#and i severely dislike my aunt

[callmearcturus]

(smashes that No Reblog switch)

Everyone reading this who grew up poor and who is getting older, come sit with me.

You and I know what it's like to be worried about how you're gonna feed yourself and pay for meds and pay the utilities in the dead of fucking winter. When you turn the heater off during the day bc hey at least the sun is out, it might be technically 30F out but it feels like 45F if you stand in the sun, so you don't need the heater running for no reason, right. And at night to look at the clock and worry because you know that thing's been running for over and hour and you can feel the dollars being added to the bill.

There are people that you spot money for and there's people you have to learn to ask to pay you back.

When I bring a coffee in for my coworker who has been having car trouble for three weeks and he says, "thank you, honey, what do i owe you," I say "Nah, I got you, hun." Just like when I missed lunch because a meeting, I asked someone about to go on their lunch if they could pick me up a snack and when I tried to pay, they waved it off.

All of that is good and fine, we take care of each other.

However, when you perhaps live with someone who is sitting on more money in their bank account than everyone else in the house combined and they ask you to catsit and they don't leave the cat enough food so you drop 80$ buying cat food

You cannot fucking sweep that under the rug. That's not taking care of each other. That's a person who doesn't think about how 80 dollars to you is not what 80 dollars is to them. Because it's never just 80 bucks, it's 80 here and 25 there and 50 there and covering a bit of money for people shouldn't turn into a fucking line item in your monthly budget.

It is anathema and it feels shameful and it makes you feel like a monster to ask, but you need to do it.

If you don't you will be sitting, wanting to treat yourself to something that for your birthday but you don't have the money because you spent it on someone else's cat food not because they couldn't afford it but because they have never had to pick between a little treat and utility bills before.

I'm begging y'all: learn to ask.

and this year, I am gonna learn to do the same.

[delulujuls]

the other one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the 2.7k of i don't know what, really. its for sure intense, so fasten up your saddle and enjoy the ride. i enjoyed making aegon such a cutiepie in my two last shots, but this man is designed to be a menace to humanity so yeah, i believe im gonna lose it in the next shots. prepare for chaos.

summary: heart want what it wants, and y/n's heart belong to young prince from dragonstone, not to the future cruel king of westeros.

warnings: targaryen brothers being mean to velaryon boys AGAIN, aegon is such a meanie oh god, fighting, arguing, threatening with a sword, last scene is smelling a bit like a rap3, so feel free to skip it. your comfort is the most important

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. jealous, possesive and dark!aegon targaryen)

Two young princes stood at the gates of the castle, awaiting guests. For several minutes they kept glancing at the sky, looking out for dragons. However, only the sound of wind and waves crashing against the rocks could be heard, with no indication that any winged beasts would soon appear before their eyes.

“Do you think they’ll come at all?” Lucerys asked his older brother, glancing at him. The cold wind chilled him to the bone, and the youngest of the Velaryons longed to return inside and sit by the fireplace.

Jacaerys did not get a chance to answer because shortly after, a muffled roar reached their ears, and something flickered in the low-hanging storm clouds. The heavy sky was pierced by the massive body of Vhagar, who was the first to emerge from the clouds and flew towards the beach. Close behind were Vermithor and Sunfyre, who looked dainty in comparison to those two giant dragons. Aemond, Y/N, and Aegon had arrived at Dragonstone.

Soon after, all four appeared at the castle gates. Helaena was flying with her older sister on Vermithor, choosing not to sail by ship with their mother, father, and grandfather. The youngest of the siblings still couldn't bring herself to travel alone on the back of her Dreamfyre, but felt confident with Y/N, now walking hand-in-hand with her sister towards the castle.

Lucerys took a step back, seeing Aemond and Aegon confidently striding towards them. The youngest Velaryon swallowed hard.

“I hope they don’t sit close to us,” he whispered, prompting his brother to discreetly nudge his arm.

Jacaerys smiled at the sight of the siblings. “Welcome, it’s good to see you here,” he said.

Aemond, leading the way, wore his characteristic grimace, nothing like the smile the young prince offered him. The last thing he felt like doing was feigning politeness. In silence, he merely glanced at them, bypassing them and pushing the heavy gate doors.

“My favorite, strong nephews,” Aegon said sarcastically, with a mocking smile. Passing by, he nudged Lucerys in the shoulder, who was about to turn and say something when his aunt’s voice reached his ears. Y/N smiled joyfully at the sight of Rhaenyra’s sons.

“Luke, Jace,” she extended her arms, hugging them both at once. Hearing the girl's joyful voice, Aegon glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. He thought his sisters were too lenient with those bastards.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” Jacaerys smiled, embracing her and catching the smell of her lavender-scented hair. While he sincerely disliked Aemond and Aegon, he was very fond of their sisters. Helaena was shy and harmless, often speaking little and nodding more. Y/N, on the other hand, often reminded him of his mother, unafraid to speak up or defend her position. She was also wise and very pretty, and he was genuinely pleased to spend a few days in her presence.

“Are you coming, or are we going to freeze out here like a bunch of idiots?” Aegon asked sharply, seeing Y/N hold onto older Velaryon a bit too long. The young princess gave him an amused look, tousled Lucerys’ hair, and linked arms with Helaena. The four of them briskly walked towards the castle.

Rhaenyra was celebrating her thirty-second name day, so the entire family from King’s Landing had come to Dragonstone. Viserys wanted his daughter to celebrate her birthday in the capital, but she wished to spend the day her way. The ailing king, still battling illness, had no intention of arguing with his daughter, lacking the strength and health to do so. Even to the Targaryen seat, he chose to sail by ship rather than ride on the back of one of the dragons. After Balerion’s death, he had given up flying and now didn’t think about it at all.

During the evening feast, the dining hall filled with people. Despite it being Rhaenyra’s day, Viserys sat at the head of the table. To his left was his eldest daughter, beside her Daemon, Joffrey, Lucerys, Jacaerys, Rhaena, and Baela. On the king’s right sat his wife, next to her the Hand of the King, then Aemond, Aegon, Y/N, Helaena, and Rhaenys Targaryen, next to whom, at the other end of the table, sat Corlys Velaryon.

The feast went on in a calm and surprisingly pleasant atmosphere. Previous feasts often ended in arguments before they even really began. The main instigators of all disputes, Aemond and Aegon, sat quietly, not speaking much. Many might have thought someone stuffed hay into the dragons’ bellies to prevent them from breathing fire.

Aegon, however, increasingly clenched his hand around the wine goblet from time to time, hearing Y/N happily talking with Jacaerys across the table. His blood boiled hearing her so delighted with the conversation with him. He felt like slapping that fucking son of a bitch.

Helaena was also having a good time, shedding her shyness piece by piece with each sip of wine. She chatted lively with Rhaena and Baela, who were already slightly tipsy themselves. Rhaenys sent an amused look to her husband, who tightened his grip on the wine jug and pulled it closer. The Sea Snake had to be vigilant to prevent his granddaughters and the young Targaryen from getting too drunk. Helaena, however, had more to celebrate than just her half-sister’s birthday.

Since Viserys and Alicent’s daughters reached reproductive age, the Hand of the King and the Queen Mother began looking for potential suitors for them. While there was no trouble finding suitors for Y/N, who, besides her wealth and possessions, had a strong character and good disposition, finding a husband for Helaena was problematic.

From birth, the princess showed signs of abnormal development. Though she grew as a girl should, her mind seemed not to keep up, still trapping her in a world of childish dreams. Helaena was quiet, read a lot, and spent all her time in the garden, not burdened with unnecessary duties.

The Hand decided that when the time came, that is, when Aegon was to take the throne from the ailing king, he would marry Helaena, and Y/N would marry Forrest Frey. The plans were made at a Small Council meeting, which neither Helaena nor Y/N attended. Probably neither would have known about the plans to marry them off if Y/N hadn’t accidentally overheard their conversation when one of the doors unguarded by sentries was ajar.

“I don’t agree!” she said firmly, pushing the heavy doors and entering.

“Y/N, you can’t be here-,” Alicent stood up, wanting to calm her daughter, but she sharply pointed her finger upwards. “And you can’t do this to Helaena! I don’t agree!”

Aegon, who was one of the people at the table, also didn’t support the Council’s idea. However, he was too drunk to make any objections. Only his sister’s intrusion somewhat sobered him up. If he had to choose, he could marry Y/N since she wanted to fight so hard for Helaena’s better fate. Frankly, he didn’t care either way.

The guards first wanted to remove the young princess, but she began presenting her arguments. The Council didn’t think an eighteen-year-old’s arguments could make any sense, but many underestimated Y/N’s negotiation skills. In the castle, by Aegon’s side, she could be more useful than in the Riverlands beside Forrest Frey.

The Council decided that Helaena would marry Frey when the time came, and Y/N would marry Aegon. The young princess didn’t want Helaena to spend her life in the castle, locked in chambers and bearing children. She wanted her to break free from King’s Landing and experience a life different from the one she had lived so far. Y/N knew that unlike her sister, she could handle an incestuous marriage and an unwanted husband, who Aegon was to become in the future. Helaena might have been driven to suicide.

But for now, these were just tomorrow's problems, or who knows, maybe even further. Helaena, in a sudden burst of joy, stood up and climbed onto a chair, much to Alicent’s horror.

“To my beloved sister Y/N,” she said, swaying. Rhaenys held the chair to prevent her from falling. “And to my sister Rhaenyra, who celebrates her birthday today. I love you!”

Alicent, Otto, Aemond, and Aegon looked at her indulgently, raising their goblets. All the other guests eagerly toasted, applauding the young princess’s words. Rhaenyra stood up from the table and hugged her sister; Y/N also rose to do the same.

“Helaena needs rest,” Alicent whispered, gripping her daughter’s shoulder before she stood up. “Escort her to bed.”

Y/N shook off her hand and got up, embracing her sisters. However, when she felt Helaena’s heavy body in her arms, she held her close around the waist.

As soon as the sisters left the dining hall, Jacaerys, sent by his mother, joined them. Young prince apologized to Y/N and with a single, confident motion, picked up Helaena, who laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, admitting that she would let such a handsome man whisk her away without hesitation.

Jacaerys only let go of Helaena when he placed her on the bed in her bedroom.

"Will you stay with her until morning?" he asked as Y/N began removing the rings from her sister's fingers.

"Helaena usually sleeps like a mouse under a haystack, but after wine, she sleeps like a rock," Y/N replied, smiling slightly at the sight of her sister's flushed face. "Wait outside, I'll change her for bed and join you."

The young prince nodded obediently and left the chamber. He stood outside the door, straight as a string, feeling like a guard. Shortly after, the princess joined him, quietly closing the door behind her.

"She'll sleep like a baby until morning," she assured, laughing softly.

"It's nice to see her with a smile on her face," Jacerys admitted as they slowly began walking down the corridor. He quietly offered his arm to Y/N, which she gladly accepted.

"I've noticed she smiles much more when she's here. I feel like the capital is suffocating her."

Jacaerys lowered his gaze. He had recently learned about the marriage plans for the young sisters.

"I heard she'll leave King's Landing sooner or later," he said, glancing at her. He didn't know how delicate ground he was entering.

The young princess sighed and nodded. She spent the whole way telling Jacaerys about everything that had happened in the past weeks. In the company of the boy, Y/N didn't feel like his aunt, as their relationship would suggest, but like a friend. After all, they were only a year apart in age. They had always had a good relationship and, unlike her hostile brothers, Y/N really liked Jacaerys. She cherished every opportunity she could spend with him. This was one of those moments.

The pair didn't return to the feast; instead, they went to one of the terraces. They sat on one of the benches, and Y/N involuntarily rested her head on the boy's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist, hugging her close.

"You deserve more, Y/N," he said quietly. "Both you and Helaena deserve more."

"I know I'll manage, I'm strong," she said, watching the remnants of the day dance on the horizon. "But I'm so scared for Helaena. She deserves the whole world, not what's waiting for her in King's Landing."

The young princess wasn't sad; at this moment, she could even say she felt a lightness in her heart. Jacaerys' body warmed her pleasantly, and the cool, salty air chased away the heat caused by the wine from her cheeks.

"You're the bravest dragon I've ever known," he said with a smile, looking at her face. The girl smiled at his words. "I don't know stronger people than Targaryen women."

"Do you really think so?" she asked quietly, looking into his eyes. She didn't know if his cheeks were flushed from the wine or the cold wind. Nevertheless, his dark eyes looked at her so gently that the young princess never wanted to look into any other eyes again.

Jacaerys smiled and nodded. He cautiously lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He touched her cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb.

"I would take better care of you than they would, you know?" he said after a moment, his whisper lost in the whistle of the wind. Y/N heard his words clearly, just as she clearly heard the snort of disdain that came from somewhere to the side.

"I don't know which of you is more pathetic," Aegon said, looking at them with drunken eyes. He could barely stand, but his fists were clenched. Aemond remained silent, standing in the entrance and blocking it with his body. Unlike his brother, he didn't look drunk.

"What is your problem?" Y/N asked angrily, standing up. Unintentionally, she shielded Jacaerys with her body, who also rose from the bench.

"That you act like a complete whore," he spat through his teeth, causing Jacaerys to step around the girl to stand in her defense. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back when Aemond drew a dagger and stepped forward, defending his brother.

"Watch your words," Jacaerys said angrily. He didn't care that he was addressing the future king. In his eyes, Aegon wasn't worth anything, and he certainly didn't deserve to be Y/N's husband.

"Or what, bastard?" Aemond asked calmly, looking at him intently.

"We haven't done anything wrong," the young princess said sharply, though her voice trembled. She knew that her brothers were unlikely to hurt her, but she wasn't capable of protecting Jacaerys from both of them. She had only her hands, feet, and teeth at her disposal. "Get out of the way."

"Oh, really?" Aegon smiled. His drunken eyes were shiny from alcohol and dark-circled, his skin ashen. Even despite the fire of hatred burning in him, he didn't have a bit of a blush on his face. "I see a fucking dog clinging to my future wife."

"You wish she were your wife," Jacaerys said without thinking much about the words that left his mouth. Aegon lunged at him with his fists, to which the young Velaryon responded in kind. Aemond sheathed his dagger and grabbed Jacaerys by the shoulders, holding him and exposing him to Aegon's blows. In the commotion, the young princess managed to draw her brother's dagger and without hesitation, grabbed Aegon by the hair, pulling him back. With tears on her cheeks, she pressed the sword to his neck.

The four of them froze in place.

Aemond still held Jacaerys tightly, blood was trickling from his lip. Aegon's heart was pounding, not from fear but from adrenaline and, at that moment, also from excitement. His sister's small hand was firmly gripping his hair, forcing him to tilt his head back. Blood flowed from his broken nose, running down to his grinning lips.

"She's a dragon, see?" Aegon said, addressing Jacaerys. "You couldn't handle her, fool."

Y/N pushed her brother to the ground, releasing the dagger from her hands as well. She grabbed Jacaerys' hand and pulled him from Aemond's grasp, who would have lied if he said his sister's behavior didn't leave him speechless. In shock, he wasn't even able to oppose her.

"I'm so sorry," she began tearfully, pulling him away as far as possible from that place. "I should have killed them when I had the sword in my hand."

Jacaerys pulled her by the hand, causing her to turn around suddenly and fall into his arms. Without a word, he kissed her, feeling her salty tears mix with the blood from his split lip. Y/N returned the kiss but looked at him in shock. Jacaerys smiled warmly at her.

"Don't apologize to me," he whispered, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "You are a dragon, so be a dragon."

The pair didn't return to the feast. Instead, Y/N went with the young prince to his chambers. Jacaerys initially protested when she said she would help dress his wounds. Eventually, he agreed to her proposal, lying on the bed in just his trousers. The girl carefully cleaned his cuts, placing a cold compress on his abdomen. She sat beside him, looking at him tenderly.

"I'm so sorry, Jace," she whispered, squeezing his hand. The boy, however, seemed to be in a good mood.

"If every fight with them means I get to spend time with you, I'm ready to fight them every day."

The young princess smiled and shook her head at his words. She felt her heart swell when she was with him.

Their eager lips exchanged a few more kisses before Y/N quietly left his chamber, returning to her own. Helaena was still sleeping soundly, snoring softly. She lay on her side on her half of the bed, not even stirring when her sister began preparing for sleep. Dressed in a nightgown, she let her hair down and carefully combed it. She put the brush away and blew out the nearby candles, lying down on the bed.

As soon as she covered herself with the quilt, she felt someone sit on her, pressing her into the mattress, and a cold hand covered her mouth. The girl wanted to scream but felt a blade against her neck. The attacker leaned over her, his hair tickling her face. The young princess smelled alcohol.

"Every time you raise your hand against me," Aegon whispered, tightening his grip on the dagger's hilt, "I'll have one of your fingers cut off, understood?"

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. For the first time in her life, Aegon truly frightened her. She felt her heart leap into her throat.

"And that fucking Velaryon dog," he moved his hand from her mouth to her hair, gripping it tightly. "I never want to see him near you again."

"Aegon-" she whispered with difficulty, clutching his wrist to push him away. She felt herself running out of breath, and the cold blade pressed deeper into her skin.

"Is that clear?" he growled, pressing her harder into the pillows.

"Yes," she said tearfully.

A moment later, she felt her brother's alcohol-tainted lips forcefully and brutally kissing hers. Aegon stood up shortly after and left the sisters' chamber, closing the door behind him. In the darkness, the young princess found her sister's body and hugged her from behind, trying to suppress her tears. She was terrified.

How much she wished she could hide in Jacaerys's arms at that moment.

[myladysapphire]

House of the dragon masterlist

Aemond targaryen

His sapphire princess (slow updates )

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra finds her self with child, A girl who will forever change the history of westeros

My lady strong (slow updates )

The second born, A bastard, a dreamer with fire in her veins, and a girl forced into the dance of dragons

two halves of a whole - one shot

Aemond had always understood you in ways others could not, your bond so deep nothing could severe it. A bond so deep that they would do anything to save the other, even if it meant being trapped with the enemy.

Aegon Targaryen II

The spoils of war - one shot

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

Agape - one shot

Agape love is defined as being unconcerned with the self and concerned with the greatest good of another. Agape love isn't born just out of emotions, feelings, familiarity, or attraction but from the will and as a choice. Agape requires faithfulness, commitment, and sacrifice without expecting anything in return

Jacaerys Veleryon

Solace - one shot

As the daughter of Alicent Hightower you had been fed stories of your older sister and her children, so when you are bethrothed to Jacaerys you arent too sure as to what to expect, and go into your courtship expecting the worse, only to find out you couldn't have been more wrong.

Why don’t i show you - one shot

when you come to westeros to arrange your sisters marriage in an alliance with westeros you find there customs to be anything but acceptable and start to question the need for an alliance, it takes jace to show you why an alliance is needed.

you belong with me - one shot

you and jace were childhood friends, you never left eachothers side growing up, but that all changed once you both went off to university.

seduction - one shot

you had always longed to be queen but with your brother Aegon married to your twin sister you had lost hope, but upon your nephews return to the keep you realise all hope of being queen isn't lost. there was just one problem: your mother would never agree to marriage between you and Jace. So you set in motion a plan of seduction.

red - one shot

you are a priestess of R'hollor, sent to dragonstone to assure the bloodline of the prince who was promised. And though you are welcomed by the queen, prince Jacaerys only looks at you with trempidation, seeing your place at his mothers side to be some ploy. But luckily for you there is always a way for the red priesstes to sawy others to their cause.

My sweet pathetic prince- one shot

Jace had always had a pathetic obsession with is aunt, but she was never afraid to show her dislike for him and his heritage, even when his head was between her thighs.

his - one shot

when a rumour reaches Jace that you are to marry another man, he makes sure to show you that your are his.

will you fall in love with me again - series, coming soon

And arranged marriage designed to bring together the branches of the family and stop and impending war. But with the love that blossoms and the war still blooms the couple are forced to face the brunt of the wars consquences.

Heleana Targaryen

Butterfly Kisses - one shot

Heleana has always had a special bond with her maid.

Cregan Stark

The Dragon and the Wolf (complete)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

Gwayne Hightower

High Infidelity - one shot

scorned and betrayed by your husband, you find solace in the arms of his uncle.

To Gwayne, with love - one shot

tired of being ingored and undervalued, you take your dragon and leave to find the one person who sees you for who you really are; your uncle, Gwayne Hightower.

Bittersweet- one shot

married to Gwayne Hightower in some deludied attempt to resolve tensions between your family, when his loyalty is made clear you flee to your mother, feeling only bittersweet as you think of your husband.

Benjicot Blackwood (fan!cast)

forbidden - one shot

With a feud older than history, the Blackwoods and Brackens have long been enemies, but now, you, a daughter of lord Bracken, finds yourself in the arms of Benjicot Blackwood, and he will do everyhting it takes to make you his.

navigation

[lunarfleur]

Kei Tsukishima General Headcanons

Warnings:None!

A/N: this marks the beginning of me making my returning Haikyuu obsession everyone else’s problem 🙏🏻

He’s near sighted (?)

^ can’t see anything unless it’s right in front of his face (I think that’s near sighted but idk)

Used to have an obsession with dinosaurs as a kid and retained all the information as he got older

The dinosaur figurines are from when he was a kid

The type of guy to hold on to things for memories (he has several memory boxes tucked away in his closet)

We know he’s really smart but he doesn’t read all that often because it wears his eyes out

He sticks to magazines and manga because it’s easier

Loves cardigans and sweaters as much as hoodies but he doesn’t really wear them outside his house

Actually has a really big family (like a lot of cousins and aunts and uncles)

His dad died a couple years after he was born

It doesn’t bother him all that much because he doesn’t really remember him, but it’s upsetting when he spends father’s day at the cemetery with his mom and brother

He gets random waves of sadness when he remembers that his mom lost her husband and raised two sons (basically) alone

He has so much appreciation for his mom, he’s a different person when he’s with her

He’s far from fluent, but Tsuki’s quite good at speaking English

Could hold a decent conversation if needed

He listens to quite a bit of foreign music because he thinks it makes English easier

Tsuki doesn’t wear cologne but he smells good anyway (good hygiene is a must)

He just smells clean idk

Tsuki can’t really lie down on his couch comfortably because it’s just barely his size

Has trouble finding t-shirts that don’t swallow him whole because he’s so skinny

He doesn’t drink soda but loves juices and teas

No nickname pisses him off more than “four eyes”

He spent a long time disliking the way he looked with glasses

He actually doesn’t hate Yachi, he’s very respectful towards her

Doesn’t have too much of a ‘type’ but Tsuki prefers smart girls because he likes being able to have (mature) debates with people

And he’d prefer someone who is completely dependent on him

He’s not really picky with anything else, though. His mom taught him to understand that there’s different types of beauty

Normally has cold hands

And he gets cold super easily so he cranks up his heater in the winter

I think that’s it!

[ididntthinkiwould]

I was inspired by all the tiktok edits using Mexican songs for JayVik, so I decided to do an AU where they're mariachis!!

Viktor's cane is hanging off a string in his belt, it's something I saw a man using the other day while on public transportation and I thought Viktor would totally use it too lmao

More about the AU:

🔹️In this AU both Jayce and Viktor are Mexican, Viktor's parents are immigrants that met in Mexico, his dad is Polish and his mom is Czech, but Viktor was 100% born in Mexico

🔹️Jayce and Viktor met when they were kids, they instantly became friends

🔹️They started singing together when they were kids at the parties Jayce's family organized to entertain the guests, but they were really good at it

🔹️as they grew up Jayce's aunts and uncles started inviting them to parties specifically to sing

🔹️family's friends then started inviting them to their parties to sing and paid them, that's when Jayce and Viktor realized they could make money out of it

🔹️they both studied in the UNAM, but kept singing on the side as a way to make money

🔹️The idea was using the money they got singing on bars and parties as a way to fund their research

🔹️Then they met Mel, who owns a very important record label, she convinced them both to sign a contract with her

🔹️Viktor isn't so sure about it because singing was just their side job, but Jayce tells him that they could make even more money to fund their research, so Viktor reluctantly agrees

🔹️both of them know how to play several instruments, but after they sign the contract with Mel, Viktor mostly focuses on playing violin and being the harmony to Jayce's vocals, they go from being a duet to Jayce being the main singer

🔹️They get extremely famous very quickly, Jayce becomes a celebrity

🔹️Mel and Jayce then start dating

🔹️Viktor dislikes how forgotten their whole research is while he gets sicker and sicker. After some time he start experimenting with illegal drugs as a way to cure his illness

🔹️this leads to an accident caused by Viktor that ends up with Sky's death (Sky was one of the musicians they play with during concerts)

🔹️Viktor is pretty shaken by it, but Jayce doesn't notices as he's to focused on the fame and his relationship with Mel

🔹️during a concert, a bomb goes off near the stage and Viktor gets badly injured

As a bonus, the song I think Jayce is singing here to Viktor is "Paloma Querida" here's a translation of a fragment because that song fits so well with JayVik:

"You found me in a dark path

Like a pilgrim without direction and without faith

And the light of your divine eyes

Changed my sadness for happiness and pleasure

Since then, I feel loving you

With all the strength my soul gives me

Since then, dear dove

I've changed my chest for a dovecot"

Aaaand, that's all for now, let's see if I get around to making the other illustrations I have in mind for their divorce and them getting reunited lmao

Hopefully it won't be full illustrations because the lineart in this one was kicking my ass lol

[lemotmo]

Wow.

Q. What do you mean about Ravi being the physical manifestation of Buck's issues or trauma? Ravi is definitely a character in his own right and is not dependent on Buck for screen time. That's a wild thing to say. Can you explain that viewpoint to me please?

A. It's not a statement meant to take away from Ravi as a character but his episodes are pretty tightly tied to whatever is going on with Buck at the time. That's not my viewpoint. That's the way his episode history goes. And in most of his episodes Buck's storyline at the time is in one way or another tied to Eddie, or Buck's abandonment issues, or, in several cases, both. This is going to get lengthy, anon. I hope that's okay.

Ravi's first episode is Jinx in season 4. The episode where Eddie shows interest in Anna and Buck thinks the station is cursed or jinxed because of the calls they get that day. Also the first mention of the universe screaming at Eddie, which was said by Buck. His second episode was Treasure Hunt which sees Buck and Eddie teaming with Taylor to search for the hidden treasure, and Eddie's dislike of Taylor becomes pretty clear. The next episode Ravi appears in is Survivors. No explanation necessary, Eddie gets shot in that episode. Then we arrive at season 5. The season that had the most appearances for Ravi by far. We start with Panic, Desperate Times, and Desperate Measures. Those episodes encompass the aftermath of Eddie getting shot, Buck discovering he's Christopher's legal guardian if something happens to Eddie, Eddie's panic attacks, and his subsequent admission that he isn't in love with Anna. That's also the episode stretch of Maddie's postpartum and her leaving Chim and Jee. That brings us to Home and Away, the episode where Chim leaves to go search for Maddie.

Still in season 5 that takes us to Peer Pressure which is the first episode where Buck and Ravi are teamed up as partners because Eddie has been moved over to partner with Hen in Chimney's absence. That brings us to Ravi's appearance in Brawl in Cellblock 911. Buck and Eddie get kidnapped by the escaped prisoners, they threaten Christopher, and Buck fears Eddie has been shot again. Then Ghost Stories where Taylor's job, and the ways she goes about doing her job, start to become an issue in her relationship with Buck. That brings us to Defend in Place, where an explosion at a hospital finds Buck and Eddie trying to locate an 8 year old boy and his newborn baby sister. This is also the episode where Ravi reveals he had cancer as a child. His backstory is literally Buck's childhood trauma. Which leads us to Past is Prologue. The episode that revealed the story of Daniel and how Buck was born to be a donor sibling. The episode also highlighted more cracks forming in his relationship with Taylor. The following episode, Wrapped in Red, was the episode Eddie decided to leave the 118 and join the 911 call center. The next episode, Outside Looking In, is Eddie trying to settle in at dispatch, the building of his breakdown arc, and the episode where Buck kisses Lucy and then asks Taylor to move in with him out of guilt (a mistake Buck would repeat again in season 8). Ravi's next episode was Boston which picked the Maddie storyline back up. Then Fear-O-Phobia is the episode where Eddie has his breakdown after finding out about his former Afghanistan squad and Buck decides he has to tell Taylor the truth. Next is Dumb Luck which has Eddie in therapy and Buck trying to help him through that. Hero Complex puts Buck's relationship issues with Taylor back at the forefront. Leading to Starting Over which sees the end of Buck and Taylor's relationship for good. Ravi did not appear in a single episode that wasn't in some way related to Buck and Eddie or Buck's fears of being left behind or abandoned by the people he loves.

Arriving at season 6. Ravi only appeared in 5 episodes that season. His first appearance that season is episode 14, Performance Anxiety. This is the episode Eddie's aunt fixed him up on a blind date and Eddie told the team he feels like he has to perform when he's on dates. That brings us to Death and Taxes where Buck meets Natalia the death doula. Then we have the Love is in the Air episode where Eddie attempts to meet a woman and runs into Marisol at the end of the episode. That brings us to Pay it Forward. The episode where Buck's donor baby is delivered by him, he and Natalia talk about getting a couch, and Eddie asks Marisol out on a date.

Now we arrive at season 7. Ravi's first appearance that season is Buck Bothered and Bewildered. No explanation necessary. Then You Don't Know Me which is Buck's first date with a man, Eddie asking Marisol to move in with him and finding out she was almost a nun. Then we have There Goes the Groom, the bachelor party episode. That takes us to Ashes Ashes where Buck meets Kim for the first time and Eddie tells Kim about her similarities to Shannon. Then finally to all Fall Down which sees Christopher's reaction to the Kim reveal and his decision to leave for El Paso.

Welcome season 8. Ravi's season 8 episodes include: Holy Mother of God, Disconnected, Invisible, Sick Day, Lab Rats, and The Last Alarm. Every episode after Eddie left for Texas and Buck's subsequent attempts to adjust to the new normal. His episode history on this show anon is very loud and very intentional. A pattern like that is not accidental or coincidental. It is intentional. It's why placing Ravi in the Buddie scene in The Last Alarm was so intriguing. Having Eddie hug Ravi was a way to show that Buck's fears are safe with Eddie. Eddie is the safe place for Buck to let the traumas of his past go once and for all. And it's why I think Ravi is who Buck is going to be trapped with during the earthquake episodes. Right now Buck is avoiding all the things he needs to admit and reconcile with. Trapping him with Ravi is literally trapping him with the things preventing him from moving forward. And Eddie has always been a thing that Buck is clearly not allowing himself to really think honestly about. The earthquake in season 2 changed Buck and Eddie's relationship. The earthquake in season 8 will change their relationship again.

Thank you Nonny!

Ali! You did your research! This is so impressive and very interesting to read as well. Thank you for sharing this with us!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[strawberrynightmere]

I'm the anon,yes we would love headcanons about them, I need to see Julia!reader headcanons about her low-key losing her morality.

Will do!

Found You [Headcanons]

TW⚠️: the general tcoaal and yandere stuff, from conception to birth, mixing canon and canon divergence.

A/n: You can tell this is my first time making them.

Part 1 Part 2

As much as you protested against having sex before marriage, you ended up giving in to Andrew pressuring.

You found out you were expecting around three-ish (a bit longer) months later. And before you ask, "How is that possible?!" You can still bleed when you're pregnant. That's one possibility.

Now, Andrew has been stuck in quarantine, and the only way of contact is through phone calls.

You were very scared, especially considering what his reaction would be.

You chickened out and broke up with him over the phone right then and there.

Meanwhile, Andrew tried calling you, which ended up waking Ashley, who ended up laughing at his face when she found out you broke up with him.

Needless to say, Andrew did not take the break up well.

During your pregnancy, you have very little contact with your parents, inturprate that how you want.

The next two months are pretty much a rodeo for you.

Get stalked and kidnapped by Andrew and then make up.

Andrew is against you continuing classes or working.

He has considered tying you up, and you did not take that well. Someone was gonna look for you.

Still didn't stop him from putting you in "mandatory bedrest" when you were done with classes and work.

He has his arms around you as much as possible. You even believe he might be talking to the baby when you're asleep.

Because of your pregnancy cravings, the only food you can consume and not throw up is Ashley's cooking. (BTW, she was also there when you and Andrew "made up", she was watching TV).

Don't worry, Ashley has been at her best behavior around you.

There's only so much Andrew can do until you end up getting involved with what they're doing.

And it all starts with the dream. That's right, you somehow ended up in a dream for a vision.

You were just standing there with a grime soul circling around you.

Then, you two came across a pot with a pot with a severed head inside,which you recognized as one of those two girls that were gossiping about you and have recently gone missing.

You suspected that this had something to do with Andrew and Ashley, and let's be honest, you believed your morality left you when you got back with Andrew because you made no reaction when you saw the head, you just closed the pot and kept walking with the grime soul.

Even when you woke up, you weren't bothered about the dream.

Unexpected things just tend to happen, like giving birth at work and a bit earlier than the due date .

Andrew had to come in because you weren't coming out from work, and that's how he found out.

It is a good thing that a coworker recognized him as your boyfriend. Otherwise, they wouldn't have let him in to see you, which might have ended up with them charging Ashley charm and then ending up I her met stew.

The baby is up for your interpretation.

Andrew was afraid to hold them at first due to his dislike for kids and was afraid he was going to like them.

But when he sees you cooing at the little thing in your arms, something just moves there where his heart should be.

And when he dose end up holding them, he feels strange. He feels something that tears him up as the baby takes hold of his finger.

A/n: and I'll just put a pin in here and continue with my life. Wanted to add chaotic aunt Ashley, but I didn't think anyone would like it.

[mordredpendragon]

Hands you an Agravaine (for the ask meme) :3

hi ram !!!! thank you for the ask! here's an agravaine for you <3

with a bonus laurel!

ask game under the cut

favorite thing about them

tbh i was pretty neutral on him until i started reading vulgate, he's so much more fleshed out and layered there (i started reading arthuriana with le morte d'arthur and he does fuck all there lol)

i think he's an incredibly compelling character, especially with his interpersonal relationships. there's just something about gawain having a younger brother named essentially not gawain and being a huge contrast to him, and i also really like his relationship with mordred in vulgate as an older brother who raised him. he's the kind of character who's wedged in between characters that are larger than him (i'm sorry agravaine but you're related to gawain, mordred, and arthur and being someone who's related to them is kinda your whole thing) and that in itself is interesting. especially considering that he dies during the fall of camelot, arthur mourns his death

vulgate, death of arthur

rereading this for this post put a tears in my eyes IT KILLS MEEEEEE. AGRAVAINE...... but yes tl;dr my favorite thing about him is being related to gawain/arthur/mordred and him dying. its sooo so so fun (not for them but its fun for ME)

least favorite thing about them

tbh, i find him to be severely underutilized (and if not, completely done dirty) i hate the characterization in which he's just mordred's lackey and there to pretty much die to lancelot and nothing else.

i think it would be way more impactful if he was fleshed out as a legit character. adds to the tragedy that he was somebody the audience actually cares for and not just some NPC lancelot murders lol.

also, really dislike how prose tristan stuff writes him (and the orkney brothers in general) where he's an irredeemable villain but i digress. it doesn't help that i don't care for the orkney/wales blood feud. it's never done in a way that resonates with me.

also the character assassination TH White has done to agravaine PISSES ME OFFFFFFFF ALL THE SHITTY AGRAVAINES IN MODERN ARTHURIANA IS HIS FAULT I SWEAR. aka making him morgause's killer throwing in some added incest in which he lusts for her. GROSS !!!! agravaine get behind me!!!!!

favorite line

tbh i could put anything that he says in mordred, a tragedy by henry newbolt but i really love this one in particular. talking about their brothers and that they're on mordred's side.... it brings a tear to my eye i love the orkneys so much. they're BROTHERS !!!!!!!!

brOTP

obviously him and his brothers! gawain and agravaine is great. so is mordred and agravaine. among his brothers those two i think he has the most interesting dynamic with. this post is already stupidly long and i could make an entire post in general about agravaine's relationship with his brothers, so i think i'll focus on agravaine and mordred.

for one, i love agravaine and mordred in BBC Legend of King Arthur 1979. the orkney brothers in general are great in it (minus gaheris bc he isn't there RIP) but i adore how it expounds on his dynamic with mordred AND his aunt morgan. mordred and morgan are both schemers with plots against arthur and guinevere, morgan wanting revenge on her father gorlois' death and mordred having (in later episodes) vying for the throne, agravaine on the other hand is a lot more sincere and earnest. he had no ulterior motives and his undoing was his honesty. he loved his uncle arthur, and he meant well when he wanted to report guinevere and lancelot's affair to him, because he saw it as a betrayal on arthur, not an opportunity (like morgan and mordred). those two had to "corrupt" him in some way, which what happens during the guinevere apple murder trial because mordred and morgan essentially make agravaine an unwilling accomplice. its soooo so fascinating i highly recommend that show.

second, i'd love to talk about agravaine and mordred in henry newbolt's play: mordred, a tragedy 1895. genuinely has got to be one of my if not THE favorite retelling i've ever read. if anyone reading this hasn't, i'd just urge you to read it bc it's just that good. mordred is the main character as the title says, and agravaine is one of the main secondary characters, he takes on an almost paternal/guiding figure to a young yet incredibly idealistic, passionate mordred and acts as his voice of reason.

JAW DROP..... LIKE THIS SCENE WAS CRAZY. the earlier conversation where it was just them is top notch, and this kind of dynamic between agravaine and mordred is something i'd love to see more often.

BIG fan of agravaine essentially being the logical/reasonable one between his brothers. i've compared him to dinadan because i think they're similar characters (except obviously agravaine isn't a jester/bard like he is) but they function similarly, in my opinion.

OTP

AGRAVAINE AND LAUREL 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 i love them so so soso much it drives me insane. they're so perfect. i don't care that laurel is basically just a name in malory, i also love the HC that she's his lady love who (alongside a young mordred) takes care of him when he was suffering from a curse in vulgate.

admittedly i am biased to how i write them and how my peers write them (shoutout to @queer-ragnelle AGAIN lmao this is literally your fault)

nOTP

anything incestuous. looking at you TH White.

random headcanon

my favorite headcanon is that he's got some sort of facial scarring and he's blind in one eye. for me personally it's no reason just vibes, in my project he's got some kinda magic sigil under his eye (he can't see through it though obviously)

and like, obviously as a disability it affects how he fights. one of my favorite things about him in vulgate is comparing how he navigates battle and combat in comparison to his brother gawain, he's a lot more careful and discerning in his encounters rather than just going berserker mode. you can see this in agravaine vs druas the cruel, i think

vulgate lancelot part v

he knows his limits, lol

since i made him blind in one eye, he knows his blind spot and his weaknesses. (in my lore he's referred to as sir agravaine the one eyed swordsman for this reason) and he's a lot more calculating and cunning in his fighting style, more relying on wits + terrain (funny the guy with one eye is more observant than most people)

unpopular opinion

nothing i haven't said earlier. for whatever reason he has this reputation for being a crazy misogynist (likely thanks to Fate/grand order because of his infamous over meme'd to the oblivion line about hating women) and also again because of T.H White's depiction of him. and whatever the hell BBC Merlin did to him.

i just really hate that kind of depiction of him and honestly? there's worse characters. breuse sans pite's whole thing is being a rapist, and geraint/erec spends the entire time in his respective romances brutalizing his wife enid.

free my man agravaine he doesn't deserve this slander 😭or at the very least, i would like to have more nuanced portrayals of him for variety.

favorite picture of them

really love this image of him from the short story by P.G Wodehouse. really cute short story about agravaine!!

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 30: When You Know What You Want

Prompt: "I won't let you down"

Mulder and Scully have to babysit baby Matthew Scully. Rating: T, wc: 1,416

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

“Mulder, it’s me.” The clock reads 8.57 a.m. when he answers Scully’s phone call – the same time she usually strolls into their basement office.

“Is everything all right?” He’s trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Whatever is going on, Scully doesn’t need him freaking out.

“More or less,” she says with a sigh and he’s half out of his chair already. “I can’t come into the office today.”

“Are you sick?” He squeezes the phone between his ear and shoulder, opening his email, ready to inform Skinner that neither he nor Scully will be available today.

“No, I’m fine – I mean, I’m not sick.” She sighs again. “My sister-in-law Tara called me half an hour ago, frantic because my brother Bill is running late and she has a job interview. My mom is on a trip with her book club and well, I guess that left me.”

“You didn’t mention your brother was in town.”

“I didn’t know,” she says through gritted teeth. “He didn’t want me to know. It was supposed to be some big surprise. That completely backfired. Either way, I’m watching the baby until Tara comes back and it could be hours.”

“Do you want company?” He doesn’t even need to think about it. He’d much rather babysit Bill Jr. baby son than sit around in the office all day, missing Scully.

“You don’t have to do that, Mulder.”

“What if I want to?” She takes her time thinking about it.

“Only if you want to,” she says, but he’s certain he hears relief in her voice. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part.

“I’ll contact Skinner and then I’m on my way.”

“Oh Mulder, if you’re coming over, could you pick up a few things on the way for me? Just in case.”

“Sure thing. I won’t let you down.”

*

Scully’s “just-in-case” list is longer than any grocery list he’s ever written for himself. He finds everything easily enough and catches several looks from women – mothers, mostly – who gawk at him.

“Your wife is so lucky,” one says in passing and Mulder stares after her, speechless, convinced he’s in a parallel universe. He forgets about it quickly, hurrying to get to Scully and baby Matthew. He met the boy as an infant; his face had been wrinkly and his eyes closed.

Since then, he hasn’t even seen a picture of the boy. He wonders why. Scully has mentioned him here and there, just like she’s mentioned other members of her family. But he doesn’t know what to expect when he knocks at the door, hoping the baby isn’t asleep.

Scully opens the door with the boy on her hip, smiling at Mulder.

“Hi,” he says, overwhelmed all of a sudden. Scully with a baby in her arms is a sight he doesn’t get to see often. He’s surprised how many emotions it unleashes in him.

“This is my friend, Mulder,” Scully explains to Matthew in a soft voice that makes Mulder stare at her in awe. “Do you want to say hi?”

“No.” It’s more spit than letters and the expression reminds Mulder of the baby’s father. He hopes the dislike isn’t genetic.

“That’s his favorite word,” Scully says, running a hand over Matthew’s soft, reddish hair. The Scully genes must be strong.

As he steps inside, he can’t help but wonder what their child would look like; his and Scully’s. Would their child have red hair, too? Would it have Scully’s nose? God, he hopes so.

“Here’s the- here’s everything you asked for.” He hands her the bag, forgetting that she has the child in her arms. The transfer is awkward but they manage.

“Can you hold him for a second? He doesn’t bite.” Scully hands him the baby and for a moment, the two just stare at each other.

“Hello, Matthew. You probably don’t remember me,” Mulder says as Matthew reaches for his nose. They always go for the nose. “I met you when you were born.”

“Guh!” he exclaims, seemingly agreeing with Mulder.

“I work with your aunt, you know. She’s great, isn’t she? She is. You smell like cookies, Matt. I bet she let you have cookies, huh? Remember how cool she is. You can always come to her when your parents – well, when you need a place to stay.” Matthew listens to him carefully, a finger in his otherwise open mouth. He’s quiet and not fussy, surprising Mulder. He’s heard horror stories of toddlers having crying fits when in a stranger’s arms. Not this little Scully.

“I think you might be my new favorite Scully,” Mulder confesses to him, tickling his stomach and making him gurgle with laughter.

“I’m no longer your favorite?” Scully just stands there in the doorway, her arms crossed, a big smile on her face.

“Matt, I think I’m in trouble.” The boy just laughs again. “You’re still my favorite Scully, Scully,” he assures her. “But this one’s quite cute, too.”

“He is,” she agrees and he thinks he sees a flicker of pain cross her face. “You can hand him back now. Unless you want to feed him.”

“Sorry, pal,” Mulder says, handing the toddler back to Scully, “I’m not qualified for that.”

*

“Toddlers are messy,” Mulder remarks a couple of hours later after Tara has come to pick up Matthew. She apologized to Scully – and Mulder – for springing the boy on them, but both assured her that they didn’t mind.

“They are,” Scully agrees, picking up random toys. She didn’t ask him to stay and help her clean up, but he thought it was the least he could do. Especially after his interactive storytelling in which several plush toys were flying around Scully’s living room.

“But they’re also cute.”

“They are that, too.” Her voice is soft; too much so. He thinks about the moment earlier when he thought he saw something in her expression. There’s something in the air and he isn’t sure if he should grasp for it.

“He has that Scully hair.” Scully chuckles, without looking over at Mulder.

“Bill always hated it when he was younger. I hope it will be easier for Matthew.” She’s holding one of the stuffed animals in her hand; a small giraffe. Mulder just watches her, waits.

“Mulder?”

“Yes?” She’s still not even looking at him, making his heart beat faster, knowing she’s going to say something important.

“Have you ever… I know we once talked about- but have you ever seriously considered having children?” He wishes she were looking at him. He wants to see her face when he says this. But he knows this moment is fragile as it is and he’ll take what he can get.

“For the longest time, I didn’t. It just never crossed my mind and my life – the job… it just wasn’t anything I thought about. Then I met Emily and I saw you with her and…”

“Emily?” Scully turns around and her eyes are full of tears. He nods slowly.

“That’s when I started thinking about it.”

“You could meet someone tomorrow and-”

“I have met her already, Scully. I think you know that.” His admission is not a surprise. Scully glares at him for a second before she looks away, nodding to herself.

“That’s… that makes this easier, actually,” she says, laughing uncomfortably.

“Makes what easier?” Suddenly his heart is pounding, his throat dry.

“I got a second opinion on my ova and um, they say there’s a chance. A chance for me to have a baby.”

“Scully, that is wonderful news.”

“I’ve been thinking about it – debating it, actually. Whether it was something I even wanted to explore. Today showed me that I… that I want to at least try. I have to try.” A few tears fall from her eyes and Mulder nods, overwhelmed by emotions, too. A Scully baby. Red hair, blue eyes, and a sweet smile.

Her child.

“When I thought about it, even before I made a decision, the only person I considered asking…,” she trails off. He has a hunch, but right now is not the time to jump ahead. So he waits. He looks at her, proving that he can be patient. He will be there for her, no matter how long it takes.

“I want you to be the other part of the equation.”

And there it is. His heart takes flight and he doesn’t even need to think about it. He grins at her, hoping she understands.

[linnorabeifong]

I Physically Can’t Get This Idea Out of My Head

How many people actually know Lin got her scars from Su ? I was rewatching the Zafou episodes and I don’t think Lin ever explicitly mentioned Su giving her the scars. So none of the krew knows. So I get why her anger doesn’t look justified to them and why they would pressure her to make up without that context. But I so badly want them to discover it. I want to see their reactions . I want them to see photos of Lin before she was scarred. How would their perceptions of Su and Lin change ? Would they be more empathetic towards Lin ?

Additionally I don’t think Su’s kids know the truth. Opal really loves her aunt I imagine she would be quite angry if she found out and while Lin’s bond with her nephews isn’t explored in the show ( which it should’ve been I want to see her play power disk with Wei and Wing, and praise Huan’s art and have a heart to heart with Baatar) I think they’re also attached to her and would be upset.

Further how about the air kids, Lin seems quite close to them and they’re all very curious. They’ve probably asked her several times before. Did she lie to them to protect her sister ? Does she give up and tell the truth one day ?

How about Kya, Bumi and Izumi ? Were any of them actually there when it all went down ? Did she tell them ? ( I don’t think she would it seems painful for her to talk about ) How would they react to the truth thirty years later?

Also I think Toph has the capacity for empathy. I think she’s ignorant to the full extent of Lin’s injury and that’s why she was so apathetic about it and just wants to move on. She’s blind. She never saw the bandages or saw how deep the scars ran, how large they were but if she did would she have acted differently? I think so. Sure she’s neglectful but she’s not a monster. If she actually felt the scars I think she would’ve comforted her daughter. She would’ve been more mad at Su. In her eyes Lin has a little scratch and Su was an accomplice in a crime. So if course she thinks Lin is overreacting. In her eyes sending Su away for being an accomplice is a crime is proportional to the harm done. She thinks Lin’s anger is just her being a square and normal sibling bickering. If she knew the whole truth maybe she would’ve punished Su more and made her make it up to Lin somehow.

( does she even know that Lin has a scar afterwards? Does anyone mention them in front of her ?)

and Lin would never let anyone touch her scars ever so how is Toph supposed to understand? How can she without feeling them ?

More thoughts about Toph: Raising both of the girls while being blind must’ve been difficult. Think about it she can’t see if their clothes get stained, can’t see if they have a bruise or see if they’re crying. So much of communication and understanding is nonverbal. She misses out on so many social cues and so much visual information. On top of being blind both her and Lin dislike physical affection.So all they really have left is verbal communication and both of them are too emotionally stunted and prone to bottling things up to ever say what they need to. Let’s be honest Toph isn’t a great listener either so she probably doesn’t fully realize/respond to what Lin is trying to say. Lin may be better at writing out or drawing her emotions but Toph wouldn’t be able to read what she wrote or see her visual work. Lin would have to learn braille and sit down and write in it to get her mother to understand which I honestly don’t believe she has the patience or desire to do. Nor do I believe Toph has the patience or desire to sit down and read all of that. ( Does Toph know braille ?) They can’t communicate with each other properly. There are so many barriers. Of course their relationship is strained. While it may not be wholly Toph’s fault it has produced a huge impact on both of her daughters that none of them can address.

An epiphany : LIN IS A SILENT CRIER. She doesn’t sob. Are you following me? Rewatch the Zafou episode if you don’t believe me . Nonverbal - audio communication ( I don’t know if there’s an actual word for this) doesn’t happen between them. Lin isn’t vocally expressive. She doesn’t cry out loud or scream or make any other vocalizations when she is in physical or emotional pain. She may grunt in some of the fight scenes but she isn’t loud. Think about when she got her bending taken. Probably one of the most physically and emotionally painful moments of her entire life. In that scene she didn’t make a single sound. Or the reverse she got her bending restored a huge moment of relief she didn’t laugh or make any other sounds of joy. She just thanked Korra. Lin is silent . Toph can’t hear her.

In conclusion communication is everything and everyone of them needs therapy.

[thehollowwriter]

The Official Bio Ezra Citlalli

Basic Info:

Name: Ezra Citlalli (see-la-lee)

Homeland: The Afterglow Savanna

Species: Jaguar beastman

Birthday: 24th March

Age: 68

Height/length: 189cm

Dominant hand: Right

Occupation: Fashion designer, ex model

Family:

Several ex husbands who all died mysteriously

Unnamed parents (deceased)

Unnamed cousins

Godson: Finn

Preferences:

Hobbies: Wine tasting, travelling

Likes: Fashion, wine, singing, performing

Dislikes: Shallow people, people who don't listen to him, quite a few of the younger celebrities, his exes (that's not true, he swears, he's mourning them all deeply to this day 😢)

Favourite food: Caviar

Least favourite food: Asparagus

Appearance:

Ezra is tall, lanky, and black (as in VERY dark skin). His hair is short and curly, wine red and orange with silvery grey streaks starting to run through, and his eyes are dark red. He has Jaguar spots/marking on his wrists, neck, lower back, and ankles.

He just radiates elegance in a similar way to Vil and carries himself in a way that makes you feel he might be royalty made from glass, even though he is ridiculously strong.

Ezra has retractable claws he often paints with gold nail polish, and he has large sharp teeth similar to that of a jaguar's. He also has Jaguar ears and a tail.

Personality:

If elegant was a personality trait, Ezra seems to have it. He's very calm and collected but can spit fire if he feels like it. He can be uptight, strict, and serious and is viewed by some as stuck up, but he considers that to be more of a stage persona.

Ezra is very passionate, creative, imaginative, and kind to those he's close to. He's a firm believer in his own unique brand of tough love, where he won't be needlessly cruel or mean, but he's not going to tiptoe around your feelings, especially if he feels the person he's close to is struggling and needs help.

He has a sense of humour and drips sarcasm at times. He's got wine aunt energy, to be honest. He DOES love wine.

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info

•Ezra is loosely twisted from Tanya from Mamma Mia

•Ezra was one of Morrigan's best friends at NRC and remained his friend until he died

•He comes from a strict, wealthy family and gravitated towards Morrigan due to their similar desires to just rebel and give them the middle finger

•Ezra was the housewarden of Pomefiore during his time at NRC

•He used to be a famous singer but decided to switch careers in his early 30s

•While he was terrified of ageing and was jealous people like the fae, his time with Silas had him reconsider his views on age and find the beauty in it

•He keeps offering to help Silas pay for stuff, but Silas keeps turning him down

•Jaguar beastmen are extremely rare, and part of Ezra's "allure," so to speak, is being this exotic, beautiful, and rare creature (he hates it so much)

•Ezra is one of Finn's two godfathers

...........................................

A/N: I hope you like my new skrunkle! It's really fun expanding Morrigan's life and Finn's family:) Big thanks to one of my friends for helping me work on him

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

[calciumcryptid]

My Mother Watches We Are [ Ep 11 - 12 ]

*continues the dog jokes*

*crying over water motif*

Phum: Stay here, please.

Mother: That is the scariest part, he said please.

She loves Tan and TanFang so much.

*so many PhumPeem pet play jokes*

Mother: Oh, Phum thinks they're married.

*makes remarks about Q being suspicious of PhumPeem*

*giggling about QToey*

Phum: -so I can take care of you.

Mother: Okay daddy.

*snorts at the cat noises*

*giggling at TanFang*

Mother: The cast is not beating the dog allegations.

*After making a joke about Phum and Peem doing the nasty in the campus art studio, she proceeded to tell me how she physically disabled several campus cameras so she and others could get away with having sex*

*giggling over TanFang sex scene*

*giggling over PhumPeem in the art studio*

*face going somber when Kluen shows up*

She called Title attractive though (that is Aou, Winny, Poon, and now Title).

Mother: Peem should invite Kluen to the hangout.

Me: Why?

Mother: I want to see Phum piss on Peem again.

*freaks out at Phums confession*

*hollering at Peem's challenge*

*more dog jokes*

She finally realized Winny is Win from My School President (I am so proud; we have yet to get to Sound in that series).

*giggling over PhumPeem flirting era*

Mother: Wait, this whole time Toey and Peem have been brothers?

Me: No. It is a pseudo-brothership.

Mother: Oh thank god, I thought I missed something important.

*giggling and laughing over PhumPeem*

*giggling over ChainPun*

Mother: Come on Peem, you heard your aunt, take your Chow Chow on a walk.

There isn't much to add for a bit, mainly giggling over how cute everyone is.

She greatly dislikes the parents.

*cries over the hug*

*cries over TanFang*

Mother: THEY ARE SO FUCKING ADORABLE-

*dies over the train scene*

*dies over the seafood joke*

*dies over the pony*

*cries over PhumPeem*

[fairyqueentitana]

Let's Talk about Adrien.

Adrien Agreste is the main male character of The Miraculous Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir. This is a continuation of my previous post entitled Let's Talk about Marinette.

His relationship with Chloe: I understand that she was his only friend in a family that severely restricted his relationships. However, I do not believe Adrien understands that friendship is an excuse to defend or excuse bad behaviour. When it is made clear that Chloe is a bully, he often encourages others to forgive her or ignore the problem. When her victims are happy that she is leaving he lectures them. I understand that Adrien is very naive and sheltered however he unknowingly seems to victim blame.

His emotional cheating: While he is "with" Kagami he still has feelings or an attraction to Ladybug. This is shown when he continues to flirt with his superhero partner on multiple occasions. While I understand they may have been pressured into their relationship and possibly bonded over their relationship with their parents that is not acceptable.

His relationship with Ladybug: Putting it simply he is in love with someone who doesn't love him. In his attempts to pursue this relationship with his constant flirting, he gets distracted and often puts himself in danger which could be avoided if he was focused. His love for her is a bit concerning when he completely changes himself for her. Once again folks you don't change key parts of your identity just to fit someone else's mould because you love them. Worse yet he changed to suit his public civilian persona that he knows everyone would love, a persona that is not him. He puts himself in a cage to suit her when Chat Noir gives him freedom from that cage. I cannot as an aunt, friend and sister encourage those in my social circle to ever do that.

The Lila Rossi problem: While I can blame his response on his upbringing I will only say this once. Adrien could have just told Alya and Nino what happened with ladybug and everything would have been settled. Instead, he chose to keep quiet. There is also the fact that he only realised how Lila was when she got Marinette expelled yet he still stayed silent. As Edmund Burke once said, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

The tantrum thrown in Syren: Once again they are teenagers however he really took off his miraculous cause she was instructed by the person who gave them their miraculous to stay quiet? Then in that same moment did not listen to his kwami and was ready to abandon Paris simply cause he was mad. I am not even touching this with another person's polyjuiced body holding a ten-foot pole.

An anon recently assumed that I disliked the show based on my criticisms of Marinette but I don't. All good characters need flaws without flaws a perfect character is boring. However, there are some things I feel compelled to comment on. Adrien is a teenage boy who is growing up in a home with an emotionally manipulative and negligent father he has flaws. However, I cannot excuse all his actions.

[roosteraloha]

delightful ❄️

Bradley Bradshaw × Reader

wc - 1.9k

warnings - FLUFF, talks of seasonal depression & spending the holiday season alone.

disclaimer - ANY BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!! I also DO NOT give permission for any of my works to be copied, shared, compiled, translated or posted onto other sites!!

a/n - this fic is part of the wonderful @sailor-aviator’s Christmas Challenge!! this is my first writing challenge & my first seasonal fic! hope y’all enjoy this one 🤍 title is taken from ‘let it snow’ ❄️

comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Christmas. The holiday season that everyone around you seemed to love. You however struggled this time of year, being so far away from what little family you had left was never easy on a regular day, holidays just amplified that longing - something Bradley could relate to all too well.

You couldn’t lie, you loved how the twinkling Christmas lights helped to cheer in the cold, dark nights. But you dreaded being alone, when everyone around you couldn’t stop raving about going home for the holidays and growing more and more excited, while your seasonal depression worsened.

At the first mention of tnr holiday season, Bradley was expecting you to be full of seasonal cheer, but in a way was gladly surprised that you too had lacked the stereotypical family atmosphere during the holidays. He lost both his parents and have a very fractured relationship with Maverick, his only real family, which led to many years he spent the entire holiday season alone. You had very little family left, those who you did have, an estranged aunt and uncle you barely knew, lived halfway across the world. The relationship between you was basically nonexistent, and there was no way ok your meagre salary, that you could afford to fly out to spend the holidays with them.

When you had met Bradley, you were initially cautious of his attitude towards the holiday period. There was no way you could be in a friendship or a relationship with someone who lives and breathes the season. You wouldn’t be able to stand it. You heart lifted when it was revealed that Bradley had the same attitude as you, he wasn’t going to try and change you and your feelings. Instead, he’d respect them and let you celebrate however much or little you wanted.

When December arrived, you immediately became much more gloomy and irritated. You didn’t need to look at the calendar to know the reasoning behind your sudden distaste for everything and everyone around you. The nights grew longer and darker, and you felt less and less like yourself. Bradley had severely underestimated how much you disliked the holidays, assuming you were just being over dramatic like you were known to be on subjects you felt strongly about. He swore that his heart physically hurt knowing how much you hated the holidays, the switch from your usual chipper routine, to barely being able to drag yourself out of bed for work.

You sighed heavily, collapsing onto the sofa, ignoring the snort from Bradley at your dramatics. “What now?” He chuckled, you got very dramatic around stressful situations, and the holiday season was the highlight. Truly he did care about how you were doing, but he only found amusement in these situations due to the one time you broke down crying laughing at how badly you’d overreacted over a tiny trivial thing, he knew you’d never take offence to his laughter.

“I completely forgot that everybody decides to do their Christmas shopping so incredibly last minute!! Like, why are you shopping for presents the week before the holidays?!” You huffed dramatically, unable to withhold your laughter at Bradley’s expression, trying desperately to hold a straight face while you acted out your day. “I don’t know, baby. But I’m thankful for them providing me with this entertainment.” You gasped in faux outrage at his words, grabbing a pillow from beside you and throwing it in his direction without looking, yelling in victory when you heard him yell at the unanticipated contact.

Bradley was cautious about voicing his next statement, already anticipating you to blow up at him, but being polite like his mother raised him to be, “Y’know, you shouldn’t be cooped up in your tiny apartment for Christmas.” He held the cushion in front of him, a pathetic attempt at a shield from your incoming wrath. Eyes widening at your sudden silence, he was quick to add, “Bub…I just meant, I also have to spend the holidays alone, in this big empty house.” He’s by your side now, hands running placatingly on your arms. “What if we spend it together? We can pick out a tree from that lot that Bob can’t stop raving about, you can teach me to bake those cookies we talked about, maybe just make it like any other day, if that’s what you really want?”

Your tense expression melted, tears seeking up in your eyes, not entirely certain whether it was due to the season, or your loving, highly attentive to detail boyfriend’s reaction and creation of alternatives for you, other than your entirely more depressing current tradition of spending the day in your bed, pillow over your head and duvet pulled over you.

Bradley froze at your sudden emotional breakdown. Presuming he had spoken out of turn and instead of pissing you off, had broken your heart, something he swore to himself and his parents that he would never do to you. Internally panicking momentarily, relaxing when you merely snuggled closer to him, curling up on his lap, your head buried in his neck.

The house was cold. That was the first thing you noticed when you got to Bradley’s late after your shift on Christmas Eve. You lived in San Diego. It did not get this cold, ever. Frowning, you trudge through the entryway, kicking off your shoes, then wincing as your socked feet meet the cold tiled floor. You called out for Bradley, he had texted you before you left work, asking you to come over, you assumed for a quick present swap. He had been ignoring your texts and calls since you gave him confirmation that you would be there. He must’ve turned the air conditioning down as low as it could go, which in summer would have been luxurious, but now?

Now, the drizzle and gloom outside was continued indoors, which kept you frowning as you move through the house looking for Bradley.

Hearing soft humming of Christmas songs from the kitchen, you scurry through the house, keeping your feet off the cold floor as best you could. You’d have to get Bradley to fix the AC. “Woah! Stop there! Close your eyes, this is a surprise, sweetheart!” You groaned, reluctantly closing your eyes, feeling a warm presence move in front of you, a soft kiss being pressed to the top of your head as a soft silk is tied delicately over your eyes.

“Bradley…” you whine softly, trusting him, but clueless as to where this was going. He chuckled, his breath fanning gently onto your cheek, a welcome warmth from the chill in the air. Rubbing his hand up and down your arms, appreciative that you were still in your thin work uniform, trying to warm you back up as best he could, “I’m gonna lead you upstairs, then I’m changing you into something warmer, okay?” You whined at the sheer unknown, but gave into the significant trust you had in your boyfriend.

He carefully pulled off your uniform, his warm hands welcome against your cold skin, goosebumps erupting down your arms. A soft, fleecy, warm shirt was pulled up your arms, and Bradley buttoned it up with immense care and precision. Next were the fleecy pants, which you felt were too long for you, and giggled as Bradley pulled on a fresh pair of fuzzy socks. You squealed as Bradley scooped you up bridal style, peppering your face with soft kisses, chuckling at your soft laughter.

Downstairs, he places you gently onto the couch, greeted now by a warmth the room lacked when you arrived. Warm breath fans gently across your cheek as Bradley gently unties the blindfold, squinting as your eyes adjust to the light. The room is bathed in a soft warm light, the scraggly tree you both had picked out and decorated the week before was twinkling softly, but wasn’t what made your eyes well with tears. The fireplace that usually stayed empty due to the warm California weather, was crackling with fresh logs, the fire casting a warm and cosy glow over the entire room.

There was also an extra stocking hanging from the mantle. Where usually there were just three - Goose, Carole and Bradley - there was one with your name lovingly hand stitched, matching the theme of the original trio. Swallowing thickly you glance at Bradley who shrugged nonchalantly, "I didn't have anyone else to spend Christmas with. Hope you don't mind if I spend it with you. Share old traditions…Maybe make some of our own…”

Throwing yourself at him, you hug Bradley tightly. It had been mentioned only in passing that growing up you never had your own stocking like most children, and your only happy holiday memory was spending quality time snuggled together with your family in front of the fireplace.

Bradley ran a soothing hand across your cheek, wiping away the tears you were unaware had started to fall. You had never had someone pay such attention to minute details you shared, not expecting them to remember them months later.

But Bradley was not someone from your past.

He is your future.

Several classic Christmas movies later, you were snuggled closely against Bradley’s side, under one of the seasonal blankets he ‘allowed’ you to keep at his place, It’s a Wonderful Life playing in the background. Your half drunk mugs of hot chocolate sat on the coffee table alongside platters of sweet treats Bradley had bought just for the two of you to share, alongside the decorated sugar cookies that the pair of you had made from an old recipe of Carole’s.

Humming contentedly, you crane your neck to glance up at the face of your loving boyfriend, feeling your eyes on him, he turns, kissing you lovingly, pulling you closer to him. “Happy?” You nod against his shoulder, “This is the best Christmas I’ve had in years, Bradley.” He smiles softly at your words, “You know, if you wanted…” He shrugged, trailing off, frowning, you shift and straddle his lap to get a better look at him. “What? If I wanted to what?” Bradley shook his head, a bashful expression on face, narrowing your eyes, you grabbed his chin gently, forcing him to look at you again.

“I wanna spend every Christmas like this with you.”

“Every Christmas?”

He nods.

“Move in with me.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Because I miss you when you’re not- Wait, yes?! You’ll move in?!” His expression frozen, not believing his ears.

Nodding and kissing him once, his eyes light up, grin taking over his face, laughing joyfully, tugging you close to his chest, covering your face in kiss after kiss after kiss. You join him in laughter at his reaction, tugging him down to lay on top of you, being lovingly overwhelmed by everything Bradley.

If this is how every Christmas would end up, snuggled up in front of a fireplace with the love of your life?

If this is what your future looks like, then you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with Bradley.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

am I the asshole for going to my bedroom to eat instead of eating dinner with my family?

this is kind of- a couple years old of a story, but it dwells on us a lot. we realized we could send this here and see what others think - because we feel like we were justified and in the right completely, but we still just, get very upset over this and would appreciate other opinions. (from here out, will be using we/us pronouns.)

we are physically and mentally disabled, 20 years old and currently dependant on our mother and grandmother. we have autism and anxiety, are the mental things most relevant for this story(also - these mental disabilities are entirely known by all of our family members). we aren't diagnosed with anything for our physical disabilities, but we suspect we have chronic fatigue syndrome, and we have something causing severe chronic pain.

our aunt had come to visit with her fiance, from another state, and was spending a couple of days with our family.

we enjoy cooking, and we're good at it. we offered to cook dinner for everyone, and because of our aunt disliking mushrooms, she asked us to make a second, separate batch of what we were making for the meal. okay, we're a picky eater as well. we were just happy to be able to make something that we thought everyone would like - and everyone *did* like it! it all turned out really good, the texture of the batch we made for our aunt was a little different than we expected and we were used to, but it all was still really good.

we had been cooking for like...an hour and a half. the entire time, we were out there with our family. there were a lot of people. we had to share the kitchen at one point as well, because our aunt wanted a specific side dish with the meal that we couldn't make, it was her and her fiance who made it.

by the time we'd finished cooking, we were in a lot of pain, tired, overheating, and drained. not to mention just generally hungry. so, we took a bowl of the food we'd made, told everyone that food was ready and they could help themselves. and then tried to go to our bedroom.

every time we cook, we go back to our bedroom with our food, even when it's for a smaller group. we need that chance to recharge.

our aunt started to get on our ass a bit, saying something like "you're not going to stay out and eat with us?" and we essentially responded "no? I'm tired." she essentially stated "but you know, sometimes, family comes first!"

she and her fiance started to get on our ass about it more. note that, her fiance? he is not someone we consider family. we don't dislike him, but he's not someone we know. he is an acquaintance at best. he will be family to us legally when he marries her, and that's it.

it felt like they were ganging up on us, trying to change how we've always done this. we made them food, and an entirely separate batch of it as well, with one alteration, that changed the entire cooking process of the meal. the mushrooms are the very first thing to go in. and we had to handle both different dishes at once - something we had never done before.

we were doing an event together the very next day. "I'll be at the event tomorrow the entire time" is what we pretty much said, before going to our room anyways. (side note - she completely ditched our entire family to spend the entire time with her friends at this event.)

at some later point in her visit, we tried to explain somewhat, "I have mental health issues that make this difficult, and I was in pain, I needed a break." and she essentially said something like "sometimes you need to push through that and just do it anyways." we got frustrated and said "whatever, you don't understand." she tried to say "no, I do understand-" but we stopped her and said "no, you don't." then continued with something else we were doing.

we feel like she was being ableist as fuck, but also just generally rude. but pretty much that's where this ends off. we've thought about this so often since it happened and just want other peoples' opinions I guess.

What are these acronyms?

[gogandmagog]

For @alwayschasingrainbows. Another long-owed item! I think this is the short you were hunting up, a few months ago? I couldn’t find the original post because I’m lame, and never tag things right, so I guess I’m really just hoping this is it!

The Price, by Lucy Maud Montgomery, from After Many Days, Tales of Time Passed.

ON THE DAY when Dr. Lennox told Agatha North that she was out of danger and would soon be as well as ever, if she took proper care of herself, Agatha smiled her old, gallant smile up at him and Christine and Nurse Ransome.

"That's the most interesting thing you've said this long while," she told him. 'I was beginning to think you were stupid - your conversation has been so dull. I'm glad I'm going to get better. I want to live. There are so many things I want to do yet. And, oh, I'd hate to die and leave all my nice dishes and my open fire - and that row of tulips I planted out the day I took sick." Christine and Dr. Lennox laughed, the former with a note of heartfelt relief in her laughter. It was so nice to hear Agatha say a whimsical little thing like that again.

She had been so ill; the attack of bronchitis had been very severe, and there were complications. But all was well now; she would soon be her old self again - darling Agatha. Christine bent and kissed her impulsively.

Nurse Ransome had not smiled, did not intend to smile. Her small, pale, watery eyes expressed entire disapproval of such frivolity on her patient's part; her narrow white face seemed to Christine narrower and whiter than ever. Christine hated her; she had not wanted to have her on the case, but no other nurse could be had at the time, and Miss Ransome was certainly competent. Nurse Ransome could not hate - she had not enough intensity for that - but she disliked Christine and pretended to herself that she disdained her. She would have said that Christine was a vain, proud, selfish, thoughtless, idle chatterbox. All of this, and more, was true; but it was equally true, though Nurse Ransome would never have said it, that Christine was an exquisitely pretty, loving, winsome, sensitive creature.

Dr. Lennox was thinking this, as he looked at her across Agatha's bed. He was madly in love with Christine, as all Harrowsdene knew. They were not engaged yet, but everybody took it for granted they soon would be. A good many people thought Dr. Lennox was making a mistake. of course, Christine was a North and would eventually be the heiress of Agatha's not inconsiderable estate, including "Whiteflowers"; but then she was such a wild, laughing thing, "a pretty butterfly," Dr. Lennox's aunt called her contemptuously. She thought, they said, of nothing but dress, dances and beaus, and "spinning street yarn." She laughed and talked too much and too freely - "you always heard her before you saw her." "A doctor's wife above all things should know how to hold her tongue - she would ruin his practice." She was far too intimate with Jen Keefe and her set; she was delicate; she was extravagant; she was, in short, thoroughly spoiled.

Ward Lennox had been told all these things at sundry times and by divers people, and they had made no impression on him at all. He had loved Christine from the moment of their first meeting, and he meant to ask her to marry him as soon as he could muster up the courage to do it. In his eyes she was all but perfection; her few faults were but the faults of petted youth; the only thing he seriously disapproved of in her was her intimacy with Jen Keefe, that lady of the pale gold hair and over-large dark eyes and free-and-easy ways. But once Christine was his wife she would see no more of the Keefes. Ward Lennox fondly believed that he could mould Christine to his views in all things; he had no idea of the strength of will that lay hidden under the soft curves and behind the coquettish eyes of her youth.

Agatha smiled up adoringly into Christine's face. They were cousins, but Agatha was the senior by twenty years.

She had brought Christine up, when the latter was orphaned by the death of both father and mother in baby-hood: 'Whiteflowers was the only home Christine had ever known. She loved it and she loved Agatha passion-ately. But then everybody loved Agatha North, that busy, kindly, charitable, broad-minded, wonderful woman, who was always helping somebody or something, always planning and engineering and succeeding, always full of life and interest and zest and wholesome laughter. Why, Harrowsdene could not get along without Agatha North.

A sensation of relief and gladness went over the whole town like a wave when Dr. Lennox went away from "Whiteflowers" that day and spread the news that Agatha was going to get better and would be about in a few weeks. There had been anxiety; bronchitis so easily ran to pneumonia, and Agatha had the "North heart.”

Before he went away Dr. Lennox explained the change of medicines to Nurse Ransome and Christine.

"She is listening to him, not to what he says," thought Nurse Ransome, watching Christine covertly.

Christine was more aware of Ward Lennox than of what he was saying. She thrilled with a delicious sense of his nearness; she was acutely conscious of his tall straightness, his glossy black hair, his luminous dark blue eyes, and the passionate tenderness she sensed behind the aloofness of his professional manner. But she heard what he said distinctly and remembered it per fectly for all this. She never forgot anything Ward said to her. In all the world there was no music like his voice.

"This is her regular medicine," said the doctor. "Give her four of these tablets every three hours. This," he held out another smaller bottle, "is only to be used if she has one of those restless attacks at night and cannot sleep. Give her one of these tablets - on no account more than one - every four hours if necessary. Two would be dangerous - three fatal. I'll set the bottle up on this little shelf by itself."

It was Christine's turn to sit up that night. Nurse Ransome repeated the caution about the tablets before she went to her room. Christine listened with a slightly mutinous, insolent expression; there was no need of Nurse Ransome's reminders. She had not forgotten what Ward had said; she was not a child. She sent a glance of pettish dislike after the spare figure of the nurse. She felt that Nurse Ransome insinuated doubts to the doctor as to her fitness for waiting on Agatha; it was agony to think he might have or acquire a poor opinion of her in this respect. Christine was vain and abnormally proud; she could not bear to be looked down upon by anybody for any reason. She hated Nurse Ransome because she felt that Nurse Ransome looked down upon her. Christine would have gone to the stake in olden days, not for her religion, but for dread of the contempt she would incur from her co-religionists if she proved too weak for the test of martyrdom. The most acute suffering of her childhood had been endured when a schoolmate had publicly taunted her with a distant cousin of the Norths who had been sent to prison for forgery. She never forgot the shame and humiliation and torture of that day.

Agatha was very restless that night. At the best of times she was liable to sleeplessness - strangely so for her type. At ten o'clock Christine gave her one of the tablets and at two another. She was very careful to set the bottle back on the bookshelf. She was afraid of it. She hoped Agatha would not need it again.

When a week had passed Agatha was feeling so well that she wanted to be allowed to sit up. Dr. Lennox would not permit it. He told her her heart was not yet tit for any exertion. "You must lie here for another week yet. Then I may let you sit up for a few minutes every day."

"You tyrant!" she said, smiling up at him. 'He is a tyrant, isn't he, Christine? My heart isn't going to kill me. My grandmother had the same kind of a heart and she lived for ninety-five years. I'm going to live for ninety-five years - and enjoy every minute of them, and do a thou sand things I want to do.

She laughed up at him and Christine. Dr. Lennox laughed back - dimples came out in his cheeks when he laughed - said good-night, and went out of the room.

Christine put the green shade over the light, and sat down by the window. It was her night to watch again, but the night vigils by now were little more than matters of form. Agatha had never required the sleeping tablets since that first night. She slept soundly, seldom waking until dawn. The sinister little bottle had never been taken down from the bookshelf.

Christine at the window began to dream, looking out into the chilly moonlit night of October. She was beginning to wish acutely that Agatha were quite well. She was getting tired of the sick room, tired of the monotonous existence which Agatha's illness had necessitated. She wanted to get back to her gay round of social doings again, the dances, the teas, the dinners, all the diversions of the little town. She wanted to wear her pretty dresses and jewels again - Christine loved jewels. Agatha had given her a string of tiny real pearls and a glittering Spanish hair comb for her last birthday. She had never had a chance to wear them yet. She wanted to flood

"Whiteflowers" with music again. Next to her love for Ward, music was Christine's most intense passion, and she had not touched her piano since Agatha became ill.

She wanted to get off for a weekend at Jen Keefe's Mus-koka lodge for the deer-shooting. She knew Agatha wouldn't want her to go, but she meant to go for all that.

It was nothing but sheer envy that made people talk about Mrs. Keefe and her set. There was nothing wrong bound by silly old conventions with them; they were gay and up-to-date and not hide-

Then she let herself think of Ward Lennox - gave herself up to a vivid dream of their life together. She forgot her surroundings totally until she was recalled to them by a realization that Agatha was moving uneasily on her pillows.

Christine went to the bed. "Do you want anything?"

"I think I must have one of those tablets," said Agatha.

"My restlessness has just returned - I thought perhaps it wouldn't - I've been doing so well lately. But for half an hour now I've just wanted to toss and scream."

Christine went over to the table, took down the bottle and returned with a tablet. She moved a little absently, for she was still partially in her dream of Ward.

After Agatha had taken her tablet she soon fell asleep.

It was now eleven o'clock. Christine went back to the window and dreamed herself into a doze, leaning back in her big upholstered chair. She did not awaken until Agatha called her. It was the first time she had slept on guard.

"Would you like another tablet, dear?"

"No. The restlessness is gone. I think I'll sleep normally now - but since I'm awake, give me my regular dose. Ugh, when will I ever get square with Ward Lennox for all those hundreds of detestable little white tablets he's made me swallow? But after all they're preferable to the nauseous tablespoonfuls of liquid his father used to inflict on me."

Christine went over to the table rather stupidly. She yawned - she was not wholly awake yet. The clock in the parlour below was striking three. She counted the strokes absently as she took out the four tablets. Agatha sat up in bed to wash them down with a sip of water from the glass Christine held to her lips. She had been warned not to do this and now she slipped back with a sigh.

"I'm weaker than I thought I was."

"Is there anything else you'd like?" Christine asked, smothering another yawn.

"No, no, dear. I'm all right. It's only that I rather feel as if I were a dish of jelly and would all fall apart if violently jarred," said Agatha. "Go back to your chair and rest all you can. Sitting up like this is too hard on you - you're not strong. But you won't have to sit up many more nights. How glad I'll be when I'm well again. It will be so nice to keep my house again - and read my books - and eat just what I want - and be finally rid of that respectable female, Miss Ransome."

Christine went back, but she was thoroughly wakened up now and did not want to sleep. Agatha was soon asleep again. Moving softly, Christine turned on the light by the dressing table, screened it from the sick bed, and sat down before the mirror. Taking the pins out of the masses of her rich glossy black hair she began to experiment with various ways of hairdressing. Christine loved to do this. She was very proud and fond of her beautiful hair, and was in the habit of spending hours at her glass, sleeking and brushing it. After several experiments she got it up in a new way she liked exceedingly. She would wear it like that to Jen Keefe's next dance - with her Spanish comb in it. She slipped across the hall to her own room, and returned with the comb, and put it in her hair. How pretty she was! She leaned her elbows on the table, cupped her chin in her hands, and studied her reflected face earnestly. How very white her skin was!

What a delicate bloom was on her round modelled cheeks. How golden-brown her eyes were behind their long black lashes; her forehead was rather high, but this new way of doing her hair banished that defect. Her neck and arms were lovely. She was the prettiest girl in Har. rowsdene, there was no doubt of that. And the happiest.

And she would be happier yet - when she married Ward.

Oh, she was going to have a splendid, joyous life - ever so much gayer than life at "Whiteflowers" had been.

Though Agatha was a darling, she did not care much for social doings. But as young Mrs. Ward Lennox, she could do as she liked. Ward adored her - he would give her her own way in everything. No "settling down" for her into any poky routine of married life, looking after babies and pantry supplies. No, indeed - not for years to come. She hated children anyhow, children and housework. She was young and beautiful: she would grasp at all youth and beauty could give her. For years to come she would know the joy of pleasing the eyes of men.

She would entertain: Harrowsdene should have its eyes opened. And she would never give up Jennie. Ward didn't like her, she knew, but he would get over that. He would have to get over his strict old-fashioned notions about things. She loved Jennie; Jennie was a dear thing, so gay and good-hearted. Of course, she wasn't an old Calvinistic prude like most of the Harrowsdene women - like all of them, except Agatha. She believed in living and letting live. So did Christine.

"I'm - going - to - do - exactly - as - I - please," she nodded with every word at the radiant face in the glass.

"'I'm - going - to - have - a - splendid - time."

She touched her lovely shoulders admiringly.

"How sorry I am for ugly women," she said. "What can they have to live for? But, of course, there must be some to do the stupid drudgery of life. We who are beautiful should be exempt from all that. It is just enough that we are beautiful."

She laughed softly again, softly, triumphantly, inso-lenily, defiant of fate - the last laughter of her youth.

It was dawn now. Agatha still slept. Christine turned off the mirror light and went to the open window. The grounds of 'Whiteflowers" were very lovely in the faint, pearly lustre. The wind was whistling rather eerily in the dead reeds of the little swampy hollow behind "White-flowers," but the sky was exquisite, with white clouds floating across it.

It was going to be a fine day. Christine was glad. She hated dull stormy days. She would go to see Jen in the afternoon. She hadn't been anywhere since Agatha took ill. But there was no need to mew herself up any longer.

She turned and went over to the bed. Agatha was lying on the pillows, her face turned to the grey light. Something about it sent a strange, horrible dart of vague dismay to Christine's heart. She bent once and touched Agatha's cheek. Christine had never touched a dead person's cheek before - but she knew - she knew.

A shriek of terror broke from her lips. Nurse Ransome, who had just been coming across the hall, rushed through the doorway, followed by old Jean, the house-keeper, who had been on her way downstairs. Nurse Ransome saw at a glance what had happened, but she went promptly to work with all proper attempts at re-vival. Jean was dispatched downstairs to telephone for the doctor. White, shaking, useless, Christine was told to open the other window.

Christine went uncertainly toward the window. On her way she passed the table where the medicine bottle stood. Suddenly she stopped, looking at it. The bottle of sleeping tablets was on it. It had not been put up in its place at eleven o'clock. The bottle of regular tablets was back in the corner, half hidden by the window curtain, just as it had been at eleven o'clock.

What had she given to Agatha at three o'clock?

A hideous conviction suddenly took possession of her mind. She remembered - as if the whole incident rose out of subliminal depths into consciousness - she remembered feeling the raised letters of the poison bottle in her fingers as she counted out the four tablets. The regular medicine bottle was smooth. Her conscious mind, dulled by sleep, had not been aware of what she was doing - had retained no memory of it. But she knew what she had done. At eleven o'clock, her thoughts still tangled in the cobweb meshes of her voluptuous dream-ing, she had forgotten to put the sleeping tablets safely back on the shelf. At three o'clock she had picked up the bottle and given Agatha four tablets from it. Four - and three were fatal!

A sensation of deadly cold went over her from head to foot - then nausea, horrible, beyond expression. She fought it off, and, blindly obeying the dictates of an impulse that had no connection with reason but rushed furiously up from the deeps of being, she caught the poison bottle in her icy hand and set it on the shelf, with one wild, terrified look back at Nurse Ransome. Nurse Ransome had not seen; she was busy with what had been Agatha.

Christine felt herself falling - falling - falling - into unimagined, unimaginable depths of horror. She slid down to the floor by the table, unconscious.

AGATHA NORTH'S DEATH, coming when everyone had supposed she was beyond all danger, shocked Harrowsdene to its centre. She had died in her sleep from heart failure, Dr. Lennox said. He had known it was possible, but as she herself had said, her grandmother had lived to old age with just the same kind of a heart, so he had not been much afraid of it. There was no doubt - no suspi-cion. Everybody was very sorry for Christine who seemed, it was said - for but few people saw her - to be dazed by the blow.

When Christine had recovered consciousness in her own room, Dr. Lennox and Nurse Ransome had tried to keep her there, but she broke away from them with unnatural strength and ran wildly to Agatha's room.

Nurse Ransome was quite disgusted with her entire lack of self-control. She had screamed - laughed - implored Agatha to speak to her - look at her. Agatha had always answered her when she called before. Now she did not even open her eyes - her beautiful, large-lidded eyes.

Christine had wrung her hands and torn her hair. Mingled with all her horror and agony was incredulity.

This thing could not have happened. Agatha could not be dead - it was absurd - impossible. Why didn't they do something?

"Everything has been done - everything," said Ward

Lennox compassionately. Even he did not like this frenzy of Christine's. But she was very young and this was her first sorrow. Agatha had been everything to her, mother, sister, comrade.

Under all Christine's agony was a horror of the discovery of what she had done, and a mad, unreasoning determination that it must not be discovered. She fainted again when she was forced to accept the fact that Agatha was dead; when she recovered she was calm, spent, quiet. She learned that Ward thought Agatha had died of heart failure; no one seemed to have the slightest inkling of the truth. Nurse Ransome questioned her concerning the events of the night, sharply enough, with a shrewish glint in her eyes, as was her way, but evidently without suspicion. Christine told her tale unhesitatingly, looking straight into Nurse Ransome's eyes as she told it. She was glad it was Nurse Ransome and not Ward Lennox who asked her. She could not, she thought, have told that story unshrinkingly to him.

Agatha had been very restless at eleven - she had given her one sleeping tablet and she had slept until three. Then she had asked for her usual medicine.

"I gave it to her," said Christine unquailingly, "and then she went to sleep again."

"Was there anything unusual about her?" asked Nurse Ransome. "Did she complain of anything?"

"I noticed nothing unusual." Christine's voice was steady and even. "She spoke of feeling her weakness - and she raised herself up to take her tablets before I could prevent her.

Nurse Ransome nodded.

"The exertion may have affected her heart a little. She must have died soon after three o'clock, Dr. Lennox says. It is strange you never noticed anything before morning."

"I was sitting over by the window - I never heard the slightest sound from her. I thought she was asleep."

"Did you doze off?" Nurse Ransome was a little con-temptuous.

“No, I was wide awake all the time," said Christine deliberately.

She was tearless now, tearless, cunning, and terrified to the bottom of her soul. She shut herself up in her room when Nurse Ransome had gone and walked the floor.

No one must ever know. She would not confess. It could do Agatha no good now. And what harm might it not do to herself? She was wholly ignorant of what was or might be done in such cases and in her ignorance imagined the worst. They might not believe her - not now, at all events, after those instinctive lies of terror - they might think she had done it on purpose, that might the sooner fall heir to Agatha's money. Sent to prison - tried - she, Christine North, on whom the winds of heaven had not dared to blow too roughly. And even at the best - even if they believed her - even if nothing could or would be done to her - what shame, what humiliation, what outrage to her pride! To have it known that she had poisoned Agatha, her virtual mother, through sheer carelessness, to be always pointed out as one who had been capable of such a deed, no, no, she could never face such a thing - never. Anything, any fate, would be better than that. And she knew what her fate must be. She could never marry Ward Lennox now. Confessed or unconfessed, this thing must always stand between them. But just now in her guilt and dismay and dread, this seemed of little moment. The soul can entertain but one overmastering passion at a time.

She stood before her mirror and looked at her changed face, her white, haggard face with its horror-filled eyes.

It was as if in one hour she had passed from youth to middle age.

"I will not tell - it must never be known," she whis-pered, clenching her hands.

Her dread, and the unscrupulous determination caused by it, carried her through the funeral. People talked of her unnatural composure and her marble-white face. They pitied her, knowing what she had lost in Agatha. But in the back of their minds was the thought that she was a rich woman now, the mistress and owner of "Whiteflowers," and in due time would be wife of Ward Lennox. Back of this again was a thought, or rather a feeling, that giddy, shallow Christine was not worthy of such good fortune.

"She didn't shed a tear - too proud to cry before folks, North-like," said old Aunt Hetty Lawson. "She doesn't become her black. You'll see, she won't wear it longer than she has to. She'll make Agatha's money fly. Well, well, Harrowsdene will miss Agatha North. There aren't many women in the world like her."

Christine never forgot the agony of that hour. She had to sit still among the mourners. She had to look once more on Agatha's dead face - Agatha's lovely, placid face and know that she had killed her, had cut her off in her gracious, beloved, useful prime. Agatha, who had loved her so entirely and whom she had loved so deeply in return. She had to endure the consolations of people who would despise and condemn her ruthlessly if they knew the truth. At moments it seemed to Christine that they must know it - that her horrible inward sense of guilt and remorse must be branded on her face for all to see. Her own realization of what she had done was so intense and vivid that it seemed as if it must radiate from her to the minds of all around her. Yet she sat on like a white statue, as motionless, as seemingly calm as the dead woman herself.

It was over; Agatha's beautiful soul, full of fancy and charm and love, had gone to its own place; her ripe, beautiful body was buried in Harrowsdene cemetery and covered speedily with a loose drift of autumn leaves.

And Christine shut herself up at 'Whiteflowers" alone, refusing to see anyone, even Ward Lennox.

Her dread of being found out was almost gone. Agatha was buried. Since there had been no suspicion before, there would be none now. She was safe. But now that terror was over, another emotion rose up and possessed her soul, horror of herself, passionate, unappeasable remorse. By sheer carelessness she had killed Agatha; she had preened and exulted before her mirror while Agatha was lying dead behind her - Agatha who wanted so much to live. she must atone for it, she must atone for it by lifelong penance. Sitting alone in her room, listening to the heavy rain that she knew was streaming down on Agatha's unprotected grave, she made her enduring vow.

"I have robbed her of life. I will not have life myself," said Christine.

AT FIRST people thought the change in Christine was merely the result of grief and trouble. It would soon wear off, they said. But it did not; then they began to talk and wonder and whisper again. They talked and wondered and whispered until they were tired of talking and wondering and whispering and lapsed into acceptance of a threadbare fact.

Christine cared nothing for their talking and wondering and whispering. She was bent only on atonement - bent on dulling the sting of remorse to a bearable degree by increasing penance. Within a month of Agatha's death she had organized her existence on the lines it was henceforth to follow, and nothing - entreaty, advice, blame - ever availed to move her one jot from her elected path, until people gave up blaming, entreating, advising; left her alone, and practically forgot her. Nobody could ever have believed that, much as Christine was known to have loved Agatha, her sorrow could have had such a lasting and revolutionary effect on her. But since it was undeniably so, they accepted it, concluding that Christine's mind had been affected by the shock of Agatha's death. After all, there had always been a strain of eccentricity in the Norths. Agatha herself had been eccentric in her very philosophy of living - so gay and tolerant and vivid at the years when other women had grown sober and hidebound and drab with the stress of existence.

Christine, with her own hands, put away all the things Agatha would never wear or use more, pretty things all of them, for Agatha had loved pretty things. She hung Agatha's picture in the room where Agatha had died, that she might not see it, and locked the door. But she took the brown bottle of sleeping tablets and set it on her own dressing table before her mirror, on the dressing table from which had been banished all the little implements of beauty she had been wont to use assiduously. She had no longer any use for them, but every night and every morning as she brushed her thick black hair straightly and unbecomingly off her face to its prim coil behind, she looked at the deadly reminder of her deed.

Ward Lennox respected her grief and desire for solitude as long as he could bear it. Then he went to her, told her his love, and asked her to marry him. Christine coldly refused. He was thunderstruck; he had been sure Christine loved him. Had he not seen her eyes change at sight of him, the revealing colour rise in her lovely face?

Yet now she looked unblushingly at him and told him she could never marry him. He did not give up easily; he urged, entreated, reproached. Christine listened and said nothing.

"Don't you love me?" he asked.

"No," she said, with her eyes cast down.

Ward did not believe her. He went away at last, intending to return soon. But when he went back he rang the bell at 'White flowers" unavailingly; and no answer came to his letters. He tried at intervals for a year to see Christine; then he gave up, convinced that she did not care for him, never had cared. What he had mistaken for love had only been the coquettish allurement of a wild girl, who had been sobered by trouble into a realization that she should not so play with the great passion of lie.

Christine loved him as she had always done. For one mad moment she was tempted to confess all and throw herself on his mercy. Surely if he loved her as he said he did he would overlook and forgive. But then, to fee always humiliated before him in his knowledge of her indefensible carelessness; she could not bear the thought.

This one master dread held back the words. Without it she would not have been strong enough to put away love from her, even for atonement. All other joys she could sacrifice to her craving for remorse. But not this. If it had not been for the pride that could not brook the thought of shame she would have fallen at his feet and gasped out the truth. But that pride sealed her lips forever.

She put all her old friends out of her life. Most of them had been of the Keefe set. When Mrs. Keefe came to

"Whiteflowers" old Jean Stewart told her ungraciously that Christine would not see her. Mrs. Keefe went away insulted and never made any further attempt to renew her intimacy with Christine. When, two years later, the scandal of the Keefe divorce case, with all its unsavoury details in the matter of a certain Muskoka house party, burst upon Harrowsdene, people said significantly that it was well Christine North was not mixed up in that. But by this time Harrowsdene had accepted and almost forgotten the new Christine.

Old Jean Stewart died three years after Agatha's death, and thenceforth Christine lived alone, keeping the big house herself in the immaculate fashion that Agatha had loved. She had always hated housework. She did it all now, down to the very scrubbing and stove-blacking, taking a fierce satisfaction in these hated tasks, glad when her beautiful white hands, on which never a jewel shone, grew rough and hardened. She had to have help outside, to keep the grounds as Agatha had liked them. For this purpose she employed half-witted old Dormy Woods who pottered about all the lawns of Harrowsdene and liked to insinuate that he knew dark secrets about everybody. Sometimes the queer remarks he occasionally let fall gave Christine a start of dread; when he looked at her with his horrible filmy eyes and said leeringly, "I could tell strange tales o' some folks. she grew cold to her very heart. Was it possible he knaw and guessed her secret? No, it was not possible. But she was always uneasy in his presence, and it was for thar very reason she employed him. It was part of her pen. ance. Perhaps, too, old Dormy told her bits of unsolicited news now and then.

She gave largely and secretly to the charities that Agatha had always supported, but she never spent an unnecessary cent. When people called her miserly she said bitterly to herself, "That is better than being called a murderess." She never wore anything but severe black.

She never went anywhere save to the stores, where she did her economical buying, and to church. Every Sunday she sat alone in the old North pew, reading her Bible until the service began, never lifting her eyes. She did this because she detested reading the Bible. For the same reason she read a chapter in it every night and every morning. One month, eight years after Agatha's death, she suffered from a slight but uncomfortable affection of the eyes that was epidemic in Harrowsdene, and could not read at all. Then she discovered that she missed her Bible, that she had come to enjoy it. From that time she never opened her Bible again. Yet she had read through it so often that it had become part of her, its philosophy. its poetry, its drama, its ageless, incredible wisdom, of earth and of spirit, its unexampled range of colourful human nature were hers inalienably, permeating her soul and intellect.

Her reading was all heavy and serious now. She never looked at one of the sentimental romances she had once bivelled in. Now she read only the old histories and biographies and poems in the old North bookcases. This hoed part of the time left over from her meticulous housekeping; the rest she passed in knitting and sewing, making garments which she secretly sent to the poor of the nearest city.

She never touched her piano after Agatha's death; no one ever heard her sing again. She never spoke to anyone beyond a grave Good Day, and when people talked to her or strove to hold her in conversation she answered with brief gravity and went her way - she who had once been such a chatterbox. She had put all companionship out of her life. She would not even have a cat or dog at "White-flowers." She kept the flowers that Agatha had loved in her garden, but she never touched one. Moonlight was still a fair thing, but she would not look at it. She would not accept any enjoyment, and she never for one waking moment forgot that she had killed Agatha. The passing of years never dulled or dimmed the realization. Sometimes she dreamed that people knew of it and looked on her with horror and contempt. She would wake up with perspiration on her forehead and breathe a word of passionate relief that it was only a dream.

She did not wholly succeed in banishing all passion from her life. When old Dormy told her that he'd heard Dr. Lennox was going to marry Florence King, the high school teacher, she felt a sudden savage thrill of jealousy.

"Surely he will never marry that stiff, pedantic crea- . ture," she thought. Yet she knew Miss King was handsome and clever, and Dormy reported Harrowsdene as approving the match. That night Christine looked from her window through the gap in the pines to the light that burned in a house across the river. She knew the light was in Ward Lennox's office, and she kept an ugly vigil with pain and longing. But by dawn she had conquered it. Ward Lennox might marry Florence King. It was naught to her. She had put all that behind her.

But Dr. Lennox did not marry Florence King; he did not marry anyone, though gossip linked his name with this or that for many years before it accepted the fact that Dr. Lennox meant to remain a bachelor. He was a busy, friendly man, with a large practice; everybody liked him and trusted him. People got well of serious illnesses iust because they believed in him. His personality cured more patients than his medicine. He was no hermit. He went freely into society and enjoyed life. He and Chris. tine never met. At long intervals they passed each other on the street. He would bow courteously and Christine coldly; that was all. People had forgotten that it had ever been supposed they would marry.

AFTER THIS FASHION fourteen years passed. Christine was thirty-four years old - if anybody had thought about her age. Nobody did. Her own generation were all married and gone. To the younger she was what she had always seemed - a grave, stately, middle-aged eccentric woman, considered miserly, living her strange secluded life at old-fashioned "Whiteflowers." She was always pale, darkly and plainly dressed; yet there was a haunting, tragic charm about her that made the younger beauties seem cheap and common beside her. Christine never thought about her appearance save when, looking into her unshaded mirror over the brown bottle on the table, she saw the lines on her face and the slight hollows in the cheeks that had once been so round and delicately hued, and had a momentary impression that she was old and faded - much more so than her contemporaries. But that was part of her atonement. She had given up her beauly when she gave up love and life's fulfillment. Her atonement was becoming easier - too easy, she thought. She had ceased to have wild longings of the things she had put away from her. She had ceased to dream of Ward - ceased to desire feverishly to find open her silent piano and plunge her fingers into music. She was beginning to like her housework, her reading, even her sewing and knitting. When she realized this, she felt all the old sting of her guilt and remorse. She must not be happy. What could she do to make herself miserable?

The thought came to her that she would adopt a child.

Nothing could be more distasteful to her. She had always disliked children. Most of all she disliked ugly children.

She went to the orphan asylum in the city and brought home its ugliest inmate - a boy of eight, with a pitiful little face scarred by some inhuman attack of a drunken father. His name was Jacky Brent and he was a timid, silent little fellow - the very type which made Christine feel most uncomfortable. But she revelled in her discomfort and in all the annoyances which the care and upbringing of this child brought into her methodical existence. She left nothing undone that could contribute to his comfort and welfare. She studied dietetic tables and child welfare magazines, and vexed her soul with balanced meals and tables of weights. She helped him with his lessons; she invited his schoolmates to "White-flowers" to make it lively for him and watched over their games and their manners, and got up appropriate lunches for them. She got a dog for him and forced herself to tolerate muddy paw tracks; she played halma and dominoes with him - even ball in the backyard because she abhorred it. She helped him with his les-sons, even, she remembered, as Agatha had once helped her. She helped him build a playhouse and picnicked with him in it. She forced herself to talk to him. She had lived so long with silence that she found it difficult to talk, and more difficult still to talk to a child. But she persevered, and eventually, as they gradually built up a little store of common interests, she found it easier and easier. Jacky learned to talk too, as his timidity wore off somewhat, and sometimes his quaint, unexpected remarks prompted in Christine a desire for laughter which she had long been a stranger. She never let herse laugh. She did not even smile, but momentarily the eyes of her girlhood returned to her.

In spite of his delicacy of appearance Jacky was a healthy child, but one night, when he had been ar (White flowers" nearly a year, he was suddenly taken violently ill. Christine telephoned wildly for old De.

Abbott. Dr. Abbott was away; there was nothing to do but send for Ward Lennox. Ward Lennox crossed the threshold of "Whiteflowers" for the first time in fifteen years.

He was cool, impersonal, professional; Christine was so upset about Jacky that she could think of nothing else.

They met and talked like casual acquaintances.

Ward Lennox told her that Jacky had appendicitis and that an operation was imperative. No time must be lost.

At dawn a trained nurse was in charge of the case, and the specialist from the city had come. Christine locked herself in her room and paced the floor until the operation was over. Then they told her that the abscess had broken before the operation and that Jacky's condition was very critical. Christine went back to her room.

She did not pray. She had never prayed since Agatha's death - she had never dared to. Always in the back of her mind was the feeling that she must not pray without confession - and she could not confess. She did not pray now; she looked at her drawn, anguished face in her Blass and for the first time she was unconscious of the little brown bottle under it.

Jacky might die, and she loved Jacky!

"I cannot live without him," she said, wringing her hands. "I cannot."

She remembered with a stab of horrible compunction that she had rebuked him sharply the day before for something he had said. She recalled his grieved look, the look that always came into his poor little face when he displeased her. He had always tried so hard to please her. That very night before he went to bed, when he had seemed so tired and dull, he had faithfully hung his clothes up and set his shoes straight, and put all his little treasures tidily away in his box, as her rigid rules re-quired. Christine went and looked at them, his little tops and nails and balls and engines, his new jack-knife and the old broken one he still loved because it had been his only prized possession in the asylum, his tin pail and spade, and the dancing monkey which had delighted him so. If Jacky died . ..

Jacky did not die. He recovered. And when he was well again Christine sat down in her room on the first day he went back to school and took stock of her emotions.

She had taken Jacky for a penance. He had ceased to be a penance; he had become her delight. She loved him with all the intensity of her passionate nature. She could not give him up - she could not. Such a sacrifice she could not make. She had once given her lover up in the surge of a new horror and remorse. But that surge had spent itself. She could not give Jacky up now; neither could she keep him with her guilty secret. One must be surrendered. She must make her choice.

When Jacky came from school, running through the hall calling gaily for "Aunty," who had petted and spoiled him all through his convalescence, her choice was made. She got Jacky his supper, helped him with his lessons and put him to bed, reconciling him to its unusual earliness by the promise of a treat on the morrow. Then she went out, bareheaded, into the autumn dusk - not realizing that she was bareheaded.

She had thought it all over. The tale must be told. She did not know what the result might be. Probably at this lapse of time nothing would be done to her. People would believe that it was merely carelessness and content themselves with gossip and wonder and condemnation. Christine's pride still cringed at thought of it, it would be horrible, horrible to open up the old wound, horrible to have her long-hidden secret proclaimed to her world. But it must be.

To whom could she tell it? Nurse Ransome had died five years ago. Ward Lennox? Yes, it should be to him. Her punishment must be as severe as it could possibly be.

She would go and confess to him.

She walked steadily along the street. The world about her seemed weird and purple and shadowy, with great cold clouds piling up above a sharp yellow eastern sky.

Christine felt that it was in keeping with her terrible errand; when she passed a house through whose open windows came the sound of music and laughter and dancing, she shuddered. Tomorrow these people would be talking of her - of her, Christine North, who had poisoned Agatha. And yet they were dancing tonight as if there were no such things in the world as horrible carelessness and never-dying remorse and public shame.

She struck her hands together in her misery but she went on.

Ward Lennox was sitting on his verandah when Christine came up the walk in the pale moonshine that was beginning to silver the October dusk. His amazement could not have been much greater if Agatha North herself had come up the walk - it almost made him speechless But he contrived to murmur a few conventional words and asked Christine to come in.

"I would rather stay out here," said Christine, who fell that what she had come to say could not be said in a lighted room.

She sat down in the chair he drew forward for her. The light streaming out through the window of the room behind her made a primrose nimbus around her shapely head. In the dim light she looked very beautiful, a majestic creature with that subtly knowing, deep-eyed white face of hers in its frame of flat dark hair. The lovely line of cheek and throat rose above her black collar. Ward Lennox suddenly remembered the time he had dared to kiss that white throat - the only time he had ever kissed her. It seemed to him that he could almost hear her little, deprecating laugh as she escaped him. Surely it had been the laugh of a woman who loved the man who kissed her. No coquette could have laughed just like that.

Christine looked straight at him, sensing the vast reserve of strength that underlay his external courtesy and gaiety and charm. How strong he was! And she - she had been so weak and cowardly!

"I have come to tell you something," she said.

"Yes," he said gently.

Christine waited a moment. She must find very plain, direct words. Her hands, she found, were clammy and her mouth was dry.

"I killed Agatha fifteen years ago. I didn't mean to - but I killed her."

"Christine!'

It gave her a strange shock to hear her name again. It was so long since she had heard it. For years she had been Miss North to everyone. Even to Jacky she was only "Aunty." Under the shock she was also conscious of an enormous relief, as if some horrible darkness or weight had been suddenly lifted from her soul.

She hurried on, rather incoherently now.

"I gave her four of the sleeping tablets by mistake, through carelessness. My thoughts were wool-gathering. I hadn't put the tablets back in the right place when I gave her one at eleven - and I fell asleep - and was stupid when I went to give her the regular medicine - and then I-I- played with my hair at the glass for hours, and she was dead - I never knew it. And I could not confess, I knew I ought to - but I was afraid to. I thought they might put me in prison, or always point the finger of scorn at me. I couldn't face it, so I lied. But I am telling the truth now, and I've done penance - oh, I've done penance. But I can't give Jacky up - so I'm telling it all now. Oh, whatever they do to me, don't let them take Jacky from me."

Ward Lennox was moved profoundly. Everything was clear to him now and, oh, the pity of it! For it had all been so unnecessary.

"Christine," he said slowly. "You did not kill Agatha. The tablets you gave her were quite harmless."

Christine looked up, dazed, incredulous.

"The day before Agatha died Nurse Ransome told me that she did not think the sleeping tablets would be needed again and I took them away, wanting them for another patient, as my supply had run low. I left in their place a bottle of tablets to be used if Agatha had any return of certain annoying digestive symptoms. They were harmless - the whole bottleful wouldn't have hurt her. I remember it all distinctly. Nurse Ransome should have told you. I suppose she forgot. Agatha died of heart failure - there is absolutely no doubt of that. Oh, Christine, my poor darling, and this was why - if you had trusted me…”

"If" indeed! Christine was struggling with a whirlpool of emotion in which a still half-incredulous joy was uppermost. She had not killed Agatha - there was no blood on her hands - that was the only fact she could grasp clearly now. Later on would come bitter regret, for her folly and cowardice, for the lost, wasted years, for everything she had thrown away in insensate sacrifice to her pride and her vain hunger for atonement. Later yet again would come a wistful realization that, after all, the years had not been wasted. Vanity, selfishness, frivolity had been stripped from her soul as a garment. Strength, fineness, reserve, dignity, all she had lacked had been given unto her in those years of penance; even physically they had not been barren. In her regular, simple life the delicacy of her girlhood had vanished. She had become a perfectly healthy woman. All this had been bought with a great price, but she could never have purchased it in a cheaper market.

She stood up ... and swayed unsteadily.

"I must go home - think this out. I can't - no, no, you must not come with me - I must be alone."

"Christine!" His voice was a sharp protest. "You are not going to shut me out of your life again - I love you. I've always loved you - we must…”

"Not yet - not yet," she besought him feverishly, pushing him away from her.

He stepped back and let her pass. He had waited long- he could wait a little longer.

Christine went blindly home to "Whiteflowers." She went to Agatha's room and knelt by Agatha's bed. For the first time in fifteen years she prayed - a prayer of thankfulness and humility. For the rest of the night she sat at Agatha's window looking out into the moonlit beauty of "Whiteflowers," or walked about the dim haunted room in a mingled intoxication of joy and regret. Under all the turmoil of her mind she felt curiously young again - as if life had suddenly folded back many of its pages.

Through the gap in the pines she saw Ward's light in the house across the river. For the first time since Agatha's death she let herself think about him. A door of life she had thought shut forever seemed slowly opening before her.