess movies. Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, name a fairytale and you would have probably watched it a couple of times, entranced by the images playing on the newest television your father had bought.

Isn’t it fucked up that young girls are always fed this stereotypical image of love? It’s like a woman is not good for anything but to love someone, to be a half until she found the other and became whole. At 8 you ate that up like no one else.

At 11 your mother hires someone to give you a talk, about how the world worked and about the weird name that would appear in your arm once you turned 18. It feels like a lecture, the woman telling you about perfect matches, the probabilities of love and soulmates in a flat tone that didn’t make you feel as excited as you did watching the fairytales you used to like. When you tell your friends at school about it, they act surprised at the way you were told and instead, tell you about the stories about meeting your true love their own parents had shared.

At 15, your mother enrolls you in preparatory school, with full theatricals about intellects and getting into the best college possible so you can do your duty as heir of your father’s company when it becomes necessary.

It takes you a while, but you realize finally that love is nothing compared to money when you see for the first time that the name on your mother's wrist is not your fathers. Not long after that, you find out that for the sake of the company, you would be marrying Jung Jaehyun, heir of the second biggest automobilistic company in the country.

At 18 you think romance and love are trivial things.

⋄

NOVEMBER, 2013

It’s a harsh winter, one that makes your hands tremble and your head hurt more than usual.

You rub at your temples as you make your way down the hallway as students pass by you at the same pace as yours to get to their next class. A dreading routine, one that is so busy it leaves you with no time to think of anything else but the essay you have to write, or the grade you have been waiting to receive.

Today, though, your headache is so intense that your mind is filled with nothing but a black void.

Despite that, you walk in small steps to your literature lecture. Your bag feels as heavy as your head and the thick wool sweater you have on is barely enough to keep you warm, legs shivering from the stupid skirt they made you wear. Knee length, of course, but still a bother to sit and move.

Fuck boarding school, is what you think as you pass a group of boys talking loudly. One of them has a Harvard pin on his cardigan, you notice in the back of your mind. It only makes you feel sicker.

The first bell rings and you realize how slow you have been really walking. A faster pace, a muttered curse and then the second bells makes you feel like your ears are melting, headache increasing. Now you’re late, a rare occurrence that will probably not affect your records in any way, but still, makes you walk faster.

It all happens very fast. You turn into the corridor that leads to your classroom but not a second later you’re bumping straight into someone, books in your hand scattering to the floor and head spinning from the impact. It’s hard keeping your balance, but the harsh grip on your forearms helps and then you’re opening your eyes, that you didn't notice you had squeezed shut in the first place.

“Fuck, I’m really sorry.” The voice is familiar but the curse feels alien on your ears. Jung Jaehyun never curses, he has manners better than that. “I’m running late and walking too fast.”

He mumbles and you almost snort at the obviousness of it all. At the fact you were literally doing the same thing. “It’s okay. I should’ve been paying more attention.” There’s no reason for either of you to be apologizing, is what you think about as your hand immediately moves to your temple again in hopes pressing on it will cease the pain.

He’s looking right at you when you finally meet his eyes. His face is painted with embarrassment, the red hue on his ears a dead giveaway. He doesn’t keep eye contact for more than five second, instead moving to pick up your books for you. “Still, I’m very sorry.” He sounds polite, as always. The curse from before is still fresh on your mind.

You had met Jung Jaehyun at the age of 9, not that you remember exactly how it went. Some random brunch where you and him sat side by side as your mothers talked about whatever was happening seven years ago. You remember your old nanny being there, and how she asked sweetly if you would like more juice. You remember missing her when she got fired three weeks later for unrelated matters that were never told to you. And that’s about it.

After that, the years passed with Jaehyun being a weird presence in your life. The rich kids ran in the same circles, that didn’t take you a long time to realize and wherever you went he was there too.

German classes at 11, the birthday party of the daughter of someone you didn't know at 12, etiquette classes at 13. An event for your father's company at 14, one of his fathers at 15 and now at 16, attending the same boarding school and having to meet each other like this, with awkward smiles and polite conversation. Because navigating a relationship you didn't know the other very well, but too well at the same time was a weird thing to do.

Jung Jaehyun was like you, but at the same time he wasn't. You were friends but at the same time merely acquaintances.

But this you remember vividly: him asking you random things at german classes and making you laugh with his awkward pronunciation. Him eating cake by your side at the birthday party, covering his lips before he asked you if you like chocolate or vanilla more. Him making fun of you quietly for dropping down your fork loudly in the middle of etiquette class. Him standing awkwardly by your side while you got reprimanded by your mother during the event, for not properly remembering the name of a lady that came to greet you, your head down as you forced yourself not to cry in front of him.

And then, his father clapping yours on the back after they talked about how lovely it would be if someday the two of you got married to join economic forces. No, not someday. When you two got married.

You, pretending he didn't exist after that day, because you realized that this too you wouldn't get to decide.

Jaehyun clears his throat, hands you your books. “How is your father?” He asks, a stupid question to ask when you're both late. A stupid question to ask, period.

You try not to grimace. “He's okay. Alive.” And then he’s chuckling lowly, awkwardly.

“That’s good, no company to run at 16 then.” He tries to joke and it's amusing, in a way that for someone else might not be. But you two are the same, at least when it comes to this.

“And hopefully never.” A stupid thing to hope for, but still he smiles at you.

Then the moment is over, the third alarm sounds and both your eyes shoot open and you’re muttering goodbyes before heading to your classes.

Your head still hurts, but you don’t feel as cold anymore.

⋄

2015

Anticipation, isn’t that just a fancier word to describe the gut feeling that something is going to happen? Worst yet when you know exactly what it is, but have no possible ways of knowing the possible outcome.

There’s a window behind your advisor, with a view to the field where the lacrosse team practices. You watch it with a lack of interest as the older lady flips through pages and more pages of what is possibly your future.

No, not possibly. Definitely your future. Because at least to this, you knew the only outcome possible.

It’s a pretty day, one that shouldn’t be spent inside a room with wood furniture and shelves and more shelves of books, that are almost as many as the certificates on the wall. Not when it also happens to be your birthday.

“This is a really good essay, ___. You have a talent with words.” Your advisor breaks the silence in a flat voice despite it being a compliment. It makes your eyes immediately refocus on her but she gives you no time yet to reply. “I am sure the admission team will read it with interest.”

“Thank you.” A polite smile reaches your lips. She was never much of a praiser, not that she needed to be. Your last name carried all the confidence you needed to have for a thing like this.

And, perhaps the interest they would be having would be exactly about that. What does the only heir of the biggest automotive company in the country have to offer for Stanford? Probably a lot, with a weight that heavy on her shoulders.

“You have started applications to only two schools, are you sure you would not like to add more?” Now she says it in a weirdly soft tone. Persuasion, because it would look good for the school that one of their best students accepted to all the ivy leagues. Your GPA would make sure of that, but that's not all.

“I don’t see the point. Stanford has always been my only choice.” You say it as nicely as possible because this is an old conversation.

“I see, well. This is it then, there's a few other students interested in attending Stanford too." She smiles bitterly, gathering the papers and putting it back on their respective folders. "But the chances of you getting in are very good. I'm sure all your hard work will pay off.”

You go to thank her but at that moment there's a pinch on your arm that leaves you distracted. It's followed by a weird burning sensation that doesn't cease when you grip it underneath the table as gently as possible. If anything, the fabric of your cardigan only makes it worse.

She bids you your goodbyes, with pleasantries exchanged but when you reach the door to leave she interrupts. “Oh, I almost forgot. Happy birthday, ____.” She smiles when you turn to thank her. “Please enjoy the rest of the day, turning 18 is very special.”

With a small bitter smile and promise to do so, you leave the room.

You reach your dorm room in no time, a stoic face on but with quick steps. And you try not to think about it, but the burning sensation on your arms continues.

It goes like this:

You close the door behind you gently, dropping your things down and immediately crumbling as you slide to the floor, unable to stand still anymore. You cry, for the second time today because birthdays were just not good. For about 10 minutes that's all that happens, your silent sobs and complete silence filling the room.

The burning in your arms stays there as a painful reminder and it tempts you to look, even though you know that the outcome didn't matter, not for you. Because behind blurry teary eyes you can see perfectly the image of your own mother's arm and the name of someone you didn't know, that she probably also didn't.

Because you are now 18 and you think romance and love are trivial things, that's all they could be.

You are now 18, and when you can't stand not knowing for another minute, you raise the sleeve of your cardigan and the name Jung Jaehyun is there on your wrist.

An ugly, incredulous laugh leaves your lips and soon turns into a sob. Of course it had to be him, you and Jung Jaehyun were tied to each other for a reason that was beyond fate.

You squeeze your eyes at the same time your hands squeeze your thighs, trying to get a grip. You calm yourself down, deep breaths in and out, your mind providing the good and the bad. No matter how you looked at it, it seemed like a trick the universe was playing on you. One, it would be worse if another name appeared, a name that you would have to pretend didn't exist, because this was just another thing you didn't have a say in. This was supposed to happen anyway, maybe it was better this way.

Then your mind provides another thought that makes your mind swirl. Jung Jaehyun had turned 18 in February, your name had appeared on his arms months ago and he didn't say a word about it to you, or to anyone for all you know. Maybe he was pretending too, maybe he wanted more time thinking that at least this he would get to choose.

Well, whatever fairytale that had been created inside stupid minds, was gone now.

⋄

The whole thing is announced two weeks later, in a gossip magazine with information from an inside source. Information that is carefully crafted from a marketing team the moment you reveal the result.

A result, like a test had been applied and you got Jung Jaehyun for whatever reason.

You exchange pleasantries the next time you see him, no trace of being too young to know the rest of your lives already. You just look at each other in maybe defeat, while your families make a toast to celebrate a wedding to take place in a few years from now. A wedding that held meaning beyond the marks that tied the two of you. Destiny just helped a little bit, it was just a good excuse to justify a marriage that had been arranged ages ago.

A month later you get accepted to Stanford, of course you do. And your mother's smile is a loud reminder of every single time she called you and inquired about every grade, every step you made to make sure this happened and that it all happened accordingly.

It doesn't take you long to find out Jaehyun got accepted there too.

⋄

AUGUST 2016

The heels of your Miu Miu boots make small stomping noises on the wood floor sounds as you walk through shelves and shelves filled with books. It’s not a loud sound, probably only perceived by your own ears, and you let it distract you as you navigate the big corridors of the Green Library.

Stanford had made your eyes shine during your first visit and then for the first months of your freshman year. The thrill of finally experiencing something new and yet undiscovered carried on until it gave space to normalcy, another routine. But this time, a feeling blossomed inside your stomach with wanting to eat it up.

A feeling that died and resurrected every now and then, but you played it safe. Navigating it with baby steps with fear of what could happen if you strained a little too far from the line. And what could that be? A magazine spread on how a famous philanthropic's daughter parties too hard in college, with pictures of you doing a line on marble countertops?  A class failed and the disappointment on your mother's voice when she called you? A scandal about your night escapades? You didn’t want to find out just yet.

So you settle for your new routine, of going out every now and then with the roommates that you were about to consider friends. Pondering if it’s worth it to join another club, just to feel like there's something else that makes you feel excited. Coming to the library, studying to keep your mind busy because your thoughts were never up to no good.

And it's so easy, being busy like you always managed to, with assignments, and volunteering and maintaining a perfect GPA.

It's also easy to ignore Jung Jaehyun’s existence. Because this time, unlike in boarding school, the task is much simpler, since classes are filled with so many people that on the ones you shared with him you barely get a glance of his eyes. Because he ran around in circles that had nothing to do with yours.

It was always clear to you, since youth, that Jaehyun was a social butterfly that just needed a little pushing, and he was nice enough that people always wanted him near. A high contrast to your quietness and introverted ways, staying in small circles and almost never allowing people to get too close.

It's weird thinking about him, putting a face to the name that was forever marked on your skin as a reminder of your future. It was weird thinking that it was easy to ignore this feeling too, like all the other ones that you have kept away in your small little box. The feelings that came out at least once a year when it all became too much, and you would sit in a duvet to spill all the dead butterflies inside your stomach out on the floor of a therapy clinic.

But even like this, weirdness doesn't begin to cover the way sometimes you catch yourself thinking of a memory that involves him, random and unexpected. A moment shared before the two of you discovered what expected you, before destiny was revealed. And you don't pretend that it's not real, that you don't feel the longing and need to be close, that your skin doesn't tingle when you see him around campus. You were long past pretending now, because there was no reason to play dumb when sometimes all you had were your own thoughts to rot your brain.

What you were good at, though, was concealing it all.

Was Jaehyun good at that too? Now that's something that you think about more than you would like. It didn't help that sometimes you would bump into him out of nowhere.

You enter the marketing aisle, eyes fixed on the small numbers taped to each section in hopes that the book you need was still here. It takes you awhile to realize that there's someone else with you, only moving your head up when you hear the footsteps approaching.  

“Hi.” Jaehyun says, a small smile on his lips that is as gentle as every other thing about his looks. He stands close, but not too much. A safe distance for you to run your eyes through his body one time, eyes stopping at the big ‘S’ on his sweatshirt.

You clear your throat before greeting him back. “Hello.” Your voice is low, thoughtful of your surroundings, but you match his smile in a silent agreement of politeness.

His eyes run through your face the same way yours does his. Curiosity, or maybe the longing feeling you try to not think about. The unspoken space in between the two of you is intact for now.  

He has changed so much in a year, is what you always think about when you two get to see each other up close. It always made you feel a weird nostalgia, seeing a face you had known for so long but now feels a little out of reach because of your own stubbornness. Your own fears.

“What book are you looking for?” He asks after some time, making small talk.

You turn your eyes to the books, him following. “Uhm, Kotler.”

“Oh, of course. How is marketing going?” You almost laugh at his attempt to make conversation, a skill well acquired during etiquette class.

“It’s okay. Not regretting it yet.” A half lie. Maybe another thing you were keeping locked deep down, your dislike for your major. But thinking about that while having a conversation with your soulmate was far from something you wanted to do.

He hums amused, eyes still fixed on the shelf. “That's good.”

You finally find the book, leaning down to get it and hugging it to your chest as your mind searches for something to offer for your own piece of ice breaker. Then you remember seeing his face last week printed on a glossy paper, an intricate article on consumerism tendencies online besides it.

“Congrats on the publication.” You say, facing him again. It’s genuine, because you knew how things like that really mattered. Small things that were nowhere near the accomplishments expected of the two of you, but still something to be proud of.

He laughs lowly, with bashful manners of looking down to his feet and with ears turning red. “It’s just a campus magazine.” Because of course he would be humble, amongst all the other qualities you were well acquainted with. Deep down you know that it's just a reflection of the high expectations that have been set the moment he was born.

“Still, it was very well written. And everyone said it was impressive for a freshman.” Everyone being the friend that showed you the magazine, but you'll pretend for him that it was something more. To try and erase the feeling of not deserving something that probably runs through his mind.

You would crush it beneath your boots if you could, it's the weird thought that runs through yours.

He huffs. “Well, it’s Stanford. Hard to know what's gonna be impressive and what is just expected of you.”

“Good thing we are all promising young adults that don't need their egos to be fed, right?” You joke back and it makes him laugh a little too loudly, quickly stopping himself as you two exchange awkward but familiar glances with tiny smiles on your lips.

A moment of silence settles next, one that lasts only long enough for you to shift the weight from one leg to another. Then he's asking. “Are you… Are you doing something this weekend?”

“I’m expected at a company party.” You reply flatly, blinking twice but not really pondering the reasons for his curiosity. You two stare at each other for a second that passes quickly.

“The HSBC event?” He asks and you nod, expecting the words he says next. “Oh, I'll attend it as well.”

“Boring, huh?” An attempt to continue a conversation that should've ended by now.

“Yeah.” He looks at you, and then away, and then back at you. “I was thinking that we could have din-“

Footsteps interrupt his words and you look behind your shoulder to see who the newcomer is. A tall man, taller than Jaehyun even, smiles at you guiltily before he’s looking at Jaehyun and raising his brows. “We are late, dude.” He deadpans as you look between the two of them.

“Shit, I didn’t realize.” Jaehyun says in a groan, bringing his big watch to his face,  and you have to contain a smile at the curse. Then he turns to you. “Sorry, I gotta go.”

“It’s fine.” You mumble, the book still held tight against your chest.

He waves awkwardly as the other man throws you another smile. You watch them leave with trembling fingers.

⋄

DECEMBER 2017

December always made you feel a little weird. Blame it on the cold and the days spent in bed trying to get the warmth you craved. Or on the impending approach of winter break and having to deal with your parents and your obligations for the month to follow.

But you try not to think about that just yet, when the time comes you'll deal with it. That's what you always do. For now you let your bed swallow you as you scroll down mindless through your instagram feed, double tapping publications of past boarding school acquaintances smiling with the Harvard location attached to each picture, just like the brand names are attached to their clothes. It's a little pathetic to you that your own account looks the same, with pictures carefully picked with a marketing tactic in mind.

Your little distraction is interrupted when the door to your room opens and your roommate, Ela, walks in, clearly shivering from the cold even underneath her thick dark grey coat. “God, it's fucking freezing outside.” She mumbles as a greeting, removing her boots and setting it close to the door before draping her coat on her chair.

“How was the meeting?” You ask from under your blankets, laughing a little as she drops her things on her own bed. The question makes her sigh loudly.

“That dude is still an asshole.” The dude in question being her partner to a never ending project of rebranding that sometimes stressed even you, from how much she talked about it. “But we are almost done with it now.”

“That's good.”

She plops on her bed, across from yours and a comfortable silence settles for a moment as she probably tries to have a moment of calmness.

Ela was an old face on your life, having attended the same school but never really getting closer than knowing each other's name. Still, it was good that you got paired to dorm with her. A familiar face that became a friend of sorts, as the two of you built a relationship on things in common and the want to have someone you could trust in a new place. And she was different than you, more outgoing, had a liking for socializing that you could never match, but still understood you.

“Hey, did you finish that essay already?” She asks, turning her face to you.

“Yes, it was bitch to write.”

“And Kotler is super boring to read.” A sigh escapes her lips and you agree loudly because she's right. Sometimes, when you allowed yourself a moment of wishful thinking, you would wonder what it would be like to have a major that you didn't feel like your brain was melting from boredom when reading about.

“I'm really tired.” You reply, just to say something back.

“Same. Are you doing something for winter break?”

In your mind you know exactly what you'll be doing, a schedule even ready on your mind, but  instead you say “Not really, are you?”

She hums, voice tired but still excited as she goes on about how she wants to go to Europe again, visit Amsterdam because that was one of her favorite travel destinations. When you ask how it was, she describes in perfect detail, how the streets looked and how it felt very welcoming, telling you that you absolutely had to go there someday.

You promise to go and in the back of your mind you wish you could. Maybe you can if you can do more week hours on your internship and ask for a free week.

You shake your head at that though.

“Oh, I got this little get together today. At that bar downtown.. .Do you want to go?” You know she’s asking out of politeness, not because she didn't want you there but because you rarely said yes to her invitations.

But there’s a tiny spark on your chest, one that resembles the restless feeling you would get when you stayed too long laying down. It's not a motivation as much as it is boredom and the wish to feel something other than half emptiness. Other than the want to escape.

“Ok.” You say, shrugging slightly.

“Really?”

The raise of her brow makes you laugh. “Yeah, we are getting home next week. That's the last time I get to do this for a while.”

⋄

The bar is a little crowded, with winter break approaching and no one really daring step outside for a smoke because of how cold it is. The owners took great advantage of that by offering a ‘buy two get one free’ deal, that if you take a closer look at is really just a scam considering the price. But it's enough to fool college students that are excited about being away from this place for a while.

That’s what you think about after you down the remnants of the third drink you and your roommate shared. It’s not that kind of night, of getting wasted and not remembering anything the next day. It’s more of a little get together, for your roommate's club members and you are here merely as an intruder.

You feel just a little tipsy as you listen to her friends talk, some of them you knew from afar and some were just strangers that were nice enough to make you laugh every now and then. Still, you feel detached from the conversation, smiling and nodding when needing but not really taking part.

“What about you, ___?” A girl with round cheeks and pretty eyes asks you regarding your vacation plans. “You gotta invite us if you are throwing a party.”

You scoff before you can catch yourself. Alcohol always drops your inhibitions a little, but still you are quick to cover it up. You laugh along with the others, promising to invite everyone even though you are not throwing any parties, most likely never.

You roommate looks at you from the corner of her eye, smiling sympathetically because she knows you, and knows how stupid her friends are, but it's fine. You just wish you could just take it easily, the interest, the wanting to get close so they too will appear in a gossip magazine and live the life they think you do, without wanting to tell them to get a fucking life already, because this is just pathetic.

You smile back at her, wishing for another drink as your thigh highs start to roll a little uncomfortably. Shifting from leg to leg does nothing to help it, so you try to push the little annoyance to the back of your mind.

The small groups divide in different topics over the time, and you find yourself talking to some guy you had never seen before, that goes on and on about his amazing business ideas and how successful it's going to be when he finds the right stakeholders. You nod and try to focus through the whole thing.

The rest of the night goes like that. Fake laughter, loud music and conversation that gets more boring as the clock ticks, so you find an escape excusing yourself to go to the bathroom, not because you need to but to get away for a second.

In retrospect maybe it would've been better to endure another discussion about LA clubs and entrepreneurship.

The bar is so crowded that you have to excuse yourself at least five times, and on the sixth one you end up bumping into someone.

“Oh.” Is the clever thing you say when your eyes are met with Jaehyun already looking at you, his eyes lower than usual from probably taking advantage of the drink deal like you had.

He looks relaxed, hair parted in a way that shows his forehead and an all black outfit that doesn’t look as expensive as it probably is, but he makes it work so well that you do a double look while in your hazy state. If he notices, he doesn’t show it by the way he keeps his smile unfazed at you.

“We gotta stop seeing each other by accident,” he says, laughing a little.

“Yeah.” His words take a little to digest so you keep looking at him for a beat of a second. It’s a first, seeing him in a place like this. Where you can see just how well he really can adjust to any setting. He fits right in with the low lights and the relaxed atmosphere.

“This is Johnny.” He gestures for the guy besides him, who turns his attention to you and smiles in a way that’s a little familiar. Then you realize he’s the guy from the library over a year ago, and the friend Jaehyun posted pictures every now and then on his instagram page.

“Hey, It’s nice to meet you.” Johnny says, same smile from before still on and you return it. “Have heard a lot about you.”

That makes you laugh, a mixture of confusion and excitement and politeness that confuses even yourself. “Good things I hope.”

He tilts his head playfully. “Only the best things you can hear in place like this.”

The three of you share smiles, the interaction then turning into a conversation promoted by a question you ask, both from wanting to have something to say and out of curiosity. Johnny does most of the talking, explaining how he and Jaehyun had been friends for a while but only got closer now that they are attending the same university. They share a story of something that happened, them buying each other the same thing for christmas and you listen to the whole thing entranced.

It’s weird in some way how you can learn so much from your own soulmate from someone else. And it's weird how you react with joy, perhaps, to the teasing Johnny does to Jaehyun so naturally.

When the conversation settles down, Johnny looks between the two of you for a few seconds before he’s excusing himself to find an unnamed person. It was predictable he would do that, with the way he kept aiming the conversation to make it about Jaehyun, as if he somehow had to wing his friend to you.

You stare at your shoes, unsure of what to say now and maybe too worn out from the whole night to come up with something to talk about. But you don’t have to, because soon he’s asking  “Are you here alone?”

You look up, a tiny smile on your lips. “No, I came with my roommate. But she's with her friends.”

“Oh, I’ll keep you company then.” He offers and you nod, following him to the bar where it's more illuminated and you can both lean a little on the counter.

Jaehyun is good at making people feel comfortable, you had noticed that many times before and it's no surprise when he asks you about your roommate, about what songs you have been listening to lately. He tries to keep a conversation with ease, even if it stays in the usual surface you two are used to.

If you weren't so distracted by everything, your mind would probably offer that it feels a lot like when you were kids and standing in the corner of a ballroom in uncomfortable clothes, talking about things that didn't matter.

“Have you ever been to Amsterdam?” You ask him suddenly when the past topic dies down.

“Yeah, it's really nice there.”

You hum, remembering your roommate's words. “That’s cool, I really want to go there someday.”

Out of nowhere he starts laughing a little, as if you had said something funny. When you inquire about it, he shakes his head clearly amused by the way his eyes squint a little from his smile. “It's just… Don’t you think it's weird that we have known each other for all these years, and all we do is do this weird small talk?”

You laugh too, speaking before you can stop yourself. “And still for some reason I feel like I know you.”

His eyebrows raise for a second but his smile is unfaltering, your statement not bothering him.  “You know me.” He says, as a matter of fact. “And I know you.”

Now this makes you freeze, blinking slowly but it doesn't last long until you are covering your surprise by chuckling. Your eyes meet his and it strikes you that it's true, you know him and he knows you. Not everything, but what would be the fun in that.

Maybe that's why the two of you kept doing this small talk, to get to know each other better even in the smallest things. That's what getting to know someone is, after all. Not the business interviews and networking you grew up with.

You shake your thoughts away, leaning on the counter with one elbow and then resting your face on your palm. “What is your favorite thing about me then?” It's what you ask, in a playful tone to keep the conversation going. Or because you actually want to know, out of curiosity or vanity.

He chuckles, bringing his hand to his face as if in deep thought, before he replies. “I like that you are smart.”

The simplicity of it makes you snort. “Please, that's a cliche thing to say in a place like this.” You say, mimicking the words his friend had said to you earlier. “What does that even mean?”

“I don't know.” He shrugs while laughing, “Johnny just says things like that sometimes.”

You nod then, making an amused sound while you turn on the counter to stare forward. Your roommate is on the opposite side of yours, leaning against a wall while talking to a girl taller than her but just as pretty. The view makes a tiny smile settle on your lips, the beginning of a spark on your chest.

It always amazed you how people who didn't know their soulmate yet continued to live on, simply letting the universe do its thing naturally. In your young mind you had always thought that love was supposed to be a yearning that you couldn't control, that you would have to be with the person you love no matter what, and do anything to find them. That had changed now.

You turn to Jaehyun again. “What would you say is your favorite thing about me then, if we didn't know each other already?” You ask. It's a weird question because it makes him raise one eyebrow at you, but there's still not a trace of annoyance on his face.

“Isn't that also cliche to say?” He huffs. “That you are the prettiest girl I have ever seen?”

You can't help the embarrassed laugh that leaves your parted lips in shock. “Are you flirting with me?”

His ear gets an incredible red shade and you find it extremely charming. “It's just the truth.” He defends himself and it only makes you giggle more.

You thank him, tell him that you think he’s pretty too and correct it to handsome when he raises one eyebrow again. It makes a nice atmosphere settle and you feel comfortable enough to ask “So... if we didn't know each other you would flirt with me at a random party? Buy me a drink and all that?”

He smiles, dimples showing while he brushes his hair back. It's not the first time, of course, but you find yourself a little in awe at how pretty he actually is. Pretty in a way that makes you feel a little out of it, stunned by the way his lips start forming his next words.  

“What do you like to drink?” He asks casually.

Now it's your turn to raise one eyebrow. “Hmm, I like Moscow Mules.”

You watch as he turns to the bar, calling the waiter over and ordering two drinks of your said preference. The mixture of feelings on your chest make you feel drunker than you did before and you wish you could put a name to it. Excitement, amusement, whatever it is only increases when he looks at you again.

“I’m Jung Jaehyun, by the way.” He offers, smiling sweetly and you match it when you realize what he's playing at

“I’m _____. It's nice to meet you.”

⋄

Playing pretend with him is easy, even more when the drinks make your inhibitions fall completely. Jaehyun tells a joke and you lean forward a little. Then you talk about something and he comes closer as if to hear better. Another drink and plenty of silly conversation later, he's completely invading your space in a way that you don't feel slightly bothered by.  

Not even when leans to whisper in your ear. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You leave the bar giggling like the two mildly drunk people you are, basking in the joy of it and of the little fantasy you two have created. Jaehyun keeps you close, your hands linked and it's such a nice feeling that you get even more overwhelmed in a good way. The two of you walk almost glued to each other basically skipping and muttering playfully things just to say something.

When you are near the dorm complex, he stops abruptly and when you turn to him, his hands find your cheeks and his eyes search yours for a brief moment before he’s bringing your face closer to his.

It's a sweet kiss, contrary to what you thought it would be when you allowed yourself to think about this. You had always imagined desperation, not being able to endure not doing it anymore. But the reality is that Jaehyun kisses you with delicacy and  even if there is desperation to it, it's not in a way that overpowers anything else. But in a way that makes you moan lowly, makes you press him even closer by grabbing his shirt as he moves his lips slowly against yours.

There are no fireworks, no deep realization that you are kissing the person you are meant to be with for the rest of your life. But it's good, makes you want more, makes you want to bring him closer than possible, and maybe that's proof enough.

You reach his dorm in a blink after that, him having a bit of a hard time opening the door but when he does it takes no time for you to be pressed to it.

For a moment he just looks at you, eyes hazy and shining. They run through your face the same way yours does his, with longing that is finally allowed. You try to quiet the way your heart beats by leaning forward and kissing him.

The kiss is hungry but never too fast, with his hands moving to your hips and you pulling on his lips. When you moan a little at the feel, he opens his mouth a little, sliding his tongue against yours and you swear at yourself for waiting so long. Swear that you will never get enough of this.

Your lips move together in a way that is proof enough to you that this is something else even in your drunk state. His lips are soft, tongue moving with yours as if he wants to take his time and when your hands move from his shoulders to his neck he  shudders, parting from you with a wet sound.

“W-We should...” He murmurs against your lip and you nod before he even finishes, letting him lead you to his bed. It feels a lot like yours, and the rest of the room is just as familiar but you pay no attention to that when he lays you on it gently.

It’s no surprise that Jaehyun is a giving lover and you figure that out when he kisses you like he wants to find out exactly what you like. Exactly how to make you fall apart in his hands.

He does everything with an expertise that maybe should make you feel jealous, but out of all things you are, a hypocrite is not one of them. So he shows you what he has learn from other people, and you show him what you have

And he doesn't settle for anything less than kissing all over your body after the two of you get undressed. For less than telling you in whispered words that he has dreamed about this before so many times and immediately swallowing with his tongue the words you would never be able to let out.

That you had dreamed about this too.  Dreamed about coming on his tongue as he eats you out, your hands grabbing at his hair and seeing stars. A giving lover, of the best kind,  Even more when he asks, with his mouth shining with your arousal. “How do you want it?”

You blink as your mind spins with the endless possibilities, but the ultimate realization that you would have him any way.  You decide on the one that gives you more control. “I… I want to ride you.”

He bites his lips, ears burning red again. “Yeah,” His words come out mumbles as he just looks at you for a second before moving to lay on his back. “Yeah, ok. Fuck.”

You straddle his hips after he rolls down the condom, his eyes looking up at you in what you think is adoration, pure desire. And then you kiss him again, all tongue but still slow. So deep that you think you’ll never forget what he tastes like.

He lets you sink down at your own pace, palms on your ass when you move slowly, feeling him stretch you with every inch you sit on. He hums, hands tracing your skin delicately and it only makes it so much worse.

You move, a grind at first testing the water and immediately crying out lowly from the friction and you look for support with nails grabbing at his chest. He doesn't seem to mind.

“Good?” A stupid question to ask with the way you are so wet around him that the room is filled with a squelching sound when you move up and down with all the patience in the world.

Still, you nod. “You feel - Fuck - really good.”

He looks down at where you’re connected, biting his lips to suppress the noises you want him to let out so you move your hips with purpose, eyes roaming his face to watch it contort in pleasure as he lets out the prettiest moan you have ever heard. Low and deep.

His hands move further down then, gripping your hips and moving you in a grind that feels too good. So good that you have to drop your arms to his chest for leverage as he moves you to his liking, pushing your hips back and forth.

You come with your back arching, long moan of his name as your entire body shakes and tingles and you have to grip at the sheets beside you for support. You try to keep moving as your orgasm washes over you but its too much and your walls clenching around his cock  makes him grip your ass even tighter, the action sending a thrill down your body as you fall forward on his chest with a wail.

Your mind swims in the gooey feeling of pleasure and all you can think about is him. Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun.

He waits for a second, hand moving to your back as your body trembles, drawing calming circles on it. When you have calmed down, he plants his feet on the bed and starts moving his hips up slowly and patiently but with deep strokes that make you bite your lip with oversensitivity.

And when you can, you move your head up, balancing yourself on your arms and looking at him. He wastes no time in kissing you, not deep because he parts his lips in a groan during a particular stroke, speeding his movements and grunting when you try to meet them back.

It’s when he has had enough, that he pulls out only to turn you on your back so he can enter you more easily, his hips now meeting yours in a pace that tells you that he’s close.

“Jae, oh… oh my god.” You sigh dreamily yet broken enough that it makes him smile when a sharp thrust makes your hips raise a little. He looks proud of being able to get you like this.

He hums as if agreeing with a very thorough statement, moving his arms so he can press his chest to yours as he fucks into you with calculated thrusts . You can barely move with his weight on top of you, with how he seems to lock you in place with his hips and it’s enough for another broken sob to fall from your lips.

“Deep?” He asks in a groan and with a nice slide of his cock inside of you to punctuate the question. You nod frantically because he’s as deep as he can get, knows this very well, and the feeling is something that makes you flutter around him in the desperate need to come.

He kisses your cheek then, two sweet but filthy enough with his heavy exhales against it. His pace never gets too fast, just hinting at it but he maintains a speed that leaves you in the brink of another orgasm. But, you only reach it when he pinches your clit with his fingers, circling it until your lips part in a silent scream and you’re coming again, stars behind your eyelids.

And the sounds he makes when your walls squeeze just a little more than he can handle are something else. A deep groan and a pained little sob that you find extremely endearing and hot at the same time, his face contorting as he quickened his pace just enough to push him over the edge, finally releasing inside the condom.    

He pulls out, breath heavy as he smiles at you falling putty on the bed and watching as he removes the condom and disposes it only to come quickly to the bed quickly.

He hovers over you, kissing you sweetly. Your arms find his shoulders easily as the two of you bask in the afterglow of it.

Then he kisses you again, tongues dancing together and you don’t mind when his hand starts to wander again, sending goosebumps to your body. His fingers find your clit with ease, circling it slowly before applying more pressure as your lips part and your hand grip his arm, for support and not to cut the actions.

You come again, not as strong as your first one but still enough to have you shaking a little and screaming silently. His finger stays at your clit, hovering until he asks again in a whisper. “Another?”

You nod, and he resumes his actions slowly, until you are seeing starts and he swallows your moans with kisses and stops your trembling with soft hands grounding you.

When you recover your breath, an incredulous laughter leaves your lips. “You’re insane.” He just smiles, nose brushing against yours.  “God, I...I gotta clean up now.”

He moves to get up. “Yeah sure, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

You end up cleaning together, a shower that doesn't take you long, even if it's hard to keep your hands to yourselves but you are both tired, feeling a little drained after the glow has gone away.

⋄

Afterwards, you are laying on his bed side by side, surrounded by the smell of his body wash and wearing the big t-shirt and sweatpants he offered you.

Your mind starts wandering lazily with the remnants of your high, that's why the words escape your mouth without much thought. “Isn't it weird that even if we have someone in the world meant for us we can still feel lonely?” You are not lonely right now, not really. Maybe it's just the sadness of winter speaking, or maybe you're still a little drunk.

He takes a second to reply, voice low when he does. “Yeah. But you don't have to.” He says.“ Feel lonely, I mean. You don't have to.”

It's a little funny how he feels the need to explain himself to you, as if you don't quite understand him when the reality it's both very far from that and exactly it at the same time.

“I don't think thats how it works. It's not up to me.” If it was, wouldn't you have stopped being lonely by now? Wouldn't you have finally succumbed to the desperate need of wanting someone, something, when late night hit and the mark in your arm would burn just as your eyes as you fought back tears?

Still, he says simply. “I think it is.”

You smile sadly then, turning to him a little and watching as he kept his gaze on the ceiling. He looked relaxed, as if this setting was soothing his mind and it makes a familiar feeling blossom on your chest.  “What did you feel when the mark showed up on your arm?” A question that you had wanted to ask the moment you found out it was him, but instead had failed miserably to guess the answer to.

“Relief.” He says without thinking, a truthful and genuine reply.

“That you wouldn't have to end up marrying someone that wasn't your soulmate?” You ask. All these years you had thought that this must've been it, what you felt that day.

“No. I was relieved that it was you anyway.” Is his reply, body turning and eyes meeting yours. For a second you’re frozen, blinking because it’s strange to have someone put their feelings out so easily.

“Is… Is that what love is, then?” You ask softly. “Relief that you have at least one person that makes you feel held?”

Maybe this is not really what he meant,  and more so wishful thinking of your part than anything else, but still he nods.

“I think it’s that. And other things.” His voice is soft when he says this. “I'm not sure what it is, but I want to find out.”

You can’t help as you examine his face after his confession. Is this what being soulmates is, then? Having someone that it's worth taking the risk of finding out? Or maybe it’s having someone that will show you exactly what it is.

Does all that explain the way you can't look away from him?

“Me neither.” You reply in the same quiet voice because it’s true. You tend to act like you know everything, and that you know what love is. You know love it’s pathetic and that it gets in the way of things, but is it really that bad? So you ask “Is it bad that I think you'll only love me because the mark on your arm tells you to?”

He laughs briefly. “No, it makes sense.” His eyes find yours again. “But you know it’s not, don't you?”

“I do.” At least you do now.

Maybe that's why you fall asleep so easily

⋄

2014 (flashback)

It’s the last day before summer break and Jaehyun is tired.

The other four guys he shared a room with are all packing their things for a nice vacation somewhere in Europe or one of the paradisiac beaches they all like to talk about. Jaehyun just wants to get home, not think about college applications for two months and maybe go somewhere he can be alone for a while.

“Sooyoung is kinda hot, huh?”  Yugyeom says out of nowhere and the room settles in a unison hum of agreement. He joins in too.

There’s a loud creak noise as another one of his roommates slumps into the bed but he doesn't bother checking who it is, mind somewhere else as he stares at the ceiling.

“True. But I would die if Ela gave me her number.” Jungkook sighs dreamily and Jaehyun can't help the snort that escapes his lips. Just yesterday they had a conversation exactly like this one, but not quite as innocent. Trust a group of men that have no idea who their roommates are to act like this.

Even though Doyoung, the only one of them that already knew, still acted the same when it came to this. His soulmate isn't someone he knew already, so what was the point in waiting. That's why he asks the next question. “Jaehyun, you know ___, right? Does she stick to the whole ‘waiting’ thing?”

Jaehyun blinks, shifts almost unnoticeable. “I don't know her like that.” Is what he says, which is a half true. He knows her, probably things no one else knows but that’s what happens when you grow up in the same circles, he guesses. Right now though, he feels like he doesn’t know her anymore, not with the distance she had put between them after the wedding was announced by your parents.

Then, he starts thinking about himself. Is he waiting for his soulmate? He has kissed some girls, but it never went beyond that. But now he remembers coming home from german class one day and his mother making soft cake as she told him about the name that would appear on his wrist.

He remembers that he had said loudly that he wished ____ would be his name, because then they could be better friends for some reason as silly as playing around together.

Sicheng interrupts his thoughts by snorting loudly. “Are you really trying to hit?” He asks Doyoung. “Gonna end up in the cover of a magazine for trying to corrupt the nation’s good girl.”

The room erupts in laughter and comments after that. He drowns it with his mind going somewhere else.

That night he dreams about her.

⋄

10, FEBRUARY 2018

Winter break goes by quickly with one too many end of the year celebration and wishing people you had never seen before a happy new year.

You spend your days fulfilling your internship at the company you would one day own, following around the superiors for the Marketing team and playing nice when they try to flatter you.

So busy that you can barely think about it, but you still do. You think about him so often that you think you have lost your mind.  And you see Jung Jaehyun too, here and there at parties, between whiskey glasses, tuxedos and unspoken words. Because, as you always thought, keeping it all unsaid is easier. At least for now.

Perhaps he knows it all, in a different way than you. So the two of you kept it lowkey, for the duration of those two months that are now gone with the wind. Two months of not a single magazine spread on your escapades, or you parents mentioning anything that is out of the ordinary.

It's as if the two of you have a secret, that some may assume, but still don't know for sure. What you and Jaehyun did that night is kept inside a locked box, one that you share with him and that every moment until now seems to fit in. What you don't know is if he too keeps the box as sacred as you do.

What you don't know is if the thought of it being opened by prying eyes scares him too.

Being back to campus is, ironically, a breath of fresh air. No more business meetings disguised as family celebrations, or stupid networking, or smiling for a camera to say that the company has never been better. No more internship and lack of time for something else.

February comes and it's just you, your dorm bed and the roommate you will miss when it's time. Just the lectures and keeping busy and trying not to think about things only to fail miserably.

But then, there are the phone calls, never ending and always the same. Or almost always.

The phone lights up, stupid ringtone, and your heart starts beating a little faster. How could someone ever guess what a phone call is about?  Not having control made you antsy.

Your mother greets you as always, stern words, asking how you have been out of politeness. You spend the entire phone call waiting for her to just say what she wants to already.

She mentions being busy, good opportunities, of an article you should read and something that sounds like a threat if you let yourself slip and get a scandal, even though she has said all this not long ago after gifting you another piece of jewelry you’ll keep stored deep in your drawer.

At least this time it doesn't take long for her to finally say what she wants. “Jaehyun’s birthday is soon. Don't forget to greet him.”

“I won't.” You reply simply but she’s quick to cut you off.

“Publicly. Maybe sending flowers would be good, or buying something that can get attention from the press.” It’s obvious this is not about you and your soulmate, it’s about you and your future. As everything is.

“Ok.”

“Just because he's your soulmate doesn't mean people will connect you two together forever.” She continues, never knowing when to stop. “You have to remind them of that.”

“I know that.” Because you do. There was no guarantee that your marriage with Jaehyun would be good publicity if the two of you weren’t liked or even popular.

You fear that when the time comes, people will realize something you yourself already has. That maybe you don’t really deserve Jaehyun, not because he’s better than you, but because you are not sure you can give him the love he deserves.

What you don't know clearly yet, is that you’re selfish and want him anyway.

“Good.” Your mother says and then the line cuts.

One time a therapist told you that maybe your mother was jealous. Because you would get to experience something she didn't, being with your soulmate, and that it was normal. It didn't mean she was evil and hated you. Another one said that that was the reason she was so stern, she wanted to keep you in line to prevent you from failure so as to not hurt you. That, behind the lack of affection, was a wish for your happiness.

Maybe there will be a time you understand that plenty. Maybe some things can never be truly fixed, only forgotten.

Four days days after that, you text Jaehyun a simple happy birthday with a heart at the end of it. You also get a chocolate cake sent to his place from a bakery you like, and when he calls to thank you, you tell him to not post it anywhere.

He laughs and tells you that it's a good idea.

⋄

2007 (flashback)

It was another late afternoon party, for another thing that you couldn’t remember or care about because things like this shouldn't really matter when you are only ten years old. Still, you had watched the other kids play with each other as their parents talked business and laughed, drunk from the bubbly drinks they downed glass after glass of.

For a moment you felt like reaching out and playing with them too, but it died soon and you stayed unmoving on the chair you had been placed in, while your parents did the same as the others somewhere in the distance.

It had been a pretty day, you remember, the sun was about to set and it made the shiny fabric on the tablecloths that were spread around the individual tables set outside, sparkle just the tiniest bit. You played with it to have something to distract yourself with.

You remember too, that Jung Jaehyun and his family were at the table right in front of yours, your parents greeting each other and talking briefly. Later on the party you had watched as he listened to something his mother said to him. She was beautiful, like your own mother, and you had heard her voice before so it had been easy to imagine in what tone she was speaking. Soft and low, how warmth felt like. As to the content of her words you would never know, but it had clearly been something nice because it made her son laugh as she patted his head.

You didn’t know back then that this moment would stick with you for the years to come, for a reason that at ten years old you were just beginning to understand. But still, the weird twist in your stomach, as you started to realize that something was wrong, would be felt many more times. As you realized that your family dynamics were not as warm as the others appeared to be.

⋄

25, FEBRUARY 2018

What you and Jaehyun have turns into something hard to describe.

The line you had so clearly put between the two of you, to avoid your future, had been replaced now by acceptance and the weird feeling of navigating a relationship that It’s still a new thing, but it’s also nice enough. Especially when he sends you a silly text and jokes about something, later on commenting the same thing on one of your instagram posts. It makes you feel giddy, that you have a shared secret.

Even more when he gives you a small knowing smile across the table while your father is non stop talking about the new model the company is about to release.

It’s a small dinner to celebrate Jaehyun’s birthday, or at least as small it can be in a restaurant like this, where the waiter will look you up and down if you are not wearing your prettiest silk dress and stiletto heels.

The whole thing had been rescheduled twice, because of busy schedules and whatnot, and now that both your parents had been able to fly here, you all sit underneath lowlights and drink expensive wine that is accompanied by a conversation that is so boring that you have trouble keeping up with it.

He finds you on the rooftop, hair blowing a little as he walks to you and in the back of your mind you think it’s a crime that he looks this good in a suit. That’s probably all the wine you had talking.

“Sorry I left you alone there.” You mutter with a sympathetic smile thrown his way when he reaches you, but you both know you are not sorry at all for escaping the stupid conversation your parents were having.

He chuckles. “You leaving was just a reason for me to escape too.”

The two of you turn to look at the city, the illuminated buildings looking minuscule from here but the tiny lights from each of them make for a breathtaking view. Jaehyun stands so close to you that your arms touch. You don’t mind.

“Looking at the city like that makes me feel really small.” You whisper, without really thinking.

“That’s because we are.” You hear his voice clearly, warm like honey and you don’t try to help the smile that forms in your lips.

“How do you do it?” The question makes him look at you, raising one eyebrow. “I mean, you always sound like you got it all figured out. While I just say the most random stuff because I don’t know who I am.”

You know you are the heritage left to you, the face of your father's company, a good student, smart. One of the few socialites that have never stepped a foot out of line, according to the magazines. But take all that and what’s left?

“I don't.” He says simply, “I’m just good at pretending, like you are.”

That makes you laugh. “Good to know we are both good at playing our roles.” You say, as a joke, because you are sure the two of you are beyond the acting now.

And It’s always funny to you how the masks the both of you put on fall completely when you are alone. That’s what it means to be friends, you had realized, and that’s what you decide to call your relationship for now. Friends, from a long time, that happened to be tied together for other reasons.

And Jaehyun is a friend that sometimes makes you feel like you deserve the love you crave.

“Hey. You are ____.” He says after a second, for good measure. “That's enough, you don't have to be anything else.”

“Is it enough for you?” You ask without really thinking.

He smiles, dimples showing and your heart grows warmer. “Yeah, and we can figure it out together. Who we are and all that.”

You share a smile, both staring forward at the view and shivering a little from the night wind.

“I’m sorry for getting you into these deep conversations.”

He laughs deeply at that, with his whole body. “It’s good, don’t worry. I want you to trust me, even if you won't let me get to know you.” And you do, you want to desperately trust him and let him in. ”Because you are scared I can't handle your daddy issues or something.”

A scoff mixed with laughter leaves your lips. It’s been a long time since you were able to joke about this with someone. “It’s mommy issues, please get it right.”

He turns to you with a silly smile on his lips. “Is it because she made you take those piano classes?” He jokes and you laugh before tilting your head.

“Wait, how did you know I played the piano?” That was ages ago, finally a hobby that you enjoyed amongst the numerous other classes your mother had enrolled you in. You played it for a long time before you stopped completely for whatever reason.

“You told me, when we had to introduce ourselves and talk about things we liked in german class.” He explains. “You said you liked it, even though your mother forced you to go.”

You turn to him now as it strikes you that Jung Jaehyun remembered you from his childhood the same way you remembered him. Not the same things, but still memories. The thought is so comforting that you can’t hold the way your cheeks move up in a smile.

“What about you?” You question. “What things did you say you liked?”

“Hmm, I don't really remember.” Is what he says with a shrug.

You two share a look, perhaps meaningful but maybe that's the wine making you feel on cloud 9 under his gaze.  “What do you like now?”

He chuckles as if your interest is amusing. “I like… music, getting coffee with friends. That kind of thing.”

“Not cars?” You joke, making him laugh. You decide then that you like making him do it.

“I mean, a little.” He replies playfully, and it’s very easy to be comfortable like this.

It’s good to know after all this time Jaehyun was like you, even if you felt alone in the world sometimes. That’s what a soulmate must be after all, not the missing piece to make you whole but someone that makes you realize exactly that you don't have to be.

“We should get coffee together sometime.” You offer after some time, a gentle smile being shared between you two in laziness, at the thought of soon having to return to the restaurant and popping out of the bubble you have started creating for yourself.

“We should.” He says, and the bubble stays afloat a little longer.

⋄

JULY 2019

It’s another charity Gala, with sparkly lights, champagne, fake smiles and a dress too tight. Everything is the way it always had been, except for you.

And Jaehyun, whose hand stays on your waist as he guides you through a slow song. He had wanted to dance, said he always thought it was nice when lovers did it in movies.

Lovers. The mere use of the word had made your heart somersault in your chest, but you kept it down. Instead, you move with him with soft smiles adorning both of your faces.

Your hand finds his cheeks. Nothing could describe the look you give him in the light but pure admiration. And you don’t care if anyone sees it,  you don’t care if it ends up in a magazine spread. Because even if everybody knew about it, this is yours.

The way he brings his hand on top of yours, and how his eyes match the exact look on yours. Every little detail about it makes you know that this right here belongs to the two of you and nothing can change it.

“Jaehyun?” Your voice is low, almost inaudible underneath the music and conversation echoing through the ballroom. “I don't want to be here anymore.”

His eyebrows raise at your confession, steps faltering for a second as he loses the rhythm “What? We can leave right now if you want.” He offers. “I came with my own car, so we can-“

Your soft laughter interrupts his words. “No, I don't mean right now.” You explain, swallowing around your next words. “I meant.. I don't want to keep playing a role, I want to go somewhere with you where no one knows us.”

A smile grows on his lips, one that tells you that he understands exactly what you mean. And you don’t have to guess anymore, there are no more maybes. You know.

“Okay, we can do that.”

He pulls you closer, dance now long forgotten as you just move in complete muscle memory.

“I want to find out.” You confess in a whisper. A secret between the two of you that no one else would ever know.  “I want to go somewhere with you and find out.”

You wonder if he already found the answer to it, to what love is. But you also don't need to know right now, because you will know when you have to. Either way you want to find out  and it's not for you to guess.

He smiles genuinely at you, with his dimples showing, like he always smiles at you.

You smile back, heart aching from something that can only be only be explained by years of shared stories, and in your mind, deeper connections that go beyond what everything and everyone inside this ballroom would understand.

You smile back, in the exact way you have always smiled at him.

⋄

APRIL 2020

A ray of sun peeks from the half closed curtains and set right above your eyes, getting you to wake up lazily and slowly. It takes you a while to come to it, the sheets on the bed just now starting to feel truly familiar with the warmth left on the bed, from someone that had probably gotten up just a little before from you.

You blink once and twice before your eyes are completely open, vision still unfocused but it slowly comes back as you stare at the bedside table. A lip balm is the first thing you see, then your phone and lastly a picture framed of you and Jaehyun hugging in front of the sunflower field at the Van Gogh museum. He’s laughing, at something said by the kind fellow tourist that had offered to take your picture, and you have the beginning of a smile on your own lips. One that you mimic perfectly now as you remember that day.

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the door opening and Jaehyun walks in the bedroom, holding a bowl. His eyes are still drowsy and his hair a mess but you  think he looks right at home. Because he is.

“Morning, baby.” His voice is low and raspy, but enough to make you melt even more on the sheets.

“Good morning.” The smile settles fully on your lips now.

He sits on the bed next to you then, almost drowning inside his large t-shirt and hair plopping cutely when he tries moving even closer to place the bowl with sliced fruits on your lap. “We gotta add apples to the shopping list.” Is all he says and you nod while picking a slice of melon and chewing it leisurely as you bask on the hazy feeling of still being half asleep

Jaehyun stays by your side, head weirdly pressed to your chest, and asking silently for you to feed him apple slices every now and then with just his mouth opening.

Your mind wanders as you eat and then you’re having one of those moments where realization dawns on you finally. A silly small thing that makes you smile and your chest grow warm. “Jaehyun?” You call out softly, fighting back the bubble of happiness that forms on your chest because old habits are hard to die.

“Hmm?” He looks up at you, eyes blinking at you in the same way he always does, but this time it makes you want to cry a little bit.

You lean down, press a quick peck to his lips that make you both smile and then the words are out of your mouth.

“This is what love is.”

[crossdressingdeath]

Seeing your post about how JYL has a 'ranking system' in her head when it comes to WWX and JC hits so hard, but honestly, the more I read into the Jiang family dynamics, the more I agree. JYL obviously loves WWX, but I don't know if she's capable of putting him above JC. And we see her defending him, and she obviously gives her life for him, but she was also reacting in the moment. Not to speak lightly of her sacrifice of course, but I just feel like there are certain limits to how 1/7

far she's actually willing to go for him. I was initially one of JYL's staunch defenders, and always said that, unlike JC, she didn't have the same amount of political power as him, wasn't in a position to do anything about the Wens, ect. But...I'm starting to question if that's really true. JYL may not have had much direct political power herself, but she was the sister of a sect leader, and even if JC was unwilling to help, JYL had just married into the richest and most powerful sect 2/7

at the time. It was a love marriage, JZX adored her and would've done anything for her if she'd just bothered to ask him for it. Madam Jin also cared for her and respected her, and between her and JZX, had JYL actually bothered to tell them anything, I'm sure they would have been able to sort something out. Or she could have had it as a condition of her marriage - I'm not marrying into the sect that's trying to kill my brother unless you tell your father to stop. Had it been reversed and 3/7

The Lans were calling for JYL and JC’s deaths, no way in hell WWX would’ve just married into the sect, regardless of LWJ’s involvement. Instead she just doesn’t really do anything. We see no proof that she ever tried to see WWX after the wedding dress incident, which — god I instantly saw it as a sweet gesture, but now it just bothers me, because your brother is living in squalor, and you decide to show if the expensive dress that you’ll be 4/7

wearing when marrying into the sect that's trying to kill him, you bring along one bowl of soup for him, and don't even try to explain WHY you're marrying into said sect. Beyond that, we don't see a single moment up until her death where JYL actually seems concerned about WWX, puts in effort to try to see him - she doesn't even ask him how he's doing the one time she does come to see him. When we compare that to how WQ treats WN, yeah, she's outwardly not as loving or sweet, but she 5/7

goes to the ends of the earth for her brother, even going as far as to betray her sect and risk WRH's wrath because he asks her to. And now we come back to that ranking system you mentioned before - yeah, it really does seem like JYL places her blood family first, which definitely hurts, but in comparison, despite only knowing him for a shorter amount of time, WQ truly grows to think of WWX as a second brother. And she treats him as such, at an equal level with WN - after JZX dies 6/7

WQ doesn't attack WWX for what happened. She doesn't try to come up with a way to sacrifice WWX instead and let WN survive in his stead. She and WN, two people who have become WWX's family, both give their lives to protect both him and the rest of their remaining family members. And it's just frustrating to think that the one member of WWX's adopted family who we all thought treated him like an actual brother, might not have really been on his side after all. 7/7

Yes! To start with the wedding dress thing, because it drives me nuts when people treat that like some super sweet act of love: JYL shows up in the Burial Mounds with no money, no sign of having tried to talk the sects around, no news outside of her own, no food beyond a couple bowls of soup (one of which she gives to the guy who can’t eat), and doesn’t so much as ask WWX if he’s okay. She literally came all that way to have a family meal, ask WWX to name the future nephew it’s becoming increasingly clear he’ll never meet, and tell him about her impending marriage into the family that’s currently doing everything in its power to destroy WWX’s life. Like, if you think about it that entire visit is such a slap in the face; “Here’s a bowl of soup while the people under your protection are starving, oh by the way I’m going to marry the son of the guy actively trying to get you killed, okay bye”. All you can say in regards to her helping WWX is that she does potentially manage to persuade JZX to invite him to JL’s one month celebration, but if memory serves the novel never actually specifies whose idea that was and it was JZX who decided to go get WWX after JGY told him about seeing JZXun heading in the direction of the Burial Mounds. And even then JZX does the same thing JYL does; sees WWX outnumbered and surrounded and tells him to stand down. At least in JZX’s case you could argue that the actual fighting hadn’t broken out and JZX probably trusted in his authority to be able to sort the situation out so long as WWX wasn’t actually acting aggressive (or defensive, rather), and he’s also physically strong enough that he may well have been able to intervene if the cultivators had attacked. JYL, when she does the same thing, has no authority and no physical power to defend WWX with. And yeah, both JZX and Madam Jin adore JYL, and neither of them seem super fond of JGS (JZX respects his father, but I don’t get the sense he loves him); if JYL had asked them for help it’s entirely possible they would’ve started at least circulating her version of events and demanding a proper investigation into what happened. But there’s no mention of her so much as trying, and she doesn’t offer to ask them when she visits WWX.

And yeah, compare WQ to JYL and it’s... well. WQ is so quick to offer WWX her love and care? She’s harsh, but she loves him and views him and WN on such equal footing that she and WN willingly hand themselves over to the Jins for WWX’s sake without her so much as bringing up the possibility of saving WN instead. There’s no ranking for WQ; WWX and WN are her brothers, and she loves them, and she’d do anything to protect them. When it becomes clear she can’t save WN (like hell the sects would let him live, and by this point it’s pretty clear that WWX won’t be able to protect them forever) she throws her whole weight behind defending the brother she thinks she might still be able to save, even if it means bringing WN with her to die. WQ knows WWX for... a year or two? Maybe? The timeline is a little hazy. Not long compared to JYL, anyway. And yet she’s willing to walk all the way to Lanling to die in the hope of saving him. It’s for her whole family, yes, but she makes a point of including him. Basically, I think this fandom needs more stuff wherein the Jiangs and Wens survive and the Wens are fully like “Our brother now, you don’t deserve him”.

The thing with JYL is... she loves WWX, she genuinely does, but he is never going to be first for her. To the point where she outright enables JC’s abuse, in places; she always expects WWX to be the one to grin and bear it. Hell, one of their first conversations involves JYL cheerily allowing WWX to cover up JC locking him out of his bedroom and scaring him out into the woods by threatening to set dogs on him! Let me rephrase that: she allows a traumatized nine-year-old to hide the fact that the kid her dad expects him to share a room with locked him out of said room on his FIRST NIGHT and threatened him with his LITERALLY WORST FEAR, and as far as we know makes no attempt to tell JFM herself. To keep JC out of trouble. That is such a thing! WWX was scared to the point of running away and JFM expects him to share a room with the person responsible for that and JYL goes along with him promising not to tell JFM so that JC won’t get in trouble! And from that day forwards everything is just “Boys will be boys” to her. Like, let me put it this way. Before LWJ (and arguably the Wens before that, although WWX saw himself more as protector than protected there) JYL was the person WWX trusted to protect and care for and comfort him above all others, yeah? She’s the one he thinks of as having his back? He doesn’t tell her about JC trying to kill him. JC tries to kill WWX three times before JYL’s death, and WWX doesn’t say a word to her about any of them. You could argue that he doesn’t want to involve her, but... JYL pretty clearly takes JC’s side every time JC starts having a go at WWX. When he chases him out of their room, when he starts snapping about how annoying WWX is, when he stabs WWX... She never outright says it, but there really does come a point where by staying neutral you’re siding with the aggressor, and she reaches that point a lot. Hell, the stabbing is one of those aforementioned near-murders! JC stabbed him! According to WWX (who downplays serious injuries, he never exaggerates them) he had to hold his guts in! WWX is talking about a pretty fucking serious injury (and JYL grew up in a cultivation sect, I don’t believe for a second she doesn’t at least know what constitutes a serious injury) while JC whines about a broken arm like it’s worse than having to physically hold your guts in until you can reach a doctor and JYL acts like those are equal! JC could easily have killed WWX and has enough training with the sword to know better than to go for a blow like that in a staged fight and JYL doesn’t even suggest he should apologise.

Honestly? The more I think about JYL the more it pisses me off that she’s treated like WWX’s best sister more than WQ is. Imagine WQ seeing one brother stab the other in the gut and take the former’s side because the latter broke the former’s arm. Imagine WQ so much as considering allowing a child to cover up the kid he’s supposed to share a room with locking him out and scaring him into running away. She wouldn’t! Because WQ sees her brothers as equals. She won’t pick WN over WWX just because they’re blood siblings; she loves them both, and will choose based on who she thinks is in the right. And she wouldn’t just stay neutral to avoid rocking the boat, oh no. If WQ heard WWX say that WN stabbed him and did enough damage that he had to hold his guts in... oh boy would WN have a bad day. The thing with JYL is that she seems like a good sister in comparison to the rest of the Jiangs; stick canon JYL into a family that genuinely loves WWX and sees him as equal to their other children, and she would not look anywhere near as good.

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: This was a request by @fiiiinewine . Mentions of charector death for Hogwarts Mystery and canon. It’s a little angsty, but overall it’s pretty good. Takes place maybe 1-3 years after the seventh book. Hope you like it!

- Molly wraps you up in a warm hug the second she opens the door.

- “Mum I’m here too.” Charlie adds, and she just shushes him.

- She pats him on the shoulder before leading you both inside. The house is completely spotless. Which you don’t doubt is because Molly’s been tirelessly cleaning.

- “Anything to eat dear? Must have been a long journey.”

- And before you can even answer she grabs both of your arms and gives a tender squeeze.

- “Thin as bones,” she mutters. “What are they feeding you in Romania? Broth?”

- “I mean, yeah, there’s always soup.”

- And she clicks her tongue.

- “Soup isn’t proper food dear, it isn’t even proper food before a meal.”

- You laugh and assure her that you’re eating enough and everything is fine.

- “What about me Mum, I eat the same things as (Y/N) does.” Charlie mocks hurt at the lack of attention.

- Molly just rolls her eyes.

- “You’ll be fine, you and Bill once “went camping” with pack of biscuits for a week and came back even plumper then you were when you left.”

- Charlie just rolls his eyes and takes your bags up the stairs. And you go with Molly to the kitchen.

- “Molly do you need help with anything?” Long have the days gone where you call her Mrs. Weasley and she tells you “Call me Molly!”

- “Oh please, call me Mom, you and Charlie have been together long enough.” She says with a wave of her hand and you almost laugh. Somethings don’t change.

- You stand beside her in the small kitchen measuring ingredients for for cookies.

- “So when are you and Charlie thinking of giving me some grandchildren?” She’ll ask, and you stutter to a stop, nearly dropping the measuring cup as you do.

- “I-I think you should ask Bill and Fleur that first shouldn’t you?”

- “Just because he’s the oldest?” She asks, a corner of her mouth quirking up.

- “Well, also because they’re married.” And she scoffs.

- “It’s the 21st century (Y/N), marriage doesn’t mean what it used to.” She shrugs, taking the measuring cup full of flour you’ve extended towards her.

- You never thought that Molly Weasley would have such progressive views. She’s been a fairly traditional homemaker and housewife for much of her adult life.

- “Besides Bill has shifted back to Egypt to work on his curses, not a stable environment for a child right now.” You smile, also too far away for Molly to go visit everyday.

- “Well you’ve always got Percy.” You day with a chuckle, earning a scoff from her.

- “With the formality between those two it’ll be years before I even see them hold hands, let alone a baby.”

- And you both laugh at that.

- Before she can talk more about marriage or babies or any other topic you are completely unprepared for, Charlie comes bumbling through the door.

- “Making cookies?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, pulling out a spoon from the drawer before dipping it into the mixing bowl.

- “Without me? Your beloved son who loves baking more than anything in the world?” He smirks as his mother hits him with a wooden spoon lightly, taking a bite of raw sugar cookie dough.

- “What can I do, you love helping so much you always polish it off before I can even bake it.” Her words are stern, but you can see the cheerful twinkle in her eyes.

- She hits him again with the spoon and he laughs.

- “Well I’ll have to take over for (Y/N), Dad’s outside ecstatic that they’re here.”

- You nod, a grin spreading across your face. You’ve been expecting to talk to him about muggles ever since you arrived.

- You pull of your apron, and hand it to Charlie, exchanging a warm look as you do.

- You vaguely hear: “It’s like they’re already part of the family” and you feel a smile spread across your face.

- Arthur is in the living room, scanning a newspaper. And he smiles wide when he see’s you.

- He stands and envelops you in a warm hug, and you note how he smells like old books and honeysuckle.

- “So good to see you, how’ve you been?”

- And you tell him that you’re doing well. That life in Romania is good, that Charlie seems happy. And he smiles.

- “So when are you two planning on getting married.” And you practically choke on your tea.

- “You know your wife just asked me a similar question in the kitchen.” You laugh, but feel a hear creeping up your neck.

- “Oh she’s my wife and no one to you?” He jokes. “That’s your future mother-in- law you know.”

- You can’t help but laugh.

- Charlie’s in the kitchen, rolling the cookie dough out, sprinkling some more flour on top.

- “Are we the first ones here?” He asks, and Molly nods.

- “Ginny, Harry and George will be here tonight, Ron and Percy will be here tomorrow.” She waves her wand, and the rolling pin begins to move on his own.

- “Spent too long in Romania, you’ve forgotten you can use magic.” She chuckles, and Charlie laughs as well as he blushes.

- “(Y/N) always does it by hand so I didn’t realize.” He murmurs, and Molly smiles.

- Charlie’s freckled face is practically glowing red, his dark red hair cut clean, his beard well trimmed. He looks good.

- “You know, (Y/N) would make someone a fine (Daughter/Son) in law.” And Charlie has to stifle the urge to roll his eyes.

- “They don’t want to get married yet Mum.” He mumbles, grabbing a cookie cutter to press shapes into the dough.

- Molly Weasley’s mouth purses into a long straight line.

- “They don’t want to get married yet, or you don’t?” It’s a pointed question, but her tone is soft.

- A long moment of silence falls between them.

- “They feel strange getting married without Jacob or their parents being there.” Charlie finally breaks the silence.

- “And I feel strange getting married without Fred being there too.” This part leaves much softer, and Molly’s mouth begins to relax into small smile.

- “I suppose I should just be glad Bill had the common sense to get married before.” And Charlie almost scoffs.

- “Is that what we’re calling it? Because at the time I remember seeing you tangled in Christmas lights, muttering “the things you do for love””

- Molly lightly shoves her son and they both laugh.

- When the others arrive is when the fun really starts.

- Warm hugs are passed all around.

- Ginny practically squeals when she see’s you.

- “You’ve gotten so thin! And your hair is so shiny!” She looks at you with wide eyes, expecting to divulge all your secrets but you just shrug.

- “Air in Romania is very clean.” Is the best you can offer.

- Harry offers a polite hug, and George practically wrestles you into a headlock with his bear hug.

- “I’ve got some Products I need your advice on!” He says with a big grin, and you smile back.

- “We’ll stay up after they’ve all gone to bed” You nod.

- There’s hot cocoa, and games of wizard chess, jokes and laughter.

- And you smile when Charlie grabs your hand and gives a tight squeeze.

- You and Charlie are split up when the sleeping arrangements are being made. He’s taken away by a grumbling George, who’s wrapped his arms around his shoulders

- “(Y/N) would be better but you’ll have to test out some new products I’m working on.”

- You and Ginny share her room, sleeping side by side on the bed.

- “Are you and Charlie ever going to get married?” She asks, and you can’t help but let out a groan.

- “Oh not you too!”

- She props up on an elbow

- “It’s a serious question you know, how long have you been dating anyway?”

- And you have to use your fingers to count the years.

- “Hmm eight? No maybe nine.” And Ginny huffs

- “Don’t you think that’s long enough?”

- You sigh, Ginny’s so much younger then you. She may not understand.

- “Well for a few years we were long distance you know.” You tell her, through the dark room you can make out one of her bright red eyebrows raised.

- You sigh again. Might as well be honest.

- “For a while we actually were thinking about it.” You admit, and even through the dark you can see her perk up. “But then-“ you have to still your breath.

- “But then Jacob passed away,” you finally manage, and the words don’t hurt like they used to. “And then my parents,” And this doesn’t seem to hurt as much either. “And then Fred.” You whisper. This one, this wound is still fresh. And you know it’s fresh for her too.

- She doesn’t say anything back.

- Her hand tangles in your own and gives it a firm squeeze.

- The silence is only broken when she says:

- “So no nieces or nephews either then? You don’t need to be married to have kids you know.”

- They really are family

- You just roll your eyes.

- “Maybe we’ll bring home a dragon or something. Molly can knit it a sweater and everything.”

- The next day starts late and lazy, all gathered around the table having a simple breakfast of toast and fruit, glasses of juice and coffee traded along the table.

- You practically run towards him when Bill comes home.

- “You smell like a tomb.” You tel him and he grins.

- “Better than when we were in the cursed vaults at least.” He grins back.

- Fleur kisses both your cheeks and you giggle.

- “‘Ow ‘as Romania been?” She asks, squeezing your arms. “You ‘ave lost weight, yes?”

- Everyone in this family,

- you suppress a giggle as she moves to Charlie. His perplexed expression as she kisses each of his cheeks as well.

- “You know Bill, I still don’t get how you pulled that one off.”

- “Neither do I.” He admits.

- Percy arrives last with Ron, and gives you an awkward hug. Ron giving you a slightly warmer hug, blushing and asking you about the cursed vaults.

- You all stay up until midnight, reminiscing about your days at school. Sharing mugs of tea and cocoa, smiling and joking.

- You exchange gifts at midnight. You get another sweater from Molly, but you don’t miss the way she snatches the significantly smaller sweater she knitted with “W” on it, out of the bag before you notice.

- You give Arthur a stack of muggle encyclopedias , and a warm coat from Romania

- George gives you a bag full of candy and several “Weasley’s Fire Crackers”

- You give him a bag full of Romanian prank shop goods.

- “Hey Charlie what does this say?”

- “I donno mate, but if you use it you’ll find out yeah?”

- You give Ginny a chic overcoat she can wear for colder days on the quidditch pitch.

- “How come this says it’s from you and Charlie?” She asks, and you shrug.

- “Charlie just put his name on it after you got it didn’t he?”

- “Yeah, pretty much.”

- You give Percy a first edition copy of his favorite book, and almost smile when you see his expression. He almost reminds you of the boy you knew in school.

- Ron gets a quidditch jersey, and you give Harry an enchanted pen.

- “A pen?” He asks, he’s not complaining. It’s a nice pen, he’s gotten quite tired of the quills these days.

- “An enchanted pen, you need a strand of hair from someone. And wherever you write on your body, will show up in the same spot on them.”

- “So you know, if you and Ginny are ever apart, you can always send her a message.”

- You did it more for Ginny then for him really. You remember the thrill you felt when you first saw Charlie’s chicken scratch handwriting on your arm after being apart for months.

- Bill gives you an enchanted mirror from Egypt, so you can see whatever it is you want to look at.

- “Let’s be honest Bill, this is really more for Charlie so he can look at the Dragons in the middle of the night without waking me.”

- “It’s for you too, now you won’t have to get up and go with him”

- Fleur give you French perfume and hand cream.

- “Something you ‘vil actually use.”

- You laugh and smile, and grin as you exchange gifts and try them on. Tease each other and blow up fireworks in the backyard.

- It’s only at three in the morning, when everyone else is snug in bed, that you tip toe out of bed. Careful not to wake Ginny.

- Charlie’s already waiting for you downstairs, his eyes bloodshot as he takes a sip of Father’s fire whisky.

- “How is it, that even though we are in the same house, I feel like I’ve seen you for about thirty minutes in the past two days.” He mumbles, his face in your hair, letting out a deep sigh as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

- You settle beside him, your head on his shoulder.

- “Maybe I’d spend more time with you if you actually got me a Christmas present.” You smile teasingly as you rest your chin on his chest, gazing up to look at him.

- You feel his hand tangle with yours, his hands playing with your fingers.

- “I thought you said no gifts this year?” He grins back teasingly, but his eyes are focused on your hand.

- “Well we kinda broke the bank with everyone else’s.” You chuckle, and take a deep breath, taking in his scent.

- Even after all these years he still smells like honeysuckle and grass. He smells like home.

- You shut your eyes, taking in his scent and his warmth. Nearly humming in pleasure. When you feel something cold and hard touch the tip of your ring finger.

- Your eyes open, as you feel it slide down to the base of you finger, where your finger and palm meet.

- you glance down to see a rather remarkable diamond ring sparkling on your finger.

- Charlie holds you close, one arm around your shoulders, while the other hand rests over yours.

- “So what do you say? I feel like we’ve been married for a while now really, why don’t we make it official.”

- You just smile.

[seventfics]

Lionhearted

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Talking in your Sleep Relationships: Cirilla/Morvran Voorhis (+ background Emhyr/Geralt) Rating: T  Content Warnings: None Summary: Before her future reign can begin, Cirilla has to commit to the trust exercise that is an arranged marriage. If only her sleep would be peaceful.

Read on AO3

* * *

“...Cirilla?”

Ciri stirs fully awake at a gentle touch over her shoulder. It is a miracle she does not lash out instinctively and break something. Her limbs feel tight, aching by how tense they’d become in sleep. The faint shadows of a nightmare still dance behind her eyes. She hears the clopping of hooves, the horses of the Wild Hunt approaching—the cold blast of winter hits her as if naked in the snow.

Pure imagination. The bedroom is warm-lit by a hearth. It is summer, and she is safe. She is more than safe.

The touch that rose her pulls her back from the lingering vision of doom. She turns to light eyes, pinched in worry.

“Sorry..." She draws the sheets closer, her wild hair a fan over her face. The room is warm, but a chill runs under her skin all the same. "Did I disturb you?”

Morvran studies her. He sits a comfortable distance away from her. The monstrously-large bed makes that easy. “Not really.”

Slowly, her muscles unwind from their tense curl. A minute passes, and she’s tired again. “Don’t let me keep you awake,” she says rolling on her side, and then, almost a whisper, “you know, you can call me Ciri.”

* * *

The final battle is over. It has been for a peaceful few years. And yet, her mind stays restless, ready for the next enemy to come tearing through her life. So far it’s only been arrogant old men with predictable ambitions, which is pitiful compared to the ageless Aen Elle that had chased her through time and space, and the world-ending White Frost waiting at the end of it all. Really, they should step up their game if they want to make her sweat.

Her dreams made of frost and blood do most of the work for them. It's inescapable. Exhausting.

Every time she wakes from snow clogging her lungs, she sees Morvran had stirred awake in the night, and she apologizes with genuine-felt guilt.

Her husband is always polite about it, which is hard for her to accept at first. Experience tells her to expect a confrontation, or a fight about affecting him with her sleeplessness. But Morvran—she discovers quickly into their spousal arrangement—is quiet company, even if sometimes he seems a little on edge himself. A soldier's nervousness lies behind his gaze. The General without a war to fight. At least she’s not the only one struggling with peacetime.

They say that marriage forges a bond between two souls. That is what her father—of all people—tells her on one of their joint-breakfast mornings.

“There is a responsibility there," Emhyr says with enviable composure. "He is the only one’s opinion you must consult and rely on with matters of state.”

Ciri nearly scoffs. “Not even yours then?”

“Not even mine. Do you not trust him?”

She thinks long after that, a little angry with his nonchalance. Of course she doesn't. Of course it's not that easy. Ask any other lady or princess what their marriage gave them and see if any one of them bring up the word trust. Her father is biased. His own marriage had been sown by destiny's hand.

And yet, after the whispers of dark dreams rouse her at night, she does trust Morvran to be near, to remind her with his presence that she is no longer a child running from great and powerful enemies anymore. She is the daughter of the Black Sun. Nothing can touch her now.

Would be nice to sleep well again on her own soon, though.

Emhyr accepts her silence and sips his tea while it is still warm. He doesn't say anything about the dark circles under her eyes, and she doesn't talk about why they're there.

Geralt visits not a day after, the first time after her marriage, and he sure won't let it go unaddressed.

“I'm fine, Geralt. Haven’t slept well is all.”

That is all she's willing to say, not wanting to bother him too much when he'd arrived so happy to greet her. But it’s Geralt. He knows her better than anyone. Better than she knows herself.

"Haven't slept? You know what that does to your clarity of mind. And are you doing anything about it? Is it the mattress? I tell you, they make them too soft in the south. You need a little firmness to stop you when you're tossing..."

His fussing calms her heart. The opposite would be just as true. If he panics, all her own worries neutralize as she remembers how to think straight for him. They are each other's pillars.

So he frets, and she waves him off, feeling a little better by the second.

Tea together in the garden is a relaxing surprise activity with him, although now that he's brought up the topic of modern furniture and poor craftsmanship, Geralt is grouching about how uncomfortable the chairs are.

“They’re meant to keep your spine straight," she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s crap. Doesn’t fit all of me.”

“That’s because you’re carrying fifty pounds of armor and steel. You might not want to rest all your weight on it actually.”

Geralt purposely leans back on his chair, the wood giving an alarming creak. “Are you calling me fat?”

She laughs at him so hard the Impera keeping guard from the garden's entrance twitch their heads to them. They act like a sign of joy from her is a terrifying dragon come to burn the palace down.

“I miss that,” Geralt mutters with a fake pout.

“What? My laughter?”

“Your…ease with it. I know being empress is nothing to scoff at." At the mention of her future court, Ciri touches her imperial diadem—both a symbol of her patrimony and a wedding band. Geralt tracks the gesture. The sigh he gives is heavy and long. "I mean, shit, this whole marriage thing attached to it isn’t what either of us planned for."

The metal warms under her rubbing thumb. "None of what's happened in our journey ever has been."

A witcher's path is unpredictable. One lives by the day and learns to adapt to what comes. And she's doing that still. Adapting like a witcheress. Soon, she'll have to start thinking more like an empress.

"The General," Geralt starts, and she refocuses on him and the serious set of his brow. "He’s a good man at least. A little…eccentric I think, but he is one of the better ones in Emhyr’s court.”

Now it's her turn to grumble, “I know. It’s annoying. I wish I could have a reason to hate him but he’s so…ugh, mannerly!”

This time Geralt laughs, and for a moment, Ciri is a witcher’s child in the wilds again, punting her father’s shoulder for a dumb joke he's pulled at her expense.

She stops suddenly when a familiar figure, all shoulders and dark colors to contrast his light hair, comes through the garden gates. 'Speak of the devil' might be a rude thought to have, yet it perfectly encapsulates how luck draws its cards on her this morning.

“Geralt of Rivia!” comes Morvran’s happy voice. “I thought I heard the rumble of bickering servants on the way here. Now I understand what displeased them so.”

“I’m not wearing their black-and-white cotton traps and you can’t make me.”

Ciri blinks between them. It surprises her how well Geralt gets along with him, and how openly joyous Morvran is being about his company—and yes, she would call him joyous even as his face is subtle in expressing it. Breaking courtly address would normally upset her recently-made husband no matter the suspect. And yet Geralt, who does not mean to do it intentionally, receives no such berating speeches on etiquette and formality. Actually, Morvran shakes his hand the northern way of greeting. Maybe he's good at adapting too.

“Of course not, sir witcher," Morvran says with his other hand raised in acquiescence. "There is no dire interrogation to fulfill at this hour.”

"Don't threaten me with a free clean shave again." To her, he offers a parting, “Alright. I've taken up enough of your time, I’m gonna head out.”

Her heart sinks at the cursory goodbye. This is her father in all but blood leaving her secure little bubble once more, to be a witcher without her. She is not a child anymore—he doesn't ruffle her ashen hair, though she dearly wants him to for old time's sake. It would mess up her diadem and the intricate plaiting of the braids behind her head.

She is not a child anymore, and yet she is already melancholy at the quick turn of his back.

"See you later, Geralt." Her words are a promise. We will see each other again.

As he steps into the flower path that winds back to the guards, Morvran calls out, “His imperial majesty is currently in a meeting.”

Geralt stops. He looks, for some reason, abashed. “What? Why are you telling me that?”

“I thought you would be privy to that information." Morvran shrugs in dismissal. "Va faill."  

It's almost funny how fast Geralt stomps out of the garden. As Ciri observes the exchange, all her previous heartache is swept under the rug. There is something she's not picking up. Fortunately it's not all she has to talk about to her present, lingering company.

“It’s weird that you two actually get along.” At her words, Morvran turns to her with open surprise.

“Geralt of Rivia is a genial man," he says, his hands meeting behind his back as is Nilfgaardian custom in public. "I believe anyone would be glad to refresh their acquaintance with him.”

Ciri, who was not raised with said customs and is instead being tutored in them with little success, snorts. Loudly.

“You just like that you can rope him into joining a riding competition on a promise of free food.”

Under all his Nilfgaardian powder, Morvran blushes. She can see it in his ears.

She laughs at him too.

* * *

It’s another night of bad dreams. Her memories have toyed with her enough that now she is witness to futures she cannot control. Geralt alone on the Path, the Empire at war with itself from her negligence, all of her old friends, her family, broken apart and dying as she lives on.

She wakes slowly, not in a startle or a choked breath. Her body aches worse than if she had.

Morvran is already awake beside her, a frown set upon his lips.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Between waking and the dissipating fear of her nightmare, Ciri is caught completely off guard. “I...didn’t, no.”

He doesn't explain any more, choosing to give her space as he's done for previous interrupted nights. Part of her wants to ask more. She wants to hear what she had said—what nightmare had she been speaking into existence. Did he recognize anything? Did he want to ask, but simply refrain out of properness?

Whatever it is she uttered in fever sleep, she lets it go. Talking about it now would be worse, somehow. Like making her nightmares a real, concrete thing.

Sleep still fights her long into the night. It does not come a second time. Which is good, as she opens her eyes to a timely assassination.

The weapon under her pillow slides into her hand not a breath later. She always keeps something sharp and deadly there. Good habit, both her fathers would say, for different reasons.

Before the assassin can strike, Ciri blinks in between time. They are dead where they stand, frozen mid-step, collapsing the very next instant time moves for her.

In the commotion that follows, everyone wakes. The emperor looks as regal and rested as always and Ciri envies that as her hair resembles a rat’s nest, mussed from the fear-sweat of her haunted sleep. At least Morvran is just as unkempt as her. They make quite the competition for most messy bedhead, side by side. And though the hours stretch on, from private meetings to argued suspicions, Morvran looks in his element. Her element.

Put an enemy in front of them and they will beat it down until it’s rid of.

Her mind is driven to this new task. Securing entry points, questioning any guards that had slack. Her edges feels frayed—sticking to Morvran like a shadow as they move from room to room, servant to official, order to action, way past sunrise. Her angry expression turns any worried servant away from asking for her imperial majesty to eat.

The assassin had tried to kill him. And no one seems to be that concerned since her own head is still attached to her shoulders. Not even Morvran.

Things calm down well past noon. They both return tired and dry-eyed to their arranged room.

She touches his sleeve and holds his weary gaze. “If you die I won’t forgive you.”

Morvran nods, like she makes sense. “I would never plan on it. It would upset your father.”

For a second, Ciri doesn’t know which one he means, and that makes her smile stupidly, at its pure truth.

She wipes her grin off before Morvran has a chance to politely appreciate it.

* * *

“You’re antsy.”

Ciri hums, taking a bite of her deviled eggs. “I'm not antsy.”

“You are bending the good fork.”

She stares down at her hand and finds that Emhyr is right and the fork is just a little twisted at the neck.

"I'm sure someone's job is to fix it. Just, call them."

Nothing in her posture or her expression could possibly tell Emhyr what sits heavy in her head, short of him being a mindreader. And yet, somehow, he pieces everything together correctly to ask, “Would it be so terrible for you to like him?”

Ciri sighs, looking up at the ornate chandelier, begging it to crash down on her and get her out of this conversation. Because she already does like Morvran, quite a lot, and it is terrible. She would hate to admit to her father that he is right. He’ll never live it down.

Of course, she doesn't need to say anything at all. Her godsdamned mind-reading father already knows. When did he learn to read her so effortlessly?

...Has he been consulting Geralt?

However it may be, Emhyr clears his throat and straightens his fork on his side of the breakfast table. “Some people," he says as she sulks internally, "are fortunate and marry the one they love. Others find a way to make it work.”

At his following pause, Ciri straightens in her seat to meet his gaze. His silences are always weighty and grave.

“I hope that he is worth the work,” he ends.

Then the moment passes, and he's eating again. Leaving her to contemplate alone what it means that her father, the emperor, might actually want her to be happy with the man who would share her rule once she is officially crowned. It's...it's trusting. It's too much to think about so early in the morning.

Being who she is, however, Ciri returns to the source of her sulk and the many questions it created.

“So, have you spoken with Geralt?”

Emhyr drinks his tea very slowly. “Of course not. Had he anything important to relay to me?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I'm sure you know he came to visit recently, but you don’t ask me what we talked about?”

“Whatever it is you two get up to does not concern me.”

She hums, sipping her own tea. “It’s funny I guess, I thought you asked of him through Morvran.”

Emhyr sets his cup down, narrowing his eyes in thought. As he studies her, she keeps on sipping her tea until it’s finished. “Just curious,” she adds before parting for the day. Give him something to puzzle over that isn't her.

* * *

'Did you know you talk in your sleep?'

Only two nights of the next seven does she stir awake. Not from bad dreams, exactly. Not from dark memories or anxious fears either. Ciri rubs her face now, frustrated, pulled from sleep again for no apparent reason.

Morvran is awake beside her, as he always is. His face is not pressed with a frown, though. She can't stop thinking on his words so casually spoken the night an assassin tried to take him from her, and settles back onto her enormous pillows.

“...What did I say this time?”

“Oh,” he blinks at her, and it’s sleepy and lazy, not at all very general-like. “Something about a swallow. That you miss it. Did you used to own a bird?”

She closes her eyes briefly, oddly at peace with her sleep talking. He had listened to her secret fears for all these nights, her haunted screams, and made them his own secrets.

If she could trust him to know that, then, it is not so difficult to trust him with the more simple things.

“No. Swallow was the name of my sword. I carried her with me everywhere.”

“Ah. Where is she now?”

“I gave her to Geralt before I came to be here. A witcher’s sword is not something I can wield from a throne.”

He touches his hand to her cheek, the first time he’s breached courtly etiquette with her. It is warm and callused.

“I am confident that sir Geralt keeps Swallow sharp and oiled so that the blade stays strong. I am...sorry,” he says with more awkwardness.

She covers his hand with her own, a little laugh escaping her when he blinks rapidly at her returned touch, like he had not expected it at all. “It's alright. I entrusted her to him.”

Marriage forges a bond between two people.

[bytheangell]

I Don’t Want to Say I (I Want to Say We)

( @shadowhunterbingo​ square: Arranged Marriage) (Read on AO3)

“What do you mean we don’t count?” Alec demands, voice rising to a near shout. Andrew keeps his expression as professionally neutral as possible at the outburst. It’s a closed meeting, and outside of the two Council members who requested it, the only person besides Alec is Andrew. This isn’t uncommon for them - Alec often brings someone else to meetings that could just as easily be entirely private, if only so he has a friendly face in his corner when dealing with some of the more antagonistic Council members. Andrew has been that ‘someone else’ for quite a few meetings that Izzy or Jace couldn’t make it to.

“Your marriage is hardly a sacrifice made in good faith,” Blackridge points out. “The warlocks feel the same. With how quickly - and willingly - Bane left with you for Alicante, they aren’t positive he won’t side more with you than his own people. He’s done it before. And so have you for him.”

“Everyone knows your allegiance is more to each other than each other’s people,” Lydia Branwell reluctantly adds. Andrew can tell that she doesn’t want to be here, and probably is only because the Council thought the news coming from her might soften the blow, given her history and connection with Alec. “Both sides want a newly arranged marriage to seal the agreement. Something purely symbolic.”

Andrew watches Alec silently struggle to keep his expression impassive, but he knows Alec well enough to catch the way his hands clench into fists at his side, nails digging into his palms as he considers the orders he’s being given. Andrew is impressed to hear Alec’s voice is almost even when he finally speaks.

“I can’t ask anyone to do that,” Alec says finally, shaking his head.

“You won’t be asking them, you’ll be ordering them. This isn’t a debate, Lightwood,” Blackridge tells him, with a smirk. “Trust me, I doubt Rey is any happier about being on the other end of this.”

Andrew, who’s remained otherwise silent this entire meeting, can’t help but react now. His eyes widen for a moment in surprise, gaze flicking from Alec to Blackridge in an immediate shift of interest. “Lo-- Mr. Rey is choosing the warlock?”

Blackridge laughs. “No, Mr. Rey is the warlock. The warlock council from the Spiral Labyrinth is likely informing him as we speak.”

Andrew’s blood turns cold. Lorenzo. Lorenzo is the other end of the arranged marriage.

A lot of thoughts go through Andrew’s head at that moment, but he can’t say any of them because no one knows about the relationship he’s had with Lorenzo for the past six months. A relationship Andrew almost could’ve pretended wasn’t that big of a deal if it wasn’t for the violent churn in his stomach at the thought of seeing Lorenzo with anyone else, or the sinking weight in his chest at the idea of losing him now, even if it was over something entirely out of their control.

No, that somehow only makes it worse.

“If you can’t do it, someone else will do it for you,” Blackridge adds to Alec, entirely unaware of the internal crisis Andrew’s having, suddenly realizing that Alec being in control of this situation is the only way Andrew has a chance of coming out of this with his heart intact.

“He can do it,” Andrew says suddenly, drawing three sets of surprised eyes in his direction.

“Andrew, I can’t-”

“You can do it,” Andrew repeats pointedly, hoping his tone and the pleading look in his eyes are enough to convey to Alec that he’s not just spouting generic ‘you got this, buddy!’ reassurances.

Alec looks him over curiously, but Andrew doesn’t risk being more insistent than he already was, not wanting to look suspicious.

“Alright. I’ll choose someone,” Alec agrees slowly. Andrew feels his shoulders sag in visible relief.

“You have three days, Lightwood. Or we’re stepping in,” Blackridge says, and a minute later he and Lydia are gone from the room.

Once they’re definitely alone again, Alec turns to Andrew.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” Alec asks him.

Andrew hesitates. What is his plan? To stall in the hopes of Lorenzo refusing on his end? To make sure he can at least get a say in who is about to step in and ruin the best thing that’s happened to him in years? Or to be bold enough to put himself in a position he isn’t sure he’s ready for, in a declaration he is equally unsure Lorenzo will appreciate, or even agree to?

“I volunteer,” Andrew says before he can change his mind.

“You what?” Alec nearly chokes on the words.

“I volunteer. I’ll marry Lorenzo,” Andrew repeats.

“No. You don’t deserve that - no one deserves this,” Alec shakes his head. “I didn’t walk out of my own political marriage just to force one on someone else.”

“You aren’t forcing me. It’s fine, Alec. I’ll do it.” Andrew, Raziel help him, still can’t bring himself to admit why. He isn’t sure if it’s to protect Lorenzo and honor their agreement to not let anyone find out about their secret relationship, or because he’s afraid that admitting it wouldn’t be a true ‘sacrifice’ would force Alec to choose someone else. No matter the reason, he hesitates, guarding the truth even now.

Alec looks him over closely.

“You keep calling him Lorenzo,” Alec observes cautiously. “Are the two of you…?”

“Quite close already, Sir. Yes,” Andrew confirms without saying the word boyfriend. He knows he can trust Alec, but he also knows that Alec is bound, to a certain extent, to following orders. The less he knows the more plausible deniability he has later if questioned on his choice.

If he chooses Andrew at all.

“I see,” Alec’s expression softens.

“I can’t let it be anyone else. Please, Alec, let me do this,” Andrew says, openly pleading now.

“I still don’t like it. Give me those three days to see what I can do. But if it has to be someone… you’re certain you want it to be you?”

Andrew nods. “Yes.”

Alec sighs. “Alright. Thank you, Andrew.”

It isn’t until they’re both back at the Institute and Andrew receives a ‘We need to talk’ text from Lorenzo that a thought occurs to him for the first time:

What if Lorenzo doesn’t want to marry him?

They’re dating, sure, and Andrew would like to think that there’s something there between them… but dating and marriage are two very different things. What if Lorenzo would prefer someone else? What if he liked Andrew for now but had no intention of keeping him around forever? They’re doing fine now, but what if this offer is too much? What if this breaks them?

Andrew is a mess of nerves the rest of the day, barely able to fill out basic reports without his mind wandering until his shift is finally over and he immediately makes his way to Lorenzo’s. He walks, hoping the fresh air will calm him and clear his head, but it does neither.

The anxiety must be written all over his face, because the moment he steps through the door Lorenzo takes one look at him and says, “You already know.”

Andrew nods.

“It’s ridiculous!” Lorenzo exclaims. “Do you know they had the audacity to tell me it wasn’t even a sacrifice for me!? ‘What’s a couple of decades?’, they said! As if-” he words break off then, surprisingly emotional. “As if losing the time I’d have with you wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”

Lorenzo thought he was losing him. Of course he did, Andrew realizes. Because he expects that the Shadowhunter chosen would be forced into it, the same as him. And maybe if anyone other than Alec were in charge, that would be the case.

“You don’t have to lose me, Ren,” Andrew starts, but Lorenzo cuts him off before he can finish.

“Damn right I don’t, because I’m not doing it. They can find another High Warlock if they have to.”

“Well,” Andrew says. “That would make the fact that I volunteered to be the Shadowhunter in the arrangement a bit awkward, then.”

Lorenzo, who’d been pacing back and forth in his barely contained frustration and anger, stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

“I was with Alec when they told him what was happening, and I… I volunteered. I couldn’t exactly stand there and listen to them discuss my boyfriend marrying someone else.”

“Andrew, I…” Lorenzo starts, but his words trail off. The silence that follows while Lorenzo processes the new information puts Andrew back on edge.

“If you don’t want to, that’s… well, I suppose it isn’t fine, but I’ll understand,” Andrew’s voice is quiet but at least it fills the silence. “We hadn’t really discussed our future that far before.”

“I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation,” Lorenzo points out.

“I’m not. For me, at least, it’s… well, if things kept going well that was always the endgame, wasn’t it? We’re just accelerating the timeline.”

Andrew can feel his heartbeat in his chest, the pulse points in his neck and wrists seeming to quicken with every passing second that he waits for Lorenzo to say something, anything, about whether or not he wants to marry him.

“You would really want to marry a warlock?” Lorenzo asks him, and the hint of disbelief behind the words guts Andrew. Lorenzo puts on a front so often that sometimes even he forgets how vulnerable his boyfriend can actually be.

“I would really want to marry you, Lorenzo,” Andrew corrects, taking a step toward Lorenzo to reach out his hands. He doesn’t take Lorenzo’s, however. Not yet. Andrew stops halfway to his boyfriend and waits.

For a moment he’s afraid Lorenzo isn’t going to move, but then he’s closing the space between them, ignoring Andrew’s outstretched hands to wrap his arms around Andrew’s waist and pull him flush against his body, lips meeting in a deep, emotional kiss.

When they finally part for air Andrew looks into Lorenzo’s eyes to see the faint shimmer of unshed tears there before he blinks them away, smiling.

“Is that a yes?” Andrew asks, not wanting to leave anything up to assumptions at this point.

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirms, nodding. “I want to marry you, too.”

Andrew beams. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined proposing. I don’t even have a ring,” he laughs.

Lorenzo smirks. “I could do something about that,” he says coyly. There’s a wave of golden yellow magic, and then two beautiful golden bands rest in his open palm.

“Of course you would have engagement bands just sitting around for anyone,” Andrew laughs.

“Not just anyone,” Lorenzo admits.

Oh. “Oh, Ren…”

“You weren’t the only one hoping maybe someday…” Lorenzo’s words trail off as he looks up at Andrew with a soft smile. “I just didn’t expect to need them so soon.”

With any last lingering doubts or hesitations gone from his mind, it’s Andrew who closes the space between them this time, knowing they’re going to be just fine.

[vampiresuns]

Aelius Anatole Radošević De Silva

Anatole has changed a bit as a character since i was around the first time, so he’s getting re introduced. His open to make friends.

art by @elizastarkart​

Name: Aelius Anatole Radoševic De Silva. He has two surnames because his mother is latina. He is a mixed Latine-Slav, with family that is all latine, vesuvian, and slavic. People he’s friend’s with call him Anatole (russian/greek pronunciation, he doesn’t acknowledge the French one). Only people he has a strictly professional relationship with, and his uncle call him Aelius.

‘Aelius’ means sun, while ‘Anatole’ means sunrise. He’s fully aware of this, he chose his name himself.

His nicknames are:

‘Nana’ is the most common nickname, and the one most people use.

His mother calls him Lilito, Nana, Nanito, Toly, Tolito, Tortolito.

His father calls him Lily or Lilu.

Toly, Tolytoly or Tolito are nicknames used by his maternal grandmother, his aunt, and his Vesuvian family.

He will not mind if you want to call him Toly, but you cannot call him Lily/Lilu if you’re not his father.

Asra came up with Nanatole, which he doesn’t like but lets Asra call him anyway. Asra also came up with Nana Banana and that is absolutely forbidden.

Family: on his father’s side both the Radošević, who are slavic (yugoslavic, specifically), and the Cassano, a prominent Vesuvian family who has had a hold of the Consulship for years.

On his mother side, the De Silva.

His father’s name is Vladislav, but everyone calls him Vlad, he’s an alchemist, a polymath, and works in what is most similar to biochemical engineering. He has one bother, named Valeriy, who you, however, might now as Valerius. Vlad’s biggest personality trait is being head over heels in love with his wife, and adoring his son more than he thought it was humanly possible to care about someone.

His mother’s name is Louisa De Silva (if you want to add her mother’s surname, it’s Lascal). The L-o-u spelling was a registry mistake she never changed. She moved half across the world while her native country suffer a military-civilian dictatorship to study Medicine. She swore never to go back as long as vestiges of said dictatorship remained in the country. She has two sisters: Paris, who lives in Vesuvia, and Alma, who remained with her parents out of her own choosing. Her medical experience include having been a volunteer war doctor. She didn’t change her surname when she got married.

The Radošević (pronounced Radozheveech) and the Cassano have been entangled families by friendship for generations upon generations, with some marriages between them. Notoriously: Vlad and Val’s father married a Cassano, Matilda, and his bother Mircea, Anatole’s great uncle, also married a Cassano: Florentino. Mircea’s brother and Matilda Cassano died when Vlad and Val were children still, so him and Florentino brought them up.

The Radošević are an overall eccentric family (think the european Addams family), whom are noted for: one, their self-sufficiency/self-preservation, which comes out in a very ‘eccentric people of the world unite’ manner. They appreciate people with character. Two, their leanings towards trades/professions, they do not conceive not doing anything (work hard to play hard). The Cassano, while sharing the quirk, they add the zest for life. It’s like they grabbed the Radošević and told them “you have forgotten how to live and we will remind you how.” Both of them are ridden with racially ambiguous bastard you cannot kill in any way that matters. They simply refuse to. Someone (either the courtiers or Lucio) compared them to roaches, they took it as a compliment.

This will tell you a lot about Anatole’s character.

On a last note, Anatole’s an only child. He has a good relationship with his parents, albeit marked by a sense of distance, solely because he was privately tutored from age 15 and on, which required him to travel a fair share. He was an argumentative teenager, but always cherished whenever he could see his parents. The older he gets, the closer they all become.

Favourite Food: Cake

Favourite drink: Coffee, in general.

Favourite Flower: Iris

Birthday: Nov 1st

Age: 29 (I calculate his age as if he had been born in 1991)

Zodiac:

Sun: Scorpio

Moon: Virgo

Rising: Libra

Mercury & Mars: Scorpio

Venus: Virgo

Patron arcana: Strength & Ace of Swords

Strength

Upright: inner strength, bravery, compassion, focus, Reversed: self doubt, weakness, insecurity      

Ace of Swords

Upright: breakthrough, clarity, sharp mind, Reversed: confusion, brutality, chaos

MBTI Type: INTJ-A

Gender: Transmasculine, but Nonbinary. Uses He/Him pronouns only

Orientation: Identifies as NBLM.

LIs: Julian, Muriel, @ilyamatic​‘s Andrico, @thelazaretmakesmesad​‘s Vishal.

“The sun-like strategist with a solution for everything, and a whole lot of hope in the future.”

More details under the cut!

Physical appearance:

art by @lesbianarcana​

5′4. As you can see in the sprite down below, while he’s slim but with muscle, out of doing a moderate to high level of physical activity. The man has a nice waist and inherited his mother’s hips, which he’s very proud of. He likes his legs and his butt the most about himself

Dark brown eyes, long eyelashes. His hair is naturally black, but he dyes it blond.

Has a mole over his right eyebrow, on the left side of the bridge of his nose, and on his left jaw. He has freckles.

An horizontal scar on his nose, which he got by getting hit with a wooden scaffold square in the face. His nose wasn’t broken out of sheer dumb luck. He has a smaller cut on his cheekbone, which was done by a fencing sabre which lacked the proper tip protection/button. It was done onto him by someone else.

The nose scar is how he met Julian before the plague, as he was the doctor which cured his face.

He has several tattoos:

Right arm: A rapier on his inner forearm. Over his elbow he has a black work band, and over it the words ‘THE SUN IS MY UNDOING’ in all caps, circling his arm.

Left arm: a snake wrapped around his forearm, near to the wrist. The Odyssey quote ‘let’s have a toast to the incompetence of our enemies’ under the inner crook of his elbow, and a floral half sleeve.

Chest and Torso: AMOR OMNIA VINCIT over where his heart is supposed to be. He has laurel leaves on the base of his waist.

Legs: ‘o serpent heart hid with a flowering face‘ in his upper, inner thigh, like really up his left inner thigh. A floral anklet on his right ankle.

Languages Spoken: Too many. He speaks nine languages.

Magic Specialities: His magic is connected to both light and languages (it is a play on words with ‘logos’) so he is both adept in photokinesis — he is able to create and manipulate sources of light — and language related magic — which includes incantation and language manipulation. He learns languages as a faster rate than most people, and while he cannot speak or literally understand a language unless he learns it, his magic allows him to intuitively grasp the meaning of words that are being spoken to him.

This capacity also makes him very good at recognising hidden intentions in people. This is not an ability that he broadcasts having, and when he later succeeds Valerius as the Consul, it is something which aids his diplomatic work but he keeps private.

His words tend to carry more weight sometimes because of his magic, something which he can’t always control — it depends on many factors — so he tries to choose his words carefully and with consideration.

His familiar is a Raccoon, named Antu.

Occupation: While he did study magic and is in touch with his magic, he studied politics, diplomacy and international relations. By trade, and out of will to help people, he is a political analyst and, later in life, a Statesman.

Personality/Trivia:

Willpower or Stubbornness? Depends how you look at it. Passionate, generally devoted, hopeful, independent and sometimes defiant. He is a people-oriented introvert. Competitive, but not aggressively so.

Smarter than he gives himself credit for. Overall charming, even debonair.

Curious by nature, hates having his decisions taken for him.

He is proper, sometimes even distinguished, but he is feral. A firm believer in being kind and compassionate with people, until you cross him one too many times, then nothing will make him taint his vindictive wrath.

Is he humble? For the most part. His humbleness comes from knowing his own limits and knowing he’s not infallible. He does have, however, a good deal of pride in himself and trust in what he can do, and he doesn’t like being underestimated.

He’s not particularly loud, though when the chatterbox is on, then it is on, specially if he’s nervous. He is often never still. 

He’s known he has ADHD since he was seventeen.

Likes dancing.

He fences, almost every Radošević fences/sword fights, and he will let you know at the slightest chance. Which can be either him simply being hyper-fixated in fencing, him flirting, or him letting you know that if the occasion rises, he’s armed.

Friend shaped, lover shaped if you’re daring enough.

He wrinkles his nose when he doesn’t like something.

Speaking of which: he doesn’t like abuse of power, the Court, injustice, supremacists of any kind, unkind, hurtful and selfish people in general; he doesn’t like red meat (he says it tastes like metal or dirt), narrow minded people, incompetence, specially when displayed by people in positions of power, and purposeful apathy.

A mastermind archetype, but he draws his power from connection. He does not conceive a life not lived with others.

A bit of a bastard, he enjoys a good laugh.

He plays the piano and the harp, he sings, he cannot draw, he’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol (which doesn’t really stop him), he likes the opera because he likes watching other people’s drama without being dragged into it, and his favourite season is winter. Also likes playing chess, reading, coffee, flowers, a well tailored outfit, learning, languages, the sea, mysteries, winter, a well laid argument, collecting quills, music, winning, knowing he loves and is loved in return.

When he was 7 he bribed his dad for more dessert, and he ate so much he vomited. His sweet tooth hasn’t gone anywhere, it is alive and well.

Perceptive little bastard, will knife cat you for the sake of it. He has a way more present sense of humour than what he comes across.

Would call himself a ‘trans masculine Mary Poppins’.

He is closest to his parents, his uncle, my other ocs Leonore, Medea and Sabine, his cousins Amparo Cassano and Milenko Radošević, Natiqa, Asra, Portia and Nadia.

If he liked women, he would be paired with Nadia. The possibility both terrifies and fascinates me.

@ilyamatic​, @viviae​, @gaybirdwrites​, @arcanaprentiss​ @apprenticeofcups​

[mchalowitz]

the woman is the king, part two

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part of this story! writing again has been so great and i’m excited for everyone to read where it goes from here! 

part 1: melissa

part 2: dana

———

The exam room is harshly lit, brutally overclean. When the doctor gives the diagnosis, it knocks the breath out of her, and she has the audacity to declare her gratitude. How could she.

The fragility of her age comes to mind on the drive home; her eyes prickle watching her copy of her oncology referral slide across the dashboard.

Dana is only thirty-three. Melissa was only thirty-three. She ponders her mother, Maggie, at thirty-three. Her destiny already decided; along for the military ride. She was carrying the fifth Scully child that year. Their matrarical line is cursed by the thirty-third year.

She simmers with the news for a few days; plotting methods of delivering impending doom. Mulder, the usual harbinger of bad news, is the one she tells first, and she believes using a clinician’s touch might soothe her.

The pronoun that binds them, the “we” travels from his vocal cords to their air between them. When he pauses, she can fill in the blanks of how he wants the sentence to end. We can do something about this or we can fix this. The problem is, there isn’t anything to be done.

Inside her head is a glass and cancer is the water from a faucet turned all the way on. They are merely waiting for the overflow.

--

Tara is pregnant; she is having a boy. Her brother’s wife is thirty-three. It must be so nice, to be dubbed a Scully, and yet remain so blessed at this foredoomed age. 

An appointment to be pumped with poison and Tara’s baby shower fall in the same week. What a scheduling nightmare, she jokes, when she declines the invitation with warm regards. Bill does not laugh and he buys their mother a plane ticket. 

The total lack of skeletal structure takes her over, has her melted into the couch. Scully finds the initial nausea passes quickly this time. It is the wave of self-consciousness from Mulder bearing witness to this betrayal of her body that lingers. 

“It must be kind of exciting,” Mulder comments. She is watching him wipe down the counter and she doesn’t remember a single time she has seen him willingly clean anything. He is not half-assing any of the responsibilities bestowed upon him by the Mrs. Scully. 

“It might be more exciting if it were someone else,” Scully responds, forgoing her usual diplomatic response on the subject. 

Mulder pauses, focuses in on her eyes, and in unsaid words, he nods in agreement. He throws the wet rag into the sink with a stomach-churning squelch and falls beside her on the couch. 

“You know,” she adds, “Melissa always said she wasn’t going to have kids until she was forty.”

Melissa would goad her into increasingly ridiculous futures; nothing is more ridiculous than futures that will never exist. Neither of them could have predicted such an outcome. 

When they were young, one Scully sister was rarely found without the other. It was only the intricacies of adult life that would split them apart. Melissa yearned for adventure; to shed ideals and expectations from their youth in far off places. Their parents envisioned a certain fate for their children, and Dana followed it, until she didn’t. 

As she conjures up those conversations about where their lives would go, she realizes she cannot even remember her voice. It rolls over her like a wave, the awareness of fading memories, and it cracks her guise held barely together. 

Her glassy eyes brim and she finally crumbles, feeling wholly pathetic. She lacks her usual resiliency that he is accustomed to seeing from her as she weeps, “My sister is gone and I have cancer, Mulder.”

“I know,” he says.

“I’ll miss everything,” she whimpers. The weight of mortality hits her; the decades worth of wasted holidays and the lost memory of her nephew’s birth. Scully will never stand in resolution with her partner after their tireless work for the truth. The loss of an uncomplicated life feels enormous. 

She laments what she was never sure of even desiring; the two-story in the suburbs, the babies of her own, the one true love...

“Let’s get married.”

--

His offer hangs in the air. Scully cries a bout of nausea and bolts for the bathroom. When she emerges, Mulder is there to tuck her into bed.

The sun sets and it rises again on a new day. She comes out of the bedroom apprehensively. Finding Mulder on one knee in her hallway isn’t an idea she can rule out completely. It wouldn’t even come close to the craziest thing she has seen him do.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Mulder rubs circles into his forehead with his cell phone pressed to his ear. She gets close enough to vaguely hear the caller on the other end, listen to the outrage behind, “I couldn’t even put the kettle on without her standing right behind me. In my own home, Fox,” and making it seem as though this is the only issue in the world that matters. And Scully kind of wishes that was true.

“That’s her job, Mom,” he replies. The tone of his voice almost makes her laugh. A polite but clear get me out of here she knows well that comes out during conversations with authority figures, midwestern cops, and not unsurprisingly, mothers.  

Their eyes meet, he looks at her as though she is his unsurpassable savior. He begs off the phone, making the usual adult child promises, and sets his cell phone down on the table. 

Scully commends Mulder for trying to be more involved with his family since his mother’s stroke. But what a fate he has, caring for the medically and emotionally broken women in his life. He gives her a tight lipped smile and she asks, “Is everything alright?”  

“Jury’s still out,” he declares with a shrug. He stands and starts walking toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Water, toast, a ring?” 

A certainly interesting turn of events for them, a question that could develop into an actual conversation about the night before. 

“Mulder.”

“We could get married, Scully.” 

“This is so like you, Mulder. This is your stream of consciousness decision making,” she counters. Scully flattens her hands on the table, takes a breath, and attempts to change her tone to sound a little more kind. “I know the idea that I’m dying is bleak. But there are implications to getting married. I couldn’t do that to you.” 

Scanning Mulder’s eyes, Scully can see he understands what she means by implications. “Don’t think about that,” he tells her finally, “If you really believe this is the end, what do you still want to experience?” 

Scully’s eyes flash away, toward the door. Four years ago, she stood in that spot, and assured her sister unequivocally of her absolute disinterest in dating her new partner. Even if he were just a guy. 

Selfishness has often forced a wedge between them; a precursor to many experiences they would have as partners. His brilliance and humanity drew her in then, not unlike the way it does now. When the question was posed--just any guy--their debates were thrilling, a little flirtatious even, and now they can absolutely infuriate her, but she respects his ideals, and she knows that sentiment is reciprocated. 

On occasion, Scully is even a little selfish, and allows herself to appreciate just a guy with a little flop of hair that falls onto his forehead, and with the most charming smile. 

Whether it be guilt or admiration, Mulder wants her to experience everything before it gets taken away. She can admire the altruism. 

Mulder doesn’t ask again, he only suggests. And she accepts. 

--

The commencement of their marriage is without fanfare in a government building on a Friday afternoon with grocery store flowers and a safe kiss on the cheek to clinch the deal. There are no rings but he holds her left hand as they bound down the courthouse steps. During their late lunch at a local diner, the waitress notices their attire, and offers them a free slice of pie, any flavor they want, because it is a special occasion. 

A few paces ahead of her on the way to the car, Mulder opens her door. “Your getaway car, my bride,” he teases. The smile on her lips quickly fades. His jovial face morphs to confusion. 

But it’s the drip. Blood splatters on the clean, clear plastic protecting their chocolate cream. She tries to maneuver for her purse but he quickly procures tissues from the inside pocket of his jacket. 

He squats next to the passenger side of the car and holds tissues to the nose of his bride. 

--

Something is weirdly, intangibly incorrect. 

It starts with weekend plans. Mulder is already well aware of her singular escape, her monograph for the Penology Review, with its looming deadline coming up. 

He normally makes comments about her unwavering professionalism. It is a mutual agreement to keep their marriage to themselves. The federal government has no investment in the inner workings of their lives; they are legally married and they both know that could easily mean reassignment for both of them. It doesn’t stop him from sneaking in a few witticisms for his own amusement. 

Mulder knocks. That’s weird.

The wine is truly suspicious. Except for the occasional beer, Mulder was never much for alcohol to begin with, but what is especially bizarre is the sudden lack of concern over her doctor’s recommended meal plan. He had been following it down to the last letter, and while a glass of wine is not exactly forbidden, it is not the first item on their shopping list. 

“We never really talk much, do we?” 

Admittedly, the shared looks and delicate touches of silent communication is where they excel, but the question is still somewhat puzzling. Since beginning a routine of casual marital cohabitation, she believes they talk quite a bit. The minutiae of everyday life is often a topic of conversation in ways it never has been. 

Scully still plays along by agreeing that, no, they don’t talk. She sips wine and tells him true-ish stories of Marcus, the prom date of a Scully, but not herself, and the infamous pumper truck scandal involving her brother Charlie. 

Romantic intimacy has not exactly been a component of their marriage and she has found that cancer does not make one feel like the most desirable of specimens. He has never expressed anything to make her believe he feels anything for her beyond friendship, despite the deep affection they share. 

He leans in now; his eyes closed and head cocked. Kissing him isn’t a repulsive idea, but it just seems off, because Mulder is acting so strangely out of character. 

Scully scrambles off the couch to get away from the man that is so clearly not her partner. Absolutely horrified, she stares at Mulder, and has no reservations when he steps forward to cuff the pathetic and vile man that invades her living room.  

--

Many lines have still not been crossed and she doesn’t think they ever will be. The cancer is still aggressively present with the treatments doing very little. 

Scully prepares herself for the eventuality of hospitalization, potentially for good, and it is very tempting to keep that from Mulder, to allow them to remain in their bubble, but she knows that isn’t fair.

Her car idles on the street outside Harold Spuller’s care home and three soft raps sound on her driver’s side window. She sucks in air deeply and wipes the tears from her cheeks before rolling down the window.

“I didn’t mean for things to get so heated back there.”

“Me neither,” she agrees. When her eyes flash up to his, so guilty and fond, her words fall out in a tumble, unable to prolong this evasion of the truth any longer. “I don’t know why I lied to you. I’m not fine. My treatments aren’t working and my doctors don’t think another round will change that.”

“I’m in this with you, Scully.”

“I know you are,” she affirms. She ducks her head down toward the steering wheel, like a little girl caught eating dessert before dinner. “I��m tired, Mulder.” 

“I’ll follow you.”

His headlights shine in her rearview mirror, trailing behind all the way back to where they began this night in Georgetown. Arriving in the apartment, she shuts the door behind them, and informs him, “I’m going to take a shower,” and he nods, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder. He loosens his tie and starts meandering toward the bedroom. 

The phantom ghost of his touch remains on her shoulder and it reminds her of his romantic soul that she is only now been introduced to. Mulder is more emotionally open and affection than she is. He treats her like a wife. They are married, after all. 

Their marital bliss is of their own design; enjoyably innocent with its lack of certain intimate elements left largely undiscussed. However, there is delight to be found in mere shared company. With a no-work policy now enacted in her home, the opportunity to see funnier, more relaxed, and domestic sides of each other often makes it feel as though their marriage could be real. 

An unspoken agreement to live this arrangement without rules creates something representative of authentic matrimony. Ignoring the initial awkwardness when sharing a bed leads to the normalization of pressing into his warm side each night; falling asleep faster and deeper. Leisurely playing with his hair while reading on the couch one evening introduced a few form of relaxation they both enjoy. He even calls her “honey” occasionally, and she must admit, it makes her feel pleasantly warm to hear it. 

It wasn’t right to keep him out of the loop.

Sitting on the tile shower floor, Scully washes the last six hours from her skin. In an attempt to prove to herself, to everyone, that she can still do this, she pushes herself too far. The best decision for the case was to take down the nurse. For her fragile body, not as much.

A small box sits on top of her towel. She picks it up, weighing it gently in her palm.

Mulder already lies innocently under the covers and appears deeply enthralled in his nighttime reading. He looks very youthful and sweet in his wire-framed glasses and his large feet poking out at the end of the bed. She presents the box in question and inquires, “Mulder, what’s this?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs. He glances up briefly, taking off his glasses. “Oh. Wedding present.”

Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, she sits down on top of the comforter, and cautiously opens the box. Her eyes fall on a gorgeously dainty bracelet with a small diamond affixed to a silver chain. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Scully finally admits. Mulder smiles, wordlessly leaning forward to close the distance between them. His kiss finally comes with soft lips and firm resolve.  

--

A keen ear kept on the exchange occurring in the hallway, Scully hears the malice in “let her die with dignity,” the intense intent to guilt. Since childhood, Bill has been masterful at identifying a scapegoat. 

Appearing at her bedside, Scully takes her brother’s hand. It has been quite some time since they were together in person and she is aware she should focus on the grand gesture of his presence. But they have always sparred on injustice and she just witnessed him as the purveyor. 

“I don’t want you to talk to him like that,” she tells him. 

It takes almost nothing to generate a quarrel between the two of them. “You keep defending him, Dana, and I don’t see what there is about him to protect,” Bill argues. “You wouldn’t even be in this situation if...”

“Fox has been very helpful,” Maggie interrupts. Their mother is well versed in deescalating the disputes of Dana and Bill; the oil and water of the Scully children. “Bill, sit down and be civil.”

Where Mulder pushes, Bill pulls, and Dana is left somewhere in the middle. Something akin to a jealous feud brews between the two men in her life; each vying for the role of ultimate fixer. It is only when Mulder orchestrates the impossible that her brother cannot deny the miracle. 

Most conversations were plans for a comfortable end or perhaps a prolonged, managed experience. The concept of remission, a life without the dark cloud of cancer, was a possibility never even considered. 

The day of her discharge finally arrives after a final weeklong observation of her progress, and Mulder, as a now regular fixture of the post-critical care ward, shows up to her room early as usual. He drops a bag on her empty hospital bed. “I brought you some clothes from your apartment,” Mulder informs her. “Unfortunately I couldn’t find anything as uniquely versatile as the hospital gown.” 

“I appreciate the effort,” she smiles, ripping open the plastic bag.

Scully can feel an awkwardness emanating from him with three feet between them. She is taking stock of the items he provided when he finally speaks, “Listen, I can be out--” 

With a week to discuss the topic, neither of them were brave enough to allow it. The last thing Scully wants Mulder to believe is she married him to take advantage of a kindness he extended to her. It was done with such a different outcome in mind; a selfless act with an outcome to be bathed in heartache. 

Now, there is no plan on how to approach where things will go from here. Scully didn’t ever think she would be in a position to have to consider it. 

At the very least, they deserve time to enjoy a lack of this particular impending doom. 

“Should we get dinner tonight?”

If there is anything they deserve more of, it is time.

It is health.

It is stability.

[handlewithkara]

Thanks, I hate it

So, I was trying to rewatch season 3 again and wow, I remembered why I hate it (and particularly 3B) so much. Maybe hate is the wrong word. There is good things in there. Things I can appreciate. 

But I feel like my biggest gripe with it, more than shipping, more than characterization is that it is really hard to watch a show when you very fundamentally disagree with a position the show takes. 

And I think I knew that that was going to be the case I think from the moment Mon-El has his revealing conversation with J’onn in 3x13. J’onn is a character we are supposed to like, so it was pretty clear to me, that in this case, the position he took in this conversation was a position the show takes. 

Here is goes: Supergirl Season 3 firmly takes the position that it is the morally right thing for Mon-El to do is to not tell Kara that he has feelings for her. 

(the show also takes the position that it is honorable of Kara not to tell Lena her secret identity, situations that are paralleled on occasion. I think the situations are somewhat different, but still think that in both cases the position of the show is questionable or at least something I really disagree with)

First: What I think they were trying to achieve with this

1.) One of Mon-El's character flaws was arguably lack of restraint. Showing him holding back on telling Kara shows that he has matured. 

In this area I feel like the biggest disagreement is likely one of taste. If one likes Mon-El, one might argue that yes, lack of restraint and consideration was a character trait and flaw of Mon-El's, but "curing" him of this flaw arguably makes him at lost less entertaining as a character. 

The other problem is that Mon-El still has certain moments which the show itself characterizes as lack of consideration. Seems kind of late for him to still be learning this lesson on the fly? Rather than just struggling with it? Still, one can argue the fact that he was struggling with this issue on a relatively high level is a way of showing that he has changed a lot and is in a very different place. 

2.) Telling Kara about his feelings while she is still hurting and confused especially when he is unsure himself, yes would arguably be shitty. 

Now, this I partly get. When Mon-El comes back Kara is in a lot of emotional pain, she is distraught, she is confused, she is dealing with a lot. 

If at this point Mon-El goes to her and tells her that he's still into her (but there is still a chance that he still wants to honor his commitment to Imra more) that would cause her a lot of additional pain. 

Not that I think it would have changed a lot in how Kara would react or how much would have happened between them, but the same decisions would likely have caused her a lot of additional anguish. That would have been jerking her around and playing with her feelings by my defintion of things and in that case, I agree, he shouldn’t tell her.

Getting her hopes up just to leave again would so not be cool. 

3.) Talking to Kara about how he is struggling too might hamper their ability to fight Reign.

Now granted, this is just my personal feelings, as this wasn't really a topic that the show brought up itself. Still, this is something I could at least picture being a concern for these characters, that they want to put their feelings aside till Reign is defeated. (and in a way... that is what happens on the show, Karamel start getting a lot shippier in the time when they mistakenly think Reign has been defeated)

Second: Why I think it's wrong

The show over and over goes over the concept that it is wrong to tell somebody the truth just to make yourself feel better. And I keep thinking... why?

I agree with the concept that it is morally wrong to cause pointless pain to Kara by telling her. The thing is ... is it really pointless?

I fully agree that if Mon-El had fessed up to her at some point late into the season, it would have temporarily made Kara's life more confusing... but .... wouldn't that be worth it? Simply in the interest of things being more honest between and the information being out there?

And why isn't "it would make Mon-El feel better and lift a weight off his shoulders" a totally legit and fair outcome? Why does that have to be cast as "that's selfish and so he should never do that"?

I can maybe get that in the beginning when Kara is still super raw and emotional, but later on? Kara is a strong person, with a great support system. And I get that it's immoral to draw her into messy marriage issues.

But I don't see how just telling Kara what his emotional state is does that. He could just tell her "I'm really struggling too, but I'm trying to hold it together. This is hard for me in particular because I’m dealing with a lot of additional political weight being placed on my shoulders".

And yes I can envision a world where that makes communication between them even harder and it makes fighting Reign harder. But I still think it would be worth it for the benefit of things being more honest between them. And I would have said that both characters are emotionally strong enough that they could handle it.

Third: Why I’m beginning to think that they genuinely believed that

You know, for the longest time I thought, okay, maybe they just disliked Mon-El and wanted to get rid of him, so maybe they gave him a shitty story and that's all there is too it.

But the longer things go on, the more I get the impression. OMG they were actually serious about that?

In season 3, they draw strong parallels between it being honorable of Mon-El not to tell Kara and it being honorable of Kara not to tell Lena her identity. This is most explicit in The Fanatical where Mon-El says exactly that in a traditional "he gives advice about Lena, but he's actually talking about himself" scene.

Well, if you tell [her] the truth, you'd be doing it to make yourself feel better, not her. So maybe, in this case, it's, uh... Not telling her the truth is the noble thing. It's a sacrifice you're making to protect her.

(Bless Chris Wood, I think he looks entirely unconvinced by his own dialogue here)

Fast forward to episode 100. The big anniversary episode. The one that celebrates Kara and her influence on people. And this episode is full of people assuring Kara that her motivations were noble AND it ends with Kara embracing this point of view and putting her foot down (and no, I don't think that the writers intend to take that back and portray that as Kara misunderstanding something when this is the big celebration episode)

Executing The Premise

Either way. The whole season consisted of people preaching to Mon-El that he shouldn't tell. So Mon-El tries to do the right thing and keep his feelings mostly close to his vest.

And then it just ends!!!!

I'm sorry, this just feels wrong. It feels like there is something missing. Like either Mon-El should be rewarded for holding back (either by him realizing that loves the future best anyway (instead ... the opposite of that happened) or him actually getting a better chance with Kara somewhere in the future when the circumstances are better). Or in lieu of that, a storyline that makes it explictly clear that Mon-El was being a dumbass, did exactly the wrong thing and that is what costs him his chance with Kara. Except that didn't happen either.

Instead he disappear uncommented into nothingness and the only other glimpse we see of him is till an episode that actually doubles down on the message of 3B.

Summation

So my deep, fundamental gripe with season 3 is that I just deeply, deeply disagree with the central thesis the season puts forth (keeping things from people is not just understandable and excusable, but actually morally good) THE SHOW DIDN'T EVEN DELIVER PROPERLY ON THE STAKES AND MORAL STANDARDS THEY BUILT UP.

That's why season 3 was frustrating and hard to get connected to on multiple levels when it comes to these central story tenants. You have these characters discussing and debating and going back and forth and here I’m sitting, watching them and going “Yes, but this moral conundrum is stupid” (I had this reaction during pretty much any Mon-El scenes in regards to telling the truth and during any of the Kara and Lena arguments). I think even if the show had told a "clean" story with their premise, I still would have been sour on it when I just so fundamentally disagree with the premise on a personal level.

And that is in addition to the entertainment level of "I just don't think that it's very entertaining to watch characters who are constantly holding back to be heroic and moral and honorable" (compared to holding back for personal reasons like insecurity, something that is way more interesting because that is compelling characterization a lot of the time and casts telling the truth as characters facing their fears or seeing things weren’t as bad as they imagined it). 

I disliked that honorable holding back in Kara/James and I disliked it again in season 3. [yes I think it’s marginally better set up in season 3 simply because Karamel had an actual relationship as the basis rather than just the potential of a flirtation, Mimra were married and there was a political reason why it had to stay that way rather than Lucy in the end being just a nice girlfriend/boyfriend relationship ... but just because it is a slightly more solid version of that trope doesn’t change that that trope is bad and boring to me]

Look, this isn't about morals. This isn't about me thinking the show would have been better if Kara would have thrown herself at James in season 1. It's just that those stories are (to me) fundamentally boring to watch and there was a reason why I preferred the chaotic back and forth of season 2 Karamel. So in a way, I felt fundamentally betrayed by the story even without the ending, because to me the season betrayed a lot about what I liked about Karamel in season 2 and made them more like Kara/James whose story I often did not care for for a reason. I'm not claiming that season 3 was devoid of good things, outside of Karamel or within (and I will try to make posts on that), but in regards to Karamel, a lot of these things were new areas, new themes or side aspects compared to what their strongest threads were in season 2.(for what it’s worth, I think the normal, “soapy” way to tell this story would have been not that Mon-El tells, but that Mon-El keeps it quiet, but somebody else blabs out the truth and Kara finds out anyway and is initally mad at Mon-El. Would still have been a cop out compared to how I see this conflict, but it would have been a more normal story compared to “everybody tells Mon-El not to tell and he mostly doesn’t”)

But I can put my shipper values aside. I can try to appreciate a story for its craftsmanship or for what it is trying to do even if things don't go my way. But it's really hard to get invested in a show if you just don't see eye to eye with one of the core themes the show proposes.

And that’s why I have a lot of animosity left towards this aspect of season 3. 

[kvtyes]

↪ brief introduction to katye jakobson.

BASICS

full name: katye terhi jakobson.  nickname(s): kat, kit-kat ( used largely by her brother to irritate her ).  age: thirty-three.  date of birth: 19 february 1988. zodiac sign: pisces.  place of birth: tallinn, estonia.  ethnicity: white.  nationality: estonian.  gender: cis female. sexual orientation: pansexual.  romantic orientation: panromantic.  religion: she was raised orthodox catholic— she had a confirmation and all but in her adulthood she’s never practiced all that much; the most she does is go to confession on occasion but even then her brother more or less has to put her in a choke hold to get her to do it. occupation: when she’s not being bogged down by royal duties she’s an architect -- her usual projects tend to be renovations to the palace in talinn or their country homes outside of the city.  language(s) spoken: estonian, finnish, english; greek & turkish ( both of which she’s started learning on her own now that she’s been told she’ll be marrying selene if all goes to plan -- she’s not fluent by any means but she learns things quickly ).  accent: she has a fairly thick estonian accent that can and has been mistaken as german or other slavic & finnic based accents which kat tends to roll her eyes at. she tries to enunciate fairly carefully when she’s speaking but when she’s excited or rambling about something in particular her accent can make it a bit difficult to understand her.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: evan rachel wood.  hair color: blonde ( naturally ); she’s dyed it several colors over the years and at the moment it’s more red than anything.  eye color: blue. height: 5′7″ ; 173 cm.  weight: 120 lbs. build: slim. tattoos: kat’s debated getting tattoos several times over the years but has yet to follow through with anything -- her main consideration at the moment is a tattoo of a grey wolf, the national animal of estonia.  piercings: she has traditional piercings in her lobes, an industrial piercing in her left ear and a helix piercing in her right ear.  distinguishing characteristics: her accent, the way she carries herself, the fact that she’s almost always got a cigarette tucked behind her ear. 

PERSONALITY

label: the black sheep.  positive traits: capable, clever, compassionate, considerate, creative, curious, daring, dedicated, earnest, empathetic, generous, independent, loyal, observant, passionate, protective, reliable, selfless, warm. negative traits: competitive, irreverent, sarcastic, self-conscious. aloof, anxious, crude, haughty, hedonistic, impulsive, timid. goals/desires: to find a way to be happy, to carve out some freedom for herself even within the confines of royal life, to be the sort of person her fiancée can be proud of.  fears: autophobia ( fear of being alone ), losing her brother.  hobbies: teasing her brother, sketching new designs for buildings she’d like to work on, studying architecture, traveling, drinking, going out when she’s in the mood for it, spending time with people she enjoys, flirting with cute people, making a mess of most political situations she’s in, annoying her parents, learning new things, playing chess, reading, building her collection of obscure mythology books.   quirks: she remembers people’s names and faces after meeting them even if she only interacted with them for a few seconds, she gives the contacts in her phone their names in estonian, she’s constantly doodling thoughts on new designs she’d like to bring to life in a small notebook that’s always with her, she tends to talk shit about people in any language other than english -- usually estonian because that comes the easiest but she’ll happily switch between any language she knows if she knows the other person won’t understand. likes: whiskey, cute girls, cute boys, sci-fi films, historical dramas, most foreign films, trivia shows, horror movies, compliments from cute people, her brother, the anonymity of living in big cities, jazz, classical piano pieces, being recognized for her talent rather than her title, sex, good booze, good food, spending time with people who appreciate her as a person, .   dislikes: being taken seriously only because of her title rather than how hard she’s worked to earn respect in certain areas, dealing with most public relations things, long winded speeches, having to attend political functions in general, being talked down to, arguing with her brother. 

FAMILY

father: artur kalev jakobson ; king artur II, colloquially known as the ‘bear of estonia’.  mother: sofia agnesia jakobson née kask.  sibling(s): kalev taevas jakobson ( fraternal twin ).   pet(s): she has a european burmese cat named antoni after antoni gaudi, the architect.  financial status: too rich for her own good. 

HEADCANONS

katye is thirty-three & the older twin between herself and her fraternal twin brother kalev — who has, as far as she’s concerned, always been the more palatable person between the two of them. in comparison to her brother katye is, to put it lightly, something of a disaster -- she has an endlessly short temper and none of the grace her brother possesses when it comes to political engagements and discussions and has absolutely no problem expressing her general annoyance with all of the politicking that comes along with being royalty. she’s aware that she needs to “grow up” -- so to speak -- and a part of her has continued to wonder whether her marriage arrangement is her parents’ way of forcing her to settle down into a version of herself that might be slightly less ornery and difficult for the general public in estonia to grasp and perhaps, though she finds this more difficult to believe, allow her to realize that in spite of her future as queen -- she can still carve out some form of freedom and individuality within her position.

it’s always suited her to be the more negatively perceived of the two of them between herself and her brother and a part of her -- though katye’s reluctant to admit it -- is relieved that earning as much attention as she does allows her brother -- who is far more gentle and far more shy than she is, to stay out of the spotlight as he chooses. away from cameras and the press in general katye’s not spectacularly difficult to get along with -- she’s witty and charismatic and is likely the first person to toss out a self-deprecating joke or quip to relieve any tension in her day-to-day interactions. the generally surly and cantankerous impression she gives the media as a whole is more of an act than anything else and with a bit of patience and occasional, careful prodding -- it isn’t difficult to see that katye is more or less a deeply flawed but deeply loving and ultimately well-meaning woman.

she has a genius level IQ. It’s not something she discusses often ( for the most part only her family knows, because she’s already treated a certain way due to her status as a princess and honestly abhors the thought of being treated even more differently due to that ). she studied to become an architect when she was in school and was quietly on her way to working with a firm properly by the time she was being relocated. she tends to use her fairly active mind to manipulate her way in and out of situations ( she’s very, very good at talking herself out of trouble and takes full advantage of it when she can ).

she’s a fairly outgoing person underneath the sheen of frustration and general surliness she’s working with right now; she’s an incredibly loyal and kind person at her core, and though it can be difficult for people to stick around long enough to sort out those parts of her she does have a few very close friends who seem to have had no trouble digging down to the heart of her.

she has absolutely no qualms about sleeping with anyone she finds even remotely attractive. she doesn’t quite know how to have a relationship with anyone ( as she’s not sure how to broach the subject of someone actually having to deal with what a train-wreck she is for an extended period of time ) but she craves attention and affection and sex is a decent enough way for her to get that. it’s something she’s trying to avoid entirely now that she’s in the same place as her future wife and as nervous as she is about being found lacking in her fiancée’s eyes she does want to make a positive impression and build a positive, meaningful relationship.

[moonstruckbucky]

Royal Holiday (1/6)

Summary: Bucky Barnes is bored - trust him, he knows how that sounds. But being royalty, in his humble opinion, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Time to mix it up a bit.

Pairing: Prince!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, modern AU

Warnings: None

Notes: Here it is, my submission for @heamarvel​‘s Hallmark Event! Hope you all enjoy! Feedback is appreciated. x

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

If it’s one thing Bucky hates, it’s diplomacy. Ironic, considering he’s currently neck-deep in a manifesto his father had dropped into his lap a week ago. Ironic still, considering he’s a bloody prince. Not a prince who prances around in jewels or silks, but a prince nonetheless - a prince with responsibilities and a duty to his country when the throne eventually comes to him.

It’s a mantra he’s heard his entire life, and it’s a mantra he’d really love to stop hearing before he takes a screwdriver to his eardrums.

He knows it’s unfair, knows he’s got it better than most, and he respects that - kind of. While he wants for nothing, he feels trapped, imprisoned by duty, regality, and nobility. Bowing under the weight of his future, the eventuality that he’ll be a king. He’ll need to command and rule and say goodbye to his freedom - however much of it he has.

He’s already damn tired of it.

And that’s why his unofficial-official bodyguard Sam finds him open-mouthed and snoring behind his desk in his office. The older man isn’t surprised by it really. Having been with the Royal Family for close to ten years now, he knows Bucky’s mannerisms, habits, quirks, and annoyances better than most, and while he wishes Bucky would grow up a little, he isn’t quite so strict as his Queen Mother over his behavior.

Sam purses his lips, rolls his eyes a bit, before he creeps to the desk. Reaches for the massive manifesto that sits open in front of Bucky, snaps it closed, the dark-skinned man’s gaze flits between the two for a few moments.

A little humming under his breath, he lifts the binder over his head above the desk, lets it drop with a loud slam that wakes Bucky with a jolt and a girlish yelp. He flies backwards and his weight shifting tips the chair. Trinkets and knick-knacks rattle as he and the chair hit the floor. Sam waits patiently, tipping a snowglobe on the shelf beside him, while Bucky splutters and curses him out.

“The hell was that for, Wilson?” he grouses, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the floor.

“Your mother is requesting you,” Sam responds with a pointed look, setting the snowglobe down.

Bucky feels himself scowl before he can stop it. He loves his mother, he does, but he knows what she’s going to speak to him about - it’s the same thing she always wants to talk to him about.

“Do I have to?” He knows he sounds like a petulant child, he knows, but if he’s honest, he’d rather play Baby Shark on repeat for the rest of his life than listen to his mother prattle on and on about how it’s time for him to find a wife. A suitable one, one of noble birth. One who’s proper and polite and graceful.

Bucky wants something different.

He admits he hasn’t thought much about marrying (clearly) or even falling in love, but as he gets older, grows closer to becoming a king and taking on more responsibility, the prospect of finding someone to share that with occasionally crosses his mind. He has no doubt his mother would find someone who’ll make him happy, but the idea of having his bride chosen for him, the risk of being trapped in a forced marriage, doesn’t sit well with him at all.

Sam gives him an exasperated look. Nodding sagely, he sighs and straightens his shirt, slightly wrinkled thanks to Sam. Following the older man out, he prepares himself for the conversation he’s heard a thousand times before.

She’s relentless, he decides, and he finally figures out where his stubbornness came from. She’s organizing a gala in his honor, a presentation of him as an eligible bachelor, and she’s taken the liberty of inviting every eligible heiress, princess, and everyone in between in a massive effort to get him to connect with someone.

She’s frustrated with him when he voices as much, voice growing higher with her irritation. “James Buchanan, it is your responsibility to marry. You’re nearly thirty, and you’ve yet to choose a wife! You’re not getting any younger and should you choose not to marry, your reign will be forfeited!”

Ah yes, the little wrench in the system. A decision made by the country’s parliament as a failsafe in case Bucky clutched his bachelor lifestyle to the vest. Clearly they hadn’t had much fail in him to marry and rule successfully, and a small part of him wants to shove their faces in it.

But only if it’s on his terms.

“Sounds like a dream to me,” he mutters back, just loud enough for his mother to hear him. She screeches, kind of like a hawk - or a banshee - and Bucky feels a little bad. But only a little. Gesticulating wildly, he exclaims, “What? Would it really be so bad if we just gave the crown to parliament? I’m sure Pierce would be happy to take it. After all, can’t have a thirty-year-old playboy bachelor ruling alone, can we? Bad for his family’s image, isn’t it?”

She opens her mouth to retort, offense written clearly on her face, but Bucky sweeps from the office before she can utter another word. Sam is waiting for him outside the door, and he straightens, tries to act like he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the loud exchange.

“Let’s go Sam,” Bucky orders, “I need to get out of here for a while.”

Sam doesn’t hesitate - he calls for a car and fetches Bucky’s winter coat. “Yes, sir.”

You resist the urge to slam the phone down into the cradle, opting instead to gently place it back where it belongs. But you do give it the middle finger as you scribble out the order you’d gotten halfway through before the customer decided she didn’t want to spend fifty dollars plus delivery on a floral arrangement.

Tossing the paper in the trash, you walk around the counter to straighten out the displays of vases, each holding stems of various flowers. Casting a glance out the window, you sigh at the people who walk right by your shop, despite the inviting fairy lights, the floral displays and boxwood trees in the windows, and soft Christmas music playing from the speaker system.

It’s a month until Christmas, and your orders are down - again. You’re not sure why, but there’s been a steady decline in sales for the past six months. Dejectedly, you chalk it up to people losing interest in sending flowers to people, with the exception of funeral arrangements if only because people die every day. In New York, it’s unheard of that people can’t afford flowers - most can. They just don’t send them. The classic gesture is being swept under the rug in favor of material things - new electronics, vacations, jewelry.

It saddens your heart to think it, but it’s true, and if sales don’t pick up, you’ll be forced to sell the building you left everything behind to buy. Tail tucked between your legs, you’ll plant yourself behind a desk for the next foreseeable future, working overtime to pay off the expenses from the flower shop.

Misty-eyed, you sniffle and clean the stamens from the stems of stargazer lilies. A little unusual to carry them this time of year, but they’d been a special request from someone who’d never showed to pick them up. Usually it’s easy to lose yourself in the pretty colors and scents of flowers, but now, you can’t even be bothered to make new arrangements for fear they’ll go to waste - then it’s more money down the drain.

Instead, you clean the shop from top to bottom, rearrange the displays, open the door despite the chilling air and display a boxwood tree - handmade - out in front. A couple slow in front of the shop, eyeing the boxwood tree. The woman smiles, pointing happily to it, remarks about bringing it for Christmas dinner.

To your joy, the husband agrees and they step inside to order one with red and gold decorations. It’s a steep sale - $100 plus tax - but it’s not quite enough to cover your rent for the month just yet. A few more boxwood tree sales and you’ll be covered. Surprisingly, you catch the woman taking a photo of the boxwood tree outside as the husband places the order.

“I’m going to send this to Sue! I’m sure she’ll love one for her house!”

You smile gratefully, hoping like hell this Sue woman indeed places the order with you. The couple waves pleasantly, offering their names - Jack and Michaela - and then they take their leave. A few more people trickle in, place orders for both Christmas and for Thanksgiving centerpieces, and you take a couple of phone calls - one to actually order, one for general information. It turns into a fairly successful afternoon, and as you get ready to close, you feel a little hope blooming in your chest.

Hope that you might not lose your dream.

Outside on the busy streets, Bucky is blown away. He’d insisted on getting far, far away from the royal house despite Sam’s initial reluctance. Bucky was a prince, a known prince, and both paparazzi and people could be unpredictable. Not to mention, he’s sure there would be people willing to hurt Bucky, ransom him or something to make money off his family - okay, Sam knows that particular scenario might be a stretch, but it’s what he’d been trained for.

Bucky’s like a kid in a candy store, weaving in and out of the crowd, ducking into this store and that, experiencing regular city life like he never got to. It had always been schedules and propriety and rigidness that he’s relishing a bit in the freedom to just be. He buys Sam a new winter coat, one that blends in a bit better with the public, and he settles on a peacoat, scarf, and paperboy hat for himself. He feels...normal, and on the street, no one recognizes him.

As he strolls down the sidewalk in the fading light, he catches a glimpse of fairy lights across the street. A woman stands outside the door, beige coat and burgundy hat in place. When Bucky crosses the street, he realizes she’s staring at the building, which he now notes is a florist shop. There’s a longing in her gaze, a shininess that suggests she might be on the verge of tears.

There’s a pull deep inside him, compelling him towards her. It’s like she’s pulled him into her orbit, and Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever had this kind of reaction to a woman before. He doesn’t even know her and yet he desperately wants to, needs to know her. He’s entranced by the look on her face, an expression of sheer yearning paired with sadness trapped within it. He wants to kiss it away, and his reaction should startle him.

But it doesn’t. It only forces that tug to pull harder, and he takes a few steps forward. Before Bucky can approach her, he’s swept up in a crowd and loses sight of her. When he steps out of the throng, he searches for the woman, but she’s gone.

Chapter Two

[kadeu]

Accepted — Han Cassius

♦️    Cassius Han looks like Bang Chan (straykids)  ♦️    He was born October 23, 1997; making him 23 years old ♦️    This Human is Bisexual and a Six of Diamonds  ♦️    He is a croupier (dealer) at the Koromo in the Circle

Biography

tw: child abandonment

All tales begin knowing that one day they must eventually end. Some tales speak of heroic adventures and battles hard fought between dragons and foes, while other tales are nothing but steeled resignation to a life lived mundane until the pages finally close shut. Cas’ story is like that. It’s not yet over, but he knows that by the end nothing will have changed, and he’ll be just as insignificant as when he was first born.

In October of 1997, Cassius Han is born into the Diamond faction a mundane lowranking human, not an ounce of magic-wielding ability in his blood. From the best of his knowledge, he is descended from nothing but generations upon generations of lowborn and low ranked humans, barely a blip in the periphery of Kadeu’s recorded history. His existence is almost pointless really, but that’s not a fact he learns until far later.

At the beginning, Cas knows nothing but love and warmth. Knows what it must feel like to fly as his father hoists a young Cas up onto his shoulders after the brightness of day has faded into the darkness of night. His father tells Cas to look up at the stars and reach for the ones that shine the brightest, laughing as he watches his son’s tiny hands eagerly grasp for the constellations dotting the sky. Cassius also knows what it must feel like to believe you’re the centre of the universe, important beyond belief as his mother wipes away stray hairs from his face and kisses his forehead every night before bed. She whispers sweet nothings of fairy-tale dreams set in some reality far far away, making Cas feel as if every fantasy he’s ever imagined is conceivable.

As a child, Cas knows nothing of the limitations that face humans in this realm, knows only that should he wish upon the stars hard enough, there is nothing he cannot achieve.  

However, all picture-perfect storybooks must come to an end, and eventually Cassius’ does too.

After several weeks of uncharacteristic distance between the boy and his father, Cassius’ world shifts in the span of one night, tilting the axis which Cassius had so peacefully spun around until that very point in time. It happens when his mother isn’t home. His father sits Cassius at the table, a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder when he asks what Cassius’ dreams are and then proceeds to dismantle every last one of them until there’s not a star in the sky that Cassius thinks is attainable. Because Cas is, “just a human, an insignificant human – irrelevant to the gods and the stars up above”.

(It’s the last thing that Cassius hears from his father before the man disappears).

And just like that, the storybook begins to crumble.

The façade that Cassius’ mother built following his father’s departure doesn’t last long, and soon enough she’s shattered beyond repair; the proverbial cracks near the corners of her mouth far too severe even to support the smallest of encouraging smiles. Without warning, on a warm summer’s day, the pair move across town to a grand household where Cassius’ life becomes not his own but another’s. Here, he addresses the master of the house as “Sir”, and Sir addresses Cassius as something closer to “Cashius”, never bothering with the correct pronunciation.

Retrospectively, little Cassius should have anticipated the later fall of his mother. She becomes increasingly distant, the room they reside in gradually becoming so devoid of speech the air inside feels as frigid as a crypt. When he’s thirteen, she leaves. Or, well, she’s kicked out, waifish frame disappearing into the inky darkness of a winter’s night while Sir mutters something under his breath along the lines of “good riddance”.

She never even says goodbye.

At some point thereafter, Sir seemingly takes Cassius under his wing, sitting him down at the table nightly and teaching him card games; reminding Cassius that he ought to be thankful the man is teaching him such an important skill when his mother had squandered the “kindness” that Sir had bestowed upon them both. (It’s not until he’s grown does Cassius understand the weight of those tiny pills his mother took every day). There’s a specific sheen to the man’s eyes that tells Cassius the man sees him as nothing more than a charity case, a simple way to self-aggrandise when he gathers his friends on the weekends and tells them the heroic tale of how he’s taken it upon himself to care for this poor orphaned magicless human.

And Cassius abhors the flagrant ego-stroking masquerade of the entire “kindness”, but he yearns for knowledge and the unspoken promise of escape more than he desires to shove the man’s words back down his throat. So he fashions his very own façade instead. Cassius smiles and praises the man, tells him just how terribly kind and brilliantly intelligent he is, thanking him as a grateful puppy would upon receiving an unwarranted treat.

The act does not fail to reap its own rewards.  

A “charitable benefactor” to the end, the man leverages what connections he has and eventually finds Cassius a position working at the Circle, setting the boy free from his service once he has worked his way up to the position of a card dealer. It’s a conflicting feeling, to resent the man for his unabashed self-serving pity, yet inexplicably grateful for the luck he’s found himself inheriting as a result of their unbalanced relationship. But in the end, it doesn’t matter how Cassius feels about it all. His façade is well built, and he provides the man with endless words of praise and thanks for all that he has done for him, because even as a free man, that is their relationship: one of serf and lord.

Fast forward a few years and at the end of it all, this is the man that Cassius has become:

Now a six of diamonds, Cassius works as a croupier at the Koromo. Skilled at small talk, flashing a charming smile, and mesmerising cardistry to impress the table should they ask, perhaps his unwanted connection had provided him the opportunity, but skill alone had earned Cassius his position and he’s proud of that fact. It’s a good position for a human, he’s protected while he’s on the job and that’s more than most professions care to offer. Sure, other casinos that cater to a far more limited audience might be considered “better”, but Cassius is more than happy to avoid exclusively serving the upper echelons of society in favour of including individuals closer in rank to him. Those whose futures are not so disparate from his own.

Others might wonder, or even anticipate the great potential their future might hold, so assured that the future ahead is bright, but Cassius is well-aware he’s reached his peak in society. Face the facts: most humans are serfs, the lucky ones work in lowranking job positions, and the rest are forced into arranged marriages and used as tools to produce offspring. (The unluckiest ones live their lives as pets, something Cassius finds unfathomably degrading). There isn’t much to be excited about as a human in Kadeu. Yes, blessed with his father’s words that incessantly remind him just how insignificant he and his dreams are, Cassius lives life as a pessimist, unable to even hope for more. His mother’s descent and society itself only serves to reaffirm this engraved schema, Cassius morbidly confident that one day he too will fall and end up just as miserable as his parents.

Indeed, as a human, where was there to go in society but down? Sure, other dealers from the heart faction were a rank higher than he was, but Cassius would never rise higher than that, would never be a face card because who in their right mind would readily accept a human in a position of that much power?  There isn’t really any place left for Cassius to go up, so that leaves down as the final option, a fact which Cassius is well-aware of.

However, in private Cassius is a secret dreamer. Sometimes he catches himself wishing for more than he can ever have, wishing that where he is now wasn’t the peak of his life, but rather the beginning of something grand like in the stories he was told as a child. Cassius tries not to let these thoughts slip out, they’re dreams of futures he will never have, and wanting what you cannot have will lead you to nothing but unhappiness. Dreams, no matter how you look at it, are poison. You swallow just a drop, and that one drop multiplies over and over until you’re drowning in your own delusions of a life you can never achieve. They’re insidious, but Cassius can’t truthfully claim to have vanquished them all.

When it comes to matters of society and politics, it’s practically in Cassius’ job description to outwardly ignore the tension between factions, as individuals from any faction may be his customer. Behind closed doors however, Cassius tends to watch from afar with amused fascination, knowing full-well that he’ll never have much of a say in it all, and that it’s easier to simply accept what will happen, will happen. He sees political ongoings more as uncontrollable events, almost like the weather.

Despite his prominent position as a croupier, for the most part Cassius tries to keep to himself and remain unnoticed by those around him. In his experience, attention seeds trouble, and trouble is the last thing that Cas wants to find himself in. Existing as a human without magic in a place clearly not meant for him places Cas and his rank (which is relatively high for humans) in a precarious position, wherein it probably wouldn’t take much more than a minor infraction to send him toppling back to the bottom. So rather than placing himself in situations where he might be forced to bite the hand that feeds him (or rather, the hand that he simply exists within the grasp of), Cassius prefers to avoid attention all together.

In line with his trouble-avoidant nature, although Cassius may agree with some of the resistance’s values, he doesn’t want anything to do with them and the chaos they might bring. However, at the same time Cas isn’t going to go out of his way to actively oppose the resistance. Surviving as a human in society is already difficult as it is, so he’d rather avoid getting on the bad side of the resistance, essentially an understated fifth faction. In a similar manner, although he does not openly display any aversion to higher ranked individuals, Cas is admittedly more reluctant to befriend highrankers; painfully cognisant of the fact that they hold too much power, and he, too little. (Not to mention highranker’s politics. Terribly messy).

Personality

A croupier (dealer) at the Koromo located in Heart territory’s casinos, Cassius (or, Cas) is proficient in card tricks and skills, willing to show off his cardistry for those who ask nicely. Catch him on the job and you’ll find him nothing but cordial regardless of your rank or faction, a trait that extends to outside encounters. As a non-magic imbued lowranking human, he figures this is the highest in society’s ranking he will probably ever go, and he’s determined to keep his position for as long as he can. To Cassius, this equates to being as amiable as possible to avoid provoking a powerful party. This easy-to-get-along-with façade extends to strangers across all factions and ranks as Cassius recognises the immediate threat that highrankers (from any faction) might pose, and likewise, the potential threat that midrankers and lowrankers could pose should they one day outrank him. Indeed, upon first meeting Cassius may be kind, but rarely is his initial kindness genuine. In fact, seldom is the Cassius you first meet as a stranger anywhere near a genuine representation of him as a person.

(His unspoken opinion of highrankers? “I may be a miserable human, but at least my ego isn’t inflated beyond repair”)

As opposed to his external behaviour, from a shallow standpoint, internally Cassius is ambivalent to those of his own faction, finding many of them rather arrogant but otherwise tolerable. With those from the Hearts faction, he approaches them with a degree of caution, knowing that he can have a good time with a Heart, but never should he trust them near his coins. Cassius holds a neutral indifference towards Spades, simply finding them a little too high-strung for his taste. Concerning Clubs, although knowing that he is unlikely to be physically involved with any of them, Cassius finds himself subtly wary of members from the faction, well-aware of the high mortality humans face there.

Generally, Cassius carries an assured air of confidence with him despite his almost crippling pessimism that has him convinced there is nowhere left for him to go in the future but down. (Although, perhaps he is not as pessimism as he presents himself to be, spending a surprising amount of energy arduously trying to extinguish his own hopes and dreams rather than risk nurturing them). Touting about his own well-built façade, Cassius is perceptive, quick to anticipate what others want to hear from him and providing them with just that while keeping his own true opinions and thoughts locked away. However, that doesn’t mean he’s above sneaking a few underhanded comments in here and there, you might find yourself looking back at a previous interaction with him and realising that a compliment he paid you was significantly more affronting than you realized.

Despite providing an ingenuine kindness to strangers, he does have moments of true kindness with the few trustworthy people he calls friends, willing to do just about anything for those he genuinely cares about. That isn’t to say his friends are treated to kindness alone. Cas rarely sugar-coats his opinions when he’s with people he trusts, highly valuing blunt truth when so much of his public persona is a façade. Further, some may find themselves pleasantly surprised to unearth a rather playful version of Cas once they become closer, the croupier enjoying his fair share of teasing banter when comfortable. (Occasionally, those close to the croupier might even witness Cas when he’s flustered, ears tinted red and palms raised to hide his “unbecoming expression”. Testimony has it that the entire thing is rather endearing and almost… cute?)

Congratulations Chun your app has been accepted and your first plot drop will be sent to you soon.

Please follow and welcome @croupiex to Kadeu!

[orsuliya]

Can we talk about Jinruo, she was still so judge-y toward XQ at that breakfast. Hasn’t she realised how useless Zitan proven to be ? If not because Daddy Wang, Awu would have been married to that loser. As a mom she is blinded by nobility ugh!

Don't mistake me - I absolutely agree that Jinruo has some issues with her son-in-law being a man of such low birth. She brought it up before the marriage and she - although much more indirectly - brings it up again at the breakfast table by pointing out that Awu is a spoiled princess and Xiao Qi a bloodthirsty warrior. Their stations in life do not suit!

But I rather doubt that's where her beef with Xiao Qi comes from. The disparity of their birth is just a bitter sauce on the steak of Jinruo's discontent. Which really isn't as big or as unpalatable as one might think. However, nobility or lack thereof is the least of it; there are many reasons why she might dislike this union.

Although you are right about Zitan. Were Jinruo less blinded by her ambition of sticking it to Daddy Wang, she would have aborted this entire elopment plan the moment she realized that Zitan has no trust in Awu whatsoever. But no, she ripped into Zitan and then proceeded to act as if he hadn't just shown that his first instict is to blame her daughter without considering every other possibility. This is a bad, bad sign, especially since this elopement thing hinges on Zitan's willingness to make sacrifices for Awu's sake. Also, if Awu has to lose her entire family for a man, then it better be a man who would fight for her to the very end and give every drop of blood in his veins to ensure her future happiness. Zitan... is not that man.

Not to say Zitan should have known about the deal Awu made with her Aunt, but it doesn't take a genius to smell the rat and guess she was somehow coerced into this marriage, any proclamations of admiration towards Xiao Qi notwithstanding. So not only does he blame her and isn't all that eager to fight for her, he also knows nothing about her true character.

The thing is, I suspect that Jinruo's preference for Zitan has little to do with the man boy himself and everything with him being Awu's choice. Daddy Wang's talk about marriages entered into for the greater good must have raised her hackles and how! After all, it's not that different from her own fate. Awu made her choice and now she's being led to the altar as a lamb for the slaughter and all of that for the Wangs, towards whom Jinruo seems to feel less loyalty than towards her birth family.

I also can't help but wonder how politically acute Jinruo even is. Had the elopement suceeded, it would have been an absolute mess. Wangs would take a hit, which she might not care all that much about, even with a Wang son of her own, but so would the Emperor. If he even wakes, that is. No Zitan, no real possibility of keeping Potato's puppeteers in check, unless one makes a long-shot stake on Zilu, who at that point is still hiding his true potential. And that's before taking into account that Xiao Qi may not want to play ball any longer, allowing the army to slip even further out of imperial control. Which, according to Daddy Wang, has apparently been a serious issue for some time already. Why, potentially this incident could lead to a rise of another claimant; those provincial princes are bound to have some daughters!

Speaking of provincial princes... There is one person who would kiss Jinruo's feet in gratitude, had Zitan showed up on time. Zilu. For him it would be like all his birthdays rolled into one, an occasion second only to his future wedding. Zitan would be out of the way, Wangs weakened and Xiao Qi either gettable or without any personal stake in inter-dynastic conflicts. I assure you, even the most loyal of generals (and Xiao Qi isn't exactly that, let's face it) would think twice before going on a mad dash with ten thousand men against an entire army for a mere sovereign. A disinterested Xiao Qi whose only wish is to keep control over Ningshuo is someone who can be negotiated with.

Okay, back to Jinruo and her reasons for disliking Xiao Qi. Let's see. First her daughter is blackmailed into marriage, both with Zitan's safety and the greater good, then she has to go through the ceremony after being hurt and humiliated by Zitan being a no-show, and then her newly wedded husband runs away, leaving her humiliated once more, only this time in public. That would be enough for any mother, I think, even if Xiao Qi was not to blame for all of the above, only some of it. But that's not the end. Awu leaves the capital to recuperate after this ordeal, which has to hurt Jinruo personally - she loses her daughter, so to speak, and can't even console herself with thoughts of her happiness. Oh, and her daughter just got kidnapped. As it later turns out, by Xiao Qi's personal enemy. Then Awu lands in the middle of an actual siege without her god-of-war husband at her side. After that she enters the capital in the middle of a coup, her husband still nowhere to be seen.

That Xiao Qi rescues Awu every time is neither here nor there; she's still put in danger time after time. The level of his actual culpability in each incident matters little. Jinruo's girl never got into this much danger as a maiden and she certainly wouldn't be near any kind of military action as Zitan's wife! Or even Potato's. As a wife of bloodthirsty warrior, on the other hand... I know it doesn't make sense, but Jinruo is not that concerned with logic either, she has shown that much with this whole elopement business. Besides, she's a mother, being overprotective is her right.

In fact, it's a miracle that Jinruo is as ready to accept Xiao Qi's deference and promises as she is. It helps that he's clearly trying to get her to like him - which she does and who can blame her - and that he's willing to admit culpability. And even then she could have allowed herself a few pointed digs about Awu's safety or about Xiao Qi's birth. Or both. Auntie Xu totally would have in her place. But no, she accepts his word as binding. If we assume that at this point she, the most senior lady of imperial blood, still holds his low birth against him, it gives this overture of trust more weight, not less.

And really, knowing how prone to overreacting she can be, he got off astonishingly lightly! I mean, there is no doubt Jinruo is a true Ma: she tried to kill her husband, then kill herself, organized an elopement for her daughter and then actually killed herself as a way to hit her husband where it hurts. Xiao Qi is lucky she didn't go after a him with a knife! And you know what, he might have very well let her.