#and the story might be deeply ridiculous but it is done with so much heart

[selemina]

Parkour Civilization is weirdly good! It starts a bit cliché and predictable, and you soon wonder how far this initial idea can go.

And then they pull out the parkour battles.

And then they pull out dystopian themes.

And then you get invested in the execution of the courses.

And then they slap you with lore for the world and high stakes and clever problem-solving alongside some ridiculous deus ex machina, and intrigue and mysteries and-

AND THEN THEY SLAP YOU WITH THE MURDER CLOWN???

(And if you squint there may even be some yaoi in there? But for once I genuinely could not care because I was enjoying the story too much!)

Go watch it. If you've got the time and can ignore inordinate amounts of vine booms, go watch it. It's worth your time if only for the humor and skill display!

[shxxxbi]

EVERYTHING THAT WASN'T INCLUDED IN LOVE SEA THE SERIES 🌊

Episode 3 (Chapters: 8 - 12)

<-prev next->

Writer's block

Tongrak is staring at his work, unable to write. The character in his novel is desperately in love with another man, willing to do anything to get that same love in return and yet Tongrak can't seem to proceed. The only thing he can think of are the words he had heard shortly before: "TongrakMahasamut". They had shaken him deeply and he couldn't help but consider the situation hilarious. Not only he thought the boy who had pronounced them was ridiculous, he also found himself ridiculous for writing a scene like that.

"Why would people be willing to do anything just to get love from one person?"

Vi's scandal

Vivie is a rising star, who has been the main actress of many successful dramas. Therefore, anything about her life is always gossiped about by the public, especially how she managed to act in so many works. For example, her first acting job was based on a story written by Tongrak, so the public wasted no time in speculating she had gotten the role thanks to their relationship. This time, the scandal is about her and her very famous co-star Frost.

Little trivia: Frost is Prapai's uncle, the actor Sky loves in "Love in the air". Also, he's the main character in the novel "Love Director", where he falls in love with an intern called Paint. Vi complains about the two men being head over heels in love, so much so they disappear every time they get a break on set.

Horny Mut🍆

In the novel, this scene takes place the night before, after Mahasamut warns Rak about the storm. He had just come home, wet from the rain after securing the equipment and the boats, when he gets this text. Mut is frustrated, constantly worried about the writer's feelings after their conversation on the boat, so he decides to take a shower to distract himself. As soon as cold water touches his body, however, all he can think of is Tongrak and realizes he is more affected by that man than he thought. He had slept with other guests in the past, but no one had left him with such a strong sexual desire. So much so that, over the past week since they met, Mut had to release himself several times because of the pretty man. He stroked himself harder and faster, as his mind got filled with images of soft cheeks he wanted to kiss again, a smooth neck he wanted to lick, and those sexy moans that still echoed in his ears.

"Mut, hurry up"

"Fuck me"

And he was done.

"He was addicted to Khun Tongrak"

I feel like giving someone a good smack to teach them a lesson

For three days Mahasamut had become addicted to his phone. Because for three days, the message he had received was always the same: "I'm busy, don't come". On the first day, he decided to let it slide. On the second day, he still somehow accepted that "his pretty one" could act this way. But on the third day he lost his patience. Because, contrary to the writer, he hadn't forgotten when Tongrak was scheduled to return to Bangkok. And he didn't like the thought of Tongrak going back home one bit.

A change of scenery

Mut lost his patience to the point he barged into Rak's room, saved his work, slammed his laptop shut and dragged him away like this. The two fight for a bit and, when Mahasamut finally convinces Tongrak to get on the bike, the older man can't resist giving him a whack on the back.

"Don't hit me, please"

"Why, does it hurt?"

"No, I'm worried you might hurt your hand"

Rak bites his lip so hard it hurt. He never thought Mahasamut would speak about him with so much concern.

The night sky🌌

Even though he liked watching the many stars scattered above, twinkling like diamonds, he liked the feeling of that warm body embracing him more. Specifically, he liked the scent that came from it: clean, mixed with the sea's fragrance. Rak loved perfumes and owned countless bottles of famous brands, but none of them made him feel as flushed or made his heart beat as fast as Mut's scent.

"It just so happens that I'm a lover boy"

(Let me start off by saying that this chapter is called Mr. Delulu. I wish I was joking)

Tongrak shivered at these words. He didn't like this feeling. It was something he had never known and never wanted to know. His instinct told him to flee. He'd never wanted love, never desired it. And yet a soft voice in his head asked "Really? Haven't you ever been envious of friends who were in love?"

He rejected this voice with a fact the brought him comfort. He had bought all of this with money. So he forced himself to believe that everything that had happened between them, everything that was happening right at that moment, was nothing more than a transaction between a seller and a buyer. No feelings involved. Nothing to expect at all.

"You want me to buy love?"

🌶️

"You can start working now"

They took a wild nc away from us, not gonna lie. One where Mut pushes Tongrak's shirt up to the writer's mouth and stuffes it with it to devour his chest. One where Rak begged to be licked, sucked and bitten hard. Where Tongrak gets fingered hard while he's on all fours on the sand, moaning heavily, and Mut kisses him hungrily after saying "I love hearing your voice, but not today". Tongrak panted heavily, rubbing the large bulge in the younger boy's pants, "Do it faster, take it out already". The two men crazy with desire for the other.

"If you fuck me well, next time I'll use my mouth"

"Even if I don't do well, you'd still want to give me head anyway"

They took away from us Mut fucking Rak while pressing down on the bulge of his dick on Rak's belly. Tongrak moaned so incessantly, Mahasamut had to push a finger in his mouth to shut him up. It sent the writer over the edge, collapsing on the sand as he released. But this didn't stop our island treasure, because he penetrated Rak deeply once more, confirming his belief: Tongrak liked to be filled continuously, even after climaxing. So they fucked for hours, Mut turning into a wild beast, to the point where Rak lost count of how many times he had been taken.

Sumchamgo love dive✨

Yes, they were actually naked here. Yes, they went to wash themselves from all the cum, the lube and the sand. It's not explicitly said, but I think the wording suggests they fucked again in the water🤸🏽‍♀️

A cuddly kitten

Tongrak invites Mut back to his room and then hides away in the bathroom. He blushes at the realization that, for the first time, he had invited a man to his room just to sleep. Better said, to cuddle. Something he only seeks from his close friends. But now he wanted it from Mut. As he walks out of the bathroom he meets the younger boy's eyes and notices he is staring at the multiple bites on his neck and chest.

"Does it hurt?"

"If I say it hurts, will you stop sucking and biting?"

"No, your skin is too soft. It makes me want to bite."

"Will you take me there?"

The real reason our pretty princess wants to go to Mut's house is pettiness. During his previous conversation with Palm, the little shit asked Rak "You've never been to his house? Oh, you two are so close. Thought you'd been there already". And that was it. Tongrak was dead set to go there. He tried to force himself not to care, but he couldn't fathom the thought they knew every mole on each other's bodies and yet he had never been to Mahasamut's house. He didn't understand the feeling of wanting to get to know someone better.

Little trivia pt.2: Mut's house is actually a two-storey house. On the ground floor there's the shop, where he offers diving tours to tourists. He co-owns it with his japanese friend Ken, who also regularly sends him big groups of clients. On the top floor there's his house. Tongrak describes it as "nothing he had ever seen before": it was a small room with a mattress, a tiny wardrobe, a bathroom, a broken fan and a storage cabinet.

🌶️🌶️🌶️

Let me tell you, this nc was WAY wilder in the novel. Even wilder than the one on the beach. Tongrak wants to "offer himself up to Mahasamut, and have the other man take even more". Even poor Mut was hesitant, worried his butt would still be sore and swollen from the night before, but the older man kept on insisting: "I'm ready. It'll be easy to enter". That poor storage cabinet got baptised. More than once. It saw Rak getting his ass licked, sucked and fingered. It saw Rak getting his front pushed against it and get fucked raw from behind, while crying from pleasure. And once he'd unleashed the wild beast, there was no stopping it. He climaxed so many times, he couldn't stand anymore, Mut had to scoop him up and cage him against the cabinet as he kept on fucking him. Thrust after thrust followed, Mut was so lost in his desire he couldn't stop. He kept on apologizing to Tongrak but the only thing the writer managed to say was "Kiss me, please give me a kiss".

Ask me if I can stay

His heart was beating so fast, he feared Mut might hear it. Yet, Tongrak didn't understand himself when he uttered that sentence. He should've been happy it was time to go back home, to see his friends again."So why? What was he hoping for?". Mut, on the other hand, felt disgusted at himself for even suggesting such a thing. No one had ever indulged him, not even his own parents, so why should Rak? But Tongrak did. He accepted. He even allowed himself to be embraced, despite the heat, the sweat and the one broken fan in the house. He layed there. Cuddled in Mut's arms.

I have a secret. Do you want to know what it is?

As they cuddled on the bed, the two men started sharing stories about their lives. Mut told Rak about his father, about how they fought and he had to leave home at barely 15 years old. His father never goes back on his word and his mother was never one to have a say, so his parents just acted as if they never had two sons. They focused all their love and attention on Mut's younger brother, who had always been very obedient to their father, and boasted to everyone about how he had gone to university on the mainland.

"Do you pity me?"

"What if I say I do?"

"It's good, pity me more. That way you'll grow fond of me".

In exchange, Rak confessed to Mut his biggest secret, the one only few people knew about: he couldn't write unless he had sex. Not just sex scenes, but sweet scenes and dating scenes in general. He had no concept of love, never experienced it and never understood it, so he considered sex the closest thing to it.

"That's also considered as love, isn't it?"

"So, does that mean you love me? Since you're making love to me"

"I don't know".

And Rak really didn't. He knew he had never submitted to anyone like this before. But was it love? He was definitely infatuated with Mut, that he knew. That was also the reason he wanted to stay on the island. He hoped that feeling would go away.

[shion-yu]

Day 5: Rogue Organ

I believe this is the oldest I’ve ever written Cliff and Elliot, and it’s a bit different. Not so much a whumpy sickfic as a cozy family story, if that’s not your thing I get it. Featuring Mia: Cliff and Elliot’s 5-year-old daughter. 2,354 words, no TW/CW. @sicktember

The spleen wasn’t a necessary organ to live, Cliff’s doctor said. He pressed on Cliff’s distended abdomen, eliciting a wince of pain. At this point it was causing more problems than there were benefits of keeping it, so they might as well remove it. 

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to sell it?” Cliff asked dryly. He’d been coming to see Dr. Thomas, his immunologist, for over five years now. They’d developed a mutual understanding by now that while Cliff did not like beating around the bush, he also had a dark sense of humor. 

“Believe me, no one would pay much for this spleen of yours,” Dr. Thomas said with an amused smirk. “It’s covered in lesions still, despite your last few courses of steroids.”

Cliff sighed deeply. He didn’t want another surgery, nor did he want to spend time in the hospital. He’d had his lung transplant a bit over two years ago, an event that while traumatic, had been an incredible success in the end. He hadn’t needed oxygen since recovering and while he was still working on his stamina, it was nothing compared to the all-consuming illness of his months in the hospital waiting for a pair of lungs. He’d managed to stay away from being hospitalized since then, an achievement he was very proud of. For the first time in his daughter’s life, he felt like he could be just a dad to her and not her dad that was always needy and never home. 

Now Mia was five and a spitfire at that. She had Moira’s wavy red hair and dainty looks, but could be so headstrong that Cliff couldn’t believe she was raised by him and Elliot. How could someone so curious, loving and intelligent be theirs, he sometimes wondered? And right now, he dreaded telling her that he'd have to be in the hospital again.

Cliff returned from his appointment with a heaviness in his heart, knowing he had bad news. Elliot had already picked Mia up from daycare and he found them in the living room. Mia was coloring independently, their dog Clover at her feet while Elliot sat at the piano testing different notes for what Cliff knew to be his debut solo project. This was Cliff’s little family, he thought fondly as he came upon them. The family he chose and never wanted to leave, even though he’d come terrifyingly close to doing so before he had his transplant. He watched them silently at the doorway for a few seconds before he made himself known with a warm, “I’m home.”

Mia hopped down from her coloring table immediately, rushing over to him and giving him a hug. “Daddy!” She exclaimed happily, Clover standing next to her wagging her tail. Cliff put a hand on each of their heads and smiled.

“Hello my darlings. How was your day?” When Cliff spoke like this it was natural now. But had anyone ever told teenage Cliff that he’d ever have a family he loved more than life itself, whom he spoke to with open affection so confidently, he would have scoffed at the ridiculousness. 

“We did birthdays today,” Mia informed him. “For Addie and Vincent.” Every month the preschool had a joint birthday celebration at snack time for the kids whose birthdays were that month. Cliff had made funfetti cupcakes with strawberry frosting for it last night. 

“That’s so fun,” Cliff said. “Elliot?”

Elliot did not look up from the piano at first. “I’m almost done with this verse,” he said. He was clearly concentrating, but tilted his head anyways for Cliff to kiss his cheek as he did every day. Cliff gave him one, lingering longer than usual and taking in the familiar smell of his husband. “Oh, how was your appointment?”

Cliff didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to say it in front of Mia, yet. “I’ll tell you after dinner,” he said. Elliot immediately looked up then, his brow furrowed in instant confusion. If it had been good, he knew Cliff would have said so right away. He frowned but nodded. 

Dinner felt mostly normal. Mia chattered about preschool and playing outside and petting the neighborhood dogs. Elliot told her to eat her vegetables; Cliff told her she could have ice cream if she ate them all. He was always the softer parent, but he wanted to give Mia all the affection he himself had never gotten as a child. Since the day he’d met her, right after she was born, Cliff looked at her and thought to himself: how could anyone *not* love their child this much?

After dinner, Mia waited on the couch playing with her doll until Cliff brought her with him for his evening walk with Clover. Cliff told her to give him ten minutes, then went to the kitchen where Elliot did the dishes. Cliff rested one hand on Elliot’s shoulder, promoting Elliot to turn the water off. He was already frowning, the lines of concern that were permanently etched into his features creasing. “What happened?” He asked.

“I need it out,” Cliff said quietly. “Too many lesions.” 

Elliot sighed and toweled his wet hands dry. They'd been delaying the inevitable as long as they could, but they had both known this was coming for a while. In the last two months though, the pain in Cliff's abdomen had grown worse and now he was having night sweats and weight loss. 

“Well. We’ll make it through,” Elliot said simply. 

“I want to tell Mia,” Cliff said. “When we go on our walk. I don’t want her to think it’s as serious as when I got my transplant.”

“But it is serious, Cliff,” Elliot said. “It’s a whole organ.”

“An organ that I can live without,” Cliff said. “It’s serious, but it’s not lungs. It’s not gonna be like that again.”

Elliot grimaced but nodded. Mia hadn’t been able to see Cliff for almost a month after his transplant, the doctors not willing to risk exposing him to kid germs. The team had urged them to wait longer, too, but they’d refused. “Do you want to come on our walk with us?” Cliff asked. Elliot nodded again. “Let’s go then.”

They leashed up Clover and Cliff put Mia’s socks and shoes on. She was old enough to do it herself now, but when she wasn’t in front of her friends she loved having her dads do everything for her still. Cliff didn’t mind. He knew she’d only be little once, and they weren’t planning on having another kid. Cliff held the leash in one hand, Mia’s in the other, and they headed downstairs. “Daddy’s joining us today too,” Cliff told her with a smile. Mia grinned happily, looking back to Elliot for confirmation, which she got. 

Outside, the weather was nice. Cliff tried to think of how to tell Mia the news. She was five, yes, but she knew far too much about the hospital and illness already. He didn’t want to scare her, but he also knew she did better when she was as prepared as possible.

“Baby girl? You know how I went to the doctor today?” He started.

“Uh huh,” Mia said, looking up at him with her hazel eyes that matched Cliff’s perfectly. Cliff’s grip on her hand tightened.

“Well, I have to get another surgery. There’s something in my belly called the spleen, and I need to have it taken out. But it’s not as serious as when I got my new lungs. We won’t have to be apart for more than a few days.” Cliff spoke slowly but clearly; they had never been ones for baby talk. They knew that even before Mia could speak, she knew Cliff had special needs. They figured if they let her know everything they could, she would be able to process it better.

Mia didn’t say anything at first, but she let go of Cliff’s hand and took Clover’s leash with a stony expression on her face. Cliff knew Elliot wanted to jump in, but he held up a hand. ‘Give her a minute.’

Finally, Mia spoke. “I don’t have to not see you like before?” 

“Nope. Papa will be very sleepy for a few days afterwards, so just then,” Cliff said. He didn’t go into the what ifs; what if he didn’t wake up from the anesthesia? He refused to entertain that possibility.

“Okay,” Mia said. Her little brow was furrowed in thought, and Cliff hated he was the reason she had to think of such big things at a young age. “Does it hurt?” 

“The surgery?” Cliff asked in surprise. 

“No, your belly. Does it hurt now?”

“A little,” Cliff said. “It’s not so bad. But we should fix it before it gets worse.”

Mia nodded seriously. “I don’t want you to hurt, Papa. So that’s why they should take it out.”

“That’s right,” Cliff said warmly, his heart swelling with emotion. “You’re so smart and caring.” He glanced back at Elliot, who’d stayed quiet through this conversation, and he suddenly thought that maybe Elliot had needed to hear this just as much as Mia had. He could see tears in Elliot’s eyes, and when Cliff smiled at him Elliot wiped them away quickly.

“When’s it come out?” Mia asked.

“Hmm. I think the doctor will tell us soon. But probably this month,” Cliff said. “Is there something special you want to do before then?” Even if the surgery went entirely well, Cliff was pretty sure he'd be down for a while afterwards. 

“I’ll think about it,” Mia said very seriously. Cliff laughed. Their daughter had a fierce memory, and they knew by now not to offer her anything that they didn't intend on following through with. He was sure she'd think of something she really wanted, and Cliff knew he’d give her whatever it was within reason, and slightly beyond it. 

Four weeks and one family trip to San Francisco to visit Moira later - Mia’s favorite place - Cliff went into surgery. Mia was with Elliot’s mom in the apartment and Elliot was by Cliff’s side. All the scary memories from Cliff's transplant hovered in their minds at full force, but they told each other it was going to be so much better this time. And despite all their fears, it was.

Cliff woke up from the anesthesia quickly, the best blessing they could have hoped for. He was confused and in pain, but his vitals were stable and he asked for Elliot until they let his husband into recovery. Elliot stood by his stretcher, immediately holding his hand and brushing Cliff’s face comfortingly. “I’m right here baby. You did so well,” Elliot told him.

“Where’s Mia?” Cliff asked dizzily. Now that he had Elliot accounted for, he needed Mia, too. 

“She’s with mom,” Elliot said. “Everybody’s safe. Just relax.” He told Cliff all of it as many times as he needed to hear it. He’d happily do this as opposed to waiting with bated breath for Cliff to be extubated, as he had too many times before. There has been concerns about putting Cliff under anesthesia and intubating for the first time since his transplant, but he’d done even better than expected. It was all that Elliot could have hoped for.

Mia got to come visit Cliff on his second day post-op. She seemed shy at first, but once she realized that Cliff really was awake and as okay as one could expect after a major procedure - that he was himself and not hooked up to a million things as she’d seen him before - she gave Cliff a hug and excitedly told him about what he'd missed at home over the past few days. Cliff let her sit on the bed with him and talk all afternoon, even though he had trouble keeping his eyes open. It didn't matter, because he had his family safe and sound next to him. 

When visiting hours were over, Elliot took Mia home. “I’ll be coming home in just a few more days,” Cliff told her when she looked reluctant to leave. “Keep being such a good girl and helping Daddy out, okay?” 

“Okay,” she said. Still, she hugged Cliff and didn’t let go until Elliot picked her up and carried her out. 

A few days later, when Cliff was home and still doing better than they ever hoped for, the three of them sat in bed together and Elliot read out loud to Mia from her Disney storybook. She was between the two of them, her little body tucked into a sleeping Cliff’s side as close as she dared to without hurting him. “Daddy?” She interrupted Elliot suddenly. 

Elliot stopped reading. “Yes baby girl?” He asked.

Mia took a long few seconds to get whatever it was she was trying to tell him out. “Is Papa all better now?” 

“He’s doing very well,” Elliot said. “And he’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“I mean all the way better,” Mia said. “Like he’ll never have to go back to the hospital again?” 

“Oh,” Elliot said, his gentle smile faltering. He looked at Cliff, sleeping soundly and Mia in his arms, growing so big and yet still so small. “Papa’s body is always going to be a little different,” he said carefully. “But everybody is different in their own way, it’s not a bad thing. We just have to keep on loving him, and being a family like we always do. That’s what’s important.” 

“Okay,” Mia said. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” 

Elliot hesitated. They were trying to get Mia to sleep in her own bed at night, but he decided just this once wouldn’t hurt. It had been a hard week after all. “Fine, just tonight,” Elliot said. The triumphant grin he got back reassured him that he’d made the right choice. He gave Mia a kiss, then leaned over her to kiss Cliff, too. “Goodnight, my loves,” he said. Then he turned off the light and they slept in bed the three of them, safe and together, just how they liked it.

[okamirayne]

Hi Rayne!

I’m a longtime fan (I read BtB when you were releasing OtC).

I just wanted to pop by as I’m doing my regular reread of the series, which is a habit I reserve for my most favourite books, and say hi and check in on you.

How are you? And (no pressure at all) how are you getting on with your original works? I look forward to the day I can read more of your wonderful writing. I’ve seen your updates on burnout and I don’t think this will help much but I want you to know you have a loyal fan in me who would enjoy and applaud anything that you write. I hope you have a wonderful rest of the year and festive season if you celebrate!

Hello, my dear Anon!💜

I’m a longtime fan (I read BtB when you were releasing OtC).

Oh wow! That's just so awesome. Thank you so much for the love you've shown the series. I'm so ridiculously touched that you return to enjoy the BtB madness and that it ranks among the stories you revisit. So, so happy and insanely chuffed to hear this. 💜💜💜

[..] say hi and check in on you.

How are you? And (no pressure at all) how are you getting on with your original works?

...there is a picture somewhere (a meme) of what looks like a hedgehog losing it's shit...*searches for it*

This, presently, is me. I am this spiky little ball of hot ballistic head injury waiting to happen.

Slightly more realistic representation:

Not sure whether that answers your question, my luv. 😅

My idiocy aside, it's so very sweet of you to check in. Thank you 🙏🏼 💗💜 I'm sadly still muscling my way through the shitshow that is creative burnout and trying to put out a few personal dumpster fires. My recent return to the BtB series has been an attempt to reconnect myself to my creativity...

I've been eyeing HHU for a few weeks now...

I’m considering flexing the atrophied muscle of my writer's brain by working a little on this BtB instalment, just to see if it gets the vital life-giving creative blood flowing again...

My original works remain preserved in a freeze-frame -- not abandoned, just locked behind a bloody glass wall (hence 'holding the wall and screaming'). My poor OCs are a collective entity, sitting with their chins in hand, eyeing me from beneath heavy lids, eyebrows cocked, waiting for me to come alive again.

And messages like yours?

They're a life-giving shot. Hugely nourishing to that deeply sad and starved part of me.

Thank you. 💕💜💕

Seriously. My earlier humour aside, your message has found me grasping another life-line of hope, and another reminder why I will not give this up - Screaming Hedgehog will prevail.

I’ve seen your updates on burnout and I don’t think this will help much [...]

Oh my dear, sweet, humble, beautifully kind, Anon -- how profoundly wrong you are about that, my friend. 🥹 You could not be further from the truth.

[...] but I want you to know you have a loyal fan in me who would enjoy and applaud anything that you write.

*hears her own heart break -- in the best way* 💔💔❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Anon...This message from you impacts me in ways that, as usual, I fail to be able to communicate in words. I might be able to choreograph it in some dynamic form of hug/glomp/undying-embrace, from which you might not be able to extricate yourself without a tasergun (or tea, I'll take the carrot over the stick). But please, PLEASE, know that by reaching out to leave me this message, what you've done does WAY more than help. It heals. It hits. Hard. Right in the heart. And I clearly need that.

🤔 I recognise that doesn't make much sense, but it helps to remember why it hurts so damned badly not to be writing, otherwise I numb out, and that's devastingly worse than feeling the bottomless sadness. Your message lets me access that, which then lets me access the deep joy, gratitude, and encouragement which comes from hearing that my particular strain of storytelling madness is still wanted, still desired, even after so much time has passed since I last wrote...

I never assume this.

Christ, it's a fear that haunts me at every turn, so to have some of that demonically painful terror exorcised by your beautiful message goes waaaaay WAAAAY beyond helpful. Please don't ever doubt the power your words have had or how deep they reach. I'm talking deep deep roots here. My appreciation is boundless.

Thank you. 💕💜💕

I wish you a generously blessed rest of the year, Anon, however you do your wintering, festive or not, I hope it's fun and fulfilling🌟. Thank you also for your warm wishes! Yes, I usually celebrate, though this year will be a more subdued time due to a personal loss; that said, I will embrace all good tidings for the season of giving -- starting with this beautiful message from you. 💕

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

"Family isn't always blood. It's the people in your life who want you in theirs, the ones who accept you for who you are. The one's who will do anything to see you smile and love you no matter what."

Um hi there- I'm sorry about the fact that I vanished I really just kinda.. ran out of ideas/energy to make edits and didn't really think that anyone would really miss them that much. I still make wallpapers and things for close friends and for myself but for the most part I just lost my love of posting everything that I make here. I've had this edit done since last summer when I finally allowed myself to finish what I consider to be one of the greatest underrated shows of all time, Welcome To The Demon School Iruma Kun.

If you've talked to me for more then five minutes about the shows that fascinate me and the shows that I go nuts over, you'll know the one thing that holds them together. My love of found family and the messages that can be held in shows that appreciate found family are oftentimes the ones that I hold the closest to me. I don't think that there's another show out there that masters that idea quite like Iruma Kun does. There's just something so beautiful about the simpleness of the story. It's just about Iruma as he tries to make his way through the netherworld as a human. But it's also more complicated then that. It's also about trauma and healing. It's about what it truly feels like when you find your people. It took me a long time to find my people so watching Iruma find his people and bond with them forging lifelong friendships and finally feeling comfortable enough in his own terms.

So what is Welcome To The Demon School Iruma Kun you might be wondering? Welcome To the Demon School Iruma Kun follows Iruma Suzuki, a fourteen year old boy who's parents sell him to a demon. But instead of it being a horror story, it turns into the best thing that could ever happen to him. Due to the amount of abuse that his parents put him through, Iruma doesn't really have the ability to relax. That is until, he's put into an impossible situation. Iruma is instantly taken in by his new 'grandfather' as his journey through the netherworld begins. But Iruma quickly learns something, that the demon realm is much.. kinder than the world that he's used to. His world, his reality was already hellish so now that he's finally able to kickback and relax, to eat however much he wants to and to eat whatever he wants, it's a heaven to Iruma Suzuki. Through the first episode, Iruma instantly is shoved into the demon school Bablys where in the first day he's immediately shoved into the 'misfit class' after getting into a fight with his classmate Asmodeous Alice.

Iruma Kun to me is the epitome of a comfort series. It's a series that since I've finished it, I've gone back and rewatched it twice and I'm about to rewatch it for the third time. It's just so good with it's relationships, it's adorable sense of humor, the way that the animation is so adorably cartoony, the manga panels sometimes looking absolutely gorgeous and wholesome, the way that these characters slowly open their hearts to Iruma it's just so good.

These characters are so comforting to me. My favorite of course from the get go has been Asmodeous Alice or "Azz" as he tells his best friends Iruma and Clara to call him. Ever since I randomly stumbled onto this series in January of 2022 he's been a character that I've carried with me as a huge part of my daily life. He makes me laugh ridiculously hard but there's also this kindness to him once he decides to trust you. I dragged my best friend into this series due to my sheer inability to shut up about Azz. He just means a lot to me and a lot of it is through his voice actor for the dub. Billy Kametz was such a special type of voice actor able to bring light, humor, levity, and lightness into any type of situation. But he also had this emotional weight to him that was perfect for Azz. Azz cares deeply for the two most important people to him, Iruma and Clara.

JUST LOOK AT THIS SOFT SWEET BABY HE NEEDS A HUG- he's one of those characters that I've always found immense comfort in. I He just believes so much in Iruma and he wants to push his 'master' further through the story.

My other favorite characters include Clara, Sabnock, Professor Balam, Jazz, Opera, and Lied. Opera is just so comforting to me but I could say that about literally every character.

If you take anything from my ramblings, I need it to be that you definitely need to read/watch Welcome To The Demon School Iruma Kun. You need to watch this series because it is something that I just love so much. It's something that I could talk about to anyone.

[maiji]

Hi I'm not too late for a reading am I? If i'm not my numbers are 7 and 23 and I guess my question is "What's stopping me from putting myself out there?" Thanks in advance and the cards look beautiful by the way!

You're not too late! You got in just in time before yesterday's deadline. You are the second-last reading! :)

#7 was The Heart, and #23 was The Fish!

Both of these cards have already come up before in previous readings here (The Heart) and here (The Fish). You can check out the links, as well as the overview document to see some of the basic and common meanings.

These are both cards that generally have quite positive associations, so it's interesting because in the context of this question - "What's holding me back?", we need to really think about how we can look at them through this lens.

One of my immediate thoughts was - The Heart could also be attachment. Is there something we may be more attached to and are reluctant to let go of? Something we fear losing more than we think we could gain by putting ourselves out there?

In a similar vein (haha), is it also possible we may be afraid of success (The Fish)? It's neither a facetious question nor a ridiculous idea. Putting ourselves out there can be scary because we don't know what might happen. And the reality is that even "good" change can be immensely stressful. When something is unfamiliar, when we have uncertainty and speculation, any kind of change can be uncomfortable and scary. Success and what we think success could mean or bring can be really scary. Becoming more known, even for something positive, can be really scary. Having to live up to something over and over can be a great weight.

Similarly, The Heart can also be associated with outreach and giving of yourself. That can be difficult especially if we're already feeling strained and juggling a lot, and sometimes we may not be fully aware of just how much we're carrying - whether it's physical or emotional - until we're on the verge of collapse. And if we think of The Fish as representing a more neutral sense of money (instead of specifically monetary wealth and profit) or resources of any sort (as opposed to financial resources), potential constraints or changes in your relationship to the supports you have (including people and environment) could be another underlying concern.

Looking at the artwork itself:

The Fish shows two fish swimming in opposite directions. It brings to mind the old saying about the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak, basically referring to the motivation or desire being there but other things (e.g., the physical limits of the body, but in this case it could be other variables) not being fully aligned in supporting that.

The Heart illustration is inspired by the story of Bi Gan. In this legendary tale, a man who had his heart cut out managed to stay alive through magical means until he was tricked into thinking about his missing heart after he hears the words "empty heart" (I go into a bit more detail about the story in the overview document, but that's the crux of it). How strongly do you feel about putting yourself out there, in the purpose/cause/need, or does it feel more empty/hollow when you reflect deeply on it? And on the theme of illusions and telling stories for ourselves to believe in - are there things you are assuming that may or may not reflect a more objective reality?

I hope this offers some food for thought!

---

Thanks for requesting a limited time free reading to celebrate the new edition of the Fortune Lenormand oracle/art deck!

Want to dive deeper?

Fortune Lenormand oracle/art deck - there's a free downloadable overview of card meanings!

humangray.com/lenormand - more info and resources/links!

(Note: these readings are being done with my old card deck from the original printing. There's not much difference with the new edition available in the link above - the biggest one is that the new edition has a custom box ooh ahh!)

[xtinyslip]

"if only they would take the hint? you'd think their multiple failures would send the message but they keep coming back." sam was never going to act impressed with the copy cats that she had known. how could she? when they had made this entire thing so personal to her. "it would break their hearts to find out. they are pretty obsessed with you, your…" family? that was cutting it close so she stopped. still, she offered a brief but darker smile at him and not because she was mocking him. no, she was mocking richie and his ridiculous family. sam had issues with trust, in fact her issues ran so deeply, she wasn't sure calling them issues did it any justice. still, she knew there were things that she shouldn't say but… she wanted to say what she could. "it's me. i'm their pointless bullshit, they want revenge on me." because if she didn't tell him and that came out after? well, she didn't know what that would look like. like, she had been trying to ask for help? or hinting that she needed him? because whether she did or not ; she wouldn't admit that to herself or to anyone else all that easily. no, that's not how she wanted to enter this at all. "it looks like you'll live. gale can be convincing… she knows how to tell a story." did she once say that she knew how to tell an accurate story? no. sam still didn't appreciate what she'd written about her during one of her latest books. even if they were most past that now. "i… i don't. i thought i'd want to after everything but... i, i don't. that's the truth." no, she should want too. right? after everything? but she didn't. sitting here right now didn't even feel real, how could any of this be actually happening? "you think i don't know that?" sam wasn't sure there was going to be much that could help her with her mental health problems now. not, after what she'd done to wayne bailey. not, after what she'd allowed herself to admit ; that she might not want to be those things but she could be. she was... when she had to be and, she didn't see that as a bad thing anymore. @springbandit

He nodded his head as she agreed with him, not having anything further to add. It was what it was, and none of it was great. "Those copycats are worthless." He sneered, having never found any of the 'ghostfaces' to be particularly interesting. He didn't even like the coined term. "It's uninspired. Lacks creativity. Just more people thinking they know me. Thinking they know what I want." He didn't want any of it. They weren't furthering his cause, at least not in a way that still rang honestly to his own intentions. He'd only ever ran into them in passing, not having any kind of relationship with any of them beyond a few exchanged looks of disdain, but, he didn't consider any of them to be a worthy successor of his name. "Wanted my help with what? Their own pointless bullshit? No, I wouldn't waste my time." He hadn't even considered them when it came to looking for people to help him get revenge on Gale Weathers for what she'd done to him. If they idolised him as much as they claimed to, they made a poor job of acquainting themselves with him. And so, he considered them disloyal at best, or liars at worse. "Oh, yeah. At least I got a ride. And a bullet in the lung. Another stunning contribution by Gale Weathers. Bitch'll still find a way to make it my fault." He sniffled, the cold air stinging his nose. The conversation was strange. The lady having the conversation was strange. Nothing about where he was and what he was doing made sense and for a moment he felt like he was outside of his own body, realising for the first time just how weird and stupid all of this was. "Why do you want to kill me?" He asked, looking up at her, eyes squinting through the darkness. He winced, tucking his legs up under himself clearly undeterred by the fact she wanted to kill him, even to a lesser degree. "It won't change anything. What's done is done. Killing me out here, won't fix your problems in there." He smirked, tapping his temple with his index finger. "You'll need more than one cigarette to come to terms with that. But, I'm right."

[nat-20s]

8 for jmart?

#8- constantly cheacking their messages for words from the other

what else was I gonna do? here's some classic ol' season 3 pining babey

Hello Martin. This is Jon. I have gotten a new phone after losing my last one, please put in the new number.

It's a simple message. Straightforward, factual, and utilitarian. There is no reason that pressing send should make his heart race. There's especially no reason that the second he sends it off, he's tempted to lie on the deeply uncomfortable, likely bedbug infested motel mattress staring at his screen until he gets a response. Sure, he's sick of being overseas, and he's sick of being so isolated, and he's sick of running, but he's not...desperate for what little companionship can even be provided by words on a screen.

He does miss Martin, though. He misses Tim as well, but in a manner that's significantly more complex and knotted than the simple desire to be around him.

God, when did he start wanting to just be around Martin? He started being aware of that want when he was at Georgie's, but he has no idea when the want itself actually started. That was probably something he should examine. Technically speaking, that is something that he has time to examine, but he doesn't want to examine right now. Right now, he wants the comfort of perhaps one of the only people out there that doesn't want to kill him, or use him, or both.

Martin, whether through somehow sensing Jon's discontent from nearly 4000 miles away or, more likely, through a general dutifulness inherent to his character, only takes a few minutes to reply. Oh good! it'd been a little bit since hearing from you, we were somewhat worried. putting you in my contacts as we speak :)!

Saying that "we" were worried is almost certainly generous on Martin's part, but Jon feels no need to point that out. Instead he turns on his side and stares at the phone. He particularly focuses on the smiley face, ridiculously charmed by the fact that, despite everything, Martin hasn't lost his predilection for emojis. Two years ago, he would've rolled his eyes, maybe thought something snide about professionalism. It wouldn't have been fair, as Tim used to do the same thing and he thought nothing of it, but he wasn't fair back then. Now, he simply wonders if he can get away with sending one back.

Before he can respond, Martin sends another message. Are you actually alright? I realized I was kind of assuming that losing your phone was the only reason you were MIA, but is anything else going on?

Damn. He tends to forget how perceptive Martin can be. What, exactly, Martin had perceived in that first message, Jon couldn't be sure, but apparently there was something that tipped him off to the..eventful last week he'd had. He really, really doesn't feel like getting into all of that right now, especially not over text, so instead he replies a mostly truthful I'm fine.

Then, squinting at the screen and realizing that might come across as a dismissal, he adds, Well, other than trying not to contemplate the general sanitation practices of a motel that clearly hasn't updated it's decor since the 70s. I'm suspecting the sheets are much the same.

He doesn't know how Martin will react to the message. He can't see the face he'll make, won't know the tone of his voice. However, he likes to imagine that Martin will at least smile. Maybe he'll even give that breath of a laugh, the one that sometimes happens when Jon's being lightly acerbic and it's not directed at him. He doesn't know, but he does hope for it. Martin texts back Oof. Maybe sleep on top of the covers tonight, yeah?, and Jon thinks that he might have guessed Martin's reaction correctly.

Christ, who knew all it took was a combination of jetlag and threats to turn him into a sap. He needs to sleep. He really needs a deep, proper, uninterrupted sleep, one lasting a minimum of eight hours and ideally closer to fifteen. Checking the time, it would be a fairly reasonable time to sleep, especially with the early start he has tomorrow. He considers sending off a quick good night message, but then has the realization that as reasonable as it is for him to be asleep right now, it's just as unreasonable for Martin to be awake. Are you alright? Good lord, Martin, it's almost 4am over there. Did I wake you?

Barely 30 seconds pass before he gets back no, you're good!

A beat, then a follow up message. I've had a irregular sleep schedule since I was like 16. A lot of evening and night shifts had a lasting impact u know? Working at the institute made it a bit more consistent but it's still p rare that i sleep the same eight hours night to night.

Jon's starts to text back something sympathetic; he's had his own struggles with both in- and hyper- somnia, but his phone buzzes in his hand before he can finish it.

Sorry! That was uh probably more information than you wanted.

Well, that just won't do. Even if there wasn't a part of his brain that had recently started collecting facts about Martin like they were precious jewels instead of mostly mundane stories, he doesn't want Martin to think he can't talk to him about things outside of the standard bounds of coworkers. Not at all. We're friends, Martin, I enjoy learning about you.

His brain wants to catastrophize the second he presses send. For the first minute that Martin doesn't reply, he doesn't let it. After the second minute, he allows the minor worry to become more severe. Had it been too much? Were they friends? Jon certainly thought so, but what if Martin wasn't in the same boat? Their interactions had been entirely friendly for months now, but what if that was just Martin being polite? God, what if Martin still thought of Jon as his boss, nothing more?

Ten minutes. It takes ten minutes for Martin to finally respond, and Jon has almost called him four times to explain himself. Ten minutes, and the first response is only Oh!

Then: Cool

Well, that's not a "piss off and die", but it's not exactly comforting. Jon doesn't know how to reply, staring at the words on his screen and not entirely sure if he's fucked up or not. Fortunately, Martin's not done responding, and the next message is much, much better.

Hey uh. Feel free to say no I know it's getting late over there but. Im not getting back to sleep for the rest of the day and itd be nice to actually hear you. Would you be okay with a call?

Without a moment's hesitation, he texts back Yes!, exclamation and all, because he's become someone he barely recognizes. The phone rings just as immediately, and he feels his entire body relax at Martin's first "Hello?"

Things are difficult right now. Things have been difficult ever since the promotion that was a curse in disguise. The world is filled with monsters he barely understands. He wishes he was home despite the fact that he barely recognizes it, as filled with tension and strife as it is. There's so much to discuss, so many things they should be hammering out. But right now, the threats are not pressing. Right now, he can hear about the bad true crime documentary Martin half-watched before he got Jon's texts, and Jon can bitch about the three different "pip pip cheerio" comments he's gotten since coming over seas. Right now, and for the hour before Jon drifts off, breathing slow and deep, he can pretend that this is an ordinary phone call, in an ordinary world, between two people who simply miss each other an extraordinary amount.

[leoneliterary]

How would the ROs react to an “oh no there’s only one bed what will we ever do?” scenario?

So this is one of the first asks I received and I was just getting my footing on how to answer asks! To the dear anon who sent it, sorry it took so long, and I'll try to make it worth the wait. Also something very similar to this might appear in the story, except with more detail, so I guess this is also like a sneak peak!

Merikh:

He drags his hand down his face, not even looking at the innkeeper as he tosses some coin to the man. "We're going to need two rooms." Scrunching his nose up at the smell coming from his clothes, he quickly adds, "And access to the baths." The innkeeper gives a gracious smile, and shouts to have baths drawn, but hands back half of the money. "My lord," he starts out hesitantly, "It is our humble honor to offer you lodging, however you came during the Festival of Brishkar." He shakes his head and finishes, "All the other rooms are full of devotees, I can only offer you one." Merikh rubs his face again roughly, before glancing quickly at you. Looking at you for a moment he shakes his head and picks up his coin. "Never mind then, we'll seek other lodging." He moves to walk out the door but you catch his arm. "It'll surely be the case no matter what inn we go to, or they might not even have one room available." the innkeeper nods vigorously in agreement with you. With a deep sigh Merikh places his coin down again and the innkeeper giddily gets up to show you both to your room. Outside the door he hands Merikh the key "You were right anyway" he says begrudgingly, already turning the key, "It'd be more trouble than it's worth to try to find another place, especially when we need to stay out of sight tonight." What you see when the lock clicks and the door opens stops you both in your tracks. A modest room, with a hearth and even some bread and cheese on the table. One bed. Two bath tubs sitting side by side, steaming behind a gauzy partition. Merikh immediately turns to head back out of the door. "This is ridiculous." He's seething and actually trying to shut the door, as if something in the room was trying to pursue him. You stop him again. "Look my lord, the only place that would likely have a bed for us this late would be a brothel, and believe me, you spending the night there would definitely get our whereabouts known." His shoulders slump and he knows you're right. "Besides," you add with a wry smile, "The water is already hot." Bristling at this, he begins to walk down the hall and back downstairs, he calls out over his shoulder, "Enjoy your bath, I'll enjoy a drink before I come back up.", irritation clear in his voice. He knows he won't drink however, instead he sits in a corner in the common area, water in hand, knowing that the most foolish thing he could do would be to be drunk in the same bed with you. Liquor would only make the already troublesome images in his head worse. The steam rising from the tub, instead rising from your skin. The idea of you tangled in sheets, still bare from your bath. He slaps the sides of his face and stays down there, staring into his cup. When he finally returns, it looks like you've kept a lamp lit for him but the bath water is cold. It's exactly what he needs. He sits at the edge of the bed, listening to the soft sounds of you breathing before he falls asleep just like that. Sitting up, hunched over, gripping the sides of the bed.

Desma:

She gives a big stretch, and sniffs the fabric of her clothing before wrinkling her face dramatically. "Ugh, we smell!" Giving her a smack on the shoulder you cry out in mock indignation. "Why are you saying we when you just sniffed yourself?" She let's out a snort before calling out loudly to the innkeeper she shouts, "You throw in baths with the room, or am I to wash myself in a tankard?" The innkeeper gives a gracious smile, and shouts to have baths drawn. With a wink he tosses Desma a key which she dangles at you and you both begin to head upstairs. Desma roles her shoulders, giving you a smile as you walk up the steps. "How lucky are we right? Finding a room during the Brishkar festival!" You nod in agreement, adding while Desma turns the key, "Looks like a pretty decent place to stay out of sight too." When the lock clicks and the door eases open and you step in, what you see gives you both pause. Like you said, it's a decent place. A modest room, with a hearth and even some bread on the table. One bed. Two bath tubs sitting side by side, steaming behind a gauzy partition. Desma turns to you with a wide smile. "And they even included some bread!" Giddy with excitement she walks in to inspect the room. "Ah but they forgot the cheese! No worries, you hop in the tub and I'll go get us some from the kitchen!" With that she practically prances out the door, leaving you to your bath. As soon as the door closes behind her, she slumps against the wall taking deep breaths. It is fine. It is fine. It is fine. The words reverberate in her head like a prayer. She feels like slapping herself. It's not like it'll be the first time you shared a room together. Hell, it won't even be the first time your shared a bed together. But she knows that things are different now. At least for her. She wants you in her bed. She wants to cover you in kisses just so that you know that you're as much her's as she's yours. But you aren't, and she can't. She actually does get the cheese, and when she comes back you're in bed waiting for her. She chats with you from the bath as you eat the bread with the cheese she brought and everything is fine. And she smiles wide, maybe too hard when she joins you in bed and extinguishes the lamp. As you settle close to her, her eyes close but sleep doesn't come. Lying next to you, she can't hold you, at least not the way she wants to. Looking at you, sleeping soundly, she let's out a bitter chuckle. "I'm a fool."

Laverna:

She holds out a coin pouch to the innkeeper. "We are both in need of a room." she says quietly. The innkeeper grins and reaches out for the pouch, but Laverna withdraws her hand quickly and raises her eyebrows at him. "We are also in need of your discretion."

"Of course my lady, you'll hear nothing from this servant." With a knowing smile he takes the coin purse before turning to look you up and down. "I'll also call for baths to be drawn."

It's only a brief wait before he returns with a key. You take it from his hands and lead the way upstairs.

Laverna shrugs her hood off as you both reach the door, letting out a sigh of relief when you turn the key. "Thank heavens they had a room!" her relief is short lived and a wave of worry flits across her face. "Do you think I gave him enough to keep him quiet? What if he recognized me? I'll go pay him a little bit more!"

She moves to head back down stairs but you grab her cloak, keeping her from moving forward. "Easy now, he'll get suspicious if you keep throwing money at him." She lets out a small laugh and looks down as you continue. Grabbing the other side of her cloak as well to pull her a little bit closer, you give her a teasing smile, before giving her hood a tug. "Between this and the fact that I'm sure you aren't the only lady having a dalliance with someone below your station on the night of the Brishkar festival, he probably won't pay us a second thought."

At that she takes in a sharp breath of air and rushes past you and heads inside the room. With a laugh and a shake of your head, you follow her in.

What you see gives you both pause. The room is immaculate, clearly used to having wealthy guests, with soft cushions in front of a large hearth and even a platter stacked with bread, cheese and fruit. Two bath tubs sit side by side, steaming behind a gauzy partition.

And one bed. You turn to look at Laverna, who just stands there. She stares at the bed, mouth slightly parted, lost in thought. Finally she breaks the silence.

Eyes boring holes in the floor, she fiddles with the edge of her cloak before asking, "Would you like to bathe first?" Before you can answer, she hurries out, "Actually, you can bathe, I do not need to! In fact I'm tired, I'll see you in bed!"

With that she crosses the room and practically dives into the bed and nestles deeply under the covers.

Her heart pounds in embarrassment, but there is also the faint thud of hope. She hides her face further under the covers as she hears you slip into the water.

What if we were lovers? She thinks and has to resist the urge to slap herself. But the damage is done. Under the covers she thinks about how things would be if the circumstances were different. If she were to join you in the bath or to bed you. If her hands could trace your body or if she could feel your skin on hers underneath the covers.

She stiffens as you get into bed and softly whisper goodnight to her.

Like a lover. Echos in her head until she can hear your breaths slow to the rhythm of sleep. She hesitantly touches your hand. "Goodnight." she whispers.

Sutek:

"I need a room. Quickly." The innkeeper hurries to hand Sutek a key with shaking hands, which he quickly takes. Grabbing your arm he tugs you up the stairs.

"Easy!" you shout, wincing at the grip on your arm. "It's not like I'm going to run! Neither of us will benefit from being seen tonight."

He let's out a grunt and looks at you with a raised brow, clearly not believing you. Nevertheless, he releases his hold on you, instead turning to unlock the door to the room. When the lock clicks and the door eases open he begins to walk in but stops short, causing you to bump into him. It's a decent place. A modest room, with a hearth and even some bread on the table. One bed. Two bath tubs sitting side by side, steaming behind a gauzy partition. "How generous! Bread and a bath!" You keep your voice light, trying to fend off the growing tension in the room.

Shoulders tense, he glares at the bed and then throws an equally fierce look at the two tubs. He lets out a bone rattling sigh before pulling you into the room and locking the door behind you both.  He checks the room.  The water in the tub, under the bed, even cautiously looking out of the only window of the room. “If you want to bathe, you can.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and he knows you’re probably surprised.  He is too. 

“Like you said, neither of us wants to be seen tonight.” He grips the dagger tied in his sash, watching as your eyes flicker from it back to his face, eyebrows still raised.  “I don’t think you’ll run.”  

With that he turns his back to you and sits on a cushion in front of the fire.

A mistake.

He waits to hear your footfalls, or feel the impact of you slamming into him, instead he hears the rustling of clothing and the slosh of water as you settle into the tub. 

Are you actually...bathing?

Shocked he alternates between staring into the fire and out of the window, back firmly towards you.  He stiffens when he hears you climb into bed.

Could you really be prepared to sleep in the same room as him?

The sound of your breathing evening out causes him to turn toward you incredulously.  There you are, resting peacefully. He doesn’t move, the room silent except for the crackling of the fire and your breathing.  

He could join you.

He could be close to you, even if it’s just for the night.

He dwells in these thoughts from his place in front of the fire for the rest of the night.

Sarai:

"We are both in need of a room." she says firmly. The innkeeper shakes his head, his hands raised.

"Dear lady, I would, but we are full."

Sarai narrows her eyes and removes her earrings. The weight of their gold landing on the counter with a thud. She crosses her arms.

"How about now?"

"Of course my lady, whatever you request of this servant." With a knowing smile he takes the coin purse before turning to look you up and down. "I'll also call for baths to be drawn."

It's only a brief wait before he returns with a key. You take it from his hands and lead the way upstairs.

"I loathe price gouging." She scowls as you both head up the stairs.

You laugh and nod, "Oh he could probably smell the money on you, and you throwing jewelry at him didn't help!"

She scoffs but you can see the hint of a smile.

You open the door for her, but what you see gives you both pause. The room is immaculate, clearly used to having wealthy guests, with soft cushions in front of a large hearth and even a platter stacked with bread, cheese and fruit. Two bath tubs sit side by side, steaming behind a gauzy partition.

And one bed. You turn to look at Sarai. She blinks, then blinks again before heading over to the baths.

"Thank the heavens that the water is still hot." She wrinkles her nose at you. "Because we both need a bath."

She pulls you over to the tubs and doesn't look at you when she says, "I think we can both trust our eyes not to wander."

But once in the tub she immediately regrets her bravado. There you are. You and your body, just an arm's length away from her, yet she can't look or touch. Who came up with this?

She takes the quickest bath of her life and dresses in a hurry until she realizes that you fresh from the bath was one thing, you fresh from the bath and in her bed was another.

She moves before she thinks and begins to throw pillows and covers onto the floor.

"You can sleep down there." she calls to you through the partition an seeks refuge under the covers.

But the covers offer no escape, because all the things she wants to do with you, and all of the feelings she has for you are still there, bubbling at the surface.

Nari:

You both ride up to a seemingly abandoned house. Pulling your horses up beside it, Nari takes the initiative to knock, only for the door to creak open.

"At least something will be easy tonight." you sigh, weary from the ride and the night's events.

Nari let's out a grunt in agreement, but still carefully peaks inside. It seems even she couldn't take this turn of good fortune at face value.

Once she pokes her head in, she let's out a soft "Oh no."

You rush to her side to see what has upset her and take in the small one room home. It's a step above poverty stricken. A fire pit, and a table with an old lap are pretty much all that's there. That and a single bed. You turn from the bed and look at Nari, only to find her looking at you, as if in a daze.

"How nice of the owners to have a bed ready for us, right?" You keep your voice light, trying to fend off the growing tension in the room.

“Our bed...”

Your eyebrows shoot up and she blinks rapidly, like she's recovering from a spell.

“I mean, yes—the bed, we could use it—for sleep!” She grips the hilt of her sword and furrows her brow, mentally kicking herself.

Use the bed for sleep? What else is a bed used for, Great Heavenly Architect strike her down now!

The problem is, that she knows what beds are used for besides sleep. And if you both shared a bed...

You could do those together.

With that thought she leaves the small home with a shout of "I'll stand watch!" and a promise of waking you for your turn.

She knows that she won't. Just like she knows that she won't do anything in bed with you. She'll just think about it.

All night.

Vividly.

Great Heavenly Architect strike her down now!

Aretas:

"I sent Isam ahead for a room." Aretas takes your hand and pulls you past the common area of the room, tugging his hood lower as you both head up the stairs.

"Slow down" you laugh, "If you're trying to avoid looking suspicious, then pulling me up the stairs in a cloak isn't the way to do it."

He stops and looks at you sheepishly, but doesn't let go of your hand. "Sorry, it's just it was so hard to find a room, and I've actually never been in an inn." When the lock clicks and the door eases open he begins to walk in but stops short, causing you to bump into him. It's a decent place. A modest room, with a hearth and even some bread on the table. One bed. "Oh, and there's bread? You should give Isam extra coin!" You keep your voice light, trying to fend off the growing tension in the room.

Shoulders tense, he glares at the bed.

"I should give Isam a death sentence." he mutters under his breath. Then he perks up as if something just occurred to him.

"We sleep back to back, that way if anything happens during the night, the other will be alerted!"

When you nod at his suggestion, he has to hold in a sigh of relief.

Please don't suspect his real motivation.

Please don't notice that he just wants your closeness and he'll take what he can get.

He climbs in first, and the moment you pull up the covers he extinguishes the lamp, lest you see the look on his face.

The warmth of your back bleeds through the fabric that separates you both and oh, how he wishes it was gone. He wishes that he wasn't such a coward, that he could turn over and tell you the truth about how he wants you.

But it's weak. It would be weak to lay himself bare before you, but he still wishes he could. And so the night is not filled with sleep for the young king, instead silent wishes and your soft breaths fill his head and heart.

Heka:

"Hello Brother! May we shelter with you tonight?" Heka smiles wildly at the older monk who opened the gate to the isolated temple.

The older monk squints at Heka's smiling face and let's out a reluctant sigh, before opening the door.

"The little brother knows that I can't say no, so why bother with the formalities?" he mutters more to himself than the two of you.

"Come, come. We have one pavilion for guests, but I've already eaten, so don't expect a meal."

Heka simply smiles and gives a bow. "Of course brother, and we are sorry to interrupt you during the festival."

The grumpy monk just sighs and leads you to an overgrown pavilion and leaves you both there without a second glance. Despite the meager lodgings, Heka is brimming with excitement.

"It's truly a blessing to find a place like this. Away from everything!" He doesn't enter the the pavilion, instead he runs up to it, running his hand over the faded walls. "These etchings look like they're from my teacher's time!"

He catches himself and looks at you, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"Oh no Heka, " you hold up your hands with a laugh, "Don't let me interrupt your inspection!"

He laughs and fiddles with his sash. Flustered he turns away from you looks at the pavilion again. "I know it's foolish to be happy about old wood but," he gives a wistful sigh before looking at you again, "it just reminds me of home. Let's go in." The door eases open with a creek and he begins to walk in but stops short, causing you to bump into him. Calling it humble would be being generous. With a small coal pan some bread on the table, meager would be a better term. Oh, and one bed. "Well, the cushions look soft!" You keep your voice light, trying to fend off the growing tension in the room.

Heka slowly turns toward you, eyes closed and a tight smile on his face. “I need to join my brother in prayer. We must chant and pray for the festival. You—you stay here, and rest well!”

"Should I join you—"

"No, no! Monk business!" with that he dashes out the door.

Heka runs through the overgrown temple, not to the other monk and certainly not to you. Under the moon he rests under a tree, feet still but his mind still racing.

It's a sin to lie, but these thoughts that he has for you can't be permitted either. He respects you, but as he imagines how it would feel to caress you under those covers, to breath you in, he knows that respect isn't all he has for you.

He wants to share your warmth, he wants to be yours and for you to be his.

Want.

The chill of the night feels like the only thing keeping him from igniting.

[blackenedwhite97]

Coming Out [Poly! Erasermic x {Fem}Reader]

Hello! this was a requested fic from like before Christmas. I'M A MESS I KNOW I'M SORRY! I’ll be catching up at some point, I'm in my final sem at uni and have MAJOR senioritis. Me no do unless me have to. Instead, now I just spend my time staring at the existential abyss the threatens to swallow my ceiling and think about everything I'm procrastinating. But I digress...

Content Warning: This story is of a negative experience coming out as poly to your family, this deals with rejection from the reader's mother, father, and a grandparent. This story demonstrates Homophobia, xenophobia, traditionalist and conservative values and attitudes and may be triggering to some folks.

This story includes a Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

Word Count: 3.7 K (A baby story)

Y/N --- 4:06pm

Hey can my roomates come to dinner?

DAD --- 4:06

You mean the gays?

Y/M --- 4:08

Please don’t call them that. Neither of them are gay anyways, there’s more than just gay or straight.

DAD --- 4:10

Yeah whatever. Let your mom decide.

MOM --- 5:12

Sure, they can come.

Mom --- 5:23

Gma might be coming dinner tho. Maybe talk to them?

That conversation should have been enough of a warning for how the evening was going to transpire. At news of your grandmother attending dinner, you panicked and tried to back out of your plans. You had been growing steadily farther apart from your parents anyways, barely seeing them more that once a year if that. It’s not like they didn’t have their suspicions anyways, to them you were a single woman living in the big city sharing an apartment with two gay men. Not that they’d ever been to the apartment. If they had they might have notice that one of the two “bedrooms” was being used as an office. Earlier on in the relationship you were so deeply uncomfortable being around your parents alone, that you had Shouta come with you every visit because you were so paranoid you were just going to come out on the spot.

At first your parents were sure that you and Shouta were together. He had subconsciously cleaned up quite nice the first few times he met your parents anyways, wanting to make a good impression on them if you finally did tell them about your polyamorous relationship. Then as time went on you got busier and started to see them less. Shouta’s parents lived in the suburbs and you saw them on holidays, plus Shouta had come out to them as being bisexual a long time ago and hadn’t felt much pressure to hide the polyamorous nature of your relationship to begin with. Hizashi’s mom was still a city dweller in her 60’s and on top of doing the cute mom things like baking fantastic cookies and handing down family jewelry to the daughter in law, she’d also taken Hizashi and Shouta to their first pride in Tokyo and had an in-home recording studio where she recorded for local punk bands. She was, quite literally, a cool mom.

You gnawed vigorously at your thumbnail, not quiet biting the whole way through, instead riddling it with dents and cracks. Chewing your nails wasn’t a habit you’d always had, it became a sort of silent worry thing you started to do when you got to your agency and had to remain still and quiet during briefings, no matter how terrible the news was. Your ruined nail beds were an atrocity to Hizashi, who had paid several times for you to get a manicure to get your nails short and evenly trimmed so you could manage them on your own. You still somehow found a way to gnaw on the short squared off nubs of your nails though, and it drove him nuts. Shouta cared less, his hands were in ridiculous shape, he was callused and bruised, cracked and flaking all over the place and Hizashi would regularly force moisturizer on them. Shouta cared more about figure out the root stress, it’s not that Hizashi didn’t, he just didn’t know how to, so he settled for pampering you.

“It’s dead.” Hizashi huffed from the bedroom door. “Obliterated, actually.”

“Hmm?” You looked up from your phone, you hadn’t been reading any of the messages in the chat for a good few minutes and just let your eyes unfocus instead. You yanked your thumb from your mouth and hid it below the table like a child caught with a sweet they’d snuck from the kitchen before dinner, you knew he saw.

“Your nail.” Hizashi gently patted the end of his hair with his special fluffy towel that he’d convinced you and Shouta he needed to control his frizz (which he didn’t have) and padded towards the kitchen table where you sat. He placed a kiss on the top of your head as he strode around you.

“What’s up, love?” he murmured softly, leaning against the table next you. One of his legs propped up on the chair to your right and leaned down to look at your phone screen.

“This is going to go horribly.” You breathed, panicked as you set your phone down on the table.

“You don’t know that.” Hizashi looked back up at you and smiled sweetly.

“Not everyone’s mom is a cool rocker lady in her 60’s who lives in the heart of downtown still and is fully supportive of her child’s bisexual polyamorous relationship with their childhood best friend and an ex-small-town girl with an ultra-conservative family.” You huffed out in one long breath.

“That was oddly specific.” He chuckled softly. “What about Sho’s parents, they’re conservative?”

“Yeah, but his parents are at least polite and send us both Christmas gifts every year and keep any and all of their shittier opinions to themselves because they want their son to be happy.” You groaned dramatically, dropping your head onto his thigh, using the extra meat to muffle the noise.

“Y-your-” Hizashi’s leg twitched from the vibrations of your groan. “Your parents want you to be happy too, Y/n.”

You groaned into his thigh, trying to explain the difference between your parent’s and Shouta’s. Hizashi laughed and gently grabbed the side of your face, lifting it so you were no longer muffled by his leg.

“Try again.” He instructed.

“They only want me to be happy if it fits into their rigid frame of what acceptable happiness looks like.” You explained again.

“Hey,” Hizashi ran his thumb back and forth across your cheek, “have faith, baby. They’re your family, they love you.”

If only he’d been right.

Shouta was the know it all, the one that way always right. Hizashi on the other hand was quiet used to being the one that was not always right, he had no hubris about his intelligence what-so-ever. So much so that sometimes you and Shouta had to remind him that he was intelligent and offered a lot of knowledge and wisdom in many many ways: public speaking, social relationships, radio scripting, he spoke two languages fluently as well. However, this one-time Hizashi wished dearly that he had been right, that he was an insufferable know it all who never got it wrong. It was a different twisted feeling in his gut, sitting the back seat watching you try to keep it together in the front seat, than the usual mild embarrassment that faded after a couple of minutes when he was wrong about something. That was damn near luxurious compared to the painful knot tearing into his stomach.

The silence in the car was so dense and absolute that it almost physically gagged Hizashi and Shouta, the two of them were too afraid to say anything and break it. It felt as though the heavy silence was keeping you from breaking, as if it were applying enough pressure at all sides to keep the thin veneer of composure you were managing together. You felt it too, along with the heavy weight that was nearly crushing your chest, the thick doughy lump clogging your throat and the tremble in your lips. You took a deep breath, it getting caught halfway and freezing in to an unrealized sob that you pushed down.

Shouta huffed and pulled off to the side of the dark country road, slowing into the gravelly shoulder. He turned in his seat to face you, undoing his seat belt so he could fully turn his body. You kept your eyes out the window, trying with all your might not to let the tears that clouded your eyes to fall. You knew you’d need to cry about this, about your parents and their conditional love. You knew that this was something you would need to deal with, but you didn’t want to at this moment. You wanted to go home, take some sleeping medication and go to sleep, you wanted to wait until the open wound in your chest had stopped bleeding to begin treating it.

Your father was being facetious about your living arrangement as usual, whenever he was faced with Shouta and Hizashi his first reaction was to constantly point out that fact that you were a woman living with two men and that if they weren’t gay that one of them should have married you by now. Shouta and Hizashi had taken these comments like water rolling off of a duck’s back, Hizashi even grinned and mumbled something about your father tempting him. You could have kept your mouth shut, you could have kept your cool but Shouta’s hand was brushing against your thigh and you felt it tense into an annoyed fist. Something about Shouta’s minimal reaction lit a fire in you, more like an explosion. It was a surge of very sudden and very ferocious courage that lasted a split second and no longer. You’d practically shouted it, the ringing in your ears drowning whatever words you’d used out.

You were met with complete and utter silence, shock and fear thick in the air. You’d almost believed for a moment that you hadn’t done it, that you’d just shouted randomly and just scared everyone. But then your dad stood up, his shocked open mouth flattening out into a hard straight line, this jaw swelling as he clenched it.

“W-what?” he growled, stepping back from the table as if you were a threat.

You were ready to backtrack, you were so ready to just laugh and pretend you were fucking with him. But you spared a glance to Shouta and Hizashi, their faces pale and guilty. They, regardless of what you could say in an attempt to cover up what you’d just said, were basically admitting to it already. You instinctively shrunk back into your chair like you’d do when you were younger at the dinner table whenever something uncomfortable would come up. You could tell everyone was at a loss for words, the difference was that you were scared and at a loss for words, Shouta and Hizashi were shocked and at a loss for words and your father was steaming angry and at a loss for words.

Your mother, who had always been the least confrontational of the two turned away from you and almost in a show of disgust immediately went to comfort your grandmother. It was as if you were an afront to goodness, an act of moral atrocity being committed in front of them. Your father began to barrage you with passive aggressive questions and accusations towards Shouta and Hizashi. He was trying to understand while at the same time refusing to give you a chance to explain. You stopped listening after the first few sentences that came out of his mouth, falling back into an internal monologue filled with regret. He must have said something exceptionally terrible because in an instant Shouta was standing, his arm reaching out to separate you from him and he was shouting. Shouta never shouted, he barely voiced any form of annoyance or frustration in general when it wasn’t a learning moment for his students, but here he was on his feet volleying harsh word with your father.

Hizashi, you realized was attempting damage control, his hands raised and his voice lower than either of the other two men’s. You blinked back into the present, as noise filled your ears, you mother was crying, your father and Shouta were shouting and Hizashi was rambling panicked. You took a couple of deep breaths and stood up on shaky legs, gripping Shouta’s protective arm for support, and looked your father in the eyes. He faltered at the direct eye contact and you saw an opening where there was less shouting to contend with.

“Stop,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “this is why I never wanted to tell you! Why I was perfectly okay with living away from you guys for the rest- This is why I haven’t been home.”

Your mother gasped a ragged, tear-filled breath. She’d expressed before that she’d wished she could see you more often, that she’s noticed you’d been coming home less and less. You’d been good at covering it up, saying you were busy with work and simply couldn’t get the time off. You knew that what you’d just said hurt her, not in the way it should have. It hurt her because you’d just told them it was their fault that you felt unwelcomed here and not because you were afraid of your own parents.

“How long?” she breathed.

“Three years.” You sniffed, hand tightening around Shouta’s wrist.

“THREE?! THR-” your father bellowed in disbelief. “For three years they’ve been brainwashing and forcing themselves on you?!”

Suddenly you understood why Shouta had leapt up, you had just now caught up with the conversation. Red hot anger flared up in your chest, the mere insinuation that you were being forced in anyway to be with your partners filled you with utter rage.

“No!” You growled, for the first time in your life matching your father’s volume. “For three years they’ve been by my side, showing up at the hospital when I got hurt at work, celebrating my promotions at the agency, helping me make a home that I feel safe in and actually fucking caring about me!”

There was silence again, this one was thin but not light in anyway, like it was a delicate thread barely holding a great weight from falling and crushing you.

“We care for you.” You mother said darkly.

“No,” you swallowed hard, “you haven’t for a long time.”

“Get out.” You father growled.

Hizashi was already moving, grabbing your coats from the back of the chairs and pulling Shouta by the arm away from the table. It took you a good long second to move, even then it was because Shouta latched onto your shoulders and Hizashi tugged him along.

“I’m sorry.” Shouta whispered, his hand finding yours in your lap. You kept your eyes focused out the window at the pitch-black fields with barely visible for off golden dots of light. You couldn’t talk.

You heard Hizashi shuffling around in the back seat, scooting closer to you and his hand joined Shouta’s, pulling up onto the storage compartment between the seats. It was cracking, that veneer.

“It’s not your fault.” Hizashi murmured.

You sniffed hard, biting int you bottom lip. Of course, it wasn’t your fault that your parents didn’t accept you, that you weren’t good enough or right for them, that you weren’t on par with the apparent morality of the rest of the family. It wasn’t your fault that they were backwards people with terrible ideas of how a person should be. It still didn’t hurt any less that you couldn’t meet those backwards ideals, that you couldn’t be the right kind of person for them.

“Y/n,” Shouta whispered, gently grabbing your chin and turning your face towards them.

They were looking at you the way a mother looks at her crying baby in the first few months, the desperate need to connect and nurture glowing in their eyes. They were filled with worry, with pity, with understanding but also, with fear. No doubt, what had just happened had been traumatic for them too. Looking into their emotion filled eyes you felt that veneer shatter, falling away and unleashing that mournful sobbing that had been trapped inside.

Shouta pulled you towards him, holding you firmly to his chest placing his head atop yours. You vaguely felt Hizashi disappear from you for a moment, but you were too preoccupied with the trembling muscles seizing violently in your chest. Then you felt him sliding in behind you, only now realizing he’d stepped out of the car and slide in through your door as he shut it behind him. He draped himself over you rubbing circles into your back.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmured into your hair over and over again.

At first you didn’t really focus on it, thinking it idle words of comfort but the more he said the more it sunk in. The more your realized that you were holding onto the hope that there was something about this, about you, that you could fix. With every repetition of those four words that false hope chipped away and that heavy weight in your chest began to fall away. It was still painful, it still felt like you had a pen festering wound that you’d never fully heal from, but it also felt lighter. It felt as though a burden you’d believed was yours to bear was suddenly the responsibility of the many.

“You don’t have to change,” Shouta whispered softly as your sobs ebbed into weak beaths, “they do.”

That reignited some tears, to hear what you needed to said so plainly. Shouta was good at that, putting those intangible thoughts and feelings into plain words. You cried until the tears and the worry and the late hour caught up with you, until your head felt heavy and waterlogged and you slumped backwards into Hizashi sniffing. You cried until your wavering breaths evened out and your tired mind fell to silence. Hizashi pulled you into his lap and cradled you against him like a parent holding and oversized child, running his hand slowly through your hair.

When you awoke you were swaddled thoroughly with the fuzzy blanket from the couch Shouta hated because it shed and sandwiched between the two men who snored away. As you blinked in the early morning light that just barely peaked through the blinds you noticed the red rims around Hizashi’s eyes and deep-set circles under Shouta’s as if they both been awake all night. Shouta was still in his dress shirt and Hizashi had stripped down to his boxers and pulled his hair back into a sloppy bun. Neither were properly snoring which told they hadn’t been asleep for very long.

You tried to ignore what had happened last night, what had led to the heavy feeling in your head and crusty dry eyes and tight cheeks. You tried to pretend that they had stayed up for work, that they you had swaddled yourself up in the blanket nor because you were sad but because you just wanted to be cozy. Then you heard a phone vibrate on the nightstand and any and all work towards denial washed away as you dreaded checking it. It could just be a work thing, it could be Hizashi’s phone even though he’d never had it on silent even once since you’ve known him. It could have been Shouta’s vibrating against the wooden table even though you could see his slightly peeking out of his back pocket.

You sighed and sat up, daring the smallest of glances at the nightstand. It was your phone screen that was lit up, several notifications on the screen. You groaned and laid back down, scrunching your eyes shut begging for sleep to suddenly and miraculously take you. It buzzed again and you huffed. Fine. You’ll check it. I guess someone could be dying. I do stop that from happening for a living.

You very cautiously crawled over Hizashi and reached to get your phone, electing not to look at it until you settled back between your boys. You scrolled though your notifications, weather, news, a work email, a second email from a contact that made your blood run cold and three missed calls and two answering machine messages from the same contact. Grandma. Your hands trembled at you unlocked your phone and typed int your voicemail password. You held the phone up to you ear and listen to the first message which was more or less just some frustrated grandma noises and mumbles about the inconvenience of technology, followed briefly by a set of hellos. If you hadn’t been ready to shit yourself, you’d have laughed. Then the second played and you had to take a deep breath to hold yourself together enough to keep listening.

“Hello? Hello? Y/n? Oh shi- well this is just ridiculous. Y/n, I don’t know if you can hear me, or maybe this is your answering machine, I don’t know I can’t hear too well but-” her soft worn voice said into the phone, “I want you to know that I love you. Your parents love you too, even if they did not act like it tonight.”

She paused and your eyes welled up with tears, a lump forming in your throat. It was this strange feeling of pure sadness but also happiness and relief.

“Those boys,” she continued, “probably would have killed your father last night if they had the chance. I’m not saying I get it, but they sure do love you, sweetheart. I quite like the blond one he is very-”

The message cut off and the automated voice asked you what you wanted to do with the message. All you could do was laugh, laugh and cry. You were still sad, still in pain, but it was already starting to feel less life-ending.

“Hey,” Shouta mumbled blearily, “S’okay. I’m here.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, trying to pull himself from sleep. You hugged him back and massaged the back of his scalp gently.

“Listen to this.” You sniffed.

He nodded and you pressed repeat, listening to the whole second message through again. You watched as a smile spread across his sleepy lips and he laughed softly. He pouted suddenly when it ended, his eyebrows pulling together as much as his drowsy state would let them.

“What?” you asked, worried he’d heard something you‘d missed.

“Why does she like Zash more?” he grumbled, barely awake now.

You smiled and curled into him, electing not to answer knowing that he wouldn’t like being told that Hizashi is more sociable than him. Besides, you smiled to yourself, he’d be asleep in a matter of seconds.

You were still hurt; you still had that big open wound in your chest. But with Shouta and Hizashi at your side you knew you’d heal; you knew they’d give you anything you needed. You knew that your grandmother was right, that these two boys loved you very much.

[tenebrius-excellium]

Right, so... all in all, I have to say that the middle and the ending of Book 11 were faaar better than the beginning of the book!!! LOVED the conclusion! Though I admit that I deeply struggle with the doomy and gloomy vibes in the Httyd books. Upon having read The Queen's Thief series, I realized how much more fun everyone had there. The Httyd books are so dire. There was barely any warmth, fun, and comfort to make up for the cold, damp, barren, evil and violent world. Almost all the good people were weak or dumb for their goodness, and only evil was cunning, scheming, and sly. Why were the good ppl always struggling so much..., like, why wasn't there a much larger dragon-human alliance somewhere even before the final war? Imho, the good people needed more solid wins. Anywho. Moving on to Book 12 :)

So Hiccup has amnesia and recognizes no one. Yass, finally some humor...

I was rooting for that poor Vampire Spydragon so much you don't even know. Cute boi just wanted his teeth back!!!!!!!!!

HOGFLY FOR THE WIN - FINALLY SOME SILLINESS

Hey look. Why was the 'Hiccup having amnesia' plot never used in RttE? That would have been so much fun!! I get know what the book!fandom was complaining about when they said that the show had the potential to be much more book-oriented... what a waste!

I find it highly...HIGHLY... interesting that Cressida found it necessary to validate Hiccup's reign by a sort of 'religious' power. Especially when all the Norse Gods had very much NOT been actively part of the plot before. Again, comparing that to The Queen's Thief where the Gods do play a role and therefore have a say in who gets or doesn't get to be King and Queen... it seems arbitrary and strange to need to validate Hiccup by the skies. Why does humanity keep feeling the need to do that, huh? Maybe because humanity isn't supposed to be the highest authority on earth because we tend to screw it up, hmmm??? Maybe because someone independent should look into each of our hearts to determine who is best for a certain office, hmmm????

The danger of the Dragon Jewel finally gets explained, THANK YOU. Would have been more of a narrative hook if that had been done much earlier, to be frank!!!

I'll say it again: One of the greatest bits of the 12th book was that BOTH of Hiccup's parents got to live and support him as they watched him become King!!!! They did not ridicule him!!! They did not rival him!!! They realized he was the man for the job and were there to fight for him!!! That is so rare in stories!!! So often at least one or both parents get killed off before someone rises to rule... Httyd2 cough cough I hated that

Fishlegs, Sidekick for 12 Books, Contributes To The Plot At Last

Hiccup and Furious' talk was so important. They finally developed an "us vs. the problem" mentality.

...although the peace they managed to negotiate felt rather feeble. That's what happens when the creatures of Earth think they have to govern themselves: There is never safety or satisfaction without the independent judgment of a deity to make sure it holds, huh. Shame.

Alvin's and the Witch's deaths were quite unspectacular, what happened here???

Annnd dragons and humans can't seem to share the world here either, just as in the movies. I'm surprised that people thought the conditions that forced the "dragons must leave" arc to happen differed so vastly comparing the books to the movies. I don't recognize much difference, except that in the books, the war had already been going on much longer and much crueller. It had taken its toll on dragons and people for centuries, and everybody was tired and hurt. Httyd3 wasn't all too different, except the dragon war began to take a toll on Hiccup's and Toothless' personal lives and on their tribes. The tiredness of everyone might not have become as apparent, but it was definitely there - in the first, in the second, AND in the third movie. Different solutions were explored. Fighting dragons didn't work, building a dragon utopia didn't work. And the dragon-human alliance couldn't work because of different identities/ needs/living conditions/scattered fearmongers and troublemakers. And because of armies that would keep coming for dragons. Granted, the "army" point wasn't pressed enough. It could have been Mongolians trying to expand their kingdom into Europe. It could have been Romans wanting to capture dragons for warfare, status, and gladiator fights. No, Httyd3's reasoning wasn't solid enough, but it wasn't THAT far off from the books either, I think.

If you have any thoughts on what I wrote, send me an ask!!!

How To Betray A Dragon's Hero & How To Fight A Dragon's Fury Book Review

Part of #Reddie's liveblog from Dec 2021 - Oct 2023

Wow you guys I almost took 2 years I'm so sorry pfffft XD

As I said before, I think it makes the most sense to scream about Book 11 & 12 together because they only take place over a span of about 48 hours. Also I will not be talking about any quotes. Feel free to send me your favorite sayings in an ask though!!!!!

Let's get to it!!! Lean back and listen as I recall...

burning forests. The world being a wasteland of fire and ash. And Hiccup being at the center of it. Gosh.

They were incredibly stupid to let Snotlout into their secret hideout... at least blindfold him or something so he can't give the location away should he double-cross them???

I like those ambiguous characters who don't choose to identify themselves with any side of a war... it was a smart explanation of Snotlout to give about why he didn't take the Dragonmark. The more I think about it, the more suspicious it becomes to demand of anyone to take a literal tattoo on their body in support of whatever group. How quickly such a symbol's meaning can change depending on what people currently associate with it, the books have shown. To force people to distinguish themselves physically for or against a highly political opinion is...shady at best O_O but of course, this doesn't help to make Snotlout believable in the moment. As I've read the Return of the Thief recently, I side with the diplomatic strength of non-inked folk Eugenides cough cough, although it makes them dangerous, hated outsiders and able to play multiples angles as well.

The Wodensfang's "betrayal" was a deep stab into my chest. Hiccup had already gone through so much, and the Wodensfang was one of his most trusted advisors - a member of his own party. The Wodensfang literally carried the lives of three kids and so much more with his actions. It doesn't matter that the dragon didn't betray Hiccup in the end - the very fact that he went so low to even TALK about betrayal with Furious was heartbreaking. The Wodensfang, himself thoroughly scarred by the break of trust, should not have played with Hiccup's trust as if it were an asset to be sold or traded. At some point, when you've seen a person's heart, you have to believe them. And once you understand that most errors and most abandonment happens out of fear and not out of outright disloyalty, it gets easier to forgive.

It brings me a lot of joy to think about the cave scene again... that was awesome. What a victory!! I love returning to this scene. The setting of a city behind a waterfall was epic. It's always great to have explosions and mayhem. And Hiccup's little sailboat escapes! Annnd this is where Snotlout finally realizes the downside of being the traitor: Now he's hated and mistrusted by all sides.

The final confrontation with Snotlout was nothing short of awesome. His reasoning was sound - to be dethroned by the birth order and then additionally discovering that the guy doesn't even seem to be worth it... that does some damage. I'm glad they reconciled!

Snotlout taking Hiccup's clothes hnnnghhh... it was a noble deed, but tbh it was hard to believe he died. Because book!logic happens to be very random and plot-subservient... if Cressida had written any more Httyd books, Snotlout would have been 'resurrected' in one of them, I'm sure.

So Hiccup's plans are foiled by the weather, huh?? Convenient lol.

The glorious despair as Hiccup washes up on that shore. Fantastic.

That concludes Book 11.

[thefanficmonster]

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult. 

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better. 

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face. 

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions. 

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery. 

Wait, hold up, it gets worse. 

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that. 

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.  I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Fanfic Recommendations

I’ve wanted to this for a really long time and I’ve been copying and pasting links into the notes app for the past couple of weeks. So here’s just the first couple of fics that I’ve come across that really struck me.

peace — Spencer Reid x Female Reader by @constellationsreid Comfort

Something that I look for in fics is that the characters resemble their canon counterparts. This really captures who Spencer is and all his anxieties and self doubts. It’s beautifully done and I loved how you incorporated peace into it. Peace is one of Taylor Swift’s more mature love songs because of how self reflective and deep it is.

library hours reimagined— Spencer Reid x Female Reader by @cacoetheswriting Fluff

I love this spin on a meet-cute with Spencer x Reader. I really love the way that you wrote older Spencer. He’s still Spencer, sensitive and sweet but more mature and wiser. Meet-cutes are always so much fun and this one is super sweet and makes you wonder what’s to come.

converging parallels— Spencer Reid x Female Single Mom Reader by @writing-in-april Comfort/Fluff

I might be a little biased because I suggested this prompt, but I just adore the way you wrote this. Spencer is such a fantastic character. He’s thoughtful, introspective, and sensitive. I love who you dove into his mind and his thoughts for this— it’s so realistic.

last kiss— Spencer Reid x gn!Reader by @reidyoulikeabook Angst

Damn. Prepare to have you left heart shattered into a million little pieces. Something I really liked was the time line technique that you used to show the story. But damn. Why do I do this to myself?! It’s so beautiful and then it just breaks you. Of course, the line where Reader thinks that Spencer is “always fine” makes me want to scream-sing Mr Perfectly Fine into the void. Which, after reading is something therapeutic.

let me show you— Spencer Reid x Female Reader by @aperrywilliams Comfort/Fluff

My favorite thing about this is how Spencer is portrayed. He’s wonderful, sweet, kind and loving Spencer, but he’s also deeply wounded and I think that it’s close to his canon characterization. Parts of this made me want to be Spencer to have someone like the Reader insert. But that’s what Spencer deserves so read this, if you want a little slice of what Spencer should have gotten.

rebuilding family— Spencer Reid x Female Reader by @shemarmooresfedora Fluff

Dad!Spencer is something that we should have been able to get to watch. I love how this fic shows Spencer growing as a person and as a dad— it all seems so much in character. This is another fic where Spencer gets the ending he deserved.

amoreena— Spencer Reid x Single Mom Reader by @boldlyvoid Fluff/Smut

I have so much to say about this fic. I just found it yesterday and I have read it three times. My logic is that if I read this enough times, it will seep into brain when I sleep at night and I can got to this magical world of this fic. It’s so lovely and warm and I just love the love. I know I sound absolutely ridiculous but this is the most lyrical, magical and fantastical thing that I’ve read. Seeing and reading Spencer being happy is just the most beautiful thing.

the bus stop— Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader by @spencerslibrary Fluff

I absolutely adored this fic! You captured Spencer perfectly and that is very difficult to do. Who knew that sharing an umbrella could be so romantic, but alas, there's this fic!

from the ground up— Spencer x Reader (Female) by @doctcr-reid

Okay if you like Dad Spencer go ahead and do yourself a favor and read this. That man is made to be a father! I just love how this is told. I always thought that Spencer would be the type to fall in love quickly— and this just perfectly articulates how ridiculously happy he’d be if his life was a little bit more sunshiney.

twin flames— Spencer Reid x Female Reader by @leahblackk

What can I say that accurately articulates just how much I loved reading this? I don’t usually read angst, especially angst where there isn’t a clear happy ending (I’m a baby). But this is just fantastic. I love the literary technique of using the diary. It’s a great way to get both Reader & Spencer’s perspectives, without shifting the narration. I really got Red vibes from this, which is wonderful :) 🧣

green was the color— Spencer Reid x Reader by @strawberryspence

This is the CUTEST THING!! I’m a firm believer in soulmates, and who wouldn’t want their soulmate to be Spencer? I loved the way that your established their banter and dynamic. They’re crushing hard and it’s very endearing to read. Such a great spin on the trope!!

Reading to Spencer Blurb— Spencer Reid x Reader by @notanotherreidgirl

So blown away by the domestic little blurb!! Spencer loving his person read to him is so sweet and just makes me way too sappy. Maybe it’s because I’m a big reader (and Reider) but this just makes my heart soar. I love the little ritual that gives them a slice of happiness. Spencer having the book already memorized, but still wanting his person to read it to him makes me a pile of mush. It’s not the book he wants to hear, it’s their voice. Like hand me the tissues.

Dancing With Our Hands Tied — @sleepyspencer

Just the quiet poetry of this fic is so beautiful. I love the way you slowly build their relationship. The running theme of driving together in silence for the first time to spending every moment together. It’s so poetic and magical. Then we come to that fateful night and there’s that drive again. And it’s so profound. Also TAYLOR INSPIRED!!! The song choice just perfectly describes the feeling of loving in secrecy but desperately wanting to come out of the shadows and into the daylight. It’s beautiful and magical!! Words can’t do it justice.

Missing Your Kisses— @reidslibrarybook

Don’t we all just imagine this all the time? I love the whimsical and hopeful style of this. You really feel all the emotions and energy. The build up and the tension is absolutely amazing! I love how the kisses are each described with so much emotion (I know I use the that a lot but that’s what this makes me feel).

[gryffindors-weasley]

Closed For Business

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: When an unexpected visitor arrives at your bookstore, jealousy ensues.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: flirting, jealousy, fluff, kissing

Your shift at William and Bette’s Bookstore hadn’t been too terrible that day. It most certainly had been a busy one, the rather inclement weather not deterring anyone from stopping in, but you suppose a little foot traffic wasn’t quite so bad when you worked a job that you loved. It was a sweet little place, lined floor to ceilings with a variety of books so vast it was impossible to browse through in just one visit. The wooden bookshelves were organized A-Z, winding and curving around the one-floor shop, lamps littering about as a station for hot chocolate and tea resides in the very far corner.

You’d started working there about a year after the second wizarding war had concluded its disastrous rampage. You were in need of something, anything to busy yourself with. It was a cozy little place, tucked warmly and welcomingly next to your favorite bakery; needless to say it always smelled of cinnamon and old books.

You found it when you were in town with Draco, Narcissa having sent him out to a shop you hadn’t entirely known what for. Perhaps it was for new floral arrangements to have around the Manor—it was absolutely that actually. She’d wanted to liven up the otherwise bleak and somber estate, flowers always having been something to brighten her spirits with her husband having been away in Azkaban for a number of years to come. It was then that you spotted it, the ‘help wanted’ sign taped just inside the old window of the little shop. It’d been Draco who nudged you to go for it, both literally and figuratively as he pulled you along by the hand, so you did. You took the leap and they hired you on the spot much to your delighted surprise.

Long story short, you had been working there since you were nineteen, now twenty-four. The owners, William and Bette, had been and continue to be endlessly welcoming and jovial, and you found you hadn’t wanted to work just anywhere else. It was perfect, in a small town of one of a kind shops and equally one of a kind cottages—one of which you resided in with the love of your life. It was a fairytale, as much as it could have been for two magically inclined lovers who’d been put through more than most could even fathom before the age of twenty-five. Most people thought magic had just been a trick of the eye.

Presently, you were helping your very last customer of the day, relief settling upon you only minutely. Granted, he was someone you hadn’t expected to show up to a bookstore, not even remotely nor the one in your tiny town but you suppose books had their charm. It’d been nearly ten minutes since you’d rung up Cormac’s book, ten minutes since the shop was set to close and he still stood before you with a grin that was telltale to his flirting.

He’d been trying valiantly to win your affections ever since your sixth year, and even more so when a certain blonde in particular had been far more successful at it than him. You never cared for the boy then, always far too full of himself to see things with any sort of rationality. He’d been too self absorbed to capture any sort of attention from you. You supposed Draco hadn’t been vastly different, he’d certainly had the tendency to be so arrogant, but he was far changed from that now. Leaps and bounds different.

He’d come in what had to be nearly half an hour ago, and surely he hadn’t been as interested in the books he’d been looking at as he’d tried to be. Not with the way you’d met his gaze on more than one occasion. It was laughable, really, to be so flirtatious was something that seemed to be rather tiring after a while. In fact, he’d been so caught up in trying to impress you he’d just about knocked over the newly added display for new arrivals. Perhaps he didn’t know your heart belonged to someone else, to the very same person it belonged to the last time you were in each other’s company. Surely he didn’t know that otherwise he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself.

You sigh at the ever so distinct sound of the bell over the door ringing out, effectively cutting him short of his words momentarily and signaling the entrance of someone else to tend to. Someone that should have read the sign on the door much like the one rapidly overstaying his welcome as the clock had struck seven. The sign on the door had been flipped, it was obvious as the lone four letter word stared back at you and ‘closed’ faced boldly towards the town in red cursive letters. You didn’t take the time to look for just who it’d been that came in, however, continuing to wipe the counter with a sigh.

“We’re closed,” you call out around Cormac’s shoulder, offering him a polite smile. A silence fell over the small store as you purse your lips, and he was quick to continue the conversation just where he’d left off minutes prior.

“We’re going to be traveling across the country next month. It’s the most important match of the season,” he says, his chin in his hand as he leans with his elbow against the counter. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you and you tried your hardest to suppress your giggle; he looked absolutely ridiculous, his heart eyes for you beyond comical.

“Oh really?” You inquire then, completely amused at the sheer effort he’d been so desperately putting into impressing you. Little did he know there’d been a brilliant Healer, the best of his time, that had stolen your heart since the day he’d healed you after a clumsy mishap. Cormac hadn’t changed one bit as you readily expected, and it felt as though you were back at Slughorn’s Christmas party once more.

He nods, fingers tapping against his lip as the corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

You had to stop yourself from letting your jaw drop, from allowing the snort that was ready to sound from falling past your lips. Had he always been so bold? You suppose so, you know so.

It hadn’t been terribly hard to stifle your shocked and utterly amused laughter when a newfound distraction arises mere moments later, the clatter of a book or two falling to the floor well heard across the entirety of the space. You frowned at the sound of it, unaware that it wasn’t just some other customer who hadn’t abided by shop hours that’d done it, rather a certain platinum blonde had been responsible for it instead. You were most entirely unaware of the way he’d been plucking miscellaneous books from their shelves and shoving them back into their spots in a pitiful attempt to busy himself all while jealousy brewed deeply within him. Not to mention the way he’d been staring daggers into the quidditch player’s back all the same. He’d gone ahead and dropped the very books in his hand upon hearing the brazen question, his eyes falling closed as his jaw tenses.

He promised you to not get so terribly jealous as he once had as a teen, as he once had most notably with the very same wizard who’d been fawning over you in that very moment. While he was far different from the boy who’d once put harmless jinxes and hexes just to be insufferable, he was strongly considering setting his maturity aside for just this once. With the way he’d been looking at you, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. But, instead he settles for dragging the tip of his finger along the spines of the books before him as if he was interested in their titles, trailing absentmindedly as his cheeks still burned from his clumsy blunder.

That brief moment for distraction and distance from the ridiculous offer put forth to you was rapidly coming to an end, his attention focused on you once more. You sprayed a bit too much cleaner on the already well polished countertop, wiping it down vigorously as you felt his gaze on you. You were starting to wonder just how you ever escaped conversation with him in the past.

“I’m afraid I have to decline your offer,” you say, tossing the paper towel in the trash as you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling as you thought to the love of your life. The one you so desperately wanted to return home to in that very moment, as you had longed to the whole day. The very man who’d been brooding grumpily just behind the mahogany bookshelves mere paces from you.

Cormac frowns only slightly as his head tilts to the left, his gaze holding yours. “Might I at least ask you to dinner then?”

That was it. That had been the absolute last straw. He hadn’t planned on making his presence known just yet, wanted to hear him make an absolute fool of himself if only for a few moments longer. But he knows there’s absolutely no way he could refrain from chiming in. No, not after that.

You open your mouth to speak, to answer his question despite being at a loss for words—though someone else beats you to it.

“Did you not hear? Shop is closed.” The voice is ever so familiar, holding a certain bite to it that one just couldn’t miss even from a mile away. You could hardly withhold your smile as Draco hopped up on the scuffed wooden counter, his brow raised tauntingly before he turned to look at you. “Right, love?”

You nod, meeting his gaze with a soft smile you tried to keep from growing. The look on his face was nothing short of adoring, but the fond expression held solely for you quickly hardens as it returns to the man in question. He straightens his posture and stands tall in Draco’s presence, the smirk on his lips since dissolving in favor of a tense jaw. He played with the ring on his finger, twirling it round and round as he crossed his ankles nonchalantly and fixed his stare on him rather than uttering the spell that sat so temptingly on his lips.

“Malfoy,” he greets coldly, a short nod to follow as he huffs through his nose.

“McLaggen,” Draco starts, sliding his book across the counter hastily. “I believe this is yours. Is it not?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh as he nods, swiping the book from beneath Draco’s fingertips. He holds his stare for a few fleeting moments, the corner of Draco’s mouth quirking up as he watches him sulk to the door and leave with a not so subtle thud. It was a brief interchange, however, one that spoke volumes of his displeasure and filled the small shop with a tension too thick to ignore.

You exhale a sigh then, brow raised quizzically as you cross your arms and try your hardest to be displeased with his behavior. Granted, he hadn’t turned his hair a rich shade of purple or muted him for the next week with a simple incantation, but you weren’t blind to the way his cheeks flushed pink. Nor did you miss the way his knuckles turned ivory, no matter how brief it may have been.

“Just what are you doing here?” You ask as he swivels in his spot, dipping down to kiss you sweetly.

“Can I not walk you home?” He asks in faux offense, the words pressed into your lips before he kisses you once more. Your smile quickly betrays you at the brush of his lips on yours, more so when they travel upwards to kiss the tip of your nose.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here from St. Mungo’s, you know. I could have apparated, love,” you sigh, your smile still lingering on your lips.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asks, hopping down from the counter completely. His hands settle on your wrists, uncrossing your arms gingerly before sliding down to envelop your hands. “Besides,” he starts, his lips pressing to your cheek, “that was rather entertaining.”

You roll your eyes immediately, ready to pull your hands from his grasp until he tugged you closer with a laugh. You looked up at him with a beaming smile, one that held a certain mischief he was all too familiar with as you tilted your head. “Not nearly as entertaining as your clumsiness, especially not as much as the blush on your cheeks.”

He quiets the very factual statements falling from your lips with his own, the giggle of yours that sounded against his lips enough to make his blush deepen a shade. You were the only one in history to make his cheeks burn and flush like a fool, the only one in the world to make his heart flutter and pull a genuine smile from him. He supposes, he knows, that it’s always been you. Even when he didn’t realize it, even when he was far too unaware of true love for his own good.

He releases your hands in favor of enveloping you in his arms, your own wrapping around his neck. Any bit of jealousy, no matter how trivial and insignificant it may have been had since dissolved as he lifted you off your feet and spun you. The sheer adoration beaming bright on his face went unseen in the close proximity, your laughter filling the empty shop as his lips trailed from your cheek to the corner of your jaw. His breath was warm and broken against your skin as he laughed softly against it, the mere feeling sending a shiver to run through you.

His hair dipped over his forehead when he found it in him to pull from you, the platinum nearly mingling with his lashes. The look in his eyes, the way they sparkled pale blue and loving was a look far different than the one given to you more than a few moments prior. It just might’ve spoken his feelings more intensely than speaking those very three words aloud to you, it’s loving intensity something he never believed he’d be capable of holding for something, to be capable of having. Yet he’s got it all the same.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know,” you say, smile bright as you run your thumb over his kiss swollen lip and to the pale scarlet dusting his cheeks.

“I don’t believe I ever said I was jealous, darling,” he defends, your smile widening as you reluctantly slip from his arms to retrieve your coat from its hook on the wall. He’d missed the feeling of you so close already, his hand only having just now fallen back to his side only briefly as he watches after you in awe.

“Didn’t have to,” you quip lightheartedly, returning to him to lean on your tiptoes and kiss him sweetly. “You’re terribly obvious, Malfoy.”

He didn’t find it in him to form any sort of witty remark to say, he couldn’t, not with the way your kisses left him breathless and more lovestruck with each passing second. He barely even notices when you grab his hand, switching off each and every lamp in the shop with a simple flick of your finger before tugging him out the door. When the lock clicks behind you, you set off down the cracked sidewalk, the sun dipping deeper in the sky.

“Love?” He asks, hand squeezing yours as he keeps you close.

“Yeah?”

“Since when does he read Shakespeare anyway?” He frowns, brows furrowed to accompany his grumbling as he looks ahead.

You only laugh and lean up to press a kiss on his cheek, the near tumble you almost took from your distraction far too worth it to be embarrassed. Not to mention the smile on his lips. In that moment, you were right where you wanted to be. Hand in hand with the true love of your life as you walk back to your very own home. That was all you needed.

“I love you,” you murmur, “more than anything.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, his heart fluttering. “I love you, more than everything.”

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @lunalovecroft @writeroutoftime @lilypad-55449

[robininthelabyrinth]

Polyphonic - ao3 or tumblr pt 1

“Meet me on the Qiongqi Path if you want to talk,” the return letter from Wei Wuxian said, cold and distant, and so Lan Qiren went, grumbling the entire time.

He was far too old for this sort of nonsense. For all that his sword was named after the soaring of the heart, a memento of all his lost dreams, he didn’t actually fly on Xinfei all that much – after all, he was not a traveler, he did not go places. He remained home.

But for his nephew’s sake…

Lan Qiren did not take anyone with him when he went, not wanting to burden anyone else with his worries and concerns and unwilling to share them; instead, he took only his sword and his guqin on his back, as if he were Lan Wangji going out on a night-hunt.

It occurred to him as he flew towards the Qiongqi Path that that probably meant that his opinion on Wei Wuxian was not so dire as all that. It was nowhere within his expectations that Wei Wuxian would attack him, as if he were some sort of ravening dog. Lan Qiren knew himself well enough to know that if he truly thought that of Wei Wuxian, he wouldn’t have asked him for help in the first place.

That still didn’t mean he thought it was a good idea for Lan Wangji to associate with him.

Nor did it mean he had to make things easy for him.

“Wei Wuxian,” he bellowed in his best disappointed teacher’s voice when he saw the man, dropping lightly from the sky as he did, and had the pleasure of seeing the Yiling Patriarch jump a chi into the air and try to hide behind his Ghost General. Who then also attempted to hide behind him, leading to a rather amusing panicked shoving match of juvenile desperation to get away from an imminent scolding.

It was complimentary, if a little ridiculous. If either of them wanted to hurt him, he’d be dead so quickly that he wouldn’t even know what killed him.

“I see that I failed to teach you etiquette as well as ethics,” Lan Qiren said ponderously, accompanying his words with one of his better glares and waving the letter he had received at Wei Wuxian – he’d been shoved out in front after all. “Is this all the respect you think I am due as your teacher? A single sentence without any salutation? Summoning me to come to your side like a lapdog?”

“I didn’t think the letter was really from you!” Wei Wuxian squeaked. To judge by his expression, it appeared that he was in fact acquainted with shame, only that it had been a long time and the acquaintance had been very slight. “I thought – a prank – someone mimicking your signature –”

“Oh, we’re in trouble now,” the Ghost General murmured in a voice so soft it might have been missed, if only Lan Qiren’s ears were not quite so sharp.

Sharp enough, in fact, to hear how Wei Wuxian’s song, always a spritely thing, had grown a little slower, a little more sober, but not nearly as twisted and disharmonious as he would have expected from the stories he had heard about him. Wei Wuxian’s heart still sang free and clear, idealistic and well-meaning even if he was a little too wild, and Lan Qiren was reassured that he had come to the right person.

Wei Wuxian might be a bit of a madman, choosing demonic cultivation and defying the cultivation world as he did, making all the terrible choices that he had, but he was still a good person.

He would help.

The Ghost General, on the other hand, was in turns soft and gentle and rough and discordant, the rippling flow of his melody torn through with harsh and jagged trills like a clenching bleeding hand dragged along guqin strings, like a dying breath choked into a qiao, thick with the resentment of the unquiet dead – Lan Qiren would have to keep an eye on him.

Some classes on the subject of restraint and moderation would not go amiss, he thought, falling instinctively into analysis. That would help bring together the two sides of that personality, to soften the vicious rage and strengthen the too-weak tune…

Lan Qiren huffed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. It was too easy to slide back into the role of teacher, no matter how strange the environs – it had been a long time since he had left home, he thought, even for a night-hunt, and old habits were difficult to abandon. This trip, barely started, was already wearing on him.

He flicked his sleeve, folding his hands behind him, and began to walk in the direction of Lanling.

“Wait, your letter…did you say you wanted my help with something?” Wei Wuxian asked, his eyes wide as saucers as he hurried to catch up and fall into step behind him. “I…me? Really?”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said. “The concern is of a musical nature, and there are reasons I could not ask Wangji. You are an excellent musical cultivator. Will you assist?”

“Of course, teacher,” Wei Wuxian said automatically, and Lan Qiren smiled, pleased. “A teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime – it’s the least I can do. Only, uh, as I’m sure you know, that is…my reputation…”

“I’m aware of it.”

“Then you see why I thought your letter was a fake, don’t you? If I go to Gusu, who knows how they’d respond to seeing me – no, I do know, I know exactly what would happen. They’d lock me up!”

“Not if you were my guest,” Lan Qiren said firmly. He had that much influence in the sect, he thought, after all those years of faithful service – and in the end if they did refuse to give him any face and insist on locking Wei Wuxian up, what then? Who would they turn to in order to find the music that might heal him from his purported madness, if not Lan Qiren himself? “I would ensure that you would be free to leave as you wished.”

“Even if it’s Hanguang-jun that wants to force me to stay?” Wei Wuxian asked, a challenge in his voice.

“Have you ever heard of He Kexin?” Lan Qiren asked, and Wei Wuxian blinked and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have expected you to. A criminal of my generation, guilty of the premeditated murder of an honored teacher of the Lan sect and sentenced to indefinite confinement within the Cloud Recesses. She ultimately died when Wangji was quite young, and it affected him deeply – if you think he would force you to stay anywhere against your wishes, you have fundamentally misunderstood my nephew.”

Wei Wuxian was silent for a moment, absorbing that, and then said, “Premeditated murder of an honored teacher, huh? Is that a warning for me?”

“Is that a serious question, or are you merely curious to know if you are too old for me to smack you?” Lan Qiren asked, frowning. “The answer in either case is no.”

The Ghost General’s sleeves were all in tatters, but that didn’t stop him from trying to use them to muffle his laughter. He seemed to be enjoying his master’s misfortune.

Assuming Wei Wuxian actually was his master. There was definitely a bond of some sort there between the two of them, more intertwined than friends, less harmonious than lovers, not as echoing as that between swordsman and his spiritual weapon; Lan Qiren couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A friendship underpinned by life debts running both ways, perhaps.

Lan Qiren was unable to resist: he turned abruptly and pinned the Ghost General with a dour look. “Would you like to contribute to this discussion?”

Fierce corpses could not pale, but it seemed that they could make a facial expression that suggested they had. “No, honored teacher,” the Ghost General said, stuttering a little. “Sorry, honored teacher.”

He had once been a poor student, Lan Qiren concluded, and had the fear of teachers firmly implanted in him.

“Hmm,” he said, and then, because he could, “Name the three most commonly encountered types of ghosts.”

The Ghost General looked like he was about to faint. “I – I – I wasn’t expecting a quiz –”

“…are you teasing him?” Wei Wuxian asked, looking a bit like he was going to faint himself.

Lan Qiren shook his head, because he wasn’t, not really – or perhaps more accurately, not entirely. It was certainly part of the reason, but there was more to it than that.

Poor students often had preconceived notions of what teachers were like and were so concerned with their fears that they were unable to focus on the facts before them. In such cases, it was better to give into their assumptions in the first instance, scaring them but also showing them that their fears were insubstantial and could not harm them – for instance, that the dreaded pop quiz would not actually cause them any trouble even if they should fail to answer. Only then was it finally possible to shift over into the actual business of educating them.

It was also, admittedly, rather fun.

“I would be willing to take you as a student,” he said to the Ghost General, whose jaw dropped. “When the present business is done, and if Wei Wuxian can spare you. It would be to your benefit.”

“I – I – I –”

“Perhaps we should table the discussion for now,” Wei Wuxian said quickly, blinking rapidly as if he were attempting to wake himself from a dream. “Honored teacher, what is it that you want me to help with? You said the problem you were having is musical in nature?” His eyes brightened. “An ancient treatise, perhaps..?”

“An investigation,” Lan Qiren said, but noted to himself that it seemed that Wei Wuxian enjoyed the prospect of abstract research. Perhaps they could encourage him to do that instead of whatever it was he was doing with demonic cultivation – it wouldn’t make him an acceptable match for Lan Wangji, but in the event Lan Wangji lost all reason and insisted on the match the way his father had, it might be a good way to blunt Wei Wuxian’s edges and make him more acceptable to the rest of the world. It was much more difficult to be afraid of an eccentric academic than a slaughtering war machine.

Not that Lan Qiren would be conceding defeat so easily, mind you.

“An investigation? Really? Regarding what?”

“Attempted murder,” Lan Qiren said.

“Attempted –” Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped. “You said it was a musical issue!”

“It is.” Lan Qiren heard the whisper of distant bells, small and tinkling, and stopped walking with a frown.

Swordsmen flying in formation? Here? In this deserted place, where people came only to pass through?

“Did you arrange to meet anyone else?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who frowned in turn.

“Anyone else? No, of course not,” he said. “I mean, even with you, I wasn’t actually expecting someone to show up –”

The Ghost General abruptly moved, a burst of action, and caught an arrow headed straight for Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“Wei Wuxian!” someone roared, and Lan Qiren frowned: now that was an unpleasant sound. Self-absorbed and haughty, as many were, but without valor or etiquette or even courtesy to mitigate it; the dull and vapid piping sound of someone who bullied the weak but feared the strong, and worsened by an underlying sound of something like a guqin string breaking off while playing. The latter wasn’t a personality defect, but an external cause – but what could cause something like that?

The individual in question, it turned out, was Jin Zixun, he noted, his frown deepening. Jin Guangshan’s nephew, yet not one who had been sent to the Cloud Recesses for Lan Qiren to smarten up, whether due to bad timing or his own disinterest. He hadn’t much liked the boy during the few times he had encountered him at discussion conferences, and seeing him for the first time in a while, he didn’t think much of the man he’d become, either.

Jin Zixun was accompanied by a moderately large retinue of Jin retainers, as well as representatives from some other sects, although no major ones. Mostly ones affiliated with the Jin, from what he recalled.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jin Zixun shouted again, and Wei Wuxian was about to speak, an impertinent smirk curling onto his lips. He stopped when Lan Qiren waved him silent. “Lift the curse you’ve placed on me right now and maybe I’ll let you off!”

A curse? That would explain the sound of the breaking guqin string, the external music that did not fit, but of course Wei Wuxian was a flutist, not a guqin player; it wouldn’t have been his work.

(Truly, even though there was no rule that said ‘let stupid men speak freely and you will learn everything you wish to know’, there probably ought to be.)

“What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian asked, looking bored. “What curse?”

“You’re still pretending you don’t know? Look at this! Look what you’ve done to me!”

Jin Zixun pulled open his shirt, revealing his chest, and Lan Qiren’s lip curled in disgusted.

The Hundred Holes curse – that was an interesting choice. That required a particular type of bitterness to cast, being both nasty, brutal and slow in a way suggestive of a personal grudge and yet, to not inform the victim of who was the caster? That was distant, anonymous, faceless. Impersonal.

Wei Wuxian denied casting the curse, naturally, and Jin Zixun began threatening to kill him, telling him he wasn’t welcome at Jin Ling’s first month celebration, and now Wei Wuixan looked enraged, was reaching for his flute –

“Enough!” Lan Qiren thundered, and everyone turned to look at him. Jin Zixun mouthed his name in shock, clearly not having noticed him before in his singular focus on Wei Wuxian. “You have presented no proof of Wei Wuxian’s ill intent towards you, nor are you in charge of the invitations to the event in question. You will either produce your proof at once, or else retreat.”

Jin Zixun did neither, unsurprisingly. “What proof do I need?! No one else has such as vicious character as he, and everyone knows that we confronted each other! He hates me! Who else would it be but him?”

“If he wished to kill you, why would he use an anonymous curse rather than simply tear you to pieces with a fierce corpse or summon ghosts to harass you, the way he killed throughout the Sunshot Campaign?” Lan Qiren demanded, irritated as much by the stupidity on display as by the delay. “You cannot kill a man simply based on an assumption of which you are unsure.”

“I am sure! And the proof will be in the act. Once he dies, the curse will lift!” Jin Zixun suddenly grinned, teeth glinting. “And if we’re asking questions, I have one myself: why are you here, honored teacher? Here in the middle of nowhere, without anyone else from the Lan sect beside you – one might almost think that you were conspiring…”

Lan Qiren scoffed.

“For someone as upright and righteous as the honored Teacher Lan to speak in the Yiling Patriarch’s defense is impossible,” one of the retainers shouted. “He’s been bewitched! Wei Wuxian lured him here to kill him!”

“Ridiculous!” Lan Qiren spat.

“Give us one good reason why you’re here, then!” Jin Zixun demanded. “If you’re not here to meet Wei Wuxian!”

“Of course I’m here to meet Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said impatiently, flicking his sleeve and thinking that he would need to have a talk with Jin Guangshan regarding his nephew’s insolence. He would not tolerate such blatant disrespect. “I wrote him a letter inviting him to the Cloud Recesses so that I could discuss some matters with him, and he responded by setting this as the meeting place instead. I agreed, and so came here.”

“What matters would you need to discuss with him?” one of the other cultivators demanded – one of the Ouyang collateral branch that had split from the main family in the previous generation, it looked like, probably out to try to steal some glory. “Honored Teacher Lan, you must explain yourself!”

Oh, Lan Qiren would be having a talk with several people over this.

Still, as much as he would like to stand on his dignity and refuse to answer, that would only lead to more questions. It would inflame tempers and exacerbate the situation, turning this stupid little dispute into the horrible dissonant cacophony of battle.

“Among other matters, I intended to dissuade him from pursuing a marriage with one of my sect,” he said, raising his chin. The Wall of Discipline said Do not tell lies, but a lifetime of practicing the sort of diplomacy necessary to run a sect had taught him that Do not use frivolous words was an adequate counter: sometimes, the best way to avoid an uncomfortable situation was to tell only the relevant part of the truth.

Or, as the rules put it: Speak meagerly, for excess words will only bring harm.

These wastrels did not need to know about the investigation, confidential as it was, and so he could share the portion of his intended discussion which was not.

Several of the crowd were gaping at him, Jin Zixun included, and Wei Wuxian beside him said in a strangled voice, “Marriage?”

“I was going to raise it with you before we were interrupted,” Lan Qiren told him. “I mean no insult by it, but I truly do not believe you to be an appropriate match.”

Wei Wuxian nodded dumbly.

“This is ridiculous,” Jin Zixun suddenly snapped, interjecting himself into the conversation, such as it was. “Lies, all of it, and you think we’d believe – mm!”

He clutched at his face, presumably appalled at being silenced as if it wasn’t exactly what he deserved for such an affront. Except of course he couldn’t leave it at that, gesturing wildly, and all the Jin retainers began to move, pulling out their swords and lifting their bows in readiness.

Wei Wuxian put Chenqing to his lips and issued a single drawn-out note.

Nothing happened.

“They cleared the path of any corpses,” Wei Wuxian hissed, his eyes suddenly reddening with rage. “This was prepared in advance. An ambush! They were never going to let me go to Jin Ling’s first month ceremony…Wen Ning, I’m going to need to use you. Ready, on my count, and – mm!”

Lan Qiren had silenced him as well.

“You will do no such thing,” he said icily, thinking to himself that perhaps he really ought to have insisted on keeping Wei Wuxian at the Cloud Recesses for longer than he had, despite the boy’s disastrous brand of nonsense. It was as if he had never heard of consequences – if Wei Wuxian so much as raised a blade to a single one of these men, the Jin sect would be calling for his head. Forget setting the Ghost General on them! “I will handle this.”

“You?” the Ghost General blurted out. “But - honored teacher…”

Lan Qiren was not, had never been, much of a fighter. He had been confined to the Cloud Recesses in his youth due to being sickly, and in his adulthood due to his brother’s choices; his experience was limited and insufficient. He had lifted both blade and guqin against the Wen sect when they came to burn his home, doing what little he could, and they had beaten him so badly that his heart and lungs had been permanently injured - to this day, he coughed up blood if he became overly emotional, and over-straining himself could lead him to start bleeding from all the qiqiao.

The doctors had warned him that it was not a wound that would ever be likely to heal.

And yet – as the rules of his sect said – with a strong will, anything can be achieved.

Lan Qiren drew his guqin in a single practiced motion and put his hand on the strings.

“Do you intend to fight me?” he asked, listening to the clamor of music from the hearts of the men in front of him. The ones with truly martial or aggressive beats were few and far between: if he needed to, he would target them first, and without their informal leaders, the resolve of the remainder would crumble, and they would flee.

But – he did not think he would need to.

“You can’t attack the honored Teacher Lan!” the Ghost General cried out, clearly appalled by the very thought of it. “You can’t – you just can’t!”

Lan Qiren looked at the young men in front of him, many of whom were frozen in indecision.

“Wei Wuxian may be a rogue cultivator, without even his corpses to aid him,” he reminded them. “But I represent the Lan sect, and it stands behind me. If you attack me now, even if you were to succeed and kill me, there would be an investigation; if there is an investigation, your actions will be discovered; if your actions are discovered, my Lan sect will demand vengeance from which not one of you will escape. You, and your families as well. Or do you believe that my Lan sect will not go to war for me?”

And not only the Lan sect. Lan Qiren might not be much of a fighter, he might never had become the traveling musician he had once dreamed of being, but he was a teacher – a teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime, and his students were scattered throughout the sects, throughout the cultivation world.

Perhaps some of them would stand by in silence, disregarding their filial duty to laugh at his demise.

More, he thought, would raise up their swords for him.

It seemed the Jin retainers thought the same, because no matter how violently Jin Zixun gestured, they did not make any move to attack.

“What’s going on here?!” another voice came at that moment, the low qiao of the steadfast lover – Jin Zixuan, settled at last, grown up and happy. Well, usually happy; at the moment he was clearly horrified. “Are you – are you attacking honored Teacher Lan?! What is wrong with you all? Are you trying to start another war?!”

“They came to ambush Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said, not putting away his guqin just yet. “I was under the impression he was your invited guest, Jin-gongzi. Was that incorrect?”

“It is not,” Jin Zixuan said, and he knocked aside the flailing Jin Zixun’s hand, the one with the sword. “He is invited, and A-Li is waiting for him at Jinlin Tower right now. I knew nothing about any of this – Wei Wuxian, forgive my cousin, and forgive me for not having realized that he’d do something like this. I will make it up to you when we get back home, I promise.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth worked briefly, and Lan Qiren snapped the silencing spell he’d put on him with a thought.

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian said, shooting him a look that seemed to contain questions. Lan Qiren assumed the questions related to his judgment of Jin Zixuan’s sincerity, and so he nodded his approval. “It’s – uh – fine, I suppose? It’s not like he succeeded even he did plan this out in advance, even going so far as to get rid of all the corpses to try to trap me…but know this! If honored Teacher Lan wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be nearly so forgiving!”

Or mute. Wei Wuxian had a mouth made for provoking people, just like his mother…why in the world did Lan Wangji have to like him so much?

“Of course,” Jin Zixuan said quickly. “Honored Teacher Lan, you will also come with us, won’t you? You can complete your conversation with Wei Wuxian at Jinlin Tower, and I’m certain your nephews will be pleased to see you…”

Lan Qiren huffed. “I am not so old and doddering as to need to be watched at every moment,” he said, knowing his tone betrayed his tetchiness – all entirely unfeigned, but it would still be helpful if everyone thought that his solo excursion had been merely a symptom of irritation at how he’d been incessantly pestered in his slow recovery. “Very well, we will return with you. Someone will need to carry Wei Wuxian and his ghost general, however, as I note that he has once again failed to bring his sword.”

“I didn’t think I’d need it,” Wei Wuxian drawled. “It seemed an odd accoutrement for a first moon party, but then again perhaps I should have anticipated the ambush?”

Jin Zixuan looked around, realizing that the only people here that could perform the escort were either himself and Lan Qiren or else participants in the ambush. “Honored Teacher Lan,” he said, looking a little panicked. “Forgive my impertinence, but could I ask you…?”

“I’ll ride with honored Teacher Lan,” Wei Wuxian announced, his tone grandiose and extremely irritating. Arrogant little brat. “Provided that you take Wen Ning, Jin-gongzi. After all, honored Teacher Lan still needs to talk to me about how he doesn’t want me to marry someone from his sect.”

Lan Qiren sighed. “It’s for your own good as well, you know,” he told Wei Wuxian even as Jin Zixuan attempted to swallow his own tongue in shock. “Our sect follows our sect rules no matter where we are, marrying in or out, and do so for our whole lives. Is that something you would be willing to tolerate?”

Wei Wuxian grinned at him, his expression – and the cheerful crescendos and upbeat lilt of his song, very nearly back to being as lively as they had been in his youth – suggesting that he was not as dissuaded as might have been hoped.

A few more moments and they all rearranged themselves, taking to the air. It was a little strange: the Ghost General, Wen Ning, rode in front of Jin Zixuan in the more vulnerable position, and because he was nearly the same height as Jin Zixuan their heads kept knocking together by accident, while Lan Qiren pointedly took the lead position as well. A sign of trust, and also recognition that he was a half-head shorter than his erstwhile student.

As they flew through the air, Wei Wuxian put his chin on Lan Qiren’s shoulder. “And there’s also that attempted murder you want me to help you with,” he murmured, voice low. “Reputation or not, ability or not, I will help you as much as I can, honored Teacher Lan, however I can…anything I can do, I will do. Thank you for trusting in me.”

Lan Qiren snorted. “What are you talking about?”

“The curse on Jin Zixun. You didn’t believe him when he said I did it.”

“That’s not trust, but logic,” Lan Qiren said scornfully. “The person who sent that curse plays the guqin, not the flute. How could it have been you?”

It was strange, though. A curse, spiritual poison, and both by guqin players – it was not an uncommon instrument to use, but to wield it with such skill that the instrument became an innate part of the player’s residual spiritual qi, the way the Lan sect taught its disciples to do…?

Lan Xichen didn’t like Lan Wangji’s crush on Wei Wuxian any more than Lan Qiren did, he thought to himself, even if he had encouraged it in their youth – but that had been before Wei Wuxian had turned to his dark and crooked path, and before Lan Wangji had demonstrated signs that he was unwilling to turn away from him despite it. Even more than Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen feared his brother following in their father’s footsteps, in damning himself for a lover who didn’t deserve him, feared that Wei Wuxian would shatter his beloved Lan Wangji’s fragile heart into a million pieces and more…

Still, a curse? The Hundred Holes, no less? His nephew?

A few days earlier, Lan Qiren would have said it was impossible. But then, a few days earlier, he would have said that it would be impossible for Lan Xichen’s lover to be poisoned through a spiritual song that, as far as Lan Qiren knew, only Lan Xichen and those he had personally trained had ever used on him.

Lan Qiren did not understand, and what little he did, he didn’t like.

Still, he had the marginal satisfaction that his initial mission had been accomplished, however uncomfortable the journey might have been – Wei Wuxian had agreed to assist him in his investigation. If he could only get the man alone long enough to explain the issue, they could even start looking into it at once, at the first month party in Jinlin Tower, which everyone in the cultivation world would attend.

They would discover the truth.

And when they did…

Let it not be Xichen, Lan Qiren thought. Let it be anyone else, no matter what – just not him.

I don’t know what I’d do if it were him.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Angel’s Touch (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my long overdue contribution to @rosepetals-flyingbirds‘ challenge. I’m sorry it took me so long, babe 💖 I’ve been going through a lot lately (including the loss of a loved one) and I wasn’t in the mood to write 😔

The prompt, as usual, is in bold.

Thanks to the lovely @geekandbooknerd for beta reading this for me 🌺

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

The gif belongs to @therealcalicali 💐

Summary: Ivar's always been very secretive when it comes to his legs. How is he going to react when you tell him you want to know all of him?

Warnings: angst; fluff at the end; Ivar’s insecurities; soft and vulnerable Ivar.

Words: 4600

"I'm coming!" you shout enthusiastically, wrapping a soft towel around your body before closing the bathroom door behind you. 

 Wincing at your words, Ivar hastily hides his legs under the comforter. "That was a close one…", he mumbles while breathing a sigh of relief. Deep down, he knows he's not doing the right thing. Avoiding the problem will not make it go away.

 He can't help himself, though. He still has nightmares about that awful night with Margrethe. It was years ago, yet memories of her disgusted look as well as her eyes full of pity still haunt his nights, vivid and humiliating. 

He doesn't want to go through that again. It would be unbearable and painful, much worse than the dull ache he's used to enduring every day. No, he definitely can't relive it. Shuddering at this thought, Ivar squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists tight. 

 He won't allow it. He can't. Because he's not sure he can get over it again. After Margrethe, he had been broken – more broken than his broken bones – for so long. It had taken him years of therapy to stop being disgusted by himself, to stop hating himself for what he was. A freak. It had taken him years to endure looking at himself in a mirror. And it had taken him years to imagine sharing a bed with a woman again. 

 Oh, of course, he had fucked every so often. He needed it after the complete fiasco with Margrethe. He had to prove himself that he could… But it had always been in a hurry, and with random, uninteresting women. Till you…

 You. You're not random, and definitely not uninteresting. You're beautiful and smart, patient and funny, warmhearted and caring but never overbearing. You're… perfect, he thinks, and it scares him as much as it makes him shiver with excitement. On top of that, so far you don't seem bothered by his legs and he wants to keep it that way. 

 His legs. His fucking legs. The averted elephant in the room. Well, averted… more or less. Because if you've never seen them, you know the braces, the crutches, the uneven gait and he's pretty sure you've figured out his pain. But you two never talk about them. He knows that you understood from the beginning that they were, they are a major issue for him. You're smart enough for that. 

 Yet, you never bring them up and he couldn't be more grateful. He's very aware that he can't keep going like this for long. But he doesn't know how to address what is, to him, a huge matter of concern. He's afraid you'll go away as soon as you realize how damaged his legs are, how crippled he really is. He doesn't want to lose you. He can't. That would be insufferable. And he knows exactly why. It's not just that he likes you, that sex is great, and that you're fun to be around, no… He's helplessly falling in love with you. It may be terrifying, but it's no less true.

 That's why he does what he does. That's why he's always hurrying up, hiding, avoiding. It doesn't matter if it leads sometimes to awkward situations. It doesn't matter if you're not fooled. All that matters is that you don't see his legs; not for a long time anyway; and most preferably never.

 Inhaling deeply, Ivar slips his hands under the comforter, rubs his scrawny, bony, twisted thighs, feeling their scarred skin and grunting in disgust. He knows he's wrong, he knows he's not going anywhere, but he can't help. He can't risk losing you. 

 ***

 More sad than irritated, you hardly stifle a sigh as you enter the room. Once again, Ivar is unsurprisingly already in bed, his fluffy comforter keeping his legs out of sight. 

 His legs… A fucking huge elephant in the room… It's amazing – not in a good way – how something that's never addressed can take up so much space.  

 The truth is, you know a lot about them. Being a son of Ragnar, the man who rules Scandinavia – at least economically but surely politically too, with friends in the right places and enough money to corrupt them – didn't allow Ivar to grow up in the shadow. Ivar's life therefore has always been on display, making headlines more often than not. So you know about his disease and its inherent struggles, about the surgeries and about the pain – well, now you even witness it sometimes, and the way he always tries to hide it is heartwrenching. 

 You know more than you'd like to since you even know about his supposed failing sex life, that bitch whose name you've long forgotten having told her story to everyone around. It doesn't matter though, as you can testify that Ivar's cock is far from dysfunctional. 

 Anyway, if you know a lot – truths or lies – about his condition and about his legs, you don't know them. And you're aware it has to change. You just don't know how. You can't be too straightforward or Ivar will close up on you. Yet you can't let things go on like this for too long, because it's unhealthy. And an unhealthy relationship with Ivar is the last thing you want, both for his and your sake. 

 Somehow always in your mind, his legs make things awkward. Sex is great, but could even be better, for they prevent you from being spontaneous. The last thing you want is to make Ivar, the man you're falling in love with, uncomfortable. So, you don't speak about them because you can feel he doesn't want to speak about them. You don't look at them because his tight jaw is unmistakable each time your eyes wander to his lower body. You do your best never to touch them, which isn't easy when you share his bed. In short, most of the time you act as if they don't exist. And this has got to stop. 

 You can't let this unspoken thing continue to grow between the two of you or it will end up becoming a problem that will eat you up, you do know it with utmost certainty. You won't allow it. You can't. Ivar is important to you, to say the least, and you're pretty sure he reciprocates your feelings. You see it in his huge blue eyes that sparkle each time he looks at you; you hear it in the softness of his tone each time he talks to you. 

 So yeah, the whole situation annoys you. It doesn't mean that his legs annoy you. They don't. You won't lie, you're a little nervous about them. How could you not, given how sensitive a subject they are? Will you say the right thing? Do the right thing? Will you hurt Ivar unwillingly? Just thinking about it, about them, makes you feel like you're walking on eggshells. Ivar is being very touchy when it comes to them, to those-legs-we-mustn't-talk-about, it seems to you that the slightest word could ruin everything. And you don't want that. Gods, you don't. Yet, you're not sure how to handle well something that important.

  That's the point. His legs are that important. They shouldn't be. They shouldn't matter. They don't matter. Of course, you're not stupid. Ivar has a disability, there's no denying it. But it doesn't define him, right? What defines him is his outstanding intelligence, his sharp mind, and his deadpan, ironic humour. And well, if you're being honest, his ridiculous handsomeness too… It might sound shallow, but… who cares?  

 Anyway, enough is enough. Things must change and you're sure Ivar won't be the one initiating the change. It leaves you no choice, you know it. Your heart hammering in your chest, you rub your sweaty palms together before inhaling deeply. That's it. Let it be done. The sooner the better.  

 ***

 "Are you not coming?" Ivar's blue eyes are scrutinizing you from under furrowed brows as you scrabble around in your small overnight bag, as an idea has just popped into your head.

 Glancing at him over your shoulder, you barely nod while swallowing the lump in your throat. "Of course I am, give me a minute." You reply after a while, sounding more confident than you feel. But you know it's a good idea. It could be the first step. It could work. It has to work. 

 Your hands are shaking but your heart is filled with hope when you eventually find what you were looking for. "Here it is.", you mutter, a tentative smile playing on your lips as you turn towards your lover, who looks at the silk scarf in your hand with a mischievous grin. 

 "What is it on your naughty mind?" He asks playfully, tilting his head in his very own way, the one that melts your heart each and every time. "You want to blindfold me, Y/N?" His low, deep voice sends shivers down your spine. "Or maybe you'd rather be blindfolded? It's up to you, I'm totally on board with either one." He swallows heavily, and when he licks his upper lip and then the lower in a slow-moving and sensual motion, a familiar warmth spreads in your lower belly. 

  Of course, he had to misread the situation. And you, you're so easily, pathetically flustered! Closing your eyes to push away any distracting thoughts, you inhale deeply while just shaking your head no as you don't trust yourself to speak right now. 

 Raising a brow, Ivar gives you a questioning look. "So, what is it about, then?" His tone is more serious now, you can almost feel a hint of uneasiness in his voice as if a part of his brain already suspects what's in your mind. 

 "Actually, I want to be blindfolded, but not to do what you're thinking about." You explain, shyly lowering your gaze. "I'd like to try something." You speak in a whisper but with honesty, fidgeting with the little silver Mjölnir – a gift from Ivar – you wear around your neck. "If it's okay with you." You add, your shaky voice giving away your nervousness. 

 Confused, Ivar looks at you with knitted brows. Since you don't want to explain further – because you're sure that if you told him of your plan, he would deny you – you just climb on the bed, kneel next to him and bring the scarf to your face, wrapping it around your head and over your eyes before tying it in the back with a tight knot. 

 Being blinded like that, even if it's of your own volition, is quite unsettling, you must say. You feel weirdly exposed, vulnerable, in your tiny shorts and a tank top and you have to inhale and exhale slowly several times in order to calm your nerves. 

 Uncertain, Ivar keeps quiet, his breathing just a little bit shorter than usual. "Y/N?" His hesitant voice startles you and you swallow, biting your inner cheek. 

 You know you have to take action, the sooner the better. So you fumble blindly on the bed and as you find Ivar's hand, you bring it to your mouth, kissing each knuckle one after the other while your free hand slips under the comforter. 

 His breath hitches, yet Ivar doesn't react, doesn't stop you, as you slowly lift the comforter, pulling it away. But when your fingers graze what you think is his thigh, he grabs your wrist, wrapping his fingers around it. 

 "What…" Ivar stutters, his grip tight enough to bruise your delicate skin, "… What are you doing, Y/N?" His voice, barely audible, is nothing more than a shaky whisper that wrings your heart. 

 Yet, you won't back down. "Let me, Ivar, please…" You beg softly, but to no avail. Ivar rushes his words, panic coursing through his veins. "Stop Y/N! Don't, please don't, I… They are… They are ugly. I… I can't." That's it. He can't. Just thinking of you exposing his disgusting legs, he feels like throwing up. He can't. 

 Hearing your lover so upset, and maybe even close to tears, is heartbreaking. Raising your free hand, you find his arm, then his shoulder, his neck, and finally his face, which you cup tenderly. 

 "You do know I won't see them, don't you?" You ask carefully, peppering light kisses along his jaw while trying to slow down the frantic pace of your own heart. 

 Ivar doesn't miss a beat, pushing you away gently but very firmly. "You don't need your sight to feel how hideous they are." Almost convinced to give up by his broken voice, you struggle to keep in mind that postponing the problem can't be a solution. 

 "That's what you think about them, how you see them, Ivar, that's not what they are." Your tone soft and soothing, you're trying to convey how much you care. "And it's certainly not how I'm going to see or to feel them."

 "How would you know?" You can tell that he shifts in the bed to sit upright, his back against the headboard. His fingers still around your wrist, you have to stifle a hiss of pain when he changes position. 

 "Because they are a part of you. Nothing from you, or about you, can be ugly." You wince, realizing that you've just opened up to him more than you would have liked. But well, speaking your mind isn't a bad thing, right? 

 As Ivar, dumbstruck, keeps quiet, you decide to strike the iron while it's hot. Once again finding his cheek, your thumb lightly strokes it while you speak. "Let me touch them, Ivar…"

 You know him well enough to be sure that right now, a storm is clouding his features. But as his breathing starts to quicken and as his grip on your wrist loosens, you understand that he's more frightened than angry. "Please…" You plead, aiming blindly a reassuring smile in his direction. 

 "But… Wh… Why?" He's never felt so scared, not even with Margrethe. Even if the rational part of him knows you're right, he won't give up yet, not without fighting. "Why… Why does it have to be? You don't need to touch those fucking…", swallowing, he closes his eyes briefly, "… you don't need to touch my legs, Y/N. You don't. We could just go on like this, as we have done up to now. Believe me, it will be better like that."

 "No, it won't." You sigh, shaking your head. Ivar's distress may break your heart, yet you're more and more convinced that this is the right thing to do. "Let me touch them, Ivar, please…" You simply repeat, your free hand still on his cheek.

 "Why… Why is it so important to you?" As soon as the words escape his lips, he regrets them, wishes he could take them back. He should have said no. Why didn't he say no? Slapping himself internally, he rolls his eyes, annoyed as much by his own stupidity as by your stubbornness. 

 You answer in a sweet whisper, placing your hand on his chest. He's sure you can feel the crazy thumping of his heart under your palm. "Because your legs are a part of you, and I want to know everything about you. Will you let me, Ivar?"

 Ivar, deeply moved by your words, is eager to believe them. But on the other hand, it's so… frightening; unsettling. Not used to being so vulnerable in front of someone, he feels like he's being ripped apart, and gods, he hates it! "I… I don't know… I'm… not sure…" He eventually stammers almost unwillingly, more or less denying you once more, yet his resolution starts to falter, and he knows you can hear it. 

 Even more surprising, it's as if his body betrayed him, his fingers finally releasing your wrist. As you gasp, astonished and pleased, he ponders for a few moments before deciding – if deciding something against what seems to be your own will is even a thing – he won't stop you. He knows he could, but he also knows you're right. So, conflicted and petrified with fear, he just waves his hand, wiggling his fingers, and mumbles under his breath a faint "go ahead" that you almost miss.

 "Is that a 'yes', Ivar?" Full of hope and with what you're sure is a beaming smile on your lips, you intertwine your fidgeting fingers and put your hands on your lap, anxiously awaiting his reply. 

 His jaw clenched, Ivar just nods. At first, he doesn't realize that you can't see him. As the silence drags on, he furrows his brows, confused, before breathing a hesitant answer. "Yeahhh…" Digging his fingernails into his palms, he waits for your next move, almost like someone awaiting a death sentence.

 Sensing his anxiousness, you raise your hands and then move them very slowly, willing to give Ivar time to stop you if he needs to. Since he doesn't utter a word nor grab your wrists, you keep going, your fingers grazing what surely is his lower belly before finding the hem of his cotton boxer shorts. 

 Intensely aware of the importance of the moment, you can't help but swallow loudly, your stomach tied in knots. You started all this, and even if you're still not sure if it's the right time – will there ever be a right time for this? – you have to keep going. But you're scared. What if it'll push Ivar over the edge? What if it is too much for him? What if you won't handle this as well as you think you will? You don't want to lose him. Your mind suddenly filled with doubts, you do the only thing you can think of, and send a silent prayer to the gods, hoping they can help the two of you. 

 Holding his breath, Ivar looks at your hands as if he was hypnotized. His eyes wide open, he can't move, can't speak, utterly terrified of what is to come. He knows he should trust you. Maybe he does. But he doesn't trust himself. No, that's not true. Most of the time, Ivar doesn't lack self-confidence. He knows his worth. He's aware of the strength of his intelligence, his cunning. He knows about his good looks – even if they're quite useless; or about his highly appreciated caustic humour. And as he's no fool, he knows that being a Ragnarsson – name, wealth, all the stuff – is a major asset. Yet, when it comes to his legs, he's nothing more than a frightened little boy, so anxious that he's ready to fall apart. Feeling ashamed, self-conscious, and helpless, he's wondering how much tenser he can become until he physically shatters. Conflicted, he wants you to stop as well as he wants you to keep going. This has to be done. This should never be done. He's in love with you. You will never love him. You won't hurt him. He'll be hurt once again. Hectic, opposing thoughts are constantly fighting in his mind, leaving him frozen in fear and panicked. So, since he can't think straight, he does the only thing he can think of and sends a silent prayer to the gods. May they help him; help you. 

 Uselessly closing your eyes behind the blindfold, you gather your strength. Ivar didn't stop you. That's good. That means he wants you to do it, right? Inhaling deeply, you try to stop the shaking in your hands, and then, slightly leaning forward, you let your fingertips run over his thighs, barely touching them. You forget how to breathe and Ivar is so still, so quiet, you think he's not breathing either. 

 As you become bolder, you place the flat of your hands on his legs, careful not to apply any pressure. Under your palms, you can feel every bump, every scar, every broken bone. Your movements intentionally agonizingly slow, your hands move down to his protruding knee caps before finding his atrophied calves, their wasted muscles evident to the touch. You can't think how painful walking, or even just standing up, must be. The thought spreads a dull ache in your chest, but you keep your face emotionless, aware that if you can't see him, Ivar can see you. Rather than dwelling on it, you continue exploring, and when your fingers brush against the sole of one of his misshaped, scrawny feet, Ivar flinches. "Sorry," you mumble, "I didn't know you were ticklish." Since Ivar doesn't react, you're not sure he heard you and decide to slowly move your hands up his legs, placing them back on his bony thighs. 

 Keeping his eyes on you the whole time, Ivar struggles to breathe, his heart pounding wildly in his rib cage. He's surprised, he must say. He expected to see disgust or pity on your face, but there's none of that. Of course, he can't see your eyes, but a small smile never leaves your lips. Could it be that you're not disgusted? In any case, you don't seem troubled by what you're feeling. Maybe you're hiding it, but if so, you're hiding it well. He's also surprised because he expected to hate every moment of the process. Himself, he's all the time trying to avoid touching his legs. He hates PT sessions and doctor's appointments with a passion for a reason. But your touch is… enjoyable if he can push away all his doubts and his awful thoughts. It strikes him all of a sudden: it's probably the first time someone touches his legs for no reason at all. They were regularly massaged, checked for injuries, examined, palpated; of course, they were. But there was always a medical reason. Even when his mother touched them, it was to ease the pain. But you… you decided to touch his ugly limbs just because you wanted to. And just now, he realizes how much he missed that. Can he really miss something he's never known? He's not sure, but here he is, enjoying your featherlike touch, craving it, not wanting it to stop. Yes, he likes it; needs it. But what if, after tonight, you don't want to touch them again? He wouldn't blame you, who would want to touch such repulsive things? The thought brings bile to his throat and he knows it won't stop plaguing his mind. So he has to know, whatever it takes. Moving for the first time, he runs a trembling hand through his hair and summons all his courage.

 "You… you didn't say a word." His quivering voice startles you, making your heart swell with sadness. You don't need your eyes to know that Ivar is filled with dread. The need to reassure him compels you to blindly fumble on the bed until you find his hand, which you grasp between yours. "What do you want me to say?" You ask cautiously, your thumb lightly stroking his knuckles. 

 You can feel Ivar stiffening, his fingernails probably bruising your palms as he lets out a shuddering breath. "I…" He stops to swallow. "The… truth, Y/N. Go ahead, speak your mind. You… you touched…" He stutters, and you're willing to bet his eyes are tightly shut, his tone giving away his level of anxiety. "… you touched them. My legs, I mean. I know… I know how they feel, ugly and disgusting… no need to sugarcoat your thoughts… I… I can handle the truth…" His voice cracks at the end, contradicting his words.

 Releasing his hand, you graze his right thigh with gentle fingers. "No, Ivar", you speak softly yet firmly, "that's not how they feel, at least not to me." You know you have to be honest, you can't just say nonsensical, lovey-dovey things, he won't buy it. "I won't tell you they feel beautiful. They don't." Choosing your words carefully, you let your pointer finger follow a massive scar from his mid-thigh to his knee. "They feel different, and yes, you can feel the scars. It must have been painful, it's probably still is. But I promise you, they're not disgusting. They're your legs. They say a lot, Ivar. They're telling a story, your story. That's why I wanted to know them because as I said earlier, I want to know all about you. And they are part of you. I do think they finally deserve to be cared about, to be loved. Let me love them…" You whisper the last words, feeling vulnerable. 'Let me love you…' is what you want to add, but you know you can't, not yet, so instead you lean forward, your lips brushing and then kissing his thigh.

 Something between a whine and a choked sob escapes his lips and you can hear his breath hitch as his hand gets up close to your neck. "Did I hurt you?" You ask with concern, frowning behind the blindfold. 

 Ivar can't help but smile, even if you can't see it. "No!" he replies quickly, his hand now on the back of your head. "I wasn't expecting that, the kiss I mean, but I… liked it." He explains shyly, surprised by his own words. "Actually, I loved it." He's not lying. He loved the kiss, he loved your words; it's as if a tremendous weight had just been lifted off of him. Part of him tells him not to believe everything you said, but he decides not to. He didn't hear any malice or mischief in your voice. He knows you were being genuine. That's why, choosing to chase the disbelief away, he decides to trust you completely. And that's why, suddenly, without warning, he pulls off the blindfold.

 "What are you doing, Ivar?" You squeak, immediately closing your eyes and picking up the comforter. But as you intend to cover his legs, Ivar grabs your wrists with both hands. "Just leave it where it is." He retorts before letting out a heavy sigh. "And open your eyes."

 You do as you're told, but keep your eyes on his face. There are tears in his eyes and a whirlwind of emotions. "Just look at them, Y/N." He almost commands you, but you know that's a way to hide his true feelings behind bravado. 

 Blinking a few times and scrunching your face, you tilt your head to the side, scrutinizing him. "Are you sure?"

 Your lover just shrugs, biting his lower lip. "Will I ever be?" Taking a deep breath, he adds in a murmur. "But I trust you."

 ***

 Later that night, as you're sound asleep, your head on his chest and his arm around your waist, Ivar can't get sleep, amazed that you didn't run away. He keeps replaying what you did when you saw his legs. You had just smiled. And kissed them one more time. And then thanked him for trusting you, for allowing you to love them. Moved and overwhelmed, he could see the matching tears in your eyes, but no sadness on your face. What he saw instead was relief, and care, and… love? 

 Kissing your head, he mumbles. "It is I who should be thanking you. I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you, but whatever it was, I'm glad. If angels are real, you're mine. I won't let you go, Y/N, never ever." 

 "I love you…" He finally whispers, taking advantage of your slumber. Well, little does he know you're awake but staying perfectly still. You know you weren't meant to hear those three words, not yet. And it doesn't matter. You can wait. You and Ivar have a lifetime to love each other. 

 All of him. All of you. 

🛡⚔️🛡

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