#and both me and my brother have had legitimate arguments about what year our sister was born in

[soullessjack]

sorry I truly don’t understand how people treat dean not knowing ‘the basics’ for Jack to be admitted to a hospital as some kind of argument for him being a bad father lmao.. Like numero uno he lived his entire life completely independent of any actual medical attention so what the fuck would he know to tell a receptionist and numero dos: the entire episode he is stressing the fuck out about Jack’s condition and anxious to get help for it without all the legal distractions that’s Literally it

[geekthefreakout]

A meditation trauma and trying not to pass it on

Don't mind me, I'm just trying to organize my thoughts. If you read this, I do welcome your thoughts, just realize that this is gonna be long and I'm not sure what my point is yet. But. Anyway. Just me rambling under the cut as i try to figure out how I feel.

My stepmother and I didn't always get along. Don't always, I should say. It was worse when I was younger. I lived with her and my dad for about 10 years- age 16 to 26. Over those 10 years, what I only recently became comfortable calling emotional abuse was inflicted on me. The whole gaslight gatekeep shebang. My dad enabled my stepmother-- not, I think, out of malice, but because he's always gone on the path of least resistance. They had me so twisted up in their expectations and gaslighting that half the time I didn't know if I could trust my own perception of reality. Was I legitimately upset or just dramatic? Is this situation messed up, or am I spoiled? Am I letting my upset at my father's infidelity breaking up my family stop me from accepting life as it is now? Am I the problem? Am I the whole problem or part of the problem? Am I actually a good person? Are the random, disproportionate punishments meted out by my stepmother a result of my being stubborn and rude rather than her being mean and controlling? Is she never at fault because the stroke she had led to her having a short temper, but my brain (neurodivergent, unmedicated because Dad and Stepmom didn't believe in ADHD medication) was undamaged?

Even more confusing were the GOOD things. The presents and trips. The movie nights. My stepmother's righteous indignation when a neighbor got in my face for something that wasn't my fault. The way she took me to doctor's appointments and then to McDonald's after to make up for not eating all day (those fasting blood tests smh). The way my dad and I were so often mirrors of each other without realizing, and she would point something out like how we both entered a room the same way (kick off shoes, survey the kingdom to see who is there with hands on hips, nod in greeting individually but only say one collective hello) and laugh about it and I would laugh too.

And then there are my half siblings. We are strangely symmetrical, my father's children. He had two of us with each wife. Both sets have a girl born first, then a boy 3 years later. Holding my baby sister when I was 15 was the first time I thought that maybe all the pain of my dad leaving my mom might be worth it. She was so perfect and warm in my arms. My littlest brother was the same, a perfect, comforting weight. I love them so much.

I used to be afraid that if I wasn't good, my stepmother would turn them against me. I stayed in that house for 10 years, 4 years longer than I strictly had to (after I graduated college, my mom had urged me to move in with her and my brother again. They'd moved back closer since I'd left them). because I was terrified that if I did move out, the kids would see it as some kind of abandonment or rejection (projecting much?) and I wouldn't be able to control the narrative. I was afraid of losing them, even of losing my dad. I was also afraid of passing on my trauma to them. Why should they have to suffer simply because I am?

To this day, (sister is 15 now herself) I've never brought up anything that's gone on with our parents. I always did my best to end any arguments before the kids might hear- something that I suspect my stepmother was aware of and used to her advantage. One time years ago I did snap and said "your parents are assholes", and I then proceeded to have a panic attack and be inconsolable for hours because I was afraid I'd harmed my sister's perception of her family. When Dad got home from work he had to spend time assuring me that my sister (6 at the time) was far more in awe of the fact that I'd said "asshole" about an adult than she was upset that I'd said a negative thing about her parents, and that I hadn't harmed her little psyche. I only wanted the kids to get positive things from me

Last weekend I was visiting my them- my dad, stepmom, and half siblings. My sister busted her knee playing sports and was trapped in the living room, unable to go upstairs to her own room, so she had control of the TV. She was watching 13 Reasons Why. I was on the couch, petting the dogs. Stepmother was also watching. On the screen, the students walked out of their school and resisted the police attempting to disburse them. My stepmother looked at my sister and said "If you ever do anything like this, I'll beat your ass." My sister said "But the police are wrong! If they deserve it..."

My stepmother said "They're the police. You don't fight them."

I decided to contradict her and say "That's right, sis. Fight for what's right. I was in a walk out once."

Stepmother, as the scene plays on: "See, it's just getting them arrested. It's stupid. Not worth it. You don't do this."

Sister: *explains the context for why the cops are bad in this scenario and argues that the SROs in the show are BAD*

Me: You know who got arrested for standing up to police? MLK. Sometimes you gotta, sis.

My stepmother got angry, as she does. She told me that she didn't appreciate my comments. Recognizing the red flag for what it was, I subsided, hands up in placation. But my stepmother is like a bulldog, sometimes. She kept chewing on it, her voice getting louder. Said that sis was her daughter, she was the mother, she didn't like me contradicting her when she is trying to teach her daughter something. I didn't argue- again, I know how this goes. If I defend myself or really say anything at all besides "sorry" or "you're right", I will just make it last longer. But my sister got upset that we couldn't watch the show in peace and irritably changed the channel. And just like when she was a kid, I felt myself start to panic.

I had argued with her mother in front of her. Did I hurt her? Did I make her day worse? Am I the problem? Is my sister mad at me? Is it safe for me to talk again yet?

Because of the *years* of therapy, I was able to arrest my panic attack before it really began. I was able to rationalize with myself that it didn't really qualify as an argument, and the sis sees her mother scold even her adult family and friends similarly. I got down from the couch so I could sit on the floor and give the big dog more thorough belly rubs and was rewarded with an organic conversation change when the little dog decided to bully the big one for receiving attention (she does this a lot. She's so spoiled.). And now, I look back and wonder what my sister really saw in that interaction.

Did she see me fawn and think "Ze isn't fighting the police any time soon, ze can't even fight my mother lol"

Did she see me fawn and think "That's the best response."

Did she see me say something and think "Don't you know better than to say things like that by now?"

Or did she think nothing of it at all?

What do I want the answer to be?

Idk.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Unfettered (aka NHS goes feral) - part 4 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

-

Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to lie: it was weird seeing Nie Huaisang smiling again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember how Nie Huaisang used to behave when they were all back at the Cloud Recesses, and even before, but that seemed so long ago these days that it might as well have occurred in a past life. The expression just didn’t fit him anymore, like a grown man trying to return to the clothing of his childhood, and yet at the same time it was wretchedly familiar, even welcome – it was as if time had reversed course all at once, plucking them all out of the stream of their lives and returning them to how it used to be long before. Back to simpler, happier times.

It was kind of funny, actually.

Those that had not known Nie Huaisang as anything other than the Pallbearer seemed to be in a state of utter shock, gossiping madly – Did you see? He was smiling! He laughed at someone’s joke! He told a joke! He patted that child on the head and said ‘good job’ and the child didn’t cry even once!

Those that had known him from before only by reputation were, if anything, even more aghast – Do you think he’s going to start pouting and crying at things again? Surely not, I can’t even imagine! The last time he pouted was when one of his fans got stained, remember, after he stuck it straight through that man’s throat –

Those that had known him from before in person…

Well, the reaction was mixed. There was some relief, some distress, and a great deal of pain as they remembered once again how much their friend had changed in the wake of his brother’s near-death – the reminder of his former self was both nostalgic and bittersweet.

Personally, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were working through their feelings on the subject with the help of a lot of roleplaying involving their time at the Cloud Recesses. It was very healthy of them, emotionally, although maybe not so healthy for the state of Wei Wuxian’s waist. Or throat. Or hands…

(No, they weren’t officially married yet, since they were still hoping that they could have a proper ceremony when the war ended, but they were both of age and engaged. And that meant they could go to bed together, no matter what some of the more conservative Lan sect members thought – with Lan Qiren backing them up, which he did with no small amount of eye-rolling and deep sighs and long-suffering resignation, they were free to do as they pleased.)

That, too, was something they owed to Nie Huaisang.

Without Nie Huaisang’s timely intervention, both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng would’ve fallen for the Jin sect’s instigation and turned against each other in an act of mutual destruction that harmed both of them, and everyone else besides. Jiang Cheng would have cut off his own right arm, voluntarily weakening his sect just at the moment when they needed strength the most, and rendered himself without any other choice but to be dependent on Lanling Jin, while Wei Wuxian would have remained trapped in the Burial Mounds in Yiling, getting called the Yiling Patriarch as some people still today did, growing ever more resentful at his isolation and poverty.

(That one uncomfortable month he’d spent arguing with Wen Qing and Wen Ning about whether they should try to grow radishes or potatoes had been very educational, especially since they were both not-so-secretly convinced that the argument was futile and that nothing would ever grow on the Burial Mounds, such that they were just whiling away time until they all starved to death.)

They would be scattered, weakened, unhappy and vulnerable. Wei Wuxian would be sitting there like a giant target until the Jin sect decided, in their leisure, to deal with him the way, in hindsight, they had so obviously always intended to.

Wei Wuxian would have missed his sister’s wedding, probably. He might even have missed Jiang Yanli’s widowing, and the consequences of that were unthinkable.

If Wei Wuxian hadn’t brought the Wen sect back with him to the Lotus Pier as a result of Jiang Cheng’s defiance of the cultivation world’s criticism, Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli would never had the chance to hit it off the way they had, becoming fast friends. If they hadn’t been friends, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been visiting Jinlin Tower to check up on her good friend when the news of Jin Zixuan’s death had first spread.

His murder, rather – Wei Wuxian wasn’t terribly clear on the details, but it wasn’t really necessary. Jin Guangshan had pressed his legitimate son’s filial piety to the breaking point in his pursuit of power, and finally he must have done something to go too far, to cause there to be a real break between them. Jin Zixuan must have made clear that he would not play along, no matter what, and by that point Jin Guangshan already knew there was Jin Guangyao waiting in the sidelines to step up and take his place. There was no other way it could have gone, simply because there was no other reason for both Jin Zixuan and his mother to so conveniently die on the very same day.

If it hadn’t been for Nie Huaisang convincing Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been there. Wen Qing wouldn’t have been available to be bold and decisive, the way she was with her medicine; she wouldn’t have been able to persuade Jiang Yanli of the possibility of danger and then to smuggler out of Jinlin Tower and take her on the run in disguise, long before it occurred to anyone else that there might be some threat to her – that the Jin sect might decide to hold her hostage, or worse.

Definitely worse. If Jin Guangyao had had the chance to figure out what only Wen Qing had known back then – that Jiang Yanli, barely more than a newlywed, already carried the next heir to Lanling Jin within her belly…

Jin Guangyao’s ambitions would never have let Jin Zixuan live, a fact they’d all only realized in horrible helpless hindsight, but if Wen Qing had been trapped in Yiling with Wei Wuxian at the time, instead of visiting Lanling, then Jiang Yanli…

Wei Wuxian didn’t even want to think of it.

So, really, it was only fair that Nie Huaisang, who had whether intentionally or incidentally saved so many of them these past few years, finally, finally get what he’d been dreaming of all these years: his brother’s return.

It was only fair that he be allowed to return to being happy.

And yet, at the same time –

“You need to go talk to him,” Jiang Cheng said. His arms would be crossed in front of his chest if he wasn’t currently holding a sleeping Jin Ling, who’d had something of a fright upon meeting the new and improved Nie Huaisang. The poor kid had been convinced that his habitually bitter and vicious Second Uncle Nie was possessed by some sort of fierce but bizarrely friendly ghost. “There’s a war on, for fuck’s sake. He can’t spend all his time haunting the Unclean Realm trying to pretend that he’s something he’s not in order to keep his brother from finding out that he’s changed!”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Wei Wuxian objected. “I mean, Nie Huaisang’s always run most of the war through correspondence, anyway, and it’s not like we’re totally helpless without him to boss us around.”

“His absence hasn’t been noted by our enemies just yet,” Wen Ning murmured. His arms were similarly full with Wen Yuan – a little older than his friends, steadier and more mature, but a sympathetic crier, and spending a month of his childhood in the Burial Mounds made him more susceptible to fears of possession, not less, so he’d been set off by Jin Ling. And seeing them both in tears had, of course, made poor level-headed Jin Rusong, who didn’t cry easily at all, panic and try to help in a way that only made it worse; Xiao Xingchen had swept him away to the kitchen, and the two of them were currently making snacks for the other two when they woke up. “But it will be, soon. They are already puzzled by the change in tactics.”

Wen Ning’s voice was as soft as ever, his stutter subdued only by the fact that he was with company he liked, but his tone brooked no argument – he’d changed a lot since their youth, too, and knew more intimately than most how some things could not be undone.

The Jin sect, not content with merely killing him, had dubbed his resurrected self ‘the Ghost General’ in an attempt to incite the cultivation world into hating and fearing him. It had been a lie back then, when he’d been doing nothing more than planting radish seeds and babysitting, but now Wen Ning was a general in truth, the leader of their archers and one of Nie Huaisang’s right hands. He was still shy, still didn’t speak fluently and probably never would, but Nie Huaisang had assigned him several capable deputies who understood him even when he had to resort to the type of hand-signs used by the deaf or in covert situations. He was surprisingly popular with the cultivators on their side of the war, although Wei Wuxian acknowledged that perhaps his popularity shouldn’t be that much of a surprise: there was a certain morale-boosting effect in seeing your general continuing to fight even after being struck with enough arrows to create a porcupine.

“Being puzzled by a change in tactics is fairly run of the mill for any enemy facing Nie Huaisang,” Wei Wuxian pointed out.

“Which is why they haven’t noticed it yet, Wei-gongzi. But eventually…”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “Is it really that dire?”

“Not yet,” Lan Wangji said ominously, and – fine. If even Lan Wangji thought that someone should talk to Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian would go and talk to him.

After all, they were old friends of long acquaintance.

Very long, even.

“I come bearing terms of peace,” Wei Wuxian announced, walking into Nie Huaisang’s study and waving a few jars of wine at him. “Come negotiate with me, Nie-xiong!”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to barge into my room,” Nie Huaisang said without looking up from his correspondence, a little flash of the vicious Pallbearer they’d all grown painfully accustomed to – he had his family’s temper but a cooler head, with rage that burned low and long rather than flaring up hot and burning out.

Wei Wuxian reflected once more on how apt Nie Huaisang’s personal title was. The foolish thought that it referred to the filial piety he showed in mourning the brother that raised him since childhood, the somewhat wiser to the way the attack on Nie Mingjue had forced Nie Huaisang to find the virtue he had previously lacked, but the really smart ones knew that the most accurate interpretation was that those that Nie Huaisang chose to accompany to their end would ultimately find themselves without any path forward but death.

Nie Huaisang’s cultivation was still nothing special, his ability to fight virtually non-existent beyond the most basic of saber forms – a saber he now carried with him often enough, but still almost never used – and he’d rejected Wei Wuxian’s very innovative idea (if he did say so himself) that he try to train with a war fan, both on the basis of it being both too much effort and furthermore thoroughly lacking in aesthetic. As a result, he had no particularly notable talents, and none that could allow him to triumph in a night-hunt or a duel.

It didn’t make him any less terrifying.

“You’ll forgive me,” Wei Wuxian said flippantly, and sat down next to him, looking at the words that filled the page with Nie Huaisang’s lovely, artistic calligraphy. “More spy stuff?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips curled up into a small smirk. “Naturally. The network never sleeps, as you well know. I assume you’ve been sent to scold me about the war?”

“Amazing,” Wei Wuxian said, and nudged him in the side with his elbow. “It’s almost like you have a brain in your head or something. Since you’ve guessed it, I don’t even know what more I need to say…how’s Chifeng-zun doing?”

That got Nie Huaisang’s face to soften, as he’d hoped it would. “Much better. He’s been sleeping and waking consistently, and the mobility exercises are working well, though of course he’s insisting on trying more than he can manage. He only just managed to walk across the room without stumbling yesterday, had to sit down right away after, and he’s already asking about saber training.”

That was very in character for Nie Mingjue.

“I’m glad,” Wei Wuxian said, meaning it with all his heart. “I missed da-ge.”

He owed him so much, after all.

So much more than most people knew.

It had been Nie Mingjue who had found him all those years ago, in the dark days when his parents had died in a night-hunt gone wrong and the money they’d left with the innkeeper turning out to be insufficient to keep him housed or fed for more than a fortnight. Wei Wuxian had been a spoiled, beloved child – even if his parents were rogue cultivators, his father originally a servant, they were famous; there wasn’t a town that didn’t welcome them with open arms. They had never lacked for money, for warmth and comfort.

Wei Wuxian might have had a chance if they’d died in the spring or summer. He might have been able to learn to sleep on the streets during warm nights and used those rich fat months to learn from all the other beggars how to eat refuse, but his parents had died in the winter. Even the beggars chased him away, unwilling to spare the smallest scrap of food or lose any bit of warmth by sharing the spots they had found to shelter from the cold; and when he went to the richer districts that had once greeted his parents with such enthusiasm, wild dogs were sent to chase him away, vicious and merciless…within a week, he had been very nearly dead.

Luckily, when hiring rogue cultivators turned out to be insufficient to deal with the problem, the miserly local landlord that had sent out the notice in the first place had finally given in and written to a Great Sect, begging for aid – as a rich man, he was obligated to contribute to the costs of a requested night-hunt, and the Great Sects, while generally more successful, were typically far more mercenary in that regard than rogue cultivators – and Nie Mingjue had come with his Nie sect, the most willing by far to do the work of defeating evil without charging too much for the privilege.

He’d found the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s parents.

Soon after, he’d found Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian had been about seven, then. It had been a full two years before Jiang Fengmian had found him on the very same streets, hiding in the trash with a dirty face and a sad and miserable expression, ready to be picked up and taken home by his father’s old friend, the Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang.

Just as anyone might’ve predicted.

After all, Nie Mingjue had never stinted on sending out spies, even if he never used them.

(He’d released Wei Wuxian of all those old obligations long ago – but Nie Huaisang never had.)

“Da-ge passes along his thanks, by the way,” Nie Huaisang said. “He thinks the array you created to help preserve his life is brilliant.”

“It is brilliant,” Wei Wuxian said, shameless as always. Getting a truly vicious scolding from his little master Nie Huaisang about exactly how close to the line his arrogance had brought him and the Wen sect had humbled him a bit, and the disaster of the Stygian Tiger Seal nearly going out of his control at the Nightless City not long thereafter had humbled him still more, but in the end he was still Wei Wuxian. He was awesome. “Could anyone else have done what I did?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes.

“He’s not angry at me for misusing Baxia?” Wei Wuxian asked, fishing for confirmation. If there was one thing that his two years in the Nie sect had taught him, it was a near-pathological revulsion at the thought of touching another person’s spiritual weapon – he’d been very nearly more excited to be allowed to put his hand on an unsheathed Bichen than Lan Wangji’s dick, although not quite – and Nie Mingjue was quite justifiably more paranoid than most on the subject.

Even that treacherous dog Jin Guangyao hadn’t dared touch Baxia. The spiritual poison he’d used on Nie Mingjue had been limited to the man himself, and that had been what gave Wei Wuxian the idea for the array he’d invented. Nie Mingjue cultivated with Baxia as his primary, if not only, spiritual weapon, and the disciples of the Nie sect were closer to their sabers than most – and by the end of the Sunshot Campaign, Baxia was a fearsome entity in her own right, possessed of her own spiritual energy.

And as he’d always said, energy was meant to be used.

There was something about the Nie sect’s cultivation style that reminded Wei Wuxian of his innovations in demonic cultivation, although it wasn’t quite the same. They didn’t manipulate resentful energy directly the way he did, but they still made use of it, refining their blades with it until the sabers were very nearly guai, cultivating saber spirits filled with a lust for blood – although the strict disciplines of the Nie sect cultivation path meant that every saber spirit that Wei Wuxian had ever had the fortune (or misfortune) to personally encounter just as absolutist in their disdain for evil as their masters.

Even Nie Huaisang’s saber Aituan was like that, and maybe that should have been Wei Wuxian’s first hint that Nie Huaisang wasn’t as simple as he appeared on the surface.

“It’s fine,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Really. Da-ge said it was – how’d he put it – a charming contradiction, that his saber get used to cultivating energy for him rather than him for the saber. Though maybe he was just relieved that she was intact, given everything.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and toasted Nie Huaisang, drinking a little of the wine while Nie Huaisang continued with his correspondence.

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while.

“I’m not pretending,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, and Wei Wuxian, who’d drifted off into daydreams involving him, Lan Wangji, and a very sturdy bathtub, turned to look at him. “I know what Jiang Cheng thinks –”

“Of course you do. I tell you what Jiang Cheng thinks.”

“Shut up, you – you calamity. I don’t need you to tell me what Jiang Cheng thinks, he tells me himself more often than not. He thinks that I’m pretending to be useless because I don’t want da-ge to know about everything I’ve done, but that’s not the case at all. He knows. I wouldn’t keep it from him.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian said, because he did. Even at his most lazy and self-indulgent, Nie Huaisang abhorred the thought of lying to his brother. “But you are spending too much of your time in the Unclean Realm. We need you back in the field.”

Nie Huaisang scowled. “The cream of the cultivation world,” he said disdainfully. “Can’t they do anything by themselves, just for a few short months? You’d think my brother fought the entirety of the Sunshot Campaign by himself with how little they seem to contribute.”

“Personally, I think that everyone has just taken the Nie sect as lucky cats, and are afraid to do without you,” Wei Wuxian said, batting his eyelashes at him in his most provoking show of earnestness. “Nie-xiong, if I rub your head, does that mean I’ll win my next battle…?”

“Don’t you dare,” Nie Huaisang said, but the scowl receded and he looked amused again. “I can’t wait to send da-ge out on the battlefield again.”

“The Jin sect will trample each other in their eagerness to get off the battlefield rather than face Chifeng-zun,” Wei Wuxian agreed, and couldn’t help his own smile at the thought. “The rumors that he’s returned have already started spreading like wildfire, but you’ve done well to hide him away so thoroughly. It means no one knows if the rumors are right or if you’re just pulling some kind of trick on the world.”

“Who, me? A trick?” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled thinly. “I only wish I could’ve seen the look on that treacherous dog’s face when his spies reported on my unusual behavior. I hope he’s afraid.”

Wei Wuxian agreed.

He had tried many times to imagine doing what Jin Guangyao had done. To turn your hand against the man to whom you had sworn to love as a brother –

He couldn’t even imagine hurting Jiang Cheng like that, and Jiang Yanli even less.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue his life. He had sworn fealty to him with all the passion and singlemindedness of childhood, and had never once regretted it. Nie Mingjue had taken him off the streets and brought him back to his sect, he’d taken back his parents’ bodies and buried them with full (if private) honors, he’d given Wei Wuxian training to make him strong and smart and capable. He’d sent him to do work in a place where he would prosper and thrive and be happy, and all the while promised that he would never be trapped – that he would have a way out if the Jiang sect became too suffocating or he was treated too viciously, on one hand, and on the other told him that he could one day petition to be released from his obligations to the Nie sect if he ever found them too demanding.

Wei Wuxian had asked to be released from those obligations after the fall of the Lotus Pier, unable to stomach the idea of reporting on Jiang Cheng now that he was all alone in the world in the way that he had so effortlessly reported on Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu. Nie Mingjue had granted the reprieve without a second’s hesitation, even though it meant wasting the years and years of investment they’d put into him, even though it would have been a critical moment to have an ear within the Jiang sect’s camp.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue everything.

And yet – if the man had asked him to kill Jiang Cheng, he would have said no.

Twin heroes, he’d promised Jiang Cheng, and if for a while he’d thought he would have to give up that promise because of the secret of the golden core that he still kept hidden away, he refused to think it any longer. Jiang Cheng was his brother in all but blood, in all the ways that mattered. Wei Wuxian would stand aside from him if he thought he had to, as he had with the Wen sect remnants; he would keep secrets from him, he would even deceive him, but he would never willingly seek to hurt him.

Jin Guangyao, though? He had attacked Nie Mingjue without even being asked.

He was like some rabid beast, a white-eyed wolf, Wei Wuxian thought. Utterly beyond his understanding.

He deserved to be afraid.

“Speaking of which,” he said, suddenly remembering. “I think I’ve figured out why Jin Guangyao was willing to kill his own heir to further his and his father’s ambitions.”

“About time,” Nie Huaisang said, and while his tone was stern Wei Wuxian was mostly sure that he was teasing. “I put you on that job months ago. What do you think I keep you around for? Your brilliant inventions? Your armies of corpses? Your amazing ability to stun irritating sect leaders into silence with your overwhelming shamelessness regarding Lan Wangji –”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Wei Wuxian said hastily, although the giant grin he couldn’t keep off his face said everything about his shame – or lack thereof – relating to that last one. You get caught doing one little roleplay about the fearsome demonic cultivator Yiling Patriarch being arrested by the righteous cultivator Hanguang-jun and suddenly no one wanted to look you in the eye anymore… “Anyway, according to all the rumors, you keep me around because you want me to raise your brother the way I raised Wen Ning.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that one, and I still can’t believe anyone believes it. Da-ge’s a sect leader! Even if you wanted to bring him back, think about the amount of resentment he would have had to feel at his death to rise up again despite all the soul-calming rituals he’s gone through! If he ever became that resentful, he wouldn’t rise up as a ghost general, he’d be a ghost king, and then we’d all be screwed.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t wrong. Nie Mingjue was one of the most powerful cultivators living – if he rose as a fierce corpse, he’d be able to slaughter an entire village of common people overnight with just the energy in one hand. And if he were then allowed access to Baxia, her power added to his…he’d become a scourge on the world, a true calamity, and they’d need to find a way to appease his anger and somehow lock him away forever just to survive.

Assuming Nie Huaisang allowed something like that, anyway. Wei Wuxian was very happy they had never been forced to face the question of whether Nie Huaisang preferred his brother or his morality, as he suspected no one would like the answer to that. Not even Nie Huaisang.

“Enough speculation,” Nie Huaisang said, and Wei Wuxian twitched guiltily even though he knew Nie Huaisang was not, in fact, a mind-reader. “What’s the story with A-Song?”

“You want the long version with all the proof I found to support it or the conclusion?”

“Start with the conclusion.”

“Jin Guangyao couldn’t risk A-Song growing up into a half-wit on account of being a child of incest.”

That actually surprised Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian was pleased to see.

“Incest?” Nie Huaisang said wonderingly. “But how – oh, of course. Jin Guangshan and Madame Qin? An affair or rape?”

“Rape while he was drunk, supposedly, though of course we only have the relevant people’s words for that, and they’re not exactly impartial sources. Could’ve been an affair that had unexpected results, not that anyone would ever admit it.”

Nie Huaisang started laughing.

Wei Wuxian really wished he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the sort of happy giggle that he sometimes let out nowadays when he was thinking of Nie Mingjue’s recovery – it was the jagged vicious bitterness of the Pallbearer, through and through.

“Oh, Qin Su, Qin Su,” Nie Huaisang said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I gave you all the chances in the world, you stupid woman. I hope you’re happy with what you chose.”

“Can I ask?” Wei Wuxian said cautiously. “You never said – you just showed up with A-Song, no Qin Su and no explanation…”

“Says the person who adopted A-Yuan all but sight unseen?”

“I lived with him for a month, it’s different,” Wei Wuxian said. “What happened with Qin Su?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Nothing dramatic. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her that her husband was planning on killing her son to frame his enemies, which is reasonable enough given that everyone knows I’m at odds with him. Even when I offered her proof, she said it was just a forgery – that he wasn’t like that, that she knew him, the real him, that she was the only one who really understood him, even though I’d say the whole cultivation world knows the ‘real’ him by now.”

“Irritating, but understandable, I think – he is her husband, the dashing hero that rescued her so valiantly in the Sunshot Campaign and which she defied custom and her parents to marry. So why all the disdain?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips pressed together tightly with disapproval. “I asked her if she was willing to risk losing A-Song just to show her husband that she trusted him, and she said that she was, because it wasn’t a risk at all. Because she knew he loved her too much to do such a terrible thing without a good reason.”

“Without a good reason?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “That’s her son!”

“Don’t you know that they can always have others?” Nie Huaisang said with a sneer, clearly paraphrasing words he’d heard. “They’re young, in love – it’s all my fault that he stopped touching her, apparently. I took Lan Xichen away from him and he’s so upset about it that he can’t come to her bed, but once the world is rid of me, it’ll all go back to the way it should be…”

“I’ll give her that much: she really loves him,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. The delusions of a person in love, he supposed. He hoped that he and Lan Wangji weren’t quite that bad. “She’ll be in for a disappointment. Given what I found out…he’ll never return to her bed or give her children, not in this lifetime.”

“No, he won’t.” Nie Huaisang reached for his fan. “Thank you for this. I’ll think about how to use it.”

“And?” Wei Wuxian prodded.

“And I’ll come back to the battlefield,” Nie Huaisang conceded, looking discontented, and Wei Wuxian smiled smugly. “You can supervise the Unclean Realm in my place.”

“What? No!” Wei Wuxian protested, his smile disappearing at once. “You have Xiao Xingchen –”

“He’s newly blinded, and out of all the cultivators we have available, you’re the most effective at fighting on a stand-alone basis. Think of it as having some time to bond with your mother’s shidi.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t want time to bond with his martial uncle – or, well, he did, he’d been dying for an opportunity to talk with Xiao Xingchen more or less since the man first made his name known in the cultivation world, but Nie Huaisang’s rules were such that no one outside the most trusted inner circles of the Nie sect was allowed in the familial quarters of the Unclean Realm, or even in the Unclean Realm at all. And that meant…

“But – Lan Wangji –”

“Will not die if he’s forced to be abstinent for a little while,” Nie Huaisang said, and oh, it was on.

“Did Qin Su specify the method by which you took Lan Xichen from her husband?” Wei Wuxian asked, crossing his arms. “I was under the impression that you still referred to him as Zewu-jun –”

Nie Huaisang glared.

Too bad – if the Pallbearer didn’t want to get mocked over his crush on the First Jade of Lan, he shouldn’t have let Wei Wuxian find out about the fact that the torch he held for him was still burning hot as ever.

“Perhaps my information is out of date. Tell me, little master, what means of seduction did you employ to convince Zewu-jun to betray his poor sad little A-Yao? Did you work your wicked wiles on him?”

“Wei Wuxian –”

“Did you play his xiao?”

Nie Huaisang let out an ungentlemanly snort and had to cover his face. “Oh no,” he said. “Oh no. Why did you have to give me that mental image? Fuck you, Wei Wuxian.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you too. Abstinent my ass.”

“I think you’ll find that the problem with abstinence is that it’s not your ass,” Nie Huaisang said, shoulders shaking. “That’s kind of the point. Now go tell everyone that I’ll be rejoining them tomorrow.”

“I will relish their groans of despair,” Wei Wuxian said, standing up. He was clearly going to have to take as much advantage that he could of the little time he had with Lan Wangji before being cruelly locked away. “Oh, is there any news on Song Lan?”

“None,” Nie Huaisang said. “He may as well have ascended into the heavens. Don’t tell Xiao Xingchen, he’ll only worry.”

“I won’t, I won’t. As for you – could you try to lighten up on Zewu-jun? Now that da-ge’s awake again?”

Nie Huaisang frowned.

“I’m not saying forgive him,” Wei Wuxian clarified. “Just – you know that da-ge wouldn’t want you to be so mad at him, especially since you still like him and all.”

“I’ll let da-ge decide that, I think,” Nie Huaisang said, and the humor had fled his face entirely. “It was his assassin that Zewu-jun decided to trust and protect, after all.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, accepting the verdict – he disagreed, but he understood – and turning to leave.

He paused at the door.

“Just so you know,” he said, not looking at Nie Huaisang. “Having trusted Meng Yao doesn’t mean you have to be so mad at yourself, either.”

He left before Nie Huaisnag could respond, but he heard something shatter in the room behind him.

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

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

You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.  

Honestly?  

It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.

But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.

“Are you okay?”

Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.

She’s observant like that.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head.  “Just some fan mail.”  

Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

Make that twelve.

“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano.  You want one?”

“Actually yes,” you exhale.  “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office.  You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.

you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]

namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]

you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]

namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]

You groan.

Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.

It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not.  Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.

You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights.  Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.

you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]

namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]

Paperwork is going to have to wait.

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

You’re not a moron.  

You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.

You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks.  They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.

They’re not wrong.

Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons.  He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.

So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.

That was a burden you shared with only one other person.

You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.

And then you left.

You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law.  Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul.  You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.  

But you also walked away from Namjoon.

Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died.  The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past.  In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.  

Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up.  He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.

They still haven’t.

And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.  

There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother.  You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.  

If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.

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

Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.

He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.

He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.  

In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.

Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.  

The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office.  You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side.  You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.

You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk.  A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.

“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception.  I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”

“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while.  I’m buried with a new case.”

Namjoon nods.

“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it.  Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”

“I see,” you murmur.

You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs.  Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.

“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.  

You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize.  It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.

The first word that comes to mind is sharp.

Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body.  Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.

You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.

“They want you to make this go away.”

You sigh.

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.

“Right.  So we have a problem,” he admits.  “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.  And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”

You take in a deep breath.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.  

“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”

“Detail,” you repeat slowly.  “Like a bodyguard.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother,  “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around.  People are going to talk.”

“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”

You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.  

You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all.  You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.

“Joon -- “

There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning.  A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority.  You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.

“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm.  “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”

He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door.  You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.

“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself.  I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”

Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass.  He takes a slow drink before speaking.

“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety.  Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”

Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.  

Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name.  It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.

Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.

“You should know me by now,” he continues.  “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”

“I know that,” you admit quietly.  Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.

“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by.  And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”

You blink.  “In my apartment?”

A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment.  I’m privy to information you don’t have.”  He takes a long drink from the highball glass.  “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”

“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can’t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”

“No.”

“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”

You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.  

Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military.  He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”

You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted.  You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure.  You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.  

“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him.  You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.

“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”

Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.  

“Thank you, Amsaja.”

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

Hoseok

“Has she seen this?”

Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.  

There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture.  There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.

You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales.  “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”

Hoseok hands the photograph back.

“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment.  And then I need you to bring him here.”

Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to.  Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.  

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement.  “It’s gonna be handled.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.

He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work.  Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.

“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”

“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.  

Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.

The first word that comes to mind is small.

You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame.  Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.  

Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother.  He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.

In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times --  almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions.  Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though.  That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.

But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.

Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.

Amsaja, Namjoon had called you.  Lioness.

Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.  

He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood.  He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.  

This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.

Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.

Never.

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

tag list:

@yoongbug @brilliantlybasicb @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain​@sunkissed75 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale​

[avversiera-writes]

overstepping, part 2 of 2 - tobirama senju/reader

Summary: In which Tobirama does not know how to express his concerns properly. And it turns to a mess, and then some. Smut ensues. 

Author’s Note: Had to cut the whole thing in like half! link to part 1 below <3

PART 1

Mito chuckles softly as the two of you discuss your quips with your Senju husbands. The two of you spend dinner together, like you have done so these past few days, as Hashirama is off somewhere in the gambling district, and your own Senju husband still cooped up in his office. Mito had sent one of their sons to find their father before he made a fool of himself, but knowing Hashirama, he is also good at evading problems.

Probably too good. Apparently, Senju men are skilled at this.

You are fortunate that Mito is your sister in law, because you would not know how to keep your sanity at this point.

“I love him, and I know who I married, but…” You trail off, deep in thought. You remember the peculiar summoning jutsu that Tobirama was working on earlier. It is not just a summoning jutsu and something about it scratches at your mind uncomfortably.

As a shinobi, you have good instincts of what can go wrong, and this definitely has that vibe.

“It gets hard,” Mito supplies. She knows. She has been married to Hashirama since their late teenage years.

“It does. I know he got scared for me after that mission that got me hospitalized,” you say. “Now, he’s showing his concern weirdly.”

The two of you share a comfortable silence.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Mito suggests. “I’ll talk to my husband to reason with yours.”

You let out a breath of relief. “Alright. The two of them get along well without us, anyways.”

~

You spend the rest of the week attending to your household, doing your best to act as Tobirama’s wife, since you have nothing else to occupy your mind. You also read up on the summoning jutsus that Mito let you borrow, and the more you read up on the symbols and the patterns of the lines, the more uneasy you felt.  

You definitely saw the markings for life and death on that paper. And you definitely recognize the scrawls of bringing or pulling something out of–well, perdition? You are pretty sure it is heading in that direction, though just the mere thought of Tobirama playing god sends a chill to your bones.

You wait for him to get home, which he surprisingly did at an early time.

You want to ignore him, but days and well months of unsaid conflict is starting to burst through the lid that you capped on your emotions. You try to be understanding of your husband, to be supportive because you are proud of him being the Hokage, but there is only so much you can take from him. Your career as a shinobi is at a standstill, and your husband spends days cooped up in that stuffy office doing Kami knows what, preventing you from taking any other missions that suit you. When you try to help him and lighten up his duties as Hokage, he finds errors in your efforts and becomes irate and unyielding.

“Where were you?” You wince at the way your voice sounds, it is the type of voice you use to interrogate people for information.  

Tobirama gives you a hard look. “I did not appreciate my brother speaking of our marital affairs, and you behind my back.”

You shake your head, your jaw tensed. “You do not get to change the subject. Where were you?”

“At the office, where my brother cornered me.” Tobirama glares at you, but you don’t back down.

You’re not easily intimidated like that.

“How can you blindside me like that? Stop intruding into my work and just be my wife!” Tobirama snaps.

You thank the gods that your servants have retreated into their quarters on the other side of the house. You hate to broadcast your arguments to people that have potential to gossip.

You step forward towards him and you meet his eyes without wavering. “I am a shinobi foremost and your wife second!” You shout back.

You can tell that Tobirama came at you, charged with that temperous energy he possesses, but you are his wife and you know how to be prepared for his temper tantrums.

The two of you start arguing about anything and everything. You were venting to him about your struggles as his wife while he is trying to out-shout you by telling you how unfair you are being and how you are becoming more of a distraction than a helping hand.

Both of you do not listen as you ramble off against each other.

Then, when you paused to take a break, Tobirama is shouting, “I’d have thought we would be more like my brother and his wife! I know I am not the best husband–”

Frustrated and confused about what he is talking about, you shout back, “Oh good, you know! Tobirama, we would never be like your brother and his wife! We were never like them in the first place!”

Tobirama is staring at you wildly. “What is that supposed to mean?” Tobirama snaps. “What do you mean? That I was wrong in marrying you? You should have known what you were getting into!”

You note how tired and vulnerable he sounds, and if you had half a mind to be calm, you might have sensed the insecurity deeply embedded in his voice, but you are too wind up in your anger.

“Tobirama, what are you even on about?!” You grow, sensing that whatever you were fighting about in the first place is lost between you two. “This has nothing to do with what we’re fighting about in the first place!”

This situation is just blowing up from one pointless topic to another until everything comes flooding out, until every frustration is forming words between the charged space between you and your husband.

“What am I to you, Tobirama?!” You shout at his face. You are only one breath apart. You have not noticed how close you are to his space now.

Tobirama stares at you intensely, red eyes lit like fire and his breath a little shaky.

Suddenly, he grabs your neck. For a split second, you thought Tobirama is legitimately going to kill you with the way he is glaring and scowling at you, but then his lips are on yours. Violently, he kisses you. You kiss back, albeit with more teeth and nails involved. There was more fighting than kissing involved, but you both keep at it since this is the closest you’ve been with each other for months.

You gasp as Tobirama’s tongue darts through your lips without as much of a yes, and you push back with as much force. Your fingers tangle in his white hair and you grip and pull at it, hard. He backs you up to the wall, a hand still on your neck, but it is more like it is resting there. It does not do anything else.

At that moment, you realized that he can never really hurt you. As much as you provoke him, and even in the heat of a moment, he does not follow through.

Frustrated and desiring that you wish that he is closing his fingers around your neck, you rip his shirt off and clung to him even closer. You want him to do it, gods, it is making you crazy. You want him to fight back even harder because it is rare that he expresses frustration with you. His hands travel down your waist and hips, gripping them with a strength that he uses to spar with you.

You jump to his waist, and he pushes you against the wall again. You dig your nails into the skin of his pale back, and run them down hard enough to leave marks, eliciting a grunt from him. Your lips crash against each other, messy and filled with bites. At one point, the two of you growled, the result of months of repressed frustration finally bleeding through the cracks of your walls.

Tobirama moves towards your bedroom, and once he has managed to maneuver your bodies inside, he throws you down into the bed. He is immediately on your skin, his mouth on places that drive you insane. He is pulling your clothes off of you, and touching you everywhere, gripping your arms, your breasts, your legs. You resist moaning, but it is almost impossible when he is slipping his finger through your needy, tight hole. Above you, his eyes watch you closely. You can feel him tremble slightly, and suddenly you realized that being in contact with you like this so quickly might be too much for his senses.

You can feel how desperate he is to get closer to you, but for now, the only thing you can do is open your legs wider to let him in. You feel another finger slip and you arc towards him languidly. You catch his other hand, and you pull it so that you can hold and entwine your hand with his above your head. You feel his reluctance, but you want more. You want more, and his fingers inside of you is not enough.  

“Damn it, Tobirama,” you let out in a quick rush of air.

You feel him turn stoic, and you pull at his hand harder, and he presses flush against you. You catch his mouth and grind into his fingers, and you close your eyes as it sends a pleasurable tingle through your spine. You feel your torso tighten as you keep grinding against his fingers, and above you, Tobirama’s breaths accelerate.  

His fingers dig in you, curving at the right spot, and you cry out in pain when he starts to rub his thumb against your clit. He sits up, and he fucks you open, eyes intent on watching your face. Your body writhes in pleasure, and Tobirama does not stop. You throw your head back, and you start making these gasping choking sounds that come raw from your throat.

Tobirama is also breathing harshly, and just when it is getting too much for you to come, he stops. You let out a whimper, and a groan of frustration, urging him on. To do more.

Then, he is relentlessly slamming his cock into you and driving you upwards the bed. He is murmuring curses because of how tight you are, but it does not dissuade his rhythm; each slam is with reckless abandon, his hands are rough on your hips. Then, he is pressing his hands against your inner thighs, laying it flat on the bed so that it is spread open wide for him.

You glance down and see Tobirama’s dick getting swallowed by your hole, and you moan deliriously at the lewd scene before you. He is thick and heavy and hot inside you, and that knowledge has you mewling, completely forgoing logic.

You were supposed to be fighting. You still were, you suppose.

Unable to control your shaking legs, you settle for clenching your walls around Tobirama’s dick, and find purchase on his sturdy shoulders. Your body ripples from the sheer pleasure and you cry out as Tobirama grabs your legs, throws one over his shoulder and leans forward. The new angle is jarring, and you think you see stars.

For a second, you blacked out because the next thing you know, Tobirama is fucking you sideways, both of your legs resting held up over his arm.

Your voice keens, and you cry out for him. You start whimpering and screaming as an intense fire spreads from your lower region and towards your whole body. Your nerves are alight with a heat you have never felt before. Someone might as well have hit you with the infamous Uchiha fireball jutsu. You forget there are such things as words as you start whimpering and screaming. Sweat drops from your forehead, your chest. Above your screaming, you hear the sound of skin slapping against skin.  

Tobirama drives into you even more intensely, grinding and slamming into you deeply, and you feel like you are about to split into two. He leans over once again, prying your legs apart and pulling them around his waist; finally, and you throw your arms around his shoulder to hold onto him. His mouth goes to your breast, his tongue hot and slick against your skin and your nipples, and the hot sensation of his mouth makes you come. You cry out and arc up against him, but he keeps his pace, he keeps fucking you with no intention to stop.

Your hands go to his biceps and you feel his skin underneath your nails, feel the way you etch sharp crescents on its surface. Tobirama then kisses you full on the mouth, invading, insistent; he sucks on your tongue and flicks his own against the roof of your mouth.

The heat starts building up again, and this time, it builds much faster.

“Tobi!” You scream. You arc against him languidly, and your movements become jerky and erratic. “Tobi-hhmm-I’m so close, I’m–”

His hips jerks, and he fucks you with a speed and tenacity that makes your mind blank completely. Your body tenses, and you scream, your nails tear into the skin of his back again, and he still keeps going, until you feel his hot seed spill into you, making the slapping of skin even more lewd than necessary. You feel it trickle down to your thigh, and you whimper, your heart loud in your ears and your breath fighting to become even. Each movement Tobirama makes sends intense tingling through your body, so you hold him still. The two of you do not break away from each other, opting to just stay conjoined through the most intimate parts of your body.  

Tobirama’s breathing is harsh against your neck, and you feel his lips press against your collarbone tenderly.

When your high has finally come down, Tobirama pulls out of you slowly, puts an arm under your neck, and he lies down with you resting against him snugly.

“Did…I hurt you?” He murmurs.

You let out a small chuckle, remembering how much you tore at his back. “I think…I’m in better condition than you.”

He lets out a quick rush of air that is an equivalent to a laugh.

“Tobi…” You start, a bit drowsy. Everything feels cold and faraway, now that you had a taste of the fire between the two of you. “I want to help you. I really do, but you have to let me in. I am your wife. Not a stranger.”

“I must apologize. You must have felt frustrated and angry with me for taking away aspects of your life you deem important. You deserved better, and you knew that.”

“I did.”

You turn to him, despite the ache settling in your bones and rest a hand on his face. “But I swear to my life and to my clan’s name that I will help you become a great Hokage.”

Tobirama gives you a hint of a smile.

“Though, we do have plenty to discuss,” you murmur against his skin. You know that it will be difficult to pry Tobirama away from his own thoughts, but you are going to try.

Tobirama mumbles something incoherent, and the two of you surrender to sleep.

~

Tobirama glares at you as you sort through his documents right in front of him. You ignored his suggestions about how he wanted it arranged, but then you gave up and just followed what he was saying because he had suddenly stood up from his desk to wrestle his things from your hands. His argument is that you do not know what is important, so instead, you just ask him in your passive aggressive way and then your tone sparks another nonsense debate.

Two can go at this game.

At the end of the day, you go home together. Then, you stop him when you spot a quiet corner stand. You pull him towards it direction, and it dawns on you that this will be the first time you two will be eating together in a while.

The person in the stand is immediately alert and a little nervous from the unprompted visit of the new Hokage, and you tell them your food orders. Tobirama opts to just watch you, something he does a lot when the two of you have been apart for a long time.

“Do you know who I am, Tobi?”

Tobirama stares at you, then his face grows confused. “What?”

“I am asking you if you know who I am.”

“What kind of nonsense question is this? Of course I know you,” he says gruffly.

You take a deep breath and you look at his face intently so that you can gauge his reaction. “I’m retiring as a shinobi.”

Tobirama blinks, not expecting this.

“Look, you…I know who I married, I knew what I was getting into, that eventually you will take up harder responsibilities in the future,” you begin and you observe the expressions flitting through your husband’s face. “But if I am a shinobi at the same time as you are Hokage, you will keep getting in my way, and I will get in your way of duty as well.”

“I…” Tobirama starts, but he is at loss of words for once.

“I know, I know you. You will get antsy and irritated if nothing is going your way. You have to focus on our village, and you can’t do that with half of your mind worrying about me. So I quit.”

Tobirama stares at your face again, glum. He never wanted to take important things away from you, but inevitably, he had done just that.

After a while, he says, “Thank you.” There was not much to be said on these matters.

“And my promises from last night still rings true.”

Tobirama smiles, but it is small and quick, it is almost impossible to catch, but you are his wife and you have known him and have memorized his expressions in the most miniscule ways.

“However,” you quickly add, “should the next time you tell me what I can and can’t do, the next time you decide something for me as the Hokage and not as my husband, I do not care if you have your damn Senju name, I will ruin you.”

”Oh? And how will you go about this name smearing campaign of yours?”

“Oh, there are so many ways, husband,” you reply giddily. Then, you close the gap between you to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Tobirama visibly freezes.

You laugh, “Oh Tobi, quit acting like you just didn’t fuck my brains out last night!”

“Will you be quiet?” he snaps, his ears turning as red as his eyes.  

“Oh my, I got the Nidaime Hokage flustered!”

The server turns up with your food and Tobirama is frozen in horror like that, staring at the space in front of him.

“How about that?” This time, you smirk at his stern expression.

When the server leaves, you watch him break his chopsticks in half. You hear him sigh and mutter something about being too forward and gutsy in a public place, and you cannot help but laugh at the way he is trying to reel himself back in.  

You know him well enough that he is completely embarrassed to be caught receiving affection like that.

END.

//

buy me a coffee !

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 24

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 24: Alfie attends his first Shelby family meeting, Ella grows suspicious of a black cat. 

          Ella had been to plenty of Shelby family meetings. However, she had yet to take her husband to any of them. Mostly because Tommy wouldn’t allow it and Ella wasn’t too sure it would go over well for anyone.

           “You’re going to behave, right?” Ella asked as Alfie opened the door for her.

           “Behave? Love, I’m gonna be a perfect angel.” He replied but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

           She sighed. “This is serious, Alfie.”

           “I know. I know. Just let me get one jab in at your brother.”

           “I suppose I can't stop you even if I tried.” Ella found Arthur speaking with Linda. “Has it started yet?” She interrupted their quiet but obviously tense conversation.

           Arthur smiled when he saw his sister but it immediately got smacked off his face when he saw her husband had come along. “No. No, El, he ain’t a part of this.” He pointed accusingly at Alfie.

           “Tommy invited him,” Ella replied firmly. If she had to go to bat for her husband, she always would.

           “Well Arthur’s the chairman, Ella, he’s running this meeting,” Linda informed her in a stern tone.

           She wasn't bothered. “That’s good news, Lin. But Tommy still insisted he be here.”

           “Arthur, mate, I’m family now, ain’t I?” Alfie placed a hand over his chest as if appealing to him. Not that the man would ever grovel to a Shelby.

           “No…”

           “Your lovely wife is able to sit in, right, so Ella’s lovely husband should have the chance to sit in as well.”

           Arthur’s hands balled up into fists and his face began to turn red. A common symptom of Alfie’s presence. “Ella, I said no.”

           “Arthur, he’s here to help, nothing more.” She responded and linked arms with Alfie, walking into the meeting room. Polly, Lizzie, and Ada were already sat at the large table with a man Ella wasn’t familiar with.

           Polly stood to greet her niece, kissing her cheek. “How was Paris?” She asked gently.

           “Wonderful before we were so rudely interrupted by the stock market.” Ella attempted to smile but it felt forced in such an uncertain time.

           Alfie pulled out a chair for Ella before he sat next to the unfamiliar man. “Lizzie, how are ya? How’re the little ankle-biters?”

           The woman looked a little surprised that he was being so cordial. She’d never had a run in with Alfie before, but she was well aware of his reputation. During her days as Tommy’s assistant, she’d facilitated calls and meetings between the two and they often became heated. “Oh, uh, they’re fine, thanks for asking, Alfie.” She responded.

           “How ‘bout you, Ada? How’s Karl?”

           Ada looked mildly impressed and glanced subtly at Arthur. “He’ll be turning eleven next month.”

           “Eleven? Fucking hell they grow quick don’t they?”

           Ella smiled a little smugly. She knew that her family was just waiting for Alfie to kick off but she took pride in being able to shove that prejudice back in their faces. She reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed it gently.

           “While we wait for Tommy,” Mr. Greene began with a smile. “Could I just lighten the gloom and express as a new member of this company, what a pleasure it is to be in a boardroom that has so many females. And females who are both sharp-witted and decorative.”

           Lizzie, Polly, Ada, and Ella all made faces at the man’s comment. Alfie just chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, mate, you don’t know Shelby women very well do you?”

           Arthur didn’t like Alfie speaking so he tried to gain control. “Yeah, we’re a very modern company, Mr. Greene.”

           “Oh boy…” Ella mumbled and shook her head.

           Finally, Tommy entered the room in a bit of a flurry. It looked like he hadn't slept at all. “How far have we got?”

           Polly didn’t look up from the paper in her hand. “We’ve established that ladies are decorative.” Ella and Ada snorted in agreement of the absurdity of Mr. Greene's comment.

           “We’ve just sat down, Tom.” His older brother answered from the head of the table. “I’ve got some documents.” He began to hand out papers down the table for everyone.

           “What documents?” Tommy asked, not taking a seat, instead just standing. Ella reached over to hand him one of the papers outlining the outreaches of the market crash.

           “Well, we’re fucked.”

           “Tommy, mate, how fucked is the company?” Alfie asked.

           “Excuse me, but if you’ve got a question, you can ask the chairman of the board.” Linda snapped before Tommy could even answer.

           Alfie looked exasperated. “Pardon me, love, but your husband doesn’t take too kindly to me, now does he? Tommy, at least, answers my questions.”

           “Because you beat him up and had him arrested.” She retorted, rising to the challenge of Alfie’s argument.

           “Hang on, hang on.” He held out a hand before Ella could jump down Linda’s throat. “First of all, that were years ago weren't it? Second of all, I apologized for that, now didn’t I, Arthur? Tom?”

           Tommy nodded silently and Arthur made a grunt neither confirming nor denying.

           “I apologized, right, ‘cause that’s what me religion says I should do. Contrition, right? In fact, Linda, you and I’ve got the same God, now don’t we? You were the one who so kindly introduced Arthur to Jesus. Therefore, we can put our differences aside.”

           “Arthur, Alfie is a part of this family now whether we like it or not,” Tommy spoke steadily, ignoring the death glares Linda was sending Alfie. “We’re going to use as much help as we can get.” Arthur still looked grumpy but sat down almost in surrender. “As for your question, Alfie, a large portion of our funds were invested in American stocks and shares.”

           Ella’s husband scratched his beard. “Right, so you’ve dug your own grave and those of your family as well.”

           “What is the return they’re offering now?” Ella touched Alfie’s shoulder to get him to drop it. It would do them no good to keep pointing fingers. They were far beyond that point anymore.

           Tommy grimaced and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Five cents to the dollar.” The room buzzed with disbelief and worry. “There is hope.” He interrupted before they all got worked up over the news.

           Alfie scoffed. “You gonna use some gypsy magic, Tom? Aye? How are you meant to fix the fate of America’s stock market all on your own, aye?”

           “As nonexecutive director of the company, I need permission of the chairman.” Tommy pointedly ignored his brother-in-law.

           “Let me guess.” Alfie continued, despite being snubbed. “You’re gonna go back to your roots, aye, Tom? That’s why you’ve asked me here. ‘Cause you know there’s nothing that makes me itch more than legitimate business. You want to get back to the good ‘ol days, that it? The man that fixed races then killed Billy Kimber.” He grinned. “Now that, is something I can get on board with. Tell us your plan then.”

           Tommy hated that Alfie was right. He sighed. “We need to rely on cash. And there are very reliable ways to get large sums of cash.”

           Ella pinched the bridge of her nose. “And we’re back to square one.” She muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Ella Laura, as I live and breathe.”

           Ella smiled. “Hi, Uncle Charlie.” She skipped a few steps to hug him tightly.

           “Thought you’d forgotten ‘bout Curly and me.” He teased.

           “I’m sorry. I’ve meant to visit but I’ve been busy.” She sighed, inhaling the familiar scent of the Yard. Burning coal and hay. “What’ve you got for me, then?”

           Charlie chuckled and led her over to the stables. “Wild filly going to the tracks soon. One of Curly’s favorites, a draft mix. Only seven.”

           Ella’s fears and worries melted away when she found herself enveloped in the warmth of the horses. The familiar scent and sound of their snorts and hoofs against the shavings. “You know I’m impartial to wild but I think I need something steadier. I need to clear my head.” She gravitated towards the large gelding with massive hooves and a stocky frame.

           “I’ll grab his tack then.” Charlie agreed.

           “Hello, love.” Ella cooed and stroked the horse’s soft muzzle. “You are handsome, aren’t you?” She chuckled as his lips mouthed over her hair and clothing, looking for a treat. “How’s about I give you sugar cubes after our ride, aye?”

~~~~~~~~~~

           It was freeing to be out on a horse, riding past the city limits of Birmingham. The large horse, that Charlie said Curly had nicknamed Kennedy, plodded along the damp grass. His long and steady gait allowed Ella to process the company meeting. She blankly gazed at the trail ahead, her hands loose on the reins.

           How could Tommy return his family to 1919? The days where nothing they did was legal and the threat of enemies and police were always looming over their heads? The days where trouble was always lurking around the corner. The days where their pub was shot up.

           They’d come so far and Tommy promised that they’d be fully legitimate in the nearby year. No longer would they have to be concerned with legal issues or threats on their lives. They could just live as they were meant to.

           It didn’t matter whose fault it was anymore. What matters was they were all at the mercy of money. And there was no telling what deeds Tommy would drag her husband into. It angered Ella that only in times of crisis did her brother invite Alfie into the family. Not when they were married years prior? But wasn’t that just how Tommy was? People’s worth was based on their helpfulness to him.

           Deep in her thoughts, Ella was hardly paying attention to the road ahead. So, when a black cat jumped onto the path, she didn’t have enough time to gather the reins. Kennedy neighed shrilly in alarm and reared.

           Ella desperately tried to grab ahold of the horse’s mane or the saddle, but it was too late. She was thrown off into the grass. Kennedy leapt over her, his large hooves only barely missing her as he took off back towards the Yard.

           She groaned in pain and rolled onto her back. “Fuck…” Her arm had gone completely numb and she was familiar with the feeling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She forced herself to sit up and found herself face to face with the black cat. It stood in the center of the path, staring at her with green eyes.

           “You fucking…” She spat at the animal, making it hiss and run off into the long grass. “Fucking cat.” She staggered to her feet, clutching her arm. Kennedy had already gained a big head start and Ella could only hope that he was returning to Charlie’s or she’d never hear the end of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie was down at the Yard by the time Ella finally made it back. Kennedy had, in fact, brought himself back to his stall sans rider. Charlie panicked a little and called up Tommy who told Alfie who rushed down to find his wife.

           “El!” He hurried over to her. “What happened? You alright?”

           “Think I broke my arm.” She mumbled. “I need to lay down.”

           “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, love.” He wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her back to Watery Lane.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Polly helped get her niece into a makeshift sling. “Never too old to break your arm, isn’t that right, chavi?” She teased to lighten the mood.

           Ella smiled weakly and sat at the edge of the bed. “Is Tommy around?” She asked.

           “He was at the Garrison,” Alfie answered. “Do you need him?”

           She nodded. “Yeah, I need to tell him something. You can stay, I don’t mind.” There were no secrets between her and her husband.

           Tommy arrived at Polly’s after Alfie had called the pub to tell him what happened. “Did you ride that filly?” He asked. “I told Charlie she was too green, May needs to work with him a little longer.”

           “No, I was out with the draft.” She shook her head.

           Tommy frowned and sat down. “That thing’s never spooked at anything.”

           Alfie crossed his arms over his chest. “Well it did and now she’s got a broken arm.” He retorted grumpily. “So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

           “Easy. It’s fine, I’ve fallen off before.” Ella soothed. “But it was a black cat that spooked him.”

           Tommy’s face paled a little. It had only been moments earlier that he was recounting his black cat dreams to his family.

           Alfie looked confused as the siblings shared worried looks. “Black cat? Like it’s bad luck or something? That old wives tale?”

           “Sort of.” After her miscarriage, she’d taken to paying more attention to omens and nightmares. It might've been from her time spent with the Lees, awakening the part of her that used to believe in such things. Whether it was just a coincidence or not, she wasn’t going to risk it. “It means there’s a traitor nearby.”

           “I’ve had the dreams,” Tommy admitted and ran a hand through his hair. “I think you’re right.”

           Alfie’s brow furrowed. “Hang on, it’s a fucking animal. I think you lot are looking for signs that aren't there.”

           “Always a good idea to be wary of omens, Alfie,” Tommy replied calmly. “Otherwise you’re caught off guard when you could've been on alert.”

           “And you’ve got no one else to blame but yourself for ignoring the signs,” Ella said quietly agreeing with her brother. An eerie feeling overcame her when she remembered who was missing at the family meeting. “When’s Michael coming back?”

           He nodded as if they were thinking the exact same thing. “Soon. He’ll be here soon.”

           “And you’re going to keep an eye on him?”

           “Naturally.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Alfie?” The frustrated sigh came from upstairs. Ella and Alfie had returned back to London and she was finding it difficult to function with her broken arm.

           “Yeah, love?” Alfie was downstairs in his study reading about the market crash. It made his blood boil how just a few greedy businessmen could screw over the entire world, leaving destruction in their wake.

           “Can you help me?”

           He got up, glad to abandon the newspaper on his desk and go upstairs to his wife. Cyril followed him, alerted by Ella’s call. “You need something?” He asked as he entered the room.

           “I can’t bloody get anything done.” She protested. It was natural to assume that after breaking her arm several times before as a child, she would be able to navigate. But she’d forgotten how strenuous it was to have only one working arm.

           “Got a broken wing, little dove?” He smiled and stepped behind her.

           “Lucky I have you then.”

           “Mhm, I think I’m luckier to have you.” He kissed the nape of her neck and slowly undid the buttons.

           They stood in silence for a second before Ella glanced behind her. “Alfie, things are going to be okay, right?” She whispered.

           He couldn’t help the hesitation in his voice. “Of course, love. The stock market doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with our relationship. We’re gonna be perfectly okay.”

           “But my brother…”

           “He wants to get his hands dirty again, then he can. But I tell ya what, think he’s going to get in more trouble in Parliament than on the streets of Small Heath.” Alfie turned her around so she was facing him again. “He’s already claimed royalty in Birmingham. But he wants more, don’t he? There are fucking dangerous men in Parliament. You ought to warn him now, ‘fore he gets into something he can’t get himself out of.”

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[ladyvader23]

Flirting

For @neshampoo who requested:  Darth Vader reaction when someone flirts with Luke

This was not happening. 

Sure, he’d always known in the back of his mind that this would one day happen to his children. They were, after all, human and if he was honest with himself, his children. But he was not prepared when Leia greeted him with “Luke’s got a girlfriend!” when he got home. 

He stopped stone cold, staring at her, not sure he’d heard her right. She had her arms crossed, a smug smile across her face, even as Luke rushed from his room shouting, “I do not!” 

“You sure do!” she sang, then ducked when he attempted to tackle her, sending him barreling into the wall. 

The entire time, he just stared, trying and failing to comprehend the full on bickering that had broken out between his barely turned fourteen year olds. 

“She just said I was cute, that doesn’t mean anything!” Even with the red lenses, he could tell his son was flushing. The son who could barely keep his room clean. The son who just last week asked him for money to buy some childish holo game. The son that was in no way mature enough to even think about anyone romantically. 

It was that thought that had him intervening before a full fight could break out. “Sit. Down.” 

He was never violent with his precious twins, but there were still definitely benefits to having a vococorder that made everything he said sound at best, mildly furious. It was even better when he actually was, and panicking on top of that. 

Luke winced, hurrying to comply, while Leia smirked and casually followed him to the leather sofa in the sitting room. They sat on total opposite ends of the couch, and Luke glowered at his sister. 

Childish. Immature. More proof that the boy wasn’t ready for such a commitment. 

And the heartbreak that would likely follow. 

He began pacing. He’d already had a long day. Too many idiotic officers had needed to be silenced, and the Rebellion factions were beginning to work together. He had hoped to spend a quiet evening with his children, but no. One of them just had to be entertaining romantic notions. 

But one thing he learned in fourteen years of parenting: if he pounced immediately, he wouldn’t get all of the answers he wanted. 

“Who is she?” He’d need to find out everything he could on her and her family. They could be Rebel spies, or simply trying to gain favor and status by foolishly encouraging their offspring to seduce his son. 

Or maybe she legitimately liked the boy. He had to admit, Luke was rather charming, on top of his natural good looks. Leia was too, but she had inherited more of his attitude. 

“She’s no one.” Luke grumbled, still glaring at his sister. 

“She’s his girlfriend.” Leia insisted. 

“Who is she?” This time, he directed the question at Leia. 

“Don’t answer--” Luke began, but Leia quickly interrupted. 

“Her name is Liliana Petri. She’s in our chemistry class.” 

He stopped, making a face. His children couldn’t see it of course, but they sensed his disgust, and Luke shrank into the couch cushions. Vader got the distinct impression he was wishing to be swallowed whole. 

“I don’t know that name.” He mused. It was a problem if they were in chemistry class together. There were so many pick up lines that she could use on his son. 

Did we have class together? I could have sworn we had chemistry. 

Forget hydrogen, you’re my number one element. 

Are you an exothermic reaction? Because you spread hotness everywhere. 

And those were just the top lines he could think of. Considering Luke’s innocence and charming personality, he’d probably encourage her to keep going. 

“How long have you been dating?” The words burned his tongue and he wished nothing more than to hide both his children away so that no one could even think about dating them, but he had no doubt they’d escape anyway. Sometimes strict parenting methods backfired, and this was not something he wanted to screw up. 

He had to protect his children. 

He doubted he could get away with making the girl disappear. 

“We aren’t dating!” Luke insisted, horrified. “She literally only said I was cute!” 

“And what led up to this encounter?” Maybe he needed to send a guard with them to school. He could think of a few highly trained assassins who could easily keep away unwanted attention from would-be seducers. 

Luke scrambled to think. “I don’t know, she’s just a girl dad--” 

“Luke was staring at her all throughout class and she thought he was checking her out. Which he was.” Leia supplied helpfully. 

He could always count on Leia to tell him what he needed to know. He’d have to double her allowance this month. 

“I didn’t mean to! She just happened to be in my line of sight, I was thinking about something else, I swear!” Luke’s voice squeaked, yet again reminding Vader that his son was in the middle of puberty and not at all ready for this. 

“Riiiight. What were you thinking about, then?” Leia wiggled her brows at him. 

Again, Vader was certain Luke was flushing, and this time he got the distinct impression he was trying very hard to keep something from both of them. “Just...the Aurebesh assignment.” 

If Vader didn’t have a bond with his son, he might have bought the answer. Luke’s worst subject was Aurebesh and he often spent late nights stressing over work he’d put off until the last minute. 

But he did have a bond, and that bond told him he was lying. 

He approached his son, using his sheer size and presence to hover over him. Again, he’d never dare harm one of his precious children, but that didn’t mean he didn’t use some intimidation tactics. This particular strategy usually worked on Luke, but never Leia. 

“What were you thinking about so intently that you made a girl think you were…” he couldn’t think of the appropriate word. “Checking her out.” He decided Leia’s phrasing would have to do, as silly as it sounded. 

As he predicted, Luke sank further into the cushions. “Um.” he bit his lip. 

Beside him, Leia gasped. “It’s someone else, isn’t it?!” 

Luke’s face turned an even darker shade of red. “No--” 

“Who is it?! Do I know them? Does dad know them?! Oh, what about the Emperor, does he know--” 

“Leia, shut up!” Luke definitely wanted to disappear. 

And as much as he wanted to know the answer...he’d also learned that his children were not prisoners to be interrogated, and forcing answers from them also led to them making far worse decisions. 

“Let me make myself clear.” He interrupted before the bickering could continue. “Neither of you will be dating.” Ever, he added mentally, but that usually didn’t go over well either. When his children rebelled against his wishes, they did so with all the drama that came naturally to a Skywalker. He was not anxious to see what they’d do to rebel against a no dating ever rule. 

But naturally, Leia picked up on it. “When are we allowed to date?” 

Never. Again. That answer would not go over well, and again, he hadn’t even been prepared for this situation. 

“Twenty.” He randomly picked a number. 

“We’ll be ancient by then!” Leia whined. Though she’d been the one to throw Luke under the speeder, she seemed far more upset by that announcement than Luke was. He could practically feel his son’s relief through their bond. 

“Twenty is hardly ancient.” 

“Everyone will be married with kids by then!” 

“I assure you, most will not be.” In fact, it was still far too young in his opinion. Nevermind that he’d married their mother at nineteen. 

He definitely wouldn’t mention that. 

“Sixteen.” Leia countered, ever the negotiator like her mother. But this was not something he wished to negotiate. 

“Twenty.” Now he was hovering over her. 

As usual, this tactic didn’t work. Not on Leia. She stared up at him, her eyes narrowing, jaw tightening. “Seventeen.” 

“Twenty.” 

“Eighteen, and we’ll bring them home for your approval.” 

He scoffed. He had no doubt they’d both do what they wanted anyway. He certainly had. He’d disregarded the entire Jedi Order by marrying their mother in secret. 

And look how that turned out. 

Still. The fact that she was even offering was better than nothing. With any luck, both of them would be too busy by then to even remember this conversation, let alone worry about dating. 

“Fine.” He stepped back, and ignored the triumphant hmph noise Leia made. He pointed at Luke, who tensed right back up. “You will tell this Liliana Petri that you are not interested, and to stop with her foolish notions.” 

Again, Luke stared at him in horror. “Or I could just pretend it never happened!” 

“No. You need to be straight forward. You do not want to lead her on.” 

“That’s so embarrassing--” 

“Not as embarrassing as me showing up to her home to tell her personally.” He was far too busy for that, but the look on Luke’s face was enough to know the point had been made. “You will tell her. I will know if you didn’t.” 

Luke stood, and now he was glaring at him. “Fine! Force, you’re so annoying!” 

He ignored the childish outburst. “You will thank me later.” 

Luke made a rather undignified growl and stormed out. Vader considered following after him...but no. He had no doubt Luke understood what he was to do perfectly. 

“Do not get into any further arguments with your brother.” Vader pointed at Leia now, who was still smirking smugly on the couch. “I have no desire to deal with any further foolish arguments.” 

Leia shrugged and stood. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Leia…” He warned. 

“Fine. I’ll leave Luke alone to brood the rest of the night.” 

He shook his head, watching as she too left the room. He stood there long after she’d disappeared from sight, probing both of their presences to ensure they were, in fact, leaving one another alone. 

For once, they listened. 

He let out a breath, trying to push down the annoyance. Teenagers. 

He’d never admit that at once upon a time, he’d been in their very shoes. And though he hated the thought, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever driven Obi-Wan up a wall with teenage hormones. 

No, he thought fervently, heading into his own quarters. Definitely not.

[kyberled]

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character. || ACCEPTING

Anonymous asked:

Hc + Parents

Braig doesn’t know his biological parents. It’s probably best that he never does. He’s much better off with the Jedi. I’ll talk a bit about his biological father, his biological mother, and then some of his thoughts on the situation.

His biological father, Eadric Alden Claermoore, is a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, a rank he carried over from a lifetime spent in the Republic’s Navy. He made that rank his life after everything else fell away. The Claermoores were a military family. They always were. This goes all the way back to the Ruusan Reformations, but carried on in various ways since then. Government positions, naval positions, and now back in the Grand Army. Yes, it’s the naval branch; no, he’s not Force-sensitive. He is, however, exactly the sort of awful person you’d expect from someone who defines himself by his rank and his wealth and only barely - if ever - acknowledges the nepotism that went into it. 

He never wanted children. He figured he’d have to have one eventually, to carry on the name and all, but he never wanted one. Like most other things, it felt like a duty. An obligation, rather than a privilege. He was that sort of person. He also wasn’t too concerned about it, as his younger sister, Adarine, had children, but first-born this and patriarch-that and blah blah blah. ‘You know how it is’. Most people who know him thinks the war might be the only thing he ever loved, as it reaffirmed his status. That’s not entirely true. He loved his (ex) wife. Shiv brought out the best in him, people would say. Most who knew him had never seen him relax, let alone smile, until she came around. Shiv wanted kids. He agreed on one. He figured that was a good enough compromise. He also figured he wouldn’t necessarily have to be that involved with the more ‘difficult’ parts of parenting. Read: The actual parenting part. He figured he’d pick up extra duties to make up for the ‘loss of income’ (as if he needed it) while Shiv stayed home with their baby. 

It probably could’ve worked out, if their kid wasn't born Force-sensitive. But he was. So, of course, the Jedi took interest. Shiv said no, Eadric said yes. The Jedi figured they’d just keep an eye on them and try to educate the new parents on what the Force meant for their son. Just so they could fully think over their options and decide what was best. Then Shiv went to provide aid to a planet in the Outer Rim. When she didn’t come back, she was declared KIA. Eadric, quite rightly, decided he can’t raise a child by himself. Yes, he could have asked family or friends to help. Yes,he could have left the baby with the nanny droid he owned that was already looking after it. He could have. 

He didn’t. 

In his defense, he was trying to think of the long-term consequences. Nanny droids don’t work forever. And the boy was Force-sensitive; he needed to be trained by people who know what they’re doing. And, logically, he’s right. The Force is too dangerous - and draws too many dangerous people - for a lack of training to be even remotely safe. And - not that Eadric cares anymore - Braig is legitimately happy with the Jedi. So it really is the best choice. Of course, Braig was actually far too young to be given to the Order at the time. From what I can tell, kids are usually passed on to the Jedi at over a year, maybe even three. Braig wasn’t yet a year old. The young knight who’d been sent to do a wellness check/update hadn’t been prepared to take a baby. Eadric, in essence, handed him Braig and then locked the door and went back to work. He considered it like ripping off a bandage. The Jedi saw this as a cause to Not Panic, But Get Very Concerned At A Rather Fast Pace. He eventually just figured he had no choice but to take the baby back to the Temple and ask for advice. 

When Shiv showed up, not dead and very mad about why her baby was gone, things went sour fast. To make a long story short, they’re divorced now, and he hasn’t seen her in over a decade. He tried to explain his thought process to her. Tried to make a case for himself, and why this was best. She didn’t agree. It was a nasty argument. Eadric never really got over it. He never really got over her. Over the years, his understanding of the situation shifted from ‘this never would have happened if I’d kept our child from the Jedi’ to ‘this never would have happened if he hadn’t been born Force sensitive’ to ‘this never would have happened if he hadn’t been born’. Eadric lives alone now in the fancy surface-level Coruscant residence that’s run in the family for generations. The sort of place money can technically buy, but you won’t ever have enough money. He exists as living proof to the old adage, ‘wealth cannot buy happiness’. He’s a bitter, angry old man who’s devoted himself to the militaristic ideals that the Claremoores have lived by - regardless of who calls the shots. When the Republic becomes the Empire, he stays as an Imperial officer. He doesn’t see a problem with it. The strong prevail.

End of discussion. 

Then there’s Braig’s mother. Dr. Shiv Kiera Whelan is not a product of money and breeding, like her ex husband was. She’d come from the mid-levels of Coruscant. Not the glitterati, but high enough in the city to see what she might one day be able to achieve. Her family was loving and close, even if they were stretched thin financially. She was a middle child. She had an older brother named Cor, an adopted sibling the same age as her named Shina (shee-nah), and two younger sisters named Reni and Tel. They lived in a somewhat cramped apartment with their parents (Braig’s grandparents), Olan and Ama Whelan. They worked in factories across the street from each other, and met by chance - their love story bloomed over the course of many shared lunch breaks and continued throughout their marriage. Theirs was a hard life, and they did what they could to give their children better, while still making sure they knew the truths of the world. Shiv was the first of her siblings to attend higher education. She decided on medicine when she was young; you see a lot of need for it in the mid to lower levels. It’s what she felt was her calling. So she studied hard, saved up, worked herself to the bone. Loans and scholarships became her best friend (aside from her siblings). 

On a planet of trillions, medical care is always in high demand. Shiv took to it like a duck to water, finding her place among medical droids and scanners and sutures as if she’d always been there. She expanded her horizons by not only taking what her colleagues often deemed ‘charity cases’, but also offering medical aid off-world to military operations. That’s how she met her future (ex) husband, actually. A naval scrape that went badly but could have gone worse. His family opposed the marriage, hers didn’t care as long as they were happy. And, for a while, they were happy. It could have worked out great. They’d discussed kids, come to their agreement, and Shiv was excited to be a mother. She’d always liked kids, and they were well off enough that she could take some time off to be at home with the baby, and have nurse droids to help. It would be simple. 

It should have been simple. 

If it was, we wouldn’t be here. Shiv is like her son in more than looks; his self-sacrificing tendencies are both nature and nurture. People needed help. A skirmish between warring factions in the Outer Rim, it happened all the time. Shiv had plenty of experience doing field work on planets where that was often the best they got, and, much as she loved her baby, she’d gotten a bit stir crazy. It’d be fine, she’d go out for a week or two, give people some help, stretch her legs, and come back before the nurse droids even needed to be recharged. Unfortunately, bad intel comes for us all, eventually. It wasn’t just a skirmish between local factions. It was a fight between spice cartels. Nobody was entirely sure which cartels, once the dust settled. Some said the Black Sun, some said the Pikes. All reports said the medic camp was wiped out. Shiv along with it. 

Now, of course, Shiv wasn’t dead. She was in very bad shape, yes, but not dead. She got lucky. See, when you get a reputation for giving help to those who can’t afford it, they remember. A lot of those people gather at the Outer Rim, and a lot of people talk. A doctor that helps anyone, regardless of credits, is a good thing to have around, so Shiv got rescued by some of the ‘charity cases’ she’d taken over her life. It was a while before she was fully lucid, a while later that she was able to make contact and get back to Coruscant. By the time she got there, her son was gone. 

The real tragedy is that, if given enough time, she probably would have agreed to it, herself. Given time to think it over, given more conversations with the Jedi to learn more about them, about what the Force meant for her son, given the extra years she was supposed to have to come to terms, she probably would’ve agreed that the proper training was necessary for him. She didn’t get any of that. 

She just came home and he was gone. 

As you can imagine, this led to a terrible argument between herself and her husband. Eadric tried to justify his decision by saying he thought she was dead, and, either way, he’d been looking out for their son’s best interest. He was where he should be. Shiv, who was already dealing with one major trauma and frankly didn’t have time for another, was furious that he’d given her baby to ‘a cult’ (despite the Jedi not being anything of the sort). 

If you were to talk to Shiv now, she’d tell you she was divorced, though there was never any formal proceedings; Eadric just doesn’t talk about his personal life. Whereas Eadric will tell you he never had any children if you ask, Shiv will talk about who she hoped her son would be, and the injustices that face him now in the life he must live. Their opinions have grown to differ so much that they’re on different sides of the war, as well. Eadric stayed loyal to the Republic, and continues to serve the Grand Army. Shiv felt as though the loss of her son opened her eyes to the Republic’s corruption, and as such, she’s since offered her allegiance and her medical prowess to the Separatists. She hasn’t been to Coruscant in years, and the two of them - Eadric and Shiv - haven’t had any contact with each other in even longer. 

It should go without saying that Braig doesn’t know his biological parents. He doesn’t particularly want to, either. He knows, from records, where he’s from, and he also knows he came to the Temple far younger than he should have. As far as he’s concerned, there are a few potential reasons for this:

The first is that his parents were unable to care for a child. Given that he knows they were from the upper levels, and ergo well-off, he finds this unlikely. The second is that something happened to them, they had no relatives able to seize custody, and the Jedi took him in rather than having him float around the system for a few years. This is unlikely, as the Jedi keep tabs on prospective families, but it’s possible, and, if it is the case, it’s not worth looking into. And the last option he could think of is that they just didn’t want a kid, and again, that doesn’t merit looking into. He knows who his family is - who raised him, who cared for him, who taught him, who stood by and continues to stand by him every day of his life. That matters much more to him than blood.

[mamawelp]

It’s been awhile since I’ve been back on tumblr, but my shits gotten so bad lately that I need something, some kind of outlet. I feel so goddamn alone and my mind feels so stretched thin that if it doesn’t just completely snap, it surely will never fully recover. I thought I was getting better for a while, but the stress of the last three years has taken a toll. My daughter is everything to me, and I feel like I started out with so much joy and energy. Little by little my energy has run down and I have no way of resting to recuperate it. I have no friends, my family is toxic, and my fiancé is in a word, awful. He’s manipulative, a gas lighter, liar, he blames, critiques, always angry, so fucking angry all of the time. He uses my limitations against me and I’m stuck with him. I’m disabled, I have zero money to my name, zero support system, and I’m afraid if I tried to leave him, I wouldn’t be able to bring my daughter with me, or more to the point, he would fight for custody and win. I can’t even trust him to watch our daughter for half an hour. He falls asleep and she gets hurt or makes just the most epic messes of all time. My executive function has gone out the window almost entirely because I am severely disabled and the only one caring for our daughter 24/7. I’m the only one worrying for her, planning for her, teaching her, dressing her, feeding her, changing her. I can’t do for myself anymore because every drop of energy goes to her and there is never a break. And yet he holds it over my head that I’m not doing enough. I am so lost in this depression and loneliness and it’s not fair to her, and meanwhile this man doesn’t even care about his daughter enough to let me have a break. If he does miraculously take her out of the house, he takes her to his moms house, so someone else will watch her. Still, it’s the only way he can be trusted with her.

I hadn’t left the house in a while. It’s hard for me to get out when there isn’t a pandemic, and the longer I stay in the worse it gets. There were more months in the year than times I went inside a public place in 2020. I went outside a few times, but it’s hard for me to even step out on my front porch, or go into my back yard. Sometimes I forget there’s a pandemic going on out there because I have simply not experienced the masks, hand sanitizers, temperature checks, and empty toilet paper aisles. If I need something, I order it or he goes out to get it. Yesterday I felt cabin fever kicking in again. I always have a low grade cabin fever, it’s been like this for 12 years, but the cabin fever has to be greater than the anxiety and mixed with a touch of mania for me to be like, “must leave now.” So I said let’s go get something to eat. I meant a drive through. When I get out of the house, I stay in the car the whole time, even before the pandemic. We were pulling away from Taco Bell and I mentioned that I thought the nacho fries were loaded because of a picture. He started asking me what loaded fries were. I know that he knows what loaded fries are. So I said loaded, like loaded fries. And he kept insisting I explain what was loaded. At that point I had no idea what he wanted from me so I had no answer that was acceptable for him and we ended up getting in a ridiculous argument over goddamn loaded fries. Turns out he wanted the precise toppings I thought were on the loaded fries, that evidently doesn’t even exist. I misinterpreted a picture. All because I misinterpreted a picture and he felt I should have memorized the menu in anticipation of him asking me what loaded fries were. It was awful and so fucking stupid. All I wanted was to leave the house for 20 minutes. We ended up arguing the whole way home and in the kitchen. By the time I started trying to calm myself down I realized that I had been completely triggered in an episode. By which I mean that time felt different. My episodic memory was skewed. There were blank spots in my memory when I had become the most frustrated and confused. Everything was coming back to me in flashes or pictures and feelings. Which screws me, because if he can trigger me to lose pieces of time, then he can control the narrative. He said that I was demeaning him and making him feel stupid for asking. That was never my intention, I legitimately didn’t understand what he was asking me. It wasn’t until I calmed down that I remembered his crack at the window when we got our food. He made sure the window was open and the lady was there to chide me on being indecisive and worrying about what other people were ordering. Like I was a child. (We always get the 12 taco box, but I got a meal this time and wanted to know if he was going to get the party box, because if he was, then I shouldn’t get the combo meal. Like not a big deal, but an important distinction if you’re not trying to waste food or money.) It was a ridiculous argument and I feel a little silly trying to go into every minutiae detail of trying to order our food, but I don’t feel like I did anything wrong and got ridiculed and then grilled over the Taco Bell menu. Anyway...

It’s hard for me to leave by myself, that requires a whole other recipe of confidence and mania. I usually feel like I need another adult as a life line. I just don’t know why I keep feeling like I can use him as a life line. He does this every time we go somewhere. In fact I stopped going to the grocery in large part because he was the only one left who would go with me and he ends up disappearing the second we’re in the door, or he criticizes me for being so slow or browsing, or not taking the most military like detailed path through the store. Because no matter what you are doing, he could do it better, and he’s going to tell you all about it. I use to shop with his brother, or my best friend, but his brother isn’t around as much anymore and my best friend/sister since kindergarten is severely disabled now as well. I have told him a million times that my senses get overloaded in the store and that I have to take it slow, that I have to stay calm and collected, or I won’t be able to continue shopping, but he doesn’t care. I think he wants me to fail.

I stopped driving us places because he constantly criticizes me. He tells me which parking place I should have taken as I pass it which always sort of deletes my brain a little and then he uses that second of confusion in me to jump in full force about what I “always do” wrong and “why don’t you” ever and when I finally get parked it “took me long enough” and what’s the difference between that spot and the spot he said. Usually the spot is closeness to the door. He will park at the very edge of the parking lot knowing I won’t want to go in if he does, while I look for a closer spot so I can easily exit the store. My entire body is exhausted by the time I leave, so I know I will need to park closer. I’ve told him this, he knows this. The parking is just an example. He uses the entire drive to somewhere to poke at me until I am a mess of anxiety and then I no longer have the energy for whatever we’re doing. I do just fine when I drive by myself or someone else. Just to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with my driving, I don’t speed, I don’t follow anyone too closely, I don’t run red lights, slam on breaks just to piss someone off, I don’t swerve through heavy traffic, I don’t roll my window down to yell at people, I don’t cut people off and yell at them for it, I don’t act like I own the road, but he does. He does all of those things. He gets so angry in the car and it makes you feel so uncomfortable and anxious you’ll melt into the seat. It’s awful. He’s awful.

When our daughter was born, I had a renewed since of confidence. I stopped saying sorry and I started just getting pissed. In a way it has backfired though, because now I’m pissed and bitter and he acts like I’m the one abusing him for calling him out on his shitty behavior. Basically he’ll pull some asshole move, I say hey that was wrong of you and he acts completely dejected and will sarcastically say, “you’re right, I’m the asshole.” He makes it impossible to argue with him. He will make shit up, twist my words to fit his narrative, describe to me MY intentions (which is never correct), he will change his story and say it’s been his story all along, he will switch sides of the argument in the middle and tell you your argument was his and his was yours the whole time so that he feels he’s come out on top, and mostly, when you prove him wrong, he will simply deny anything happened directly to my face when we both witnessed it and he will expect it to end there. If I try to say any more about something that he decides didn’t happen he will yell at me to shut up and he will put a hole in the wall or in a door to punish me.

When I try to talk about a health issue that has been plaguing me, he often will make a stupid joke, change the subject, or just interrupt me and bulldoze right over, but it doesn’t fail, within 2 weeks he will be complaining about the EXACT same thing, and if I don’t take him seriously, I am the asshole who doesn’t care and only ever wants to talk about my health.

He ruins every holiday. Without fail. The night before a party with my family, he will purposefully sabotage his sleep, get a few hours and then wake up as the grumpiest person ever. He has on multiple occasions said that if I remind him that we need to be to bed early he will have to stay up. Making it my fault that he stayed up because I presented an opportunity to rebel against someone and he has to take it. Seriously. He doesn’t do this with the same frequency or intensity for his own family parties of course. He acts completely embarrassing in front of my family. He will talk down to me, or get drunk and start lying poorly to family members trying to seem interesting.

So anyway. That’s life in a nutshell right now. And if anything, I’ve got my feelings out so I could easily recall them if I needed to for anything more ... official. It’s hard for me to compile all of my thoughts on all of the things. My memory is shot to hell and it’s easy to get caught up in “well maybe he’s right” when I can’t see the whole picture. My grammar and structure is not the greatest, but my daughter will be waking up from her nap soon, so it will have to do.

[nyeusigrube-haven]

Inbox of Diana Smoke: Thanksgiving Drabble

12 pm: Rosemary

Rosemary Marinitch ran her "to-do" list through her mind as she looked around the sprawling kitchen of the Briar Patch farm. Butcher-block counters were piled high with sweet potatoes, beets, carrots, mushrooms, cranberries, and assorted other fruits, vegetables and tubers.

The venison mince pie was almost ready to come out of the oven; the dessert pies and the bread pudding had all been done for hours. The sweets-and-beets could share the oven with the turkeys, Casper and Nixon... both named by Mare's youngest brother, Jay, who had apparently been in a whimsical mood that spring and was now hiding somewhere in the back yard in order to avoid any semblance of "helping." Now headless, plucked and brined, Casper and Nixon were patiently awaiting their apple-pecan cornbread stuffing.

The acorn squash, stuffed mushrooms and au gratin potatoes were all done, ready to be put in the oven and re-warmed shortly before serving...

She paused to take a deep breath.

Since Mare had taken over cooking from her father, Thanksgiving had always been a wonderfully frantic day. Including several local family friends, they normally had about a dozen people, but this year the number would be higher. Most of the Vida family had accepted her invitation, shocking her to the core, and some of them had asked whether it was all right to bring guests. Even her cousin Nathan had promised to show up.

On the other hand, Mare knew all her guests well enough to know that a good half-dozen of them were at risk of cancelling at the last minute.

The doorbell rang.

She took a deep breath and braced herself.

4:00 pm: Sarah Vida

Sarah woke, groggy, at four in the afternoon. Christine was gently shaking her shoulder, and reminding her, "Sarah, you asked me to get you up. It's Thanksgiving."

The reminder probably wouldn't have been sufficient motivation if she hadn't known that the family had pushed Thanksgiving dinner to five in deference to their newly-vampiric niece's solar challenges. In previous years, they had eaten at about one in the afternoon, an hour Sarah suspected she wouldn't comfortably see for quite a while.

People kept saying things like, We'll see. It's different for everyone, when she asked how long it would take her to adjust so she could be awake during the day, but she had figured out that they meant, No one really gets over it, but if you're powerful enough, you can endure.

"Thanks," she said to Christine, as she rolled out of bed and shook out her hair. Being undead had a few- only a few- unexpected advantages. Vampires didn't sweat, or secret oils, or shed skin cells, or perform any other messy mortal processes. This made showers unnecessary unless one spilled something on oneself, or wanted to bathe purely for the comfort value. It also greatly lessened travel time. All that combined, and meant that Sarah had time to get dressed, feed, and make it to dinner in time.

With her feet still bare, she padded downstairs to see who else was around.

She found Nikolas in the dining room, but it wasn't Kristopher seated at the rarely-used formal table with him.

By this point, Sarah was getting used to seeing individuals whose faces she had memorized from pictures in the Vida's collection of targets. She tried to avoid staring, and was almost always able to avoid saying the first thing that came to her mind. Sometimes she chose to be tactful, and just backed away slowly.

In this case, she spoke the instant she thought. "What the fu-"

"Sarah," Nikolas said, rising with enough of a guilty start that she was sure he knew exactly why she was upset. "I'm sorry, our meeting ran late."

"Sarah Vida," the other vampire said, standing with a smile and an offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm-"

"I know who you are." There wasn't a cell in her body that wanted to shake that hand, so she ignored it until it lowered. She had spent a month learning to play nice with other vampires, but there were lines. This was a line.

"Excuse us," Nikolas said to his guest, before stepping forward, catching Sarah by the arm, and guiding her to the next room. It wouldn't give them privacy- vampiric hearing was too good. He just wanted to get them out of each other's sights.

"I have been nice to Kendra," Sarah hissed, "and I have been polite to Kaleo. I love you and Kristopher despite what I know of your history, which you have to admit cuts pretty damn close to home. But if you try to convince me to dissemble and shake the hand of one of Midnight's trainers, by the goddess I will do it with a blade in my hand and I don't care what you say about consequences."

Jaguar stepped into the doorway, but wisely chose not to acknowledge Sarah before saying to Nikolas, "I left the documentation on the table. Good luck."

He disappeared. At Sarah's glare, Nikolas said, "He's changed, Sarah."

"I. Don't. Care," she bit out. "He worked for an empire that tried to make my entire species extinct, Nikolas. For centuries, he deliberately tortured and enslaved innocent humans... not to mention shapeshifters and witches whenever he could get them. If he's changed, great. Maybe he can keep walking the Earth. But I will not associate with one of Midnight's power-players. I can't."

She recognized the expression on his face, which meant he was trying to decide between handling her to avoid an argument, or going with tough-love.

She decided first. Nikolas couldn't back out of this argument, but she didn't have time for it now.

"I'm going to feed, then head over to the Briar Patch. I'll see you and Kristopher later tonight."

"Should-"

"Later," she snapped, interrupting him before he could shove his foot further into his mouth.

4:08 pm: Kyla Cobriana-Vida

"Vemke'tasa," Kyla swore, as she raced for the showers. She had overslept. If she didn't seriously hustle, she was going to be late for the first family holiday she had ever been invited to... and it wasn't easy to hustle here.

She had to climb over three other people to get out of the sleeping area and into the common room. It wasn't that they were all normally nocturnal, but they had been up all night working on a particularly tricky intre'marl with Stefan, and then a few hours more partying. They had all crashed sometime around eight in the morning.

Good judgment? Maybe not. Worth it? She hoped so.

Most serpiente didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, so her nest-mates were going about their daily routines like always, which meant the showers were busy at this time of day.

As long as she didn't try to claim a crown, something she had no desire to do, the serpiente didn't care that she wasn't legitimate. The vast majority of serpents weren't. That meant she got all the advantages of cobra blood without any of the responsibilities, which meant people got out of the way and let her duck under one of the shower heads without objecting.

Normally, there was some fooling around here- you couldn't have a communal shower without people playing tricks like hiding each other's clothes- which meant Kyla didn't keep her street clothes in the dressing room. Buck naked except for a towel wrapped around her long black hair, she went back to her cohorts' den. They had been warned about how important this day was to her, and threatened with skinning and dismemberment if they dared do anything that could mess it up.

When she got there, they were all awake. Stefan had her street clothes laid out for her, and Alicia was readying a hair-dryer and clips. Luke was blinking sleep from his eyes, but greeted her with an encouraging smile.

They didn't understand, but that didn't matter. They wanted to help.

The thought brought tears to her eyes- followed immediately by rolling nausea.

I can't do this, she thought.

"Sit down, girl," Alicia commanded, as Kyla froze in the doorway, fighting panic. "We'll get you all primped to go have a fancy dinner with your mother's folks. Just remember, no matter what, you're one of us. You're beautiful, you're talented, you're proud. Got it?"

4:28 pm: Michael Arun

It took Michael Arun quite a while to remember where he was when he woke up.

Patchy carpet under him. Thin blanket half over him. Knife digging into his side- just the handle, thankfully, since it was still sheathed at his waist. No bruises, though he'd had those before going to bed, too.

He was in a slightly run-down motel. He was on the floor because Rant and Rave, two crow shapeshifter sisters whose real names were never uttered, had taken the bed and this rat-trap didn't have a cot or even a couch.

It did have a television, on which he vaguely remembered watching a ten-hour marathon of Supernatural. He was pretty sure there had been a drinking game associated with it, but in the glaring light of day sneaking around the edges of the closed curtains, he couldn't remember what rules they had been following or even what they had been drinking.

He put his head back down.

It had been a good party, anyway, celebrating the conclusion of a multi-day hunt in which they had been stalking a nest of vamps that had managed to make themselves the feudal lords of this tiny town. Vamps were gone now, and the town of wherever-they-were was marginally safer. Michael couldn't wait to see what SingleEarth told the terrified populace.

On second thought, yes he could.

He didn't know what day of the week it was, never mind the date. He considered checking his phone, but if he turned it on he knew he would probably have messages, and he didn't feel like answering any more distress calls yet. He wasn't even sure if it was November or December.

December would be better. November had been the month from hell.

Putting his head back down on a makeshift pillow made of a rolled-up sweatshirt, he closed his eyes again. Another eight hours of sleep seemed like a good idea.

4:30 pm: Nathan Marinitch

Won't be able to make it to dinner this year. Love you all. Happy Thanksgiving. Don't reply.

Nathan Marinitch sent the text to his cousin Mare, and then deleted any evidence of sending it and tucked the ultra-slim phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

A bird fluttered to his side, sharing images of the local landscape. The American kestrel Nathan was honored to have as a companion could see vivid colors that had no words in human language. It refrained from perching on Nathan's shoulder because its talons had a tendency to leave noticeable marks in his suit jackets. He couldn't afford that at the moment.

By the time he approached the stronghold, he knew the exact location of every guard, every gun, every hostage, every door and window and bolt-hold.

He cast Kestrel back into the air. Her fierce cry was silent, purely mental, so it would not draw attention. Nathan focused his power, seeking out threads of energy from every living creature around him.

He checked his watch. He had twenty-seven minutes.

4:39 pm: Zachary Vida

In the past, Zachary had always followed Dominique's lead when it came to holidays, which meant that like her he had put the hunt first. Thanksgiving usually meant camping out with a container of Chinese food and a few other hunters while they discussed the upcoming season.

Some people loved the holidays. Some people dreaded them. Hunters knew that the days between Halloween and Valentine's Day tended to be bloody. Few vampires celebrated the birth of Christ or the triumph of the Maccabees, but they enjoyed revelry and over-indulgence just as much as any human.

This year, Olivia had convinced him to take a break and relax for the holiday- though she had not convinced him to join her and her friends. Instead, he had accepted an invitation to the Briar Patch, the Marinitch family home. The invitation had been extended every year for as long as he could remember; sometimes he had remembered to decline, but just as often he had forgotten. He almost hadn't had the courage to say yes this time.

When he had, though, Rosemary Marinitch hadn't even paused. She had continued the phone conversation as if he had been a figure at their Thanksgiving table every year of her life.

Now he was in the car with Diana Smoke, another witch he had rarely given the time of day previously. Rosemary had arranged for Diana to give him a ride; conspiratorially, she had explained to Zachary, "I know Diana. If she isn't responsible for someone else, she'll get pulled into work and won't get to the house before Christmas." He wondered if she had told Diana the exact same thing. I know Zachary. If he has to drive himself, he'll chicken out half-way here.

She would have been right.

It made for an awkward car ride, however. Their occasional attempts at small-talk failed. Zachary's life might have taken a strange turn a while back, but he still didn't have a lot in common with the woman considered the heart and soul of SingleEarth.

Well, no, there was the fact that they were both trying to hold together the shattered wreckage of everything they had ever cared about. If they had wanted to, they could probably have had a lengthy conversation about that.

It was a long, silent drive.

4:44 pm: Jeremy Francisco

Oh, to be a fly on the wall... and feel like, at any moment, the swatter might come down.

Jeremy Francisco stepped into the Briar Patch feeling like he was on the verge of explosion, or implosion, or something along those lines. He had certainly never been happier not to be a witch, since he knew perfectly well what such powers could do when combined with high emotions.

With his brother's hissing voice still lingering in his mind, he was certainly experiencing high emotions. "It's all about you, isn't it? It always has to be all about Jeremy!"

He had wanted to reply, "Yes, Dave, my wedding is all about me," but he knew better.

SingleEarth had pamphlets titled things like, How do I tell my family? He could vividly recall reading one specific piece of advice, echoed by numerous others: Telling your family about the paranormal probably means challenging a deep-seated world-view. Even in the best of circumstances, you may face anxiety and denial, which can come out as anger.

We advise against announcing your status to a group. Talk to your family members one-on-one, so you can appeal to their reason and offer the support they need to cope with new and often frightening information. Save big holidays for announcements of weddings, graduations and promotions. Announcing that humans are not alone and you are now a shapeshifter at the Christmas dinner table is more likely to make people remember "the year you ruined Christmas" than it is to inspire good will and tolerance.

Jeremy had followed half of that advice.

He had pulled his brother aside an hour or so before the Thanksgiving turkey was due to be served. They hadn't been as close since high school, since they had followed different paths, but at least Dave wasn't a vampire hunter. If Jeremy could win him over, he would be an ally.

It didn't work that way.

"I've proposed and she said yes," went very well.

"There's something I need to tell you..." didn't go quite as well.

Jeremy left before dinner, with Dave's parting shot- "I'll tell Mom you had some kind of emergency at that stupid clinic where you work"- echoing in his ears.

He tried to shake off the strain of the confrontation as he pulled onto the dirt driveway of the Marinitch family home, a large ranch set at the edge of several acres of farmland that had long ago mostly gone fallow. Some had been reclaimed by neighboring woods, and other parts had been deliberately filled with native plants. Only one acre was still cultivated, with a combination of herbs, fruits and vegetables.

4:45 pm: Jay Marinitch

From three acres away, Jay could hear his sister Mare fuming. At this distance, he should have been able to tune her out, but she would have known and that would have made her even angrier.

Nathan had just bailed at the last minute... again. Caryn, who was supposed to be helping Mare cook, was as nervous as a fly on a griddle because Jeremy hadn't arrived yet or called to say how late he would be. Zachary and Diana were supposedly on their way, though Zachary's voice had sounded strained when he had called Mare to say they had hit some traffic. Sarah should be there any moment.

Should he wander in and offer assistance?

Or would that just frustrate her more?

He wasn't much help with-

JAY! I know you're hiding out there!

Strictly speaking, Mare was not telepathic, but she had always had a unique way of communicating clearly within her own family.

Wincing, and wishing he'd had the sense to be out of range, Jay trudged through knee- and waist-high brush and grasses before traveling carefully between rows of actual tended plants and then slipping discretely inside. A glance at the clock he passed revealed it to be 4:49 pm.

"How can I help?" he asked, as he found his sister frantically trying to remain calm as she attempted to add final touches to four different dishes in the vast kitchen.

"You're not dressed," she snapped.

He glanced down. Shirt. Pants. Even shoes. Seemed sufficient. Mare's glare made it clear that this was not acceptable for Thanksgiving, however, so he wordlessly retreated to his room.

"Your cat is sleeping on your clothes," his brother, Vireo, remarked as they passed on the stairs. "Mare left one of those sticky tape rolls in the guest bathroom. Use it before you come back down. And brush your hair!"

And here Jay had been so proud of his forethought in setting out his Thanksgiving clothes ahead of time, to make sure he had all the pieces and they all still fit.

Jerk, he thought to the Canadian lynx, who was indeed curled up on top of Jay's amber-green dress shirt and tie. Both items had been picked out and personally approved by Mare, which meant he couldn't switch them for something else even if he'd had anything else.

Cat's faces were not made for grinning, but Lynx pulled it off somehow anyway.

I'm going to get some turkey, Lynx announced, as he jumped up and rubbed against Jay on his way out the door.

Jay heard the cars and other ruckus downstairs as he dressed and diligently de-furred himself, but there was no way to prepare for this confrontation. He had to force himself to walk downstairs, where he stepped into a fog of anxiety, frustration, and fury concealed behind strained but smiling faces.

Across the room, Vireo met his gaze with his own apologetic one. Why hadn't Jay taken Michael up on his invitation to go hunting this week, instead?

5:45 pm: Rosemary Marinitch

Vidas were nothing if not prompt, but other guests straggled in late, as if five in the evening was an absurdly early hour to have a Thanksgiving dinner. Finally, though, all of them were gathered around the tables... including Jay's Canadian lynx, who had insisted on having his own chair at the table.

Two large mice, having been granted a reprieve by Nathan's last-minute cancellation and Kestrel's resultant absence, were now enjoying a feast of carrot greens, apples and cranberries before they were due to be released back into the wild... unless Lynx got bored of turkey before he was as stuffed as Casper. Mare's bond, a female Hanoverian, was keeping company with her father's greyhound; both were happy to avoid the stressed-out crowds of people, and to indulge in their Thanksgiving gifts. Vireo's fox was delightedly pigging out on a mouse-berry pie that Mare had assembled and set out on a mat for the fox, who had no intention of placing himself in a chair. Two barn-cats, though not bonded to any particular witch, had nevertheless also been invited and were happily sharing in scraps.

In deference to the sensibilities of both the people and the poultry, none of the turkeys had been invited.

Except Casper and Nixon, of course.

Mare had given up on socializing with the other people as soon as everyone had been introduced to each other and dinner had been served. Vireo did the work of engaging people in conversation, breaking the ice and the tension both, until Jay finally stopped looking like he was going to faint and actually started to eat.

Now that everyone was talking, occasionally laughing, and smiling in a way that didn't need to be faked, Rosemary's job was done.

At least until the dishes needed to be washed.

[douxreviews]

Roswell, New Mexico - ‘Tearin' Up My Heart’ Review

“Hypothesis: Max Evans killed my sister.”

Liz is an amazing liar. She is adept at assessing people’s emotions and using partial truths as a misdirection, obscuring her true goals. By offering her scientific skills, displaying her natural curiosity, and playing on their long-standing friendship, as well as Max’s feelings for her, Liz convinces Max to do the one thing he fears most. Having a scientist experiment on him.  However, the person she is most adept at lying to is herself.

Liz could have taken her San Diego grant money and left Roswell with or without dear old Dad. The realization that her sister did not kill herself or the two other innocent girls in a drugged-out haze and the desire to find out the truth is undoubtedly a compelling reason to stay. Especially for someone with Liz’s sense of fairness and the above-mentioned curiosity. Yet, for all her bluster about being objective in her search for proof that Max killed Rosa, she spends an awful lot of time justifying his behavior and excusing the evidence.

Liz dismisses her arm injury to Kyle even as she is legitimately afraid to let Max touch her. Her inability to dismiss the damage Max inflicted on the EKG machine causes her to shift her investigation into what Rosa may have done to instigate Max’s actions. While I agree that Max would not have hurt Rosa without cause, I am a) privy to information that Liz is not, and b) not related to the victim. Liz’s willingness to blame the victim has more to do with her unexamined feelings than logic or objectivity. She consistently cannot put aside her residual anger towards and feelings of abandonment by her sister or the attraction and, dare I say it, love she feels for Max.

Which is why it isn’t until she finds Max’s letter that she is convinced of his guilt and confronts him. And you have to wonder how much of that is undergirded by jealousy.  After all, his declaration that he has always loved her and he could never kill anyone that she loved stops her cold. That is as true for her as is the knowledge that he is not being completely honest with her.

I think we can agree that she’s not being completely honest with herself either. Her opening monologue acknowledges that her feelings for Max go back to her mother’s abandonment. She tells Maria of her attraction to Max on multiple occasion then later confesses to Maria that she was engaged to the “perfect” man that she felt nothing for. And for the pièce de résistance you have Isobel reading Liz’s mind and acknowledging the depth of her feelings for Max. The word “love” may not have crossed anyone’s lips, but the implication is clear.

Speaking of Isobel, her and Noah’s relationship is just odd. She doesn’t come home for dinner and he waits until the next afternoon to find out where she was? She basically tells him that her brother is the most important person in the world to her and he doesn’t get jealous, he merely offers to be more attentive. While I think we could all wish for husband (or wife) that was so kind and thoughtful, it doesn’t seem very realistic.

And what of Isobel’s argument with Max? Regardless of her reasons, her assessment of Liz was right on the money. Liz is investigating them and it’s not for benevolent purposes. Her accusation that Max would do anything just to be close to Liz is spot on as well. Is Max’s claim that she’s using his life as a distraction from her messed up relationship with Noah as accurate? Or is he throwing the barb he knows will cause the most damage as only a family member can?

With the possible exception of Maria, whom we still know very little about, Michael is the most honest of the lot. He is unapologetic about who he is, what he does, or what he wants despite the pain it inevitably causes him. Alex seems to be the antithesis of that. He vacillates between hiding and flaunting his sexuality just as he seems to both crave and despise his father’s approval. This is a man deeply uncomfortable with who he is. This doesn’t bode well for their relationship.

The Rosa Magical Mystery tour led to the discovery that Rosa was befriended by someone using the pseudonym Ophiuchus, which doesn’t strike me as a typical high school choice. Given Rosa’s comments in Isobel’s flashes, I would suspect Isobel but she’d remember something like that. Is she picking up on someone else’s memories?

Have you noticed Isobel is the only one interested in maintaining the status quo? Liz wants answers. Max wants Liz. Michael wants, to quote Isobel “his person,” and while Alex may not be sure what he wants, the status quo is definitely not it.

What do we know:

Max has never been sick.

Whatever has been building in him since he healed Liz was strong enough to take out the power to all of Roswell.

We get confirmation that Rosa was not in favor of a relationship between Max and Liz. She previously told Liz that Max should be in her rearview and here she hid his letter to Liz. Did she know something we and Liz don’t?

Kyle, despite believing Liz’s investigation of her sister’s death could prove dangerous, refuses to betray her confidence. How much of that is because of his feelings for Liz or his distrust of Manes is anybody’s guess.

Speaking of Chief Master Sargent Manes, he and Valenti Sr. had a falling out. The question is when and over what. My suspicion is that it was over expediency. Manes strikes me as an “any means necessary“ kind of guy and Kyle continually speaks of his father’s code which included “innocent until proven guilty.” Those two philosophies seldom mix.

Roswell, New Mexico is brought to us by the several members of The Originals and The Vampire Diaries production team. Thus the casting of Nathan Parsons, Riley Voelkel, and Michael Trevino. And as with their predecessors, they have shown a willingness to burn through plot. Where other shows would have dragged out Liz and Max’s confrontation till at least the mid-season finale, here we barely make it through one episode. The end result is I have no idea where we’re headed but I am enjoying the ride.

4 out of 5 Blackouts.

Parting Thoughts:

This week’s title refers to the NSYNC song by the same name.

Max’s nerd boner over a first edition Walt Whitman brought a smile to my face. It’s not Russian literature but we are 3 for 3 on Max’s bookworm references.

While we’re meant to see Liz and her father in a sympathetic light. The Powers That Be don’t shy away from alternative views. While Sheriff Valenti, a neutral bystander in the overall narrative, won’t go out of her way to deport Arturo Ortecho, she’s not shy in her condemnation of the fact that he came to the country illegally while others, including her own family, sacrificed to do it the right way. We don’t live in a black and white world and I’m always pleased when writers and producers are willing to show it.

Minor Gaff: When Isobel announces that the fundraiser has doubled last year's donations, Noah is standing in the audience cheering. Yet when she gets home, she tells him the same info, and he acts like he never heard it.

Quotes

Liz: “You can relax. I left my scalpel at home." Max: “Oh, good. Cause I saw what you did to that frog freshman year, and it was not pretty.”

Isobel: “I have the entire Air Force here for the veteran fundraiser, and you’re out here playing what, alien autopsy?"

Kyle: “I know you want to believe Max is a golden retriever, but he’s a frigging’ X-file, Liz.”

Alex: “You’re awake.” Michael: “You stayed.”

Isobel: “I just came from Max’s. He’s letting Liz experiment on him.” Michael: “Please say ‘sexually.’”

Maria: “I didn’t want to invade her privacy, even now.” Liz: “Well, as a little sister, invading my big sister’s privacy is my born prerogative. Even now.”

Jenna: “Yeah, why not. Let’s go to the drive-in. Maybe after you can take me to the malt shop and then pin your letter on my sweater.”

Michael: “So are you going to mind-warp Liz before or after Mars Attacks?”

Maria: “If we’re stalking, I need a corn dog.”

Max: “I was really hoping for E.T. this year.” Isobel: “Xenophobia sells more tickets.”

Michael: “Guess you’re still the guy looking for any excuse to walk away, huh?" Alex: “Maybe. And you’re still so good at giving them to me.”

Manes: “We shared one goal. To protect our town and our world from the imminent alien threat.” Kyle: “Imminent? The crash was in 1947. If they pose a threat to humanity, they’re taking their sweet time.”

Manes: “Although you should know there’s one fatal flaw in our system. Innocent until proven guilty means that justice can only be served after disaster has struck.”

---

Shari loves sci-fi, fantasy, supernatural, and anything with a cape.

[mystery-deer]

The Party

Mycroft stood still at his mother fussed with his clothes and hair, making several checks and re-checks in a frenzied way that gave them both anxiety.

“This fit last month...did you put on weight?” She asked, then kissed the sting of her insult away. “My little bear cub.” Mycroft resisted the urge to wipe his cheek and instead stared passively forward. She smiled.

“Come now, and try not to stand in the corner like a wallflower.” Being with his mother was uncomfortable. She lumped them in together so close one moment that her rejections the next moment always felt viscerally painful. “You’re a handsome young man, I’m sure you’ll find that if you open a bit your peers will see that.” He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Yes, Mother.” And then, so not to be accused of being dismissive, “I’ll try.” The party was a benefit, something his father was throwing to show off his house and family. While the mansion was normally so devoid of life that Mycroft had once gone a full week without seeing either his parents or brother (the latter of which was more concerning), it had been (through the effort of many maids) reformed into a warm and cheerful home. The chandeliers which normally gave off a pale white light now shone a rich yellow and the mirrors which were often covered in dust now sparkled. In fact, everything seemed to sparkle. It hurt his eyes and he was glad that Sherlock was asleep or at least content to pretend to be asleep in his room. Often at parties his anxiety stemmed not only from the pressure to interact well with others but also the constant worry that his brother would act out of turn. Today he had only one anxiety to plague him, wonderful. “Speak of the devil!” His father raised his arms jovially and his mother took her place nestled beside him. “I do hope he hasn’t been calling me a devil all evening?” His mother asked, widening her eyes and clutching her pearls. “If anything he’s the one most worthy of the title, devilishly handsome~” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and Mycroft watched her in awe, she always knew how to perform, to entertain. No wonder she was so disappointed in her children who drew attention clumsily or not at all. “And who’s this?” “My eldest, Mycroft.” At his father’s mention Mycroft straightened up and his mother placed a hand on his shoulder, now they were all connected, a perfect chain. “He’s smart as his mother, they both are. Mycroft, tell the Barton’s about your award.” Mycroft launched into a short speech about his award, which he’d gotten for being top of his class for four years running.  It had also doubled as a target on his back and he’d barely managed to get it home while avoiding being beaten to a pulp. He didn’t mention this however, he assumed it would be in poor taste. When he finished he dismissed himself with a soft “If you’ll excuse me?” and left when granted permission, his purpose fulfilled. There was truly nothing much to do at these events if he wasn’t being called over to brag. His father’s colleagues either didn’t have children or didn’t bring them to these events, which he was sure his parents wished they had the luxury to do. He wished he could be banished to his room like Sherlock, maybe he should act wild...be an absolute monster. He took a profiterole and popped it in his mouth whole, feeling sick from the sugar. It quelled his anger and he took another one, checking to see if he was being watched. Both of his parents were enthralled by whatever conversation was taking place and secure in his assertion that he wouldn’t be called again for some time, he left to solitude of the back garden. When outside the noise of the party had quieted to a muffled, quiet affair. The wind was cool and he could hear birds and frogs calling out to each other. He was attempting to identify them by species (which even he acknowledged was a bit of a low for him socially) when he was interrupted. “Hey, are you uh..Mycroft?” He turned. The rude interruption was a boy around his age with hair that was rebelling hard against being gelled down. Mycroft observed his second-hand button up, his too-large blazer and his shoes that clunked on the wood of the deck. He wondered how he’d gotten in. “Yes.” He said, making it clear that he was looking upon him in disapproval. “You are?” “Greg.” He said, making it clear that he was wholly willing to soldier on further into this interaction. “My parents told me to say hi to you.” “And you actually did it? I admire your dedication.” Greg smiled and Mycroft took care not to. “Sorry, am I bothering you?” He asked and Mycroft sighed. “No, I apologize for my rudeness. It’s not you who I’m angry with.” “Oh.” Greg hoisted himself up onto the railing and kicked his feet, the motion familiar. Mycroft noticed several bruises and bandaids. “Do you play football?” He asked, apparently hitting the nail on the head as the other’s face lit up. “Yeah! I’m great at tackling. My dad said if I keep playing I could get a scholarship to any school I want.” “Who’s your father?” “Um, he’s not here right now. He’s inside. He was talking to your dad and he wanted to make a good impression since he’s new so he told me to scram.” Mentally Mycroft placed him as Lestrade, a new hire in his father’s company that he’d only heard about once or twice. His father mentioned him twice as ‘new blood’ which was worrying. “You know, I can totally tell you’re a Holmes.” Mycroft leaned against the banister, continuing to stare out into the night. “Yes, it’s generally easy to tell who the host of a party is as they’re often most comfortable in the house but also the most anxious.” He said, knowing that this was not the response he was being led to. Greg took this in stride by plowing on with what he wanted to say. “You all look at me and cringe. Your mom and dad did it too.” “And my cat would do it as well if she were here. Your clothing...stands out.” “It’s my father’s jacket and these are shoes to grow into. Sorry I’m not used to being a snob~” “I..I would take care that father doesn’t hear you.” “Father?” Greg asked in disbelief. “What year is this?” Mycroft smiled slightly but didn’t look at the boy until he spoke again a few minutes later. “What were you mad about?” Mycroft hummed quizzically. “You said someone made you mad earlier?” “Oh, my girlfriend.” Mycroft lied smoothly. Greg barked in laughter. “You have a girlfriend?” He cried, laughing so hard that Mycroft turned to him just in case he fell and required an audience to his subsequent embarrassment. “Well, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s a friend and I like her but I don’t know if she likes me.” He adjusted, mimicking a plot to a movie trailer he’d seen some time ago. “Well, let me help! I have four sisters, I can definitely tell you if she likes you or not.” “Ah.” He should just leave, just turn around and leave well enough alone but there was something in him that wanted nothing more than to stay planted here and try at being normal. “Well, she and I have known each other for a long time and I cannot for the life of me tell if she’s being friendly with me or if she’s flirting.” He began, pulling details out of thin air and lining them up. It was calming, he was sure that indicated something unflattering about him. “Sometimes when we’re walking she’ll hold my arm or when we’re sitting together she’ll position her legs over mine.” “Sounds like she likes you!” “That’s what I thought, but just this afternoon we got into argument. We were hanging out with our friends-” He was amazed Greg didn’t laugh at that line, he certainly would have if he weren’t consciously trying not to. “- and one of them, Yardsley, began asking if we were a couple and she became incensed. After they began arguing I suggested we talk about something else and she accused me of not sticking up for her. She left after that.” Mycroft sighed under the grief of the situation. “I just...I feel angry with myself for not standing up for her as much as I could have but I was also hurt that she was so angered at the thought of being with me.” He began to feel legitimately sad as his self-image problems crept to the surface, wonderful. “I just feel like I’ve failed on all fronts today.” “You didn’t fail! You just wanted to be friendly and fair to everyone. Yeardsley sounds like he was being a dick and your girlfriend or whoever sounds like she overreacted, but it also sounds like it could have been an honest question or maybe Yoursley and her have a history, you know? You did the best you could.” “Yes, just like how you did the best you could with Yardsley’s name.” “It’s a stupid name.” Mycroft burst into laughter, loud and short in the silence of the back garden. “Yes!” He agrees, doubled over. “It is a very stupid name.” Greg joins in this laughter and Mycroft feels something inside him adjust itself minutely. It feels like something has loosened, been made freer. “Perhaps we-” The sliding door was opened by his mother at that moment and it was as if the air had been sucked out of everything. She looked the two of them over coldly before smiling. “Gregory, your father has been looking for you!” She chided gently, ushering the two of them in.  “And Mycroft come here, I want to talk to you.” The two of them followed his mother to the living room, where Mycroft’s father was standing and regaling guests with a tale of some exploit or another. One of the men gestured Greg over and he obeyed, waving to Mycroft as he went. Mycroft waved back as he was dragged by his mother to another room. “I’m glad to see you making friends.” She said, in a tone that made clear the opposite. “Next time do you think you could- oh!” She tore her hand away from Mycroft, her fussing cut short. Horrified, she stared at her white glove which was covered in the melted remains of a profiterole he’d placed in there with the intent to eat it before he’d been interrupted. His heart beat so fast it pained him. “Mother-” “What is this.” He stayed quiet, debating whether or not to speak up. Was this a rhetorical question? Would she- “What IS this?” She repeated, hissing so as not to shout. “It’s...I’m sorry.” “I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked-” “Mycroft!” They both turned to see Greg, looking jovial as ever, standing in the doorway. “Hey, I have to leave so I wanted to say goodbye!” Glad for the intrusion, Mycroft walked over to the boy and held out his hand to shake. Greg used the hand to pull him into a hug. “I hope we get to talk again, tell me how it works out!” “I’ll walk you to the door.” Mycroft offered, taking care not to look back into the eyes that were boring into the back of his head. “What a gentleman~” Greg teased. When they reached the door Mycroft smiled and gave a polite ‘goodbye’ to the Lestrades, turning to go when Greg called out. “If she doesn’t like you then I can introduce you to some real girls!” Mycroft raised an eyebrow, apparently caught. He called back, undeterred. “Is it one of your sisters? I won’t put up with sly attempts to marry into my family Gregory!” “Yeah right, I’d rather marry you than have you date one of my sisters!” And with that he was gone, rushing down the driveway to meet up with his parents.     Recognizing his opportunity, Mycroft quickly made his way upstairs and into his bedroom, closing the door softly. Immediately Sherlock knocked on his wall in Morse code. ‘Is it over?’ to which Mycroft exhaustedly responded. ‘No. Sleep.’ Hearing nothing back he finally changed into pajamas and collapsed onto his bed. He would tell his father that he had eaten something off if he was asked where he’d gone. He would… He closed his eyes and thought of the boy he’d met. Greg Lestrade, what a peculiar character...He hadn’t known that people could radiate, hadn’t known that laughter could spark something inside of someone. He hadn’t known that the thought of marriage, of a future, could fill him with anything but anxiety and dread.                He hadn’t known that a person could be made of light.    

[beanmaster-pika]

I ended up getting encouraged to talk about my aus so thank you all for enabling my self-indulgence

Swan Prince AU

This one’s the first one? And it’s more of a royalty AU, actually. Licht vacations in the Servamp kingdom every summer but one day he gets cursed by an evil magician (Touma) to turn into a swan. Hyde, who’s the same age as him and therefore his designated playmate when they were kids, recognizes it’s him and freaks out because if the Jekylland kingdom finds out they let this happen then there could be a war and no one wants that thank you very much.

I’m actually more interested in worldbuilding than the plot so :/ For reasons I have not thought up, there’s the ‘older bunch’ of Servamps (Kuro to Freya) and the ‘younger bunch’ (Hyde to Lily) and there’s like a ten-year age gap between the olders and the youngers, and then there’s Tsubaki, who’s twelve and illegitimate. Kuro inherited the throne at 17 when their dad disappeared and by the time Tsubaki’s mother showed up a couple years after with a baby that had the last king’s eyes, the kingdom had stagnated. However, a baker named Mahiru starts showing up at the castle to petition the king, and he appears so frequently and his words are so sensible (”He’s got to have studied statecraft,” Hugh declared. “There’s no way he hasn’t.”) that Kuro’s siblings up and offer him a job as the king’s advisor. After many arguments and finally a heart-to-heart where Mahiru learns that the last king once allowed Kuro to make a decision that almost led the whole country to war, they start to work towards understanding each other and cooperating and it’s tough, but by the time the present story rolls around the kingdom is flourishing. 

The older bunch all hold a place in court; Hugh is a minister of internal affairs, and he, Kuro, and Mahiru are at the heart of the kingdom’s laws; Jeje is the most knowledgeable about magic, especially curses, and works as both a consultant and investigator, though he’s sent to the Alicein kingdom along with Lily (16 at the time of the story, two years younger than Hyde) to serve as ambassadors and tutors to the king’s sons; and Freya’s the head of the army and the most terrifying person in the kingdom. The people love her. There’s a more even distribution of power than there was before Kuro inherited the throne - Mahiru’s influence and Kuro’s reluctance to be in charge of literally everything see to that - and provincial courts have juries put in place so that people are no longer solely at the mercy of sometimes corrupt judges.

On a different note, Hyde starts out as a sweet kid, but when his friend-and-maybe-crush Princess Ophelia two kingdoms over dies when he’s sixteen he goes wild in his grief and takes up with a group of bandits and starts hurting people. When confronted by his siblings, he declares that if the world is so cruel as to take Ophelia’s life, then his actions are just a drop in the bucket. Now, this is very much wrong and a problem, so Kuro manages to seal him temporarily into hedgehog form for a month (EDIT: yes he can normally transform into a hedgehog, no Licht doesn’t know at first, yes animal transformation is a common ability in their kingdom, and no the sealing is not a common or easy practice. It’s legitimate grounds for Kuro to self-prescribe absolute bed rest in order to recover from the drain on his energy, and he’s stronger than normal mages and had assistance to boot; a month is the very limit he can achieve with that) saying that if he’s lost his grasp on his humanity, then perhaps he’ll find it again in an inhuman form, and then they drop him off at the summer villa reserved for Prince Licht with Guildenstern as a caretaker. Now, unbeknownst to everyone, Licht arrived for vacation even though it’s midwinter, and he is absolutely taken with the hedgehog that’s wandering through the villa (”Oh Shit,” Guildenstern said. Hyde agreed. This was very much an Oh Shit situation.). It turns out that while he hadn’t known Princess Ophelia personally, he’d had mad respect for her for stepping up to enact a change in her kingdom’s politics even though it had ended in her assassination. He and Hyde end up having furious arguments over ideology (Licht still doesn’t know that Hyde’s there, and he doesn’t connect the voice with the hedgehog) and in the end, he helps Hyde regain his humanity - to be human is to desire, to desire is to dream, and to dream is to push your imagination past its very limits and work for it. That ends up breaking the seal prematurely, much to everyone but Licht’s relief. Licht’s pissed that the hedgehog turned out to be Hyde. And when Licht is cursed to be a swan, well, Hyde’s worried about it affecting relations with the Jekylland kingdom, yeah, but he also wants to do for Licht what Licht did for him: make him human again.

ANYWAY HERE’S THE DOODLES

Teacher AU

Because now they’re teachers.

This one has basically nothing in it yet aside from it being fun to consider what subjects they’d teach (Mahiru’s home ec; Kuro’s phys ed; Hugh’s history; Jeje’s art; Freya’s a counselor; Hyde’s literature; World End’s either a history or foreign language teacher; Lily’s a student teacher; Licht’s a piano instructor now; Otogiri’s the school’s doctor) and what everyone else would be (Tsurugi and squad are bodyguards; Iduna’s an engineer; Tsuyuki’s with the government; Sham’s with the government; Higan’s a wandering artist; Sakuya’s a psychologist; Ryuusei and Koyuki haven’t factored in at all oops; everyone else either has their canon profession or they’re college or high school students). One of the tidbits I actually spared thought to is that Kuro took a couple gap years and ended up in the same freshman Psych 101 class as Sakuya (who at present shares an apartment with Mahiru) and they somehow bonded and even after the class ended they became texting buddies (usually of memes) and hung out from time to time, but then Mahiru (after getting fired from his first school for some sort of reckless behavior) gets hired to the school all the Servamps are gathered at and starts out pretty argumentative with Kuro but eventually they gain a mutual understanding and maybe the beginnings of a relationship and Sakuya puts two and two together from conversations with Mahiru and texting with Kuro that the man he’s in love with might be in love with his texting buddy and he doesn’t know how to deal with that and so stops texting Kuro, and Kuro finds out about it from talking to Mahiru and then this happens

Kuro, throwing a chicken nugget at Sakuya’s window: why are u ghosting me Sakuya, opening the window: can u throw another

And they talk and all is well again. A poly ending is absolutely in the stars because Mahiru loves them both and they agree to it.

Also the other thing is this

Pokemon AU

This is the one I like the most right now! I actually have a couple of chapters written for it that I haven’t posted yet but basically the whole Servamp thing remains, but the pokemon that they transform into actually have their own personalities - rather than a transformation, it’s a shared body thing, and the human form is a manifestation of the vampire (formerly human) soul. I haven’t ironed out all the details of why this is happening, but I like the idea of them never being alone, though I haven’t figured out quite how this will change them. Hyde’s gonna be fun and also painful to figure out.

Fate AU

LET’S GET THIS HOLY GRAIL BREAD

Mahiru’s uncle was going to take part in the holy grail war but Mahiru accidentally summoned instead and what he summoned was Kuro, a Lancer. Add to that that Sakuya is still his best friend, was meant to be a pawn of Touma’s but ended up being Master-napped by the Saber he summoned (Tsubaki), and Tsubaki wants vengeance on Kuro, and we’ve got another round of heartbreaks on our hands because Fate is nothing but heartbreaks. The Alicein brothers are also there, summoning the same Servants (Caster and Archer) that their grandfather and Mikuni’s mom summoned, and they know that the Grail is tainted so they’re out to destroy it. Their backstory is a little tweaked with Mikuni just stealing his mom’s command seals to protect Misono instead of killing her, and he grabs Misono and absconds to the Church where they stay until Mikage ensures that Mikuni’s mom can never hurt Misono again after the War. Misono goes home, but Mikuni goes to study at the Clock Tower and comes back just in time for the next war. (There’s more under the pictures)

Tetsu summons Rider, but his sisters are the masterminds of the operation; they’re doing their best to restore their family in an age of declining mana, and Tetsu’s got the best Magic Circuits among them so he’s tasked with summoning, but they’re operating under the strict principle that if any of their lives are endangered, especially Tetsu’s, then they halt the project immediately and seek refuge with the Church. Hugh’s hyped about the whole ‘restoring the family’s magic’ thing.

Licht, on the other hand, comes from a family that’s at the very height of their magical power. He doesn’t believe in an omnipotent wish granter because he feels that it’s cheating, but to win the Grail is the goal of every mage out there so he’s in it for the glory. For a summoning catalyst he uses a bracelet that was supposed to belong to a martyr princess of old (”She gave her life for her goals,” Licht said in awe. “Yep, it’s very impressive. Please do not do the same,” Licht’s mother said.), but it turned out to belong to the other person connected to her legend, a man who was terrible and cruel, uncaring of others after he was driven mad in grief, and so Licht summons a demon of an assassin and Crantz (regular human) is left babysitting these goons while Licht’s parents hold down the fort in Austria.

Now, the Berserker team. I just want you all to know that the ones I was most excited about is the Berserker team. Tsurugi carried out the summoning here, Touma’s other pawn, and he added a madness enhancement, changing Freya’s class from Shielder to Berserker. Tsurugi, unlike Sakuya, is a highly trained operative and adult and one of the Church’s Executors, and he’s also completely under Touma’s thumb so he’s an ideal proxy even though Touma couldn’t snatch Sakuya’s command seals like he intended to. Unfortunately, Freya’s madness has just released her inhibitions and she’s this fucking close to pulling a Tsubaki and Master-napping Tsurugi. She does her best - in her limited capacity - to get Tsurugi away from Touma and it all culminates in Touma deciding she’s too much of a loose cannon and trying to take Tsurugi’s command seals away, but the seals instead go to Iduna somehow (haven’t figured that out yet) and Iduna and Freya spirit Tsurugi away to help him recover. Shortly after Iduna develops a magic item that’ll dampen the effect of the madness enhancement, more or less reverting Freya to her original class.

Now, this Grail War is an absolute clusterfuck by this point, mostly because all the summoned Servants are siblings, so a Ruler comes in - drum roll please - World End! Because who better to solve a sibling squabble than another sibling, even if he is the third youngest. This is mostly because I want World End to be included in stuff. World End’s in my Pokemon AU. I failed to elaborate on that but since that’s the AU I’m actually writing it’s all good. Anyway they’re all gathered in a sort of war council at a family restaurant to work out their intense family issues and then World barges in ‘WHAT’S UP THIS IS A PRETTY AWKWARD REUNION.’

This actually might be one of my favorites on account of being able to have them all be different physical ages but keeping their age hierarchy since Heroic Spirits can be summoned at whichever point of their lives was significant, and also this means that I can just make up lore for them. In ten, twenty years I’m probably going to look back on this and groan but for now I’m going to have fun with it.

For Kuro, he took down an entire army on his own at age eighteen and then retreated from the world. Hugh stopped a war when he was small (this threat of war surfaced again when he was older; this was when Kuro took down a whole army). Jeje became a famous outlaw. Freya overthrew a government in order to protect her soldiers. Hyde served a princess, but she gave her life for peace, and shortly afterwards his older brother killed their father; Hyde turned cold and cruel after that. World End inherited his sister’s kingdom after she died in battle and stood strong against threats from other kingdoms, displaying sharp wisdom despite his brash personality. Snow Lily used his illusions to carry out a large scale rescue operation on a child trafficking ring. And Tsubaki? Tsubaki was but a man who inherited a sword from his father, then vanished into the night when that same father was killed. He could have - should have - been summoned as an avenger, but for the sake of story convenience and keeping the war to the traditional seven classes, I chose saber for him.

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Forty-Two.

Welcome back! Sorry for the brief hiatus; depression was kicking my ass (still is, but I’m determined to move forward), but now I’m back and

GOOD LORD I HAVE MADE SOME ANGST. WOW.

So, uh, last time we learned that M’Baku and Okoye are going to have a baby! Yay! How wonderful!

This time, we get to see the pre-stages of Dewani’s trial --and it gets angsty. Whooooo boy.

This chapter is rated T for the following: heavy angst, discussions of death, and angst. Angst angst angst.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku and Shuri x OC.

Yupp. Angst heavy update. You’ve been warned.

(Side note: I had to edit the title twice because I got the wrong number. The fuck is wrong with me?)

@the-last-hair-bender, @skysynclair19

Not every fight you face will be one you can control. There are times when you are the game master, and there are times where you are merely a piece on the board.

It’s hard to be a piece on the board when you know the stakes are high, because doing your best will never feel like enough --especially if you lose.

There is no magic answer, my dears, for avoiding the fear or the loss. All you can do is put one foot in front of the other.

Sometimes, moving forward is the only answer.

“This will be so much easier once the rail system is finished.”

Okoye couldn’t help but smile as she carefully --expertely--piloted her ship through the mountain range that led to the Jabari lands. “Is that so?”

“Don’t act like it won’t be!” Shuri said with a laugh, momentarily pausing her pacing around the cabin of the craft. “Just sit back and ride. It’ll be shorter, too.”

“Shortest distance between two places is a straight line,” T’Challa agreed without looking up from the book he was reading.

They were headed to the Jabari lands so that they could prepped for Dewani’s impending trial; they’d all have to give testimony in defense of the Chief’s sister --which they were all willing to do, no questions asked--and were flying out a week early so they could get a sense of what would be required of them and how the trial would proceed.

As far as Okoye was concerned --as far as they all were concerned--it was a sham. As soon as the trial started, F’Tendi’s history of abuse would come out, and that’d be the end of it. The curmudgeon would hang himself on his own rope, and Dewani would be freed from her uncle’s looming, oppressive presence.

Shuri, however, was nervous. She’d started pacing the perimeter of the cabin as soon as they’d taken off and hadn’t stopped for almost an hour.

Okoye knew the princess was young, and that youth could lend itself to restlessness and worry, but she also knew that Shuri was remarkably level-headed --and that if there was anyone who would have an inside eye on how the trial was shaping up, it was Shuri; she was Dewani’s girlfriend and confident, after all.

So, if Shuri was nervous, there had to be a reason for it… right?

You’ll find out one way or another, Okoye told herself as she steered her ship through a narrow pass. For now, focus on making it to the Jabari lands in one piece.

There was, in fact, a reason for Shuri’s nervous energy.

A very large, very --figuratively--sticky one.

According to the elder representing Dewani’s case --since M’Baku was the chief of the tribe he couldn’t present her case himself, so it had been delegated to a trusted advisor--most of F’Tendi’s charges were superfluous. Homosexuality wasn’t a crime under Hanuman’s tenaments, and F’Tendi’s abuse towards Dewani over her orientation was grounds for his own expulsion from the tribe.

Rescuing Adesina from the cult territory, however, was more than enough to land Dewani in hot water.

“She was dying!” Shuri snapped once she’d processed the information. “I’ve got more than enough medical records to prove--”

“And we will definitely be relying on those records as physical evidence, your Highness,” the elder said evenly, “but the point still remains: entering the cult territory is expressly forbidden. And, given that Sister Dewani ventured there many times and interacted with a member of the cult, she can be tried for expulsion.”

“Adesina was a victim --is a survivor--of heinous, horrific physical abuse!”

“Again, the physical evidence you have will be very handy in proving that.”

“So what’s the issue, then? Why are we even worried about Dewani’s rescue mission?” Shuri exclaimed with a scowl. “It was a goodwill mission! She risked her own life and standing to save someone else --someone that she didn’t know, that by all means should’ve been inconsequential to her. Why isn’t her compassion--”

T’Challa placed a hand on his younger sister’s shoulder. “I think the elder is trying to get to that point, but they do need the opportunity to get a word in edgewise.”

“Your Highness, you were present when Dewani asked Adesina to aid in the battle against Thanos, correct?”

Shuri’s narrowed. “What does the battle have anything to do with… anything? Thanos was trying to destroy half the world. Dewani was trying to help save it.”

“According to certain testimonies, Dewani had prior knowledge of Adesina’s powers and asked her to use them against Thanos.”

Okoye felt her heart sink. Shit.

Rescuing Adesina could easily be spun as a goodwill mission --primarily because that’s exactly what it had been. But encouraging Adesina to use her powers?

You don’t have to belong to the tribe to see where encouraging a demon to use their powers might come across as blasphemous.

“Well, we all saw Adesina use her powers when HYDRA attacked the palace,” Shuri reasoned. “Technically, there’s no legitimate way to establish that Dewani had any prior knowledge of Adesina’s powers before then. And, given the severity of the fight we were facing with Thanos, we needed all the help we could get; Adesina’s inclusion is practically in consequential.”

“Perhaps in the logistical scheme of things, but inciting a person to use dark magics is still considered an act of blasphemy,” the elder said with a small, somewhat amused smile. “Though, I might ask you to help present the case. You seem to have all the arguments formulated already.”

“Given that asking for Adesina’s help was an act of blasphemy regardless of how we look at things, what does that mean for Dewani?” T’Challa asked.

“The context of the situation might be enough to sway the council into pardoning her, especially of Adesina is truly repentant of her upbringing.”

“And if it’s not?” Okoye asked.

“She’d just be banished,” Shuri interjected. “Right?”

The elder grimaced. “Given that Adesina is a legitimate conduit of Ravana, no. Inciting the use of dark magics on that scale is ground for execution.”

Okoye’s eyes widened as Shuri let out a horrified “What?” “Isn’t that a little severe? She was heinously abused by her uncle for years and lost her brother in the fight with Thanos only a handful of weeks ago. And she only asked for Adesina’s help to try and save the world!”

“The law is the law. We can only hope that the council will be merciful and see Dewani’s choice as an act of youthful foolishness, rather than act of malicious defiance.”

T’Challa grabbed Shuri’s hand, effectively cutting the teen off before she could go on a tirade. “How can we help ensure that outcome?”

“Attesting to Dewani’s character and commitment to her tribe will be important --and providing testimony about F’Tendi’s mistreatment towards her. He’ll be presenting the case against her, and the worse of a light we can paint him in, the better Dewani’s chances are.”

Shuri stood up abruptly and darted out of the room. “I need to see Dewani.”

“It’s alright,” the elder said when T’Challa got up to go after her. “We have all week to prepare, and trying to cram everything in now isn’t going to help.”

Okoye nodded, then stood when T’Challa did. I need to speak with M’Baku.

M’Baku and Dewani were out in one of the gardens, sitting together on one of the many benches that dotted the green space. Dewani was curled up in her brother’s lap --as much as she could be, she was almost T’Challa’s height now and almost the King’s size as well--and had her face buried in his neck. M’Baku had his arms wrapped around his sister, and he looked like he’d just seen the face of death.

They know, Okoye realized. They know she could die.

Dewani popped out of her brother’s lap as soon as she saw Shuri, and then she was slumping against her girlfriend, heaving ragged sobs.

Okoye slipped past them to get to M’Baku. She held him as tightly as he held her, pressing kisses against his chest. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

“I’ve worked so hard to protect her--”

“I know.”

“--and her good intentions could get her killed.”

Okoye grimaced as she felt her throat constrict with emotion. “I know.”

M’Baku let her go and looked off to the side, away from everyone else, as he blinked rapidly. “If I-- if I had adopted her sooner, there might’ve not even been a trial. I would’ve known about her orientation sooner, handled things myself, and all this could’ve been handled quietly. She’d be safe.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Okoye insisted quietly as she rubbed her hands up and down his arms.

“Chief M’Baku,” T’Challa said as he walked up to them. “I’m so sorry.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Is there--” T’Challa paused, grimaced, then continued. “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything that might… prevent an execution order?”

Can he use his status as King to interfere so that Dewani’s guaranteed to stay safe, one way or another, Okoye translated mentally.

M’Baku smiled bitterly and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s out of both our hands. We can only hope that the council judging her is lenient.”

Okoye clenched her teeth together as she watched Dewani and Shuri hold each other. Bast, please let it be so.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” M’Baku was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. “If it was just F’Tendi’s abuse and her orientation in question, I wouldn’t be worried--”

“Things have changed,” Okoye said softly as she knelt in front of him. “I get it.”

“The elder presenting Dewani’s case is worried that F’Tendi will use her relationship with Shuri to prove her lack of devotion to Jabari tradition and that she encouraged Adesina to use her powers to bring about the apocalypse.”

“That’s a load of bullshit. Anyone will be able to see through that.”

M’Baku shook his head. “My people are terrified of the cultists. Different beliefs and practices aside, there’s a long history of hatred and hurt there. I’m scared it won’t take much for them to transfer that to Dewani, misplaced as it is.”

“M’Baku, look at me.” Okoye cupped his face in her hands when he did. “Dewani’s going to make it out of this. She will. As soon as the elder representing her case starts talking about F’Tendi’s history of abuse, he won’t have a leg to stand on. He’ll be laughed out of the room.”

M’Baku sighed heavily before drawing her into his arms. “I wish I could have your faith.”

“Things will work out. They will.” They have to.

M’Baku pressed his lips against her forehead, then pressed one of his hands against her stomach. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, but alright. I’ve already had to cut back on my coffee intake.”

“Horrors. Have you thought about any name choices?”

Okoye chuckled. “Isn’t it a bit early for that? We’ve only known we’re having a baby for a couple weeks now.”

M’Baku was silent for a moment, then said in a trembling voice, “I was thinking… if we had a girl --if Dewani doesn’t--”

Okoye wrapped her arms around his neck and held him as he buried his face into her shoulder and sobbed. “It won’t come to that. We aren’t going to have to do that.” She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her own tears start their escape. Bast, please don’t make us do that.

[thearrangment-phff]

LVI. Henrietta

January 2018

“He looked so happy,” smiled Isabella as she looked down at the pictures of her uncle Henri at the Winter Olympics.

“He is proud of all of his Luxembourgish people,” replied Princess Christine of Orleans-Braganza

“Eugenie is going to announce her engagement to Jack tomorrow,” added Isabella.

“Such a waste one of the three blood princesses of the United Kingdom will be marrying a commoner,” interrupted Princess Charlotte.

“British princesses have been marrying commoners since the time of Princess Margaret. Your argument doesn’t make any sense,” argued Countess Olympia.

“At least Princess Margaret became Countess of Snowdon after marriage. Who in their right mind would turn down a title?”

“People who understand the burden and want to give their children less complicated lives,” whispered Isabella.

“You’ve never experienced the royal life until you married so I don’t understand your complaining. Besides, I will make sure your children, grandchildren, and those who come after them will all get titles,” smiled Charlotte.

“You’ll be dead before my children marry,” deadpanned Isabella.

“You’ll regret the day I die.”

“That’s enough. The both of you clearly act more like children than the women you are. Belle perhaps we shall go to see Princess Beatrice now, to talk about your trip to Switzerland. I’m sure your family would love to see you and bringing Princess Beatrice would offer some bonding time,” smiled Christine with a high attempt to soothe things between the women in the room.

“I’ll spend 6 days in Switzerland with Bea, half on it will be spent at the World Economic Forum then the rest with family. I won’t need ladies with me so you all will have your own free time. I’ll return only on the day I have an engagement with my father-in-law. I won’t need ladies then either,” explained Isabella.

“That’s over a week without any one of us,” said Olympia.

“I understand that. The day after that I will find out the genders of my babies. I won’t have you there either. It will be only Harry and I but I will tell you what they are with the rest of my family and friends. Do we have an agreement?”

All four women nodded at Isabella, “We care for you so much Belle. You must I understand that,” spoke Countess Gaelle.

“I do understand that, but I also understand that I am a grown woman who is fully capable of taking care of herself.”

“So does that mean you are talking to Harry again? Like the grown woman you are?” asked Olympia.

“The last thing I need is a lecture from you about relationships. You all are dismissed.”

His Royal Highness The Duke of York is proud to announce the engagement of his daughter Her Royal Highness Princess Eugenie of York and Mr. Jack Brooksbank

“Thank you for inviting me. Your family was very kind this week.”

“Oh of course. You are my family now,” smiled Isabella.

“We haven’t had much time to sit down and talk. Ever since the engagement you’ve been so busy,” said Beatrice.

“Yes. I wanted to hit the ground running after I married Harry. It seems that it was more like doing a 100-meter dash than a marathon,” joked Isabella.

“My father has been praising you these last couple of days. It’s been like 6 months and you’ve almost hit over 250 engagements. I don’t think Harry has done that many this year.”

“There are many hours in the day and much to do,” smiled Isabella.

“Have you thought of names?” asked Beatrice looking directly at Isabella’s stomach.

“A few for both genders but Harry and I have an appointment in a couple of days to find out indefinitely,” answered Isabella.  

“I’m very excited for you. It seems like both you and Harry are just glowing since the announcement.”

“Thank you. Would you mind if I set you up with one of my cousins?” asked Isabella.

Beatrice went a little wide-eyed, “Oh I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not? I know at least half a dozen cousins who would be absolutely infatuated with you.”

“I just don’t think it would a good idea.”

“You're not still in love with that Clark boy, are you?”

“How do you know about him? But no, I’m not in love with him. You would understand, spending almost a decade with someone and having ended the relationship, you’ll still have some feelings for them.”

“You know about Joachim?” asked Isabella.

“Harry mentioned him a couple of times. I know your family marries second cousins a lot and at your wedding reception I heard some people talking.”

“He’s like a ghost that lingers in my life. I’m married with children on the way but people can’t seem to forget about him,” said Isabella.

“I know how that feels,” laughed Beatrice, “Well anyways, have you thought about godparents?”

“You won’t let me set you up?” asked Isabella.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh well, okay. Going back to the question, I was thinking of asking you.”

“Really? I would be honored. Thank you for thinking of me. It’ll be my first godchild,” smiled Beatrice.

“Harry is very close to all his cousins, so I thought it would be fitting to look at them for godparents. It’s common in my family to choose brothers and sisters, but I think Harry doesn’t want to do that.”

“When will the christening be?”

“June 11, the day after your grandfather’s birthday,” answered Isabella.

“And location?”

“Well I was thinking Buckingham Palace but Windsor Castle would be the next best option.”

“Isn’t Kate having her baby first, but you're going to have the christening first? The press will have a field day with that. They love making unnecessary drama over everything.”

“Kate and I aren’t on the best of terms. We rarely see each other. I’ve barely even met you and your sister until recently.”

“You disappeared for weeks after the wedding. You rarely are with the family though it’s not like we see each other every weekend.”

“I admit, my ladies used to control every minute. I don’t plan on letting them control my life once these two little ones are born,” said Isabella as she rubbed her stomach a couple of times.

“Your Imperial Highness, if you would follow me we can see the famous portrait of King Charles.”

Isabella looked around finding the people smiling at her and cameras flashing. Her smile was instant but she was exhausted. Isabella had spent on her day on her feet with her father-in-law touring a museum with portraits of her ancestors. They weren’t Harry’s ancestors, but hers which gave her a sense of pride.

“Ma’am, would you care to speak about King Charles?”

“I’m afraid I know very little about him,” smiled Isabella slightly.

“What about his daughters Your Imperial Highness?”

“That I do know more about. I descend from his youngest daughter Henrietta of England. She had two daughters and once again I descend from the youngest daughter. She is the ancestress to the Habsburgs and Bourbons.”

“Is that where your English roots come from?”

“Goodness no. Through my great-grandmother Queen Astrid of the Belgians, I can trace my British ancestry to the Hanover dynasty by King George II. I was blessed with a wonderful grandmother, the Archduchess Yolande, who helped teach me my family history. She knew the importance of knowing where you come from and never let any of my siblings or I forget it,” answered Isabella.

“Will we ever see one of your daughters bare the name, Henrietta?”

She let out a little laugh that pleased the crowd, “Henrietta is a lovely name and it’s the female form of Harry’s name. The world will just have to wait and see.”

Charles had come closer to Isabella and the crowd had moved away to give them space, “They all love you.”

“I don’t think they love me,” laughed Isabella.

“I think you remind them of Diana,” whispered Charles.

“I’m not. Farthest thing from her I believe.”

“Thank you for being here with me.”

“Thank you for having me,” replied Isabella.

“It seems appropriate seeing how he is your ancestor through a legitimate line.”

“Sometimes I forget I have Stuart blood in me as well. It always seems to get lost in all my family history,” confessed Isabella.

“Yes, well I imagine you would forget the little bit of English blood you have when you have much more Bourbon and Habsburg blood.”

“Could I come over after this engagement to Clarence House for tea?” asked Isabella.

“You are welcome to come by anytime Isabella.”

“Isabella it is so lovely to see you,” smiled Camilla.

“Thank you for having me. I know this was all short notice.”

“Tea doesn’t require much effort anyhow. Charles called me and he sounded so excited to get to sit down with you. Where is Harry by the way?”

“Oh, he had an engagement with the rugby national team. I didn’t want him to miss it so I told we wouldn’t be talking about anything important,” answered Isabella.

“He’s in the drawing room. I have an engagement in a couple of hours so I won’t be able to join you but please feel free to come back anytime so we could have a sit-down.”

“Of course,” smiled Isabella.

Camilla had escorted Isabella to the drawing room before giving her a hug and walking the opposite way. Charles had gotten up from his seat and greeted Isabella with a hug and a kiss on her cheek.

“Isabella, what would you like to talk about?”

“Well the tour starts next month and during the time until then I want to start to process of moving out of Kensington and into St. James Palace.”

“That won’t be possible. St. James’ need repairs and parliament would never agree to fund the repairs,” argued Charles.

“And that is why I am willing to foot the bill as long as I get to live there and set up my own household away from Will and Kate. I want Harry to be more than the spare and that starts with cutting the cord between the two,” explained Isabella.

“I will see what I can do, but I make no promises. What does Harry think about leaving Kensington?”

“He will agree to what I do because we know I have our best interest in the end. And thank you for speaking on my behalf, that is all I ask for. I think separating Will and Harry will be good for everyone.”

“How are you? I never even asked about how the pregnancy is going,” said Charles, changing the subject.

“Some days are better than others. I’m tired all the time, my feet and back hurt, and sometimes the pain in my lower stomach is so bad that I can barely stand. But that’s all the nothing, or at least it will be nothing once I see their little face,” confessed Isabella.

“It’s been hard, hasn’t it? You look as if you are about to faint.”

“And this has been an easy day,” joked Isabella.

“Has the physicians at the royal household been looking after you?” asked Charles.

“They have been more than kind. It is just a difficult pregnancy.”

“Kate took on very little before and after the pregnancy. Perhaps you should follow her lead,” suggested Charles.

Isabella had let out a little laugh, “I am the wife of the spare. Should I do that they would surely try and send me the guillotine. All the world’s sympathies have gone to Kate there are none left for me,” smiled Isabella.

“Do you truly believe that?”

“Believe it? I know it. I am the wife of the spare. We all know what happens to them.”

[chemicallyimbalanced-shadowling]

Vent/Rant

Apparently, during an argument about mental health my older brother was being a dick and asking my little sister if they wanted to be on meds or thought they should be on meds, and they were like shit I dunno I know Emily does though but obviously we both can’t since mom won’t let us use the insurance for medication, and my brother had the audacity to scoff and ask my little sister “why what’s up with Emily” and my sister was so pissed that he would first of all phrase it like that and second of all ask them and not me in the first place. They proceeded to explain to him that I was diagnosed by my counselor, which he attempted to counter by claiming that I wasn’t really diagnosed and that I’m fine or something and that I needed to go to an actual therapist or psychiatrist to be legitimately diagnosed, WHICH IS FALSE, my counselor works through my school so I see her for “free”, but she has a whole ass PhD and LEGALLY CAN DIAGNOSE she just can’t prescribe meds, and to add to that my counselor at my old college ALSO said I have depression and anxiety, SO just because I don’t have a written piece of fucking paper or a prescription for meds doesn’t mean I’m not mentally ill. AND, even if I wasn’t professionally diagnosed, no one else knows what goes through my head except for me and self-diagnosis can be JUST AS VALID especially when you can’t afford a counselor or therapist. I was damn sure I was mentally ill for years before seeing a counselor.

And my sister literally sat in my room CRYING they were so mad at our brother for being disrespectful, they sat here saying “how DARE he ask ME ‘what’s up’ with YOU when he doesn’t even ever care enough to ask how we’re doing in the first place or try to understand what the fuck goes through our heads or anything we’ve been through” like my sister KNOWS pretty much everything I’ve been through, every heartbreak and assault, every big panic attack, every suicidal thought and attempt, every doubt, all my self harm, every failure, everything. But the rest of my family? Definitely not. Not a clue. My older sister knows some, but never reaches out. My little sister and I argue and fight sometimes, yes, but they are always here for me. And honestly I am so thankful this kid has such a kind heart and cares so much about me, enough to actually start crying with how sad and angry they felt over everything my brother was saying. I love my sister so damn much, I’m so fucking mad I couldn’t be there when our brother was asking all those questions. I’m so glad I can be here for this kid because I swear no one else in this family understands our fucked up minds except each other. They’re only 16, I wish I could take every bit of their pain away from them. But at least I can be here.

Anyways sorry about that rant, I’m just livid thinking about this and in short I’m so mad at my brother and love my little sister more than life