#anyway sort of proud of myself for finishing this

[weirdthingskid]

So I went ahead and made the parody with Olive, so here's the lyrics changed to fit everyone's favorite veteran snarker!

I imagine this is Olive talking to Otto about everything that stresses her. (Hence "give it to your partner")

I'm calling this Under the Oddness, you'll see why

I'm your partner, I'm not nervous I'm as tough as the crust of the Earth is Got the gadgets, squishinated Trustworthy, you can see how my face is...*beat* I don't ask about the cases Precincts don't have additional aces "Whatever's the problem", won't rest 'til I solve 'em I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded - but!

Under the surface, I feel stuck in a marathon runnin' forty-three full miles Under the surface, the Big O, was he ever like, "Yo, I don't want to take the files?" Under the surface, I know there's no freestyle if I don't pass the trials A flaw or a crack, the straw in the stack That breaks the camel's back, what breaks the camel's back? It's-

Oddness that'll drip, drip, drip and'll never stop, whoa Oddness that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa, oh, oh Give it to your partner, your partner's wiser Make her every single agent's advisor Who am I if we can't score the go-o-oal? Can't control, the-

Oddness like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa Oddness that'll a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa, oh, oh Give it to your partner, she's been here longer Always solving every oddity that crossed her Who am I if I can't carry it all? If I falter

Under the surface, I can't look back, but it jerks me, I worry the past is gonna hurt us Under the surface, the captain goes down, who's around to head without hassle? Under the surface, I think of the disasters, can we become forecasters? These things you've gotta face, the pieces out of place You try to stop the worsening, you're off in outer space

But wait, if I could shake the crushing weight of investigations Would that free some room up for fun, or relaxation, or taking time off? Just take your mind off of growing "oddstuff" Gets stranger, grows weirder 'Cause all we know is

Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa, oh, oh Give it to your partner, it doesn't hurt, and See if she can handle every spiraling burden Trapped, lost in a game of chess, yet doesn't guess *boom* no distress

Just oddness like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa Oddness like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa, oh, oh Give it to your partner, but don't surrender Face all our problems by sticking together Who are we - the team to always progress Don't yield, no mess No distress, we fight oddness!

[ananke-xiii]

Absence, that which never stops appearing.

Okay, I’ve reached the end of my series on resurrection and my personal goal (I’ve made it, yay!): this post will be about the impossible resurrection of Mary Winchester. It'll be long. Veeeery long and my mind has done all sorts of mortal somersaults to produce... *waves at all my yapping* all this.

I think I’ve said it before but I want to say it again: apart from the fact that this is just a personal interpretation of the role of resurrection in the late seasons of SPN, it’s also an interpretation coming from my own cultural background which I’m aware differs from the one the show came from. Part of my cultural background I’m referring to is my religious background, which is Roman Catholic. This means that I probably read a character named Mary in a different way compared to how other people read her or even to how she was… conceived. Apart from that, I’m also a learner of what’s generally considered “esoteric” or “occult” which are just fancy words but they do pertain to quite a vast array of fields knowledge. Obviously I use my own imagination and way of interpreting things but that doesn’t mean there’s no knowledge/research/study behind what I say. Maybe there are things that I interpret in a controversial way (true), or maybe there are things that I fail to understand or misinterpret. It could be. My knowledge is vast and not always deep and you definitely shouldn't fully trust me. As a matter of fact, I’m learning new things every day and every day my horizon broadens and my mind changes a little accordingly. As a lover of learning and a mind in search of poetry and beauty in a hard and mostly ugly world, I know I can't possibly be always right and I’m fine with that (okay, *in a squeaky voice* I’m working on it, *clenching my fists*).

Speaking of conception, I had this post prepared precisely to be posted on Dec 8th because this date marks the holiday of the Immaculate Conception here and I felt like doing a little myth-debunking, lol. In preparation of it, I wrote this without remembering that, perhaps, the concept of Immaculate Conception doesn’t even exist in other Christian denominations, it might mean something else or, most probably, there’s something I don’t know or I fail to see. So, obviously, I started doing some research but then I stopped, not because it’s not interesting to me, on the contrary! I have spent and will spend a considerable amount of time to the study of religions.

However, the research didn’t fit what I had in mind when I started my resurrection series. My idea was to give back a little because I feel like I’ve taken so much from so many intelligent minds on here. But I do have a tendency to consider gifts as a sort of moral duty where I have to prove worthy, lol (yeah, I know, I have a lot of issues, sorry). So this is what I have to give back, at least for now! My intensions were neither pure nor necessarily good but I do hope it’s close to enough!

So why can’t Mary be resurrected?

In “Absence” Mary’s resurrection fails but we don’t know if it fails because Mary’s body is “absent” (aka totally, utterly, irredeemably destroyed) or because Jack’s not in the right mental disposition to perform magic. I say that we don’t know because, according to Rowena, the Necromantiorum, the resurrection spell from the Book of the Damned, requires the body and the correct predisposition to perform powerful magic. In the absence of one and/or two of these “ingredients” she cannot guarantee what or, better, who will come back thanks to the spell. However, Jack does somehow manage to “re-form” Mary’s body but it’s… empty. It’s a body without organs incapable of holding life. In my fantasy, though, Jack would have been able to bring Mary back but someone interfered.

The premise of this whole series of mine was precisely this: the power of resurrection is a point of contention between Chuck and Jack (of which Jack’s not aware) because who holds this power has the divine ability of world creation/transformation. And Chuck wants to be the only one to hold it to the point that he caged his own “sister”, Amara, to be the only one, to be BIG. So, in this fantasy of mine, I think that Chuck didn’t want Mary back as much as he didn’t want Cas back. He let it slide the first time because Jack only initiated the process and Cas had to “fight for his life” or he wouldn’t have ever been resurrected. Also, Cas is an angel and doesn’t have a soul. Soul resurrection, however, well, that’s something else entirely. Because souls are the energy on which the whole Heaven and Hell existence/balance is based. And if there’s no more control over who goes where after death, there’s no more need for God. So having power over souls is central to me here.

By re-contextualizing Chuck in this way he becomes a much more interesting and layered character to me. He’s not just the capricious, pervy God obsessed with Dean. He’s also a scared God who’s well aware that he has appropriated the power of creation and that this power doesn’t belong exclusively to him but can be taken away. If Castiel’s resurrection was the warning light, Mary’s impossible resurrection is the catalyst for the beginning of the end. Since her last episode has been titled “Absence” I must think about what “absence” means in this context.

[madthetruemad]

fiercely

ex-general!jing yuan x fem!reader

cw ; fantasy!au, blood, death, attempted murder, sexual assault (not with jy), smut, p in v, fingering, grammatical errors, reader referred to with she/her pronouns, abusive boss, y/n does get slapped once (not by jy), etc. (two men break into y/n's home but before they could do anything, she is saved so don't worry).

summary | you work at a bakery owned by a woman you greatly dislike. and every day you hand out meals to the owns less fortunate. and one day, you meet a silver-haired man who comes to your rescue in the dead of night who you then ask to become your guard.

4.5k words, my longest oneshot yet!! im genuinely proud of this one *smug grin as i pat myself on the back* anyway, I hope you enjoy reading!!! 💞

Crouching down on the snow-covered, stone path, you rifled through your basket and gently held out a loaf a bread to a man who wore worn-out and battered armor.

“Sir?”

You called out to him gently, silently praying that he wasn’t dead, but thankfull not even two seconds after you called out to him did his head move. He had an mess of long, silver hair and from beneath it you could see two, bright gold eyes peek at you.

“Thank you…,” his words were quiet as he solemnly took the bread from your hands. You nodded to the man and stood up to which he noticed how the dirt from underneath the snow had dirtied the edges of your dress. He went to apologize for making you crouch for him on his behalf, but you were already gone, moving to the next who was slumped over.

“If you want food from her again, come when the sunsets and is about to disappear.”

The silver haired man looked over to another who had a missing leg and was hobbling towards him with an almost broken stick.

“Does she hand out food often?”

“Every day, morning, noon, and then sunset. Three times without fail.”

The disabled man plopped down next to him, “do you want me to call back to her for you?”

He shook his head, “she already gave me some food.”

“How is she able to afford so much? Is she a noble?”

“Nothing of the sort, boy. She’s a baker.”

“Boy?”

“Anyone younger than me is just a boy.”

He chuckled softly at the man before taking a bite out of the bread.

Meanwhile, you had finished handing out the food you had and started back towards the bakery you worked at was to prepare for the lunch rush that was about to happen. The bakery itself was owned by the woman who had taken you in. She was a mean woman who lived comfortably in a big house with more than enough money to keep her and her family going for over 70 years. Honestly, with how mean and cruel she was, you would work somewhere else, but … you love cooking, and she promised that if you made enough money then you would be able to buy the bakery from her. You, a poor servant girl owning her a bakery someday. It was a dream you were determined to strive for.

Truthfully, you didn’t want to buy the bakery from her, but it was better than building your own and trying to complete with her for customers when you didn’t have nearly as much money or influence as her. So, just trying to buy off an already existing bakery was the best choice for you.

“Feeding those dogs again?”

The moment you opened the door, you immediately winced. Her voice was like sandpaper, rough and unforgiving as she greeted you the moment you walked in.

“They- they aren’t dogs,” you managed to say, but the moment you did her heavy hand was quick to strike against your cheek sending your head snapping to the side and a dark mark to appear across your (color) skin.

“Did you waste perfectly good food on dogs who can’t pay?”

You looked back at her and shook her head, “I paid for it all.”

She scoffed, “keep taking care of the stray mutts and you��ll never have enough for this bakery.”

That… was true. If you couldn’t save money then this place will be just a dream to you, but you couldn’t abandon those people.

With risk of getting hit again, you kept quiet as she grabbed your wrist and pushed you two the kitchen, “lunch rush will be here any minute, girl. The cook is already back there, help him get everything prepped and then get ready to serve customers who actually have money.”

You don’t know how you managed to keep your mouth shut as she shoved you into the kitchen

“Good you’re here, go get me-,” the chef looked at your face and noticed the bruise that started to form causing him to sigh, “you know not to talk back to Matiilda.”

“I know, I know Brason, but she- she talks poorly of those people, it makes me so mad sometimes,” you said as you went to go fetch whatever he wanted. He didn’t say what he needed, but this was routine for you by this point.

You handed him the ingredients he needed and then set off to get the utensils. Outside of the kitchen you could here the tables being prepped by another server who just walked in. Your boss, Matilda, never lent a helping hand, well, not unless she was hitting you or pulling you to go somewhere of course.

“Here you go, need anything else?”

Brason shook his head and shooed you away, “go help the other waitress out there, and try not to get Matilda’s bedside again. If you keep doing so, she’ll change the deal she has with you about this place.”

You nodded, “I- I understand.”

“Also, be glad Matilda didn’t notice the mud clinging to the bottom of your skirts. You know how she feels about that.”

You nodded again before heading out of the kitchen. The rest of the day goes by without a hitch with the exception of a few men catcalling you and another grabbing at your thigh. You were able to shake them off, but with some trouble.

“And that should be enough!”

Brason looked at all the food you had paid for. All of it slowly being put into a small cart you had invested in.

“You taking that to the-“

“Yes, I am,” you said cutting him off, “thank you for cooking my order, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Brason nodded as he went to clean up the kitchen and lock up for the night as you pushed the cart out of the bakery. Your hands steady as you went to the poor district.

Many had greeted you warmly as you started to pass out food and others would silently thank you. You would do your best to nod and smile despite the throbbing pain in your cheek. And then, you finally came to the silver-haired man from before, but this time he was talking with someone you recognized.

“Miss l/n,” Charles greeted. He was nice man who fought in a war this country had, and sadly he had lost one of his legs during it. You were always sure he got something to eat.

“Good evening Charles,” you said as you squatted down to hand him his food, “how are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday.”

You nodded as you stood up to get another, and moved to squat down in front of the silver-haired man, “for you.”

This time you didn’t have to call out to him. He was fully awake and ready for you, but what you were surprised about was his clear focus on you as he accepted the food you offered him. Most people here never had such clear focus, their eyes usually dulled and never as bright as his were.

“Thank you and uhh Miss l/n was it? That mark on your cheek. It wasn’t there this afternoon.”

“O- oh, this? Yes, I am a bit clumsy and accidentally … fell into a door! Yes! That’s it! The door handle bruised my face when I fell down!”

Charles huffed beside the man, “a terrible liar as always… the woman she works for, Matilda, hates how she hands food out to us, so every once and a while she likes to take her frustrations out on the poor girl.”

“Charles…”

The man huffed again, “don’t try to deny it, that woman is wicked and I won’t let you hide her abusiveness towards you to make us feel like the world could do no wrong.”

“I understand Charles,” you went to stand up, “anyway, I better hand out the rest, I’ll see you all in the morning.”

You gave them a small wave as you went back to your cart to finish handing out the rest, and when you were finally done you went to push your cart towards the direction of your home. It was a little outside the city in a small little cottage, but to you it was home.

Once you got to your home, you happily opened the door, pushed the cart inside and stored it off to the side before rushing to throw yourself in bed. You needed a bath, but for now you wanted to press your face into your pillows. Though, a part of you did remember how snow still clung to your boots you didn’t take off and the mud that still painted the edges of your skirts to your dress.

Guess you’ll be washing your sheets tomorrow too…, but you decided to ignore all of that for now as you closed your eyes, sleep being all too tempting as you felt yourself start to drift off.

No dreams inflicted you this time, but you were quick to startle awake when you heard something break and slam open. You had shot up in your bed quickly. Eyes wide and alright as they tried to adjust in the dark.

And it was as clear as day when a new sound started to echo within the house.

Footsteps…

C R EA K C REA K C R E A K

You could hear how your floorboards ached under the weight of someone walking towards your room causing you to jump out of your bed and run for your window, but when you got to it and started to fiddle with the latch to get it to open, a rock crashed right through it barely missing you as you let out a scream and stumbled backwards.

“Hey! You didn’t hit her in the head with that rock did you,” a man called out from your hallway as he entered your bedroom.

Another had forcefully knocked out the rest of the glass in your window before climbing in himself, “she’s fine, just spooked her was all.”

You ran to your bed, though you knew that the blanket you used as a shield will do little for you.

“This is the girl Matilda told us about, yeah?”

…Matilda…?

“What, what does she have to do with this,” you managed to ask. The man chuckled softly at your meek sounding question, “bingo. Looks like it is her.”

He moved to come towards you causing you to yell at him, “answer my question!”

You were trying to stall for time, trying to find a way out, trying to survive-

One of them laughed loud at this, “don’t worry, she didn’t hire us to kill you, she just wants us to teach you a little lesson about stray dogs.”

You could feel yourself start to shake as he undid his pant’s belt buckled the other taking off his own shirt.

“Stay- stay away from me!”

The slimmer man of the two (the one who climbed through the window) grabbed the blanket you were holding and ripped it from your grasp before grabbing your arms.

“No, no, no, no! Get off- get off of me! Someone- anyone Help me, please help me!”

You screamed at the top of your lungs as the bigger man grabbed your legs and forced them open while bunching your skirts above your waist despite your efforts at trying to kick him in the balls.

“Please save me!”

As the two were struggling to get your clothes off, you saw a shadow of another in the doorway making you cry harder. She sent three of them?!

Though, instead of coming to assist the two men like you had thought, the shadow moved too fast for your eyes to see, but you could see the glint of a blade in the moonlight that escaped into your room, and you watched as the blade arced and slashed sideways.

Your breath caught in your throat as a spray of blood spurted from the bigger man’s neck. His head instantly detaching and falling into your lap. The shirtless man cussed and let go of your arms, but before he could grab anything to defend himself with the sword had ran right through him, straight through the heart. Blood was quick to fill his mouth and pour from his lips like a waterfall as he fell forward into the blade. Though before his dead body could even touch the shadow, the shadow had removed his sword from his chest and moved aside for the body to fall face first into the floor.

Then the shadow turned to you making you crawl backwards into the bed.

“Please, don’t be scared, miss l/n.”

That voice… it belongs to the silver-haired man!

The shadow stepped into the moonlight that cascaded into your room, and you could clearly see his face now since he had tied up his long silver hair back. His golden eyes trying to hold a comforting look in them.

“How… how did you know-“

“I saw those two following you… I- I am usually a good judge of character, and I, well, I hoped I was wrong, but…,” his voice trailed off as he walked up to you. You froze in place when he reached for you, but instead of grabbing you, he had gently grabbed a hold of the bottom of your skirts that were bunched up at your waist and gently tugged them down to your ankles so that you were once again fully covered.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he said as he stepped back and went to retrieve your blanket from the floor and handed that to you as well.

You shook your head as you gratefully took the blanket from him, “n- no, I- you- you saved me, so thank you.”

His smile was gentle before his gaze fell to the bodies, “I will take care of them.”

“What should I do?”

“Rest there, I’ll be back, I promise.”

To show you that he will return, he rested his sword against a wall and then lifted both bodies and the head as if they had weighed nothing and left your room in a hurry.

You weren’t sure how long he was gone, but it felt like hours before you heard your front door open and your breath to hitch.

By this point, you had lit a lamp next to your bedside and even cleaned up most of the blood that had gotten on your floor. Your eyes were now focused on the entrance to your bedroom, and you could feel yourself let out a sigh of relief when you saw the silver-haired man walk through your door.

The man looked around before nodding and heading to get his sword, “well I-“

“Please don’t go!”

You called out to him when his back turned. You didn’t know what to say when he looked back at you, but you came up with something quick.

“I didn’t get your name.”

He smiled at you, “it’s Jing Yuan.”

“Jing Yuan,” you tested out the name on your tongue. It was foreign, but you liked the sound of it when it left your lips.

“And you, miss l/n?”

You realized that he didn’t know your first name, so you gave it to him.

“Y/n L/n,” he mimicked you by testing out your name on his lips.

“Jing Yuan?”

“Yes?”

“Would you … like to be my guard? You can sleep in the extra room here and I can pay you too!”

“You want me to be your guard?”

You nodded, “just in case Matilda does something like this again… I’ll- I’ll feed you too! And even get you new clothes, or- or buy you as many weapons as you want.”

He gently quieted, a small chuckle leaving his lips, “I have no need for your money, but… a place to stay, some food, and some new clothes won’t hurt.”

“Then you mean?”

He nodded as he fully turned towards you, “I’ll be your guard from now on.”

And true to his word, Jing Yuan was your guard and he guarded you fiercely. And now that you both were living together, you got to know a lot about him like how he was a general in a foreign land, but was exiled due to corruption within his people’s government which explained why he had no belongings or money on him. As for you, he learned how Matilda took you I as a servant and how poorly she treated you. He also learned of your determination to get the bakery for yourself one day and promised to help you get it.

And, of course, with living together came other things too…

“I- I’m so sorry,” you all but screamed as you slammed the door to the bathroom shut.

You could hear his laughter from inside causing a rush of embarrassment rush through you.

You both had been living together for two years now. And Matilda has sent men after you a total of twelve times now, but Jing Yuan was always there to protect you.

Despite all of this, however, you never saw him naked… granted, he only had his shirt off, but it was still embarrassing especially since you gained a crush on the man.

He was overly sweet with you, he taught you things and was ever so kind to you and only ever asked for food and new clothes when it comes to protecting you. Not to mention that he was hot, it was only a matter of time before you fell for him.

“You know,” he started as he leaned against your bedroom door, “there is nothing shameless about seeing me without a shirt.”

“I just don’t want to intrude on your privacy- YUAN,” you all but screamed his name when you turned around to confront him, but this time he was only in a bath towel that hung around his waist, and all too visibly, you could see the outline of his-

You shook your head and turned back around, “how dare you tease me! You’re so mean!”

“Am not.”

You could tell how his voice sounded closer than before which was another thing you had learned about him while living together. He walked without a sound.

“Yuan-,” your breath hitched when you felt his chest press against your back, his heat radiating off of him in waves.

“Tell me to get out of your room,” his voice was soft as he spoke to you, “tell me to never act this way with you again.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist, “tell me no.”

You turned within his hold, you could feel how your face just felt absolutely on fire, but… you’ve been selfishly pining for this man for two years now. The two of you having living together and nothing happening besides the occasional cuddle session on the couch or a comforting hug to get through the day.

“I want this,” you managed to say looking up at him, “I want you.”

He pulled you closed, your breasts pressing against his muscled chest, “are you sure? Because if we do this… I’m never letting you go.”

“Then hold onto me fiercely.”

He smiled when he bent down to seal your lips together. His arms shifting so that his hands could grab a hold of your hips and press his hardening bulge against you.

“Then I’ll love you just as fiercely too.”

He gently pushed you back towards your bed, and when the backs of your knees hit the edge you fell backwards, and he was quick to follow after you. His body caging you in as he pressed his body weight down on you. Your hands went to grab a hold of him. Your fingers pressing into his shoulders as you held onto him.

He detached his lips from your own for a mere moment as he let go of your hips to get your dress off. His fingers worked on your tied strings and buttons before cursing, “apologies sweet girl.”

“What- Yuan!”

You watched as he easily ripped your dress open just to look at your nude form.

“No panties?”

You huffed and looked away from him, “it gets freaking hot in here since it’s summer and all-“

He laughed lightly as his eyes roamed your nude figure. And almost curiously he let his fingers trail up your thigh before going in between your legs, and cautiously he let his fingers run along your folds causing a small sound to escape your lips. The sound made him grin as continued to lightly play with your cunt as he leaned back down to capture your lips again. And all too easily he got you to play to his tune.

“Yu- Yuan,” you sung his name with the softest of voices.

“Has anyone seen you like this? Touched you like this?”

You shook your head as he slowly pushed a finger into you fluttering hole. Your walls immediately clenched around his digit as you shifted your hips up, “mmm- ah! Feels weird putting your finger in there, Yuan!”

He pressed soft kisses onto your neck in response as he slowly began to pump his finger in and out of you, the way his finger grazed your inner walls had you keening and a loud moan broke through your lips the moment he added a second.

“Just like that, love,” he said as he watched you buck your hips into the palm of his hand. His eyes all but mesmerized at the way your hole clenched around his fingers, and when he felt that strong tightening around his digits, he pulled them out. Your whine for him to put them back in causing him to laugh lightly, “relax, we’re not done yet.”

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes as he let his bath towel fall. How he managed to keep that wrapped his hips was impressive, but you decided to ask about it later when your eyes landed on his cock.

“Can you spread your legs for me, sweet girl?”

You liked how he asked you, you liked how sweet he was with you, you liked his gentleness. Which was how you found yourself opening up your legs for him, and when you felt his leaking tip press and slide against your folds, he caught your eyes.

“We can always stop.”

You shook your head, “I want to keep going. Please, Yuan.”

He smiled down at you before leaning in close. His arms coming up to rest on either side of your head on his elbows so he wouldn’t squish you or hurt you, and truthfully the closeness now was much better since his lips were in kissing distance.

“Hit me, push me away, hell even hit me with that oil lamp if you want me off of you, alright?”

“I will, but that won’t happen.”

“It’s just a precaution, love.”

You shut him up by capturing his lips, and he took that as a chance to push the tip of his cock into your cunt. Your walls seized around him the moment he was halfway in and he knew what was happening when you clamped down unexpectantly when he had pushed all the way in.

You gasped and moaned into his mouth when you came around his cock. Your hips bucking hard up into him as he clenched his teeth and started to slowly thrust into you, working you through your orgasm.

“I- I didn’t expect you to do that,” Jing Yuan all but gasped as your cunt gripped him like a vice, “s- shit.”

He stuttered and gasped like a virgin as your pussy clung to his hard cock. His moans were just as loud as yours as he stroked your insides hard and fast. Feeling you like this, he knew he wouldn’t last not while you started to meet his thrusts with your hips.

The tip of his cock reached far in you, it hitting all the right spots as he angled himself to hit your cervix, “you- I’m not going to last,” he said as you wrapped your legs around his hips, “you need to put your legs down.”

You shook your head as you caught hip lips again, “inside,” you managed to moan out, “cum inside me,” you said against his lips. He all but growled against your lips as he pushed his weight down on you. His thrusts becoming harder and more eractic as he chased his high and yours. And just as you came again, he finally released hot, white spurts of come into you. His cum was hot as it soaked your insides as you coated his cock with your own arousal. And when he stopped to catch his breath, you expected him to pull out, but instead he shoved his cock in deep to plug up your hole. The action made you gasp as you felt his tip hit your cervix.

“You wanted my cum, so it stays right where you wanted it.”

You hugged him closer to yourself, your bodies molding together like a imperfect puzzle.

He protected you fiercely and loved just as much.

“You… you better get me a new dress.”

“I’ll get you a thousand dresses,” he says as he pulls away a bit and reaches for your nightstand. Sitting up, you gave him a confused expression as he pulled out two boxes and handed them to you. Before you could open them though, he had rolled over taking you with him so that you were sitting on his cock and straddling his lap. The new angle made you wriggle in his hold.

“Open them,” his voice echoed softly as he grabbed you by the hips and just as you were about to open the first one, he lifted your hips and slammed you back down his length. A moan ripped through your lips as he grinned up at you.

“Focus, love, don’t you want to see what I got you?”

You wondered how he got the gifts into your drawer without you noticing but couldn’t ask with how his cock was splitting you. So, with any focus that you could muster, you went back to opening the gifts despite the way he had you bouncing on his dick.

“A- A ring?”

“Mmm,” he hummed nodding, “a wedding ring…, if you’ll have me.”

Your lips trembled, you would of cried if you weren’t being fucked onto his cock.

“Though, with the way your cunt is hugging my dick, I guess that’ll be a yes.”

You nodded unable to form words as you shakily put the ring on your finger and carefully you started to open the other one.

“A- a key?”

“It’s-“ his voice got cut off when you came around him again, your third orgasm being as unpredictable as the first, “a key to the bakery. I bought it for you,” his voice was shaky as he filled you up again.

"Yu- Yuan!”

You all but cried out for him when you flung yourself down onto him, your arms wrapping around his neck so you could hold him still and kiss him hard.

He planned to hold onto you forever, even if it meant destroying all who opposed you. But meh, Matilda had what was coming to her anyway.

“I love you.”

“And I’ll love you just as fiercely.”

[lloydskywalkers]

three sword style

Or, Lloyd and his evolving relationship with what it means to choose a weapon, as supervised by Kai. listen I know Wu technically gives them all their new weapons in season 11 according to some random book referenced in the ninjago wiki (or at least Lloyd’s sword) but you know who ACTUALLY has a degree in making weapons and canonically has made a golden sword SO. My canon now. (also spot the brain rot I infected myself with in the title) 

Lloyd grows up in a world of weaponry and at the speed of light. 

There are worse ways to grow up, maybe. There are also better ones — one where kids get to grow up instead blasting into teenager-hood in the span of seconds — but Lloyd doesn’t like to complain about where he’s ended up. 

Second to the speed of light thing, though, the weapons part is pretty big. 

Weapons determine the single biggest turning point in his life, after all. It’s the Golden Weapons that make him the Green Ninja, a title that’s a lot more important than Lloyd’s ever been. It’s also that particular title that makes Lloyd the weapon, so that’s fun. Ninjago’s prophesied emergency failsafe, the Green Ninja — that’s him. 

On a nicer note, it’s the Fangblade that gets him a big brother, and proves that there’s someone out there who cares about Lloyd over some stupid weapon, so hah. 

Getting back to the point, though—

Weapons. Lloyd’s been making do without one, and he’s been making pretty good do, thank you very much. He’s got his power, and he’s got himself. That’s all the weapon Lloyd needs. 

But no one else seems to agree, and since ninety percent of the time whatever prophecy-of-doom crops up this month involves cursed weaponry of some sort, they all figure it’s a good a reason as any to stick Lloyd with a reliable weapon. 

And while wielding all the elements is one thing, wielding every kind of weapon at once would be kind of difficult, even for his dad. 

So Lloyd finally gets an actual, for-real, decision that he gets to make all by himself. 

It’s a monumentous occasion — and yes, that is a word, Nya, Lloyd knows some stuff — so if Lloyd was smart he’d treasure it and take his time. 

With that in mind, it takes all of thirty seconds for Lloyd to choose. This is only mildly insulting to some parties. 

“Fine, sure, go with the most basic pick in the world,” Jay scoffs. “Swords. Boring.”

“Sounds like you’re just jealous,” Kai shoots back.

“Jealous of swords? Please. I just thought Lloyd was a little more creative than that.”

“I like swords,” Lloyd says, at a loss. 

“Jay is only relieved that no one will one-up his nunchuck expertise, now,” Zane smiles. 

Jay sputters indignantly. “No one’s one-upping me, I’m the best there is!” 

“Uh-huh,” Cole shakes his head. “Well, if that’s what Lloyd wants, that’s the end of it.” His mouth quirks. “Means more training time for Kai, anyways.” 

“More training to be better than you,” Kai retorts. 

“Like the rest of you, Lloyd will continue to work toward mastering at least the basics of any weapon,” Sensei Wu sighs. “A ninja confined to one weapon alone—”

“Is a dead ninja,” Jay nods.

Sensei Wu cuts his eyes at him. “That is not how I was going to finish.”

“The point stands though, right?”

“The point,” Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that while Lloyd will continue to train with all of you, focusing on swordsmanship will become the priority. So yes, in a way. More training for Kai.”

Lloyd rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry…?”

“Why are you sorry?” Kai beams, more proud than smug. “I finally get an official katana apprentice. We’re gonna be awesome.”

And that alone, Lloyd thinks, makes it worth all the complaining. 

“Great,” Jay throws his arms up. “Now we’re stuck with two slice ‘em dice ‘em ninjas.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Cole says. “It’s Kai, how dangerous can he be.”

“I resent that,” Kai says. “Just because you beat me once or twice—”

“Try thirteen times, and counting.”

“—it does not mean I’m not as dangerous as you,” Kai narrows his eyes. 

“Oh yeah? Wanna prove it?”

“Bring it on, rock man.”

“Not in the kitchen, for FSM’s sake—“

Whether or not Cole beats him (which he does, pretty badly, because Cole is kinda terrifying like that) Lloyd knows that to some degree, Kai is dangerous. Very dangerous, with or without his swords.

It’s hard to think of Kai like that, though. When Lloyd thinks of Kai, he thinks of warm arms wrapped tight around him in the Fire Temple. Thinks of the first hugs he’s gotten from someone other than his father that felt like home. Thinks of protection — thinks safe. Thinks family. 

He’s wanted to be like Kai for a while, now. So yeah. It’s an easy choice. 

Plus, swords are way cool.

______

Kai starts training him in Dareth’s dojo. It takes about a week for them to get banished to the roof of their apartment, which is mostly Lloyd’s fault — but Kai’s the one supposed to be teaching him, so he can take the blame this time. 

…well, maybe Lloyd’s the one who keeps losing his grip on the katana, but that’s not quite his fault, either.  

Kai is better than basically any swordsman on this side of Ninjago in years, if not all Ninjago. Lloyd knows this because Uncle Wu told him so, and because Kai wipes the floor with him the first, second, and twenty-ninth time they spar.

“The point is to keep your grip on the katana, you know,” Kai says, as Lloyd retrieves his sword from where it went flying (again). “What kind of hold it that supposed to be, butterfingers deluxe?”

“You said not to grip it too tight,” Lloyd complains. 

Kai rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you had it in a death hold. I didn’t say, ‘let go and let it fly’.”

“I didn’t let it fly, you knocked it out of my hand!”

“Aha, so you’re admitting I won. Again.”

“N-no!” Lloyd protests. “I’m just warming up. I’ll show you this time.” 

But as Kai takes his stance again, his own katana held with a kind of grace Lloyd has zero idea how to ever accomplish, Lloyd thinks he might be a bit of a lost cause. 

It’s difficult, because every time he goes to swing his sword, his power thrums in his blood, in his hands, always ready to lash out. It’s quickly become a habit, to start every fight slinging green blasts around. Lloyd’s already grown fond of the little bell-like sounds his power makes, the steady pulse as bright green builds in his palms. 

Lloyd is the Green Ninja, after all. His power is what makes him, well, him. He’s his own best weapon — he’s the one the prophecy needs to make things right.

Kai keeps putting weapons in his hands, anyways. 

Training katanas, mostly. He got to hold the Sword of Fire once, before his dad took it. It was beautiful — Lloyd kinda gets why Kai’s so up in arms about it getting stolen.

That and the whole don’t-give-Garmadon-the-Golden-Weapons thing.

Kai seems confused that Lloyd remembers it, which is weird because the Golden Weapons are kind of a big deal, but Lloyd decides to chalk it up to all the other weirdness in his life. 

The first true katana Kai ever gives Lloyd is…not quite as cool as the Sword of Fire, and definitely not as beautiful, but in a way that Lloyd likes. 

“We’re kinda short on weapons,” Kai admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I don’t exactly have access to smithing equipment right now, which means you’re stuck with one of my old ones. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lloyd adjusts his hands around the hilt, taking an experimental swing. “This is a great sword!”

“Yeah, okay, liar — and don’t swing it around like that, you look like you’re waving a pool noodle.” 

Kai grabs his hands, forcing Lloyd’s arms to hold steady.

“Like this, okay?” Kai says. “We’re gonna start by practicing single movements.” 

“Aw,” Lloyd visibly wilts. “More katas? I thought I was gonna get to learn some cool moves.”

“This is a cool move. If you’re good, you finish things in one hit,” Kai says. “One strike, and the fight’s over.”

“Like a headshot,” Lloyd nods.

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “This is not a video game. This is a real sword, and you’re going to learn to use it right.”

“And then we can do the cool moves?”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Do your katas or I’m firing you.”

Lloyd sticks his tongue out at him. “You can’t fire me. I’m the Green Ninja.”

“Yeah? I’ll demote you to Green Washer-of-Dishes for the rest of the month.”

“No! You can’t, Nya and I have a deal!” 

Jokes aside, Lloyd is sure to remind Kai, as he scrubs dishes and Kai dries them, that he does take training seriously.

He takes all his training seriously. It’s kind of his only job. 

Lloyd practices hits until his knuckles split and scab, masters high kicks with shins colored violent blues and purples, forms green starbursts in his hands until his fingers crack and bleed. 

When his palms blister from the sword hilt on top of it all, Kai makes him hold still until he’s wrapped the first-aid bandage around his hands at least five times, then shoves his old gloves on him when he starts to form calluses.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t need them, but Lloyd still wears the gloves everyday and tucks them away each night, storing them with the other few, treasured things he’s been gifted.

______

The longer he trains with swords, the more Lloyd gains calluses and nicked fingers and perpetually smells a little like cloves. 

That last part Lloyd enjoys, though he’ll never admit it. He’s not about to go and tell people he enjoys cleaning stuff, no thanks. 

But there’s something nice about helping Kai take care of the katanas, in a relaxing sort of way. The wood-smoke tang of cloves smells like home, which Lloyd treasures, because home isn’t something he’s very used to. 

Treasures is probably an understatement. Lloyd latches onto it like he’s starving. Part of it’s because this is something he gets to have with Kai, all by himself. He’s never had something like that before, either — a special thing that’s shared just with him. 

Well, maybe besides the green gi, but the Green Ninja is something that belongs to everyone. Whatever Lloyd does when he puts the green gi on is everyone’s business, since it determines the fate of the world or something like that, and it doesn’t really even feel like his. Not yet, at least. 

But sitting cross-legged in the weapons room while Kai teaches him how to clean katanas without damaging them — that belongs to Lloyd. 

He learns a lot with it too, because Kai always starts rambling about ten minutes in — not the confident, cocky way he does sometimes in front of everyone else, but in an honest way that Lloyd isn’t entirely sure he even means to be. 

“—not the best oil, but it works when you’re in a pinch. S’what my parents left behind, at the shop, so it’s good enough.”

Lloyd looks up at him, curious. He keeps quiet — Kai and Nya don’t talk much about their parents, if at all. Lloyd gets it, of course, but it makes the little tidbits they share valuable. 

“I don’t remember a lot about my parents,” Kai continues. “But I remember some things. About my dad. He was a great smith, I know that much. Could make about anything. Swords were his favorite, though.” 

Uncle Wu’s candlelight casts Kai’s eyes with a glow that makes it seem like he’s on fire himself, flickering and fading. He looks very far away, all of the sudden, and Lloyd has the urge to grab for his arm and make him stay here. 

“Guess I latched onto that,” Kai smiles ruefully, and he’s back again. “Never could reach his level, but I learned how to make an okay sword.”

Lloyd chews on his lip. He knows all about latching on to your parents — wanting to be great at the things they are.

That maybe, if you’re good enough, they’ll be proud enough to come back. 

He doesn’t think that’s a happy thing to say, though, so he tells Kai instead, “I think your swords are great.”

Kai’s lips quirk. “Uh-huh. Then you better treat them like it.”

“I do,” Lloyd protests. He gestures at the katana across his lap. “See? I did it perfect this time.”

Kai nods his head at a spot Lloyd noticeably missed. He flushes.

“Almost perfect.”

“Practice, young student,” Kai says, in a gravely voice that’s probably supposed to sound like Uncle Wu. “A thousand hours of practice for you.”

“Ugh,” Lloyd groans. “All I do is practice. Practice practice practice, and then I’m still not enou—”

He cuts off. Oops. Maybe Kai’s honestly is a little too contagious. 

Kai goes quiet, hands stilling on the katana. There’s a deep furrow between his eyes as he stares at Lloyd, in a way that makes him feel a little like a bug under a microscope. Or that Kai can see right through him, which is bad, because all Lloyd’s got in him is a bunch of tangled thoughts and worries and nothing an actual ninja should have. 

“You know,” he says, carefully. “We probably need to stock up on the good oil. I’m kinda running low.”

Lloyd knows darn well Kai has enough choji oil to get them through an apocalypse. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “If we go now, we can probably hit the convenience store, too. Get a sugar boost before—”

“I’m in!” Lloyd shoots to his feet before he can stop himself, any protests forgotten. Training has included a healthy diet lately, so Lloyd doesn’t collapse and pass out because his blood’s eighty percent sugar — Zane’s words, not his. 

If he needs to get his blood sugar up, why can’t he just eat sugar all the time? It makes no sense. 

“Do not tell the others,” Kai hisses, as they make their way into the city. “Especially Cole, if you don’t wanna lose your sweets before you can take a bite. We’re just getting polish for katanas, as far as you know.”

“I know nothing,” Lloyd says obediently. “Hey, do you think we could use olive oil on the katanas?”

Kai’s stare could heat iron. “I’ll kill you.” 

“It was a joke! A joke, heh.”

______

For all that Lloyd’s life revolves around training to defeat anyone and everyone, the guys are still weirdly protective. Over anyone and everyone, including Lloyd himself. 

“C’mon, I can handle the cool attacks,” Lloyd complains, as Kai drags him into place.

“They’re not cool — okay, they’re kinda cool — but that’s not what we’re learning now,” Kai sighs. “You’re learning Aikido. Well, a form of it, technically. It’s focused on defending yourself, but in a way that lessens the chances of injuring your attacker.”  

Lloyd frowns. “Isn’t that counterintoo — counterintuitive?”

“Big words today,” Kai mutters. He shakes his head. “And it’s counterproductive, by the way, but — no,  because now that we’re training, half your attackers are us, and I’d like to leave practice with my arms intact.”

Lloyd grins. “So you’re admitting I’m better than you.” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Kai says pointedly.

“Don’t need to. You’ve already admitted defeat.”

“And, brat—” Lloyd yelps as Kai digs his knuckles into his hair. “Defending yourself is incredibly important.”

As they settle back into position, Kai pauses, a muscle in his jaw working. He looks as if he’s having an internal argument with himself, before finally sighing. 

“The thing about any weapon, but especially swords,” he says, correcting Lloyd’s grip on the katana. “Is that they can be used a lot of ways. But the one thing you never, ever want to forget—”

And Kai’s tone grows serious, his jaw tensing again. “Is that they can kill.”

Lloyd looks down, to the sharp edges of the blade. It suddenly feels a bit heavier, and the room just a bit darker. 

“The way we’re training you, the way we were trained, we don’t always — we try to avoid it.” Kai’s voice wavers, and for a moment, Lloyd remembers that Kai isn’t all that much older than he is. 

Well, now, especially. 

“But sometimes, it’s…you don’t really…well.” He lets out a breath. “This is a sword. It can take a life really quick, if you aren’t careful. And sometimes, you don’t get the choice to be careful or not.”

Lloyd swallows. He hasn’t thought about it much — hasn’t wanted to, but it lives in his mind like a terrible itch he can’t get rid of. 

He’s no stranger to the idea of killing someone. Darkley’s was blunt as it was cold. But as a ninja, it’s suddenly realer than it ever was in school. 

As the Green Ninja, with his destiny drawn out in front of him, it’s pretty much unavoidable. 

He’s going to kill his father, or he’s going to die. 

Kai’s hands grab tight around his shoulders. “We’re gonna do everything we can to make sure you don’t end up in that situation, okay?” He gives Lloyd a small, strained smile. “Don’t ever feel like you have to change who you are, just ‘cause you’re a ninja now.”

How do you know who I am, Lloyd wants to ask. How do you know I’m not a murderer? How do you know I’m not awful? 

Kai’s eyes are impossibly kind and far, far too knowing. 

“But,” and his tone grows serious again. “If it’s your life or theirs.” 

Lloyd feels a bit like the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room. 

“Promise me. You have to promise — you will always, always choose your own.” 

Lloyd stares back. Kai gives him a little shake.

“You promise me?”

Finally, as if moved by puppet strings, Lloyd nods. 

“I promise,” he rasps. 

Kai looks relieved, but it’s not quite in a happy way. “As long as you come back alive, that’s what matters. I don’t care what else happens — you come back alive, and we’re good.” 

“Okay,” Lloyd says. His eyes feel wet. It’s strange, someone caring so much about something like that.  

“Which is why,” Kai says, finally stepping back as his tone lightens. “You’re gonna nail that block this time. Or I’m making you polish every weapon in the dojo again.”

“Oh, no,” Lloyd stares at him in horror. “I’ve been practicing that stupid move for hours!”

“And you’ll be cleaning weapons for hours if you don’t get it.” 

“You suck,” Lloyd grumbles. “Worst teacher of all time.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kai claps him on the back, and Lloyd lets out his own sigh of relief at the lightened atmosphere. “You’re the one that picked swords, buddy.”

______

Kai’s a hypocrite, though, and Lloyd could hate him for it, because as they slide down the snowy mountain-side, Lloyd’s body clashing against his family in ways he’d never, ever let it if he had control, he has to watch as Kai — again — chooses a life other than his own. 

Because Kai doesn’t have the experience Morro does, but he’s better with a sword, he’s better than anyone Lloyd knows, and he loses. And Lloyd’s arm drags the Sword of Sanctuary up and Kai is a stupid, stupid, stupid hypocrite—

Lloyd’s angry enough that tearing control back from Morro is easy. 

He knows a thing or two about swords himself, and Morro’s holding it wrong, anyways. 

______

Training had already taken a hit after they lose Zane, for obvious reasons. Everything had taken a hit after they lost Zane, and between the tournament and Morro and everything else Lloyd’s pointedly ignoring, it’s suddenly been ages since he’s had a proper sword lesson. 

Kai decides to make up for it by finally teaching him the fun stuff. 

“Don’t — call it that in front of Cole,” Kai grunts over the loud screech of metal on metal. His knee bends, just the slightest tell—

Lloyd falls back, dancing away from Kai’s returning strike. He knows now, just how dangerous Kai can be — he’d like to forget it, but it’d be doing him a disservice. 

Besides, Lloyd’s had his body dragged left and right over Ninjago, used as the worst kind of weapon to hurt the people he loves, and they still trust him. Being on the dangerous end of Chen’s stupid staff is nothing to being on the dangerous end of a katana Kai’s made himself, and Lloyd’s determined to hold onto the faith he’s had since that day in the volcano. 

Kai won’t hurt him. 

He’ll kick his ass in training, though, so Lloyd had better get back with the show. 

He retaliates with a feint to the right — too obvious for Kai, but enough to steal his attention for Lloyd to land a high kick to his side.

“Watch that,” Kai scolds, forced two steps backs. 

“Why?” Lloyd grins over the edge of Kai’s blade as he catches his blow dead-on. “Scared I’m gonna beat you too soon?”

Kai snorts. “You aren’t beating me at all, shortstack—”

“Not short—”

“And,” Kai’s katana moves so fast Lloyd barely manages to dodge, rolling into a somersault before surging back up to meet his backstrike. “You’re advertising your weak point.”

Lloyd frowns. “S’not a weak point.”

Kai’s katana flashes — Lloyd moves right just before he realizes it’s a feint, cursing himself — then the hilt of his katana is smacking hard against a bone in his right ankle. 

There’s a hot flash of pain as his body completely betrays him, his ankle buckling and sending him stumbling with a yelp.

Kai’s expression isn’t gloating, at least. On the downside, he has that sad kind of look that usually means he’s feeling guilty. 

“It’s not usually that bad,” he tries, even as his cheeks flare hot. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kai shakes his head. “You need to protect that. Make sure no one knows it’s a weak point but you. Putting it in reach of your opponent is a bad way to do that.” 

Lloyd grits his teeth, but he knows Kai’s right. He’ll never regret pushing himself the way he did, clambering up the tower steps on a broken ankle. The fate of Ninjago was a lot heavier on his shoulders than any thoughts of consequences. 

It still sucks, that it’ll never heal quite right. 

But it isn’t like he’s the only one with an old wound turned weak spot, he reminds himself, as he wraps his aching ankle once again. Jay’s got zig-zagging lightning scars all down his arms that ache during heavy rain. Nya can only rotate her arm so far before her shoulder goes numb, a souvenir from a broken arm. Cole’s the worst, maybe, with how he’s strained himself lifting impossibly heavy weights, fractured fingers and broken bones that throb in the cold. 

Kai’s got his own share of weaknesses, though he works hard to hide them. Lloyd’s managed to pick out most — some of them he’s helped treat himself.

He doesn’t like to think about those times, though.

“So I’ve got an idea for a move,” Kai grins at him, once Lloyd’s ankle is stable. “It’s gonna take some timing, but since I don’t have a weak spot there — you’re gonna run and launch.”

Lloyd tilts his head. “Launch off your right ankle?”

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go down for a handspring. When my legs are low, you’re gonna jump on, so when I shoot up—”

“Ooh, I go flying,” Lloyd concludes. 

“Exactly.” 

“Let’s do it! I’m gonna look so cool—”

“Okay, but we’re gonna look stupid as it gets if we don’t get the — timing, timing!” 

It takes about five tries to get it right. That’s all they agree on admitting to — the less said about the forgotten sixth and seventh tries, the better. 

But on try eight, Lloyd finally feels his left and right foot connect with Kai’s just as he hits the lowest point of the handspring — and this time, he remembers to bend his own knees and launch up, and with a sudden weightlessness, he’s flying. 

“Slash, slash, don’t forget to slash!”

 Years of training are the only reason Lloyd’s able to get his arms to obey him fast enough, the wind-up pulling on his shoulders before he sweeps the katana down, slashing out—

“Yes!” Kai’s cheer abruptly turns to a yelp as he loses his balance, crumpling to the floor. Lloyd’s already sprawled across the training mats, since landing was a whole lot harder than he’d planned for — but the training dummy is cut in half. One perfect hit. 

“Now, if we can just manage that in an actual fight, we’ll look awesome,” Kai grins.

Lloyd glances at him. “Are you gonna fall flat on your face then, too?”

Red stains his cheeks. “No,” Kai sputters. “That was — you didn’t see that.”

“Uh-huh,” Lloyd snorts. He tilts his head, considering the unfortunate training dummy. “Y’know, I bet I can manage a flip in there,” he mutters. 

Kai shrugs. “Yeah, probably.” He lips quirk up. “It’d look pretty cool. Y’know what, let’s go for it. I wanna see the look on Jay’s face when you flip down on him during sparring.”

______

It takes Kai all of ten minutes into the next fight to start regretting that one. 

“Got a runner!” Jay calls, as one of the thugs they’ve been rounding up breaks loose from where Zane’s kindly explaining the terms of surrender and Cole’s standing with his lava punch ready to show them what happens if they don’t agree. 

“I got ‘im!” Lloyd calls, darting after the masked man. 

He tugs his katana free from its sheathe, mind already racing. The time spent on his own, guarding his own back, gave Lloyd the rare opportunity to learn things in ways the guys probably would’ve had his head for.

With the lessons Kai’s drilled into him, the steady form of swordsmanship driven into his nerves, Lloyd’s found a creativity in tweaking things to match his style. 

So when the thug sprints past a number of abandoned boxes, scrabbling as he narrowly avoids stumbling on the concrete, Lloyd’s already got the perfect move in mind. 

Step, step, jump — tuck in tight, so there’s enough momentum to rotate at least twice — and bam, it’s like a wind-up toy. The more spins he gets in, the harder his landing is, disarming the guy with a perfect slash while kicking his teeth in. 

Neat and effective, in Lloyd’s opinion.

Sadly, his opinion is not shared. 

Kai sputters. “What was that?”

“Cool as heck, that’s what it was,” Lloyd grins. 

Kai is supremely unimpressed. “What did I say about wasting movements?”

Lloyd shuffles. “Don’t…do it?”

“Then why, exactly, did you feel the need to flip three — not one but three — times before striking?”

“Because,” Lloyd says. “It was cool. As heck.”

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Lloyd valiantly bites back any comments about him taking after Sensei Wu. 

“There’s a difference between adding your own flare,” he finally says. “And squandering your energy like a spinning top.”

“Squandering — spinning top—” Lloyd sputters. “Hey, I got the guy just fine, didn’t I? I didn’t squander anything.”

“And what’re you gonna do if someone wises up and snipes you mid-flip?”

“Who’s gonna snipe me, there are no snipers around, dummy—”

“There could be, hypothetically!”

“Hypothetically, please. You’re just jealous ‘cause you can only do two flips—”

“I can do sixteen if I want, I’m just smarter—”

Despite his arguments, Lloyd does resolve to try for restraint. Unfortunately, Lloyd’s also got the memory of a goldfish, so Kai should really know better. 

He just can’t help it. The next time they clash with a run-of-the-mill villain who’s stealing secret plans for bombs or whatever ridiculous thing it is that week, Lloyd finds himself on one building with the criminal on the next. 

The solution is obvious. Kai doesn’t agree. 

“FIVE FLIPS?! THAT WAS A THREE-FOOT DISTANCE!”

Lloyd carefully places the now-unconscious criminal on the rooftop, stands back up, and wisely back-flips the heck outta there. 

______

As his sword movements grow more complicated and the green power take a near-constant presence in his veins, the gentle pulse of energy as familiar as a friend, Lloyd grows stronger, too.

This kickstarts an entirely new problem, because Lloyd can’t go five steps without ruining something, it seems. 

In his defense, he doesn’t start breaking swords at a criminal rate until after Morro, so Lloyd’s gonna blame it all on him.

He stares blankly at the katana in his hands — or the remains of it, to be exact. Half the blade is somewhere across the street, where it went skidding after Lloyd’s final hit snapped it clean in two. 

Kai stares just as blankly when Lloyd wordlessly offers the pieces up. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “Maybe I went wrong with the balance, or something? This was probably just a fluke.”

He turns it over, frowning. “Wouldn’t hurt to reinforce the next one, I guess…”

Reinforcements or not, it takes the third shattered sword for Kai to wise on. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lloyd warbles tearfully, the remains of Kai’s careful metalwork cradled in his arms. “I don’t know what happened, I was just swinging it, and it went — it went—”

“It went in six different directions, apparently,” Kai mutters. 

Lloyd slumps. “It was only four this time,” he mutters. 

“I guess this is what we get for training you as well as we did,” Kai says. “Cole and his super strength, I’ll never be free of it.”

“Didn’t he beat you by tripping you flat on your face?”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you, oh cruel destroyer of my swords,” Kai scowls. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Lloyd protests. “I tried really hard this time, but the last guy had this giant bat, and I thought I could cut it in half, but I swung so hard I screwed up my strike and went…in six…different directions…”

Kai scrubs a hand over his face. He glances at Lloyd, eyes searching. 

“But you beat him?”

“Duh,” Lloyd says. The faith people have in him.

“And you didn’t get hit yourself?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “Not a scratch.” It’s not even a lie this time.

“Then I guess it was a noble sacrifice,” Kai sighs. “I can live with that.”

The katana’s sad remnants join the equally sad — and steadily growing — pile of scrap metal made by Lloyd’s awful sword skills. They have a pretty fun time melting it all down though, watching the metal bubble as Kai starts drafting the next run of layered steel he’ll shape into a katana. 

“I’m gonna be a master katana maker at this rate,” he huffs, wiping at his forehead. Lloyd, who’s hanging over the forge to watch the different colors the liquid metal makes, taps lazily at his knee with his foot. The forge flares brighter as Kai’s fire does, and he mumbles a distracted thanks. 

“A master hothead,” Lloyd says. Kai rolls his eyes. “If I ever figure out how to be a master swordsman, maybe you can take a break and figure out how to make other weapons.”

“Hey, I’m great at making other weapons.”

“Yeah, like ‘block of metal’ and ‘triangle of metal’ and ‘weird rectangle of metal’, and—”

“You’re gonna get a stick for next battle if you keep that up,” Kai growls, but his lips are twitching.

“Hypotenuse of metal,” Lloyd whispers.

“The heck, that’s not even a shape—” 

The forge grows steadily hotter as Kai works, bright sparks popping and steam hissing up in little curling wisps. It doesn’t bother Lloyd too much — ever since that day in the volcano, the press of heat is more like a second skin. He’s nowhere near as durable as Kai, of course, who could probably hop in the forge and come out with only a sunburn, but it’s enough to feel cozy instead of sweaty and dizzy. 

“Y’know, you don’t have to use a sword,” Kai says hesitantly, as he inspects a hammer. “There are a lot of other weapons that would fit your style. If you ever wanna try out a spear like Nya, that might suit you pretty well.”

“No!” Lloyd says sharply. Biting his tongue, he amends, “I’ve already been training with swords for forever. I don’t wanna change my whole style for something else.”

Kai eyes him shrewdly, but his lips finally twitch up in amusement. “If you say so,” he says. “But I swear, break my sword again and you will get a stick for your next weapon. Or chopsticks. A butter knife—”

______

Lloyd gets a new sword, of course. And another one. He might grouse and complain, but Kai doesn’t truly get angry about the swords. He does, however, get very angry over Lloyd’s total idiocy with what happens to said shattered swords. 

His first mistake is the usual one — Lloyd swings a bit too hard at a sloppy angle and there’s a high-pitched screech as the sword dies a sad death, splitting in two. 

Lloyd stares blankly at the now much-shorter katana in his hands, which is his second mistake. The delay costs him, and he scrambles to duck the thief’s vicious punch, their own sword having been knocked away in the scuffle. Their boot comes up, swinging for his head, and Lloyd springs back, landing palms-first on the floor and launching himself out of range. 

He also, unthinking, drops the broken katana — mistake number three. 

His fourth mistake is the worst one possible, because Lloyd brings his hand up to block what he’s sure will be another punch, only to get slashed by the jagged end of the katana he just dropped.

A sharp, burning pain explodes across his hand, and Lloyd stifles a shriek. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid move. 

The thief comes in for round two, Lloyd’s own snapped katana glinting in the fluorescent building lights, and Lloyd freezes. It occurs to him that he should probably just go ahead and hit the thief with an burst of green, but that’s also when Kai mows them down with a viciousness that reminds Lloyd — Kai always goes easy on him in training. 

“I had him handled,” he still protests, after the thief’s been hauled off to prison (or the hospital, possibly).

Kai ignores him, sheathing his katana and storming his way. 

He grabs Lloyd’s hand before he can protest, pulling back the torn fabric of his glove and slapping his own hood against the gash on his hand to stem the bleeding. 

“What did I say,” Kai says angrily. 

Lloyd flinches at the stinging pain in his hand, and tries to glare back. 

Kai’s having none of it. “Your sword is supposed to take the hits,” he snaps. “Not you!” 

“It did take the hit,” Lloyd finally throws back. “I just broke it, and — I was fine!”

“You hand’s bleeding all over my hood, that is not fine!”

“Then take your hood off and it won’t get blood on it!”

“My hood isn’t what I’m worried about!”

By the time Zane’s stitched Lloyd’s hand up, wincing barely kept at a minimum, Kai’s cooled down.

Somewhat. 

“It was an accident, okay?” Lloyd says, for the billionth time. “I didn’t realize he had a weapon. I wasn’t trying to sacrifice my hand, or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause that sounds a lot like something you’d do.”

“Coming from you, that’s somewhat hypocritical,” Zane murmurs. 

Lloyd snickers. Kai turns to Zane in utter betrayal. 

Of course, this means that Lloyd’s next lesson is how to treat sword wounds in emergency situations, in painstaking and excruciating detail. His hand stings every time he grasps the katana handle for solid week, though, so Lloyd takes equally careful notes.

______

Lloyd goes and breaks another three katanas after that. At this point, he kinda thinks Kai should just give up and let him go into battle weapon-less again. You don’t need weapons to do Spinjitzu. The green power won’t break, and Lloyd certainly won’t split into six pieces.

(He hopes.)

Kai keeps putting swords in his hands anyways. 

Lloyd could always just say no — he’s supposed to be leader or something, he can make his own decisions.

But he thinks of sparring sessions and smelling like cloves every other evening, thinks of the tiny dragons Kai still takes the time to carve into his katana handles, and throwing all that away would feel as great as sawing off his own arm. 

So he picks the katana up, does his stupid katas, and promises to do better this time.

That doesn’t magically fix things, of course. 

“How,” Kai says blankly, staring at the katana that now lies in a record eight pieces. 

“Um.” Lloyd twists his fingers together. “I definitely didn’t use it to prop open a door like you said never to do.”

Kai gives him a smile that shows exactly all of his teeth. 

“You have five seconds to run.”

______

All that training on treating sword wounds pays off. Possibly more than learning how to fight with a sword in the first place, when Kai drops in the middle of battle with a wicked slash across his lower thigh. 

“Of all the — stupid, embarrassing—”

“Shut up,” Lloyd says tightly. He’s already focusing half his energy on not throwing up at the amount of blood soaking between his fingers where they’re pressed tightly over Kai’s leg. “Stop moving, I gotta see if it — if it hit an artery.”

“It better not have,” Kai pants, wincing as Lloyd presses down harder. “If it hit an artery I’m screwed.”

“Shut up.” 

Lloyd’s heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, panic welling up in his throat as Kai’s blood swims in his vision. 

“Hey, hey,” Kai’s hand falters, then clasps Lloyd’s own. “M’gonna be fine. Takes a lot more than a stupid leg wound to take me out.” 

“That’d be so lame,” Lloyd breathes, somewhat hysterically. He’s torn his own belt off for a tourniquet, which is step one, he thinks — hood can go around the actual wound, and if he steals Kai’s belt, then he can double reinforce it— 

“I can always cauterize,” Kai says shakily, sounding like he’d rather do anything else in the world. “It’ll be — move!”

Lloyd manages to roll them both out of the way as the assassin who nailed Kai comes in to finish the job, sword scraping sparks across the rooftop. Lloyd flashes a furious glare over his shoulder, mind racing as he holds himself in front of Kai. 

“Here.” The familiar hilt of Kai’s katana slaps against Lloyd’s open hand — the other is quick to follow suit. “Remember, double wielding — better for defense.”

Lloyd nods on instinct. He adjusts his grip on both swords, the blood on his fingers making the hilts tacky and sticky. It’s going to be a pain to clean later, a vague part of his mind notes. 

Of course Lloyd remembers dual wielding. It is better for defending, but you lose power on striking and reach — he can deal with that. Kai does. 

And it’s exactly what he needs, right now. The assassin won’t even get close to Kai.

One spin, then another. The katanas’ weight is familiar, balanced in the slightly-weird way Lloyd likes best, the way Kai makes all his swords. He finds his footing, finds the stance, and moves.

When Kai fights, he fights like the first flash of flame from a match strike — quick and bursting, fast enough it all but blinds the enemy. 

When Lloyd fights, it feels like dancing — slower to start, picking steps deliberately, building to that bursting strike faster and faster. 

It only takes one strike, after all. And Lloyd’s got two swords. 

Silver flashes across the rooftop, a piercing screech as one of his katana meets the assassin’s broader blade, forcing it back—

The assassin drops with a cry before falling silent, the shattered pieces of a katana scattered around him. 

“Saw that…one coming,” Kai moans. 

Still breathing heavily, Lloyd tries not to cringe.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, after Kai’s securely in a hospital bed and enduring Nya’s forty-five minute lecture about the many ways your arteries can kill you. 

Kai waves his hand, slightly cross-eyed and loopy from medication. “Y’know what? I wanted a new sword anyways. You saved me, so…skip the lecture and we’ll call it square?”

Lloyd lets a small smirk crawl up his face. 

“You know, I feel like there’s something very important you should keep in mind, about your weapons taking the hit, instead of you—” 

“When I get out of here, you’re toast.”

______

“I think I know where I’m going wrong,” Kai says. 

He’s spent the weekend with his father, the two of them either shut up in the forge or buzzing and forth about blacksmithing. It leaves Lloyd feeling a little weird — some mix between happy for Kai and achingly jealous, which then leaves him mostly just sad, which sucks. Lloyd sucks — it’s terrible to feel that way. Everyone was happy when Lloyd got both his parents back after that first battle, and even if he’s lost that — the least he can do is be happy for Kai and Nya. 

It ends up working out pretty great in the end, because Kai looks a little like he’s unraveled the mysteries of the universe right now. 

Half his right eyebrow is also scorched off, but Lloyd decides not to mention it for now. It’ll be funny to see the look on his face, when he notices. 

“I was talking with my dad, who’s got a lot more experience with this stuff, and he suggested something,” Kai continues. He fiddles with whatever he’s got hidden behind his back, and Lloyd has to stifle the urge to dart around him and see. 

“No more katana,” Kai says. “You’re good with ‘em, but I think we need a change-up.”

“You mean good at breaking them,” Lloyd mutters.

“If the sword breaks on you, it’s my fault,” Kai says. “I’m not exactly the world’s best blacksmith. Y’know, you should really think about getting someone else to—”

“No.” Lloyd bites his tongue immediately, aware of how bratty he sounds. 

And selfish. It’s not like Kai has tons of time to just make Lloyd swords all the time. 

As if reading his thoughts, Kai scuffs his hair. “Stop that. I like making swords.” The small edge of a smile pulls at his lips. “I worked pretty hard to become a blacksmith. So it feels kinda good, that someone appreciates the work for once.”

He shakes his head. “Anyways! Meet your new battle buddy. This is called a dao sword.” 

Lloyd stares at the curved, silvery blade Kai’s handed to him. It’s thicker than the katana he’s used to, the blade growing broader at the end before tapering off. 

“Historically, it’s better suited for quick slashing, but it’s fairly versatile,” Kai continues. 

Lloyd carefully lifts the sword, his eyes widening just a bit. 

“And heavier,” Kai grins. “Which means it’s gonna be at least a little more difficult for you to shatter.”

His hands fit easily around the handle — there’s plenty of room for a two-handed grip, and enough balance if he wants to switch back to one. 

“The guard’s a bit better with protection, and it’s got this tassel here you can wrap around your hand — yeah, like that — to help keep it steady. Or just look fancy.”

Stepping back, Lloyd adjust his hold. Normally he’d do something silly, or needlessly complicated, just to make Kai roll his eyes, but something about this one feels heavier — he doesn’t want to mess it up. He takes a single, experimental swing instead. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. “It’s sharp.”

“I’d hope so. What do you think I am, a half-rate blacksmith — don’t answer that, by the way.”

Lloyd simply grins, taking a few more swings. It is heavier than the katana he’s used to, broader and chunkier — but it feels at home in his hands. 

“It’s incredible,” Lloyd says, turning back to Kai. “Thank you.”

Kai colors, just a bit. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying! I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Well, as long as it holds up, that’s good enough for me,” Kai says, rubbing the back of his head. “Wanna give it a test drive?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says. “I bet I can do even more flips with it.”

“And stab yourself in the leg in the process, but sure, go ahead, squander my gift—”

______

Lloyd’s careful, more so than ever, with the dao sword. When they all split across Ninjago, Lloyd clings to the piece of his family and tries to remember Kai’s instructions, making sure his hands are firmly wrapped and his right ankle always stays low. 

So when it breaks on the river with Harumi, Lloyd wants to cry.

He wants to cry for a lot of other reasons, but it still hurts — another thing he cares for that Harumi’s managed to break so easily. It hurts that they all work so hard, time and again, and it always ends up shattering around them anyways. Hurts that they pour themselves out for this city again and again and it’s still not enough. 

(Hurts that he’s never, ever going to outrun that worthless little kid in the snow.)

He learns, later — he’s got much more to lose to her than just a sword. 

It hurts all the same.

But the sword’s broken and Lloyd’s on a one-way collision course with his father, and it’s much too late to turn back now. 

Lloyd enters Kryptarium Prison with nothing but himself and his power. It was enough the first time, it’s got to be enough this one as well. 

Lloyd was enough the first time — if he isn’t enough now—

If he isn’t—

______

He isn’t.

He throws himself against his father and shatters his heart with every hit. Then the rest of him goes and shatters too, ribs cracking and skin splitting as he’s battered through walls and bruised against stone. His power sparks and screams as it tries to save him, pushed to its limits.

A part of Lloyd finds it funny — he can’t even keep his power together. He wonders if he’ll snap into six pieces and fly everywhere, just like Kai’s poor katanas, with nothing left but broken pieces of Lloyd to melt down for scrap. 

Kai doesn’t find it funny in the slightest. Not the muffled voice Lloyd hears breaking as his family tries to put him back together, not the filthy embrace Lloyd gets when it’s finally over, not the multiple hour-long lectures Lloyd’s forced to sit through even three months out. 

“I don’t care how many swords you break,” he hisses, giving Lloyd a shake that’s forceful enough his teeth almost rattle. “I don’t care if you shatter a thousand. They’re supposed to protect you. You’re supposed to choose yourself. Don’t you ever, ever, put yourself out there to break again.” 

Lloyd must’ve broken a hundred promises by now. He can’t seem to do anything right, truly — not being the Green Ninja, not being a good brother, not being Garmadon’s son.

But, as he nods and makes another promise, he can try. 

For Kai, he’ll try. 

______

Things are different, after his father, but it’s the same way things are always different after their family escapes by the skin of their teeth. Each new threat leaves another lingering wound, but Lloyd likes to think it stitches them closer in the aftermath. 

With everyone’s attention so laser-focused on Lloyd after everything, it makes it easier for him to spot the others’ bad days. 

It only takes him five minutes to track down Kai this time. Lloyd carefully lowers himself cross-legged next to him on the floor, katana laid across his lap.

Kai tenses, as if preparing for another speech. 

Please. Lloyd’s methods are way sneakier — and better — these days. 

“So,” he starts, as he dips the edge of a rag in Kai’s choji oil. “I was patrolling today, and I saw like, a demon cat, I think? I mean, it was definitely a cat. It looked kind of like the one Zane used to feed when we lived at the apartment, all stripey and stuff. I was gonna try and pet it, ‘cause patrol was pretty boring and what was I supposed to do, ignore it? So I did the whole pspsps thing, and it was not a fan — and I swear, it hissed at me, and it looked just like my dad. When he's all Oni, y’know? Which is rude, cats are supposed to be comforting, not traumatic—”

Lloyd’s rambling grows more and more nonsensical as he goes, jumping from topic to topic as he works on the katana. He can feel the tension seeping out of Kai where he sits beside him though, bit by bit until Kai’s finally leaning against his shoulder. 

“Missed a spot,” he speaks up suddenly, his voice only cracking a little.

Lloyd squints at the sword. “Where?”

Kai taps a bandaged finger on the blade. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. He adjusts the rag. “Thanks.”

 Kai speaks up again, after a minute, “You’ve gotten good at this.”

“Had a good teacher.”

There’s a faint snort. “Debatable.”

“With who?” Lloyd says. “I’m your number one sword student. And your only one. I win automatically.” 

“The others use swords. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, and Jay still whines every time the super special weapon-of-the-week to defeat evil ends up being a sword again,” Lloyd says. 

“S’cause Jay’s better with nunchucks. Totally different concept.”

“But he isn’t better with a sword.”

“Definitely not better than me.”

“I’m your best student,” Lloyd says. “Jay can’t be better than me. That’s illegal.”

“If the Green Ninja declares it,” Kai says, but there’s an edge of laughter in his voice, a thawing out of the numb blankness he’d worn earlier. He slumps, just a bit heavier, against Lloyd.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Kai mutters. 

“‘Kay.” Lloyd turns the sword over, squinting at his reflection. “Sometime, though?”

“If you can manage not to break anymore katanas before I finish your new weapon, maybe.”

“You guys won’t even let me out to fight,” Lloyd grouses. “It’s not as if I’ll have a chance to.”

Kai makes a huffing noise. “Maybe if you’d sit still long enough to heal—”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you,” Lloyd scowls. “Look, I know I messed up with — with her, but—”

“That’s not what this is about,” Kai says sharply. “It’s about you being okay.”

Normally, Lloyd would protest. Should protest — he doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. But Kai’s gone tense again, so he lets it go, just this once. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways. 

“No, don’t. You’re doin’ good,” Kai sighs, and he sounds so very, very tired. “Just…take it easy, okay? ’Til I get your sword done.” 

“Sorry for breaking the old one, too,” Lloyd says. “I really did try to keep it safe.” 

“I’ll make you a hundred swords,” Kai says. “A thousand, if I have to. Just keep using them, okay? Swords are your weapon.”

Like Lloyd’s ever going to forget that, at this point.

______

It’s only after the Oni are more a memory and Lloyd has been subjected to an unholy amount of recuperation that Kai allows him to even see the sword he’s made this time.

It’s well worth the wait, though.

“It’s gold,” Lloyd murmurs, reverently holding the new dao blade. 

“Yeah, well,” Kai shrugs, a little bashful. “I thought you should match us, at some point.”

Lloyd has to try very hard not to pretend that doesn’t make a small, lingering part of him want to tear up.

“Is this jade?” he says instead, carefully tracing a finger over the single panel of green that decorates the blade. 

“Technically it’s jadeite, and no, you don’t wanna know where I got it,” Kai corrects. 

“I don’t care,” Lloyd says. “I love it. It’s the best sword ever. I — thank you, so much—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Kai says quickly. “You’re welcome, or whatever, just — you’ll use it, right?”

Lloyd gives him a long, flat look. 

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“You are not allowed to joke about that—!”

______

The golden dao sword never breaks. 

It takes Lloyd several fights with it to stop holding back, but once he realizes this sword won’t shatter to pieces in his hands, he lets himself get creative.

And the sword holds, again and again. 

Against Aspheera’s burning soldiers, against the bitter chill of the Never Realm, against the Skull Sorcerer’s monsters in the depths of Shintaro, against the heavy weight of water and cold crystal — the dao blade holds.

Kai tells him it’s because Lloyd’s finally learned how to stop using his weapon as a glorified baseball bat. Lloyd thinks it’s because Kai knows blacksmithing for ninja better than anyone else in the world.

His powers grow, too — along with his options, which he’d really have preferred to just…avoid. 

Real fun that it wasn’t the many years of pent-up anger issues, but crippling traumatic grief, that’s the key to unlocking his shapeshifting abilities. Hilarious. 

It still stings, a bit, that no one ever bothered to tell him he was walking around with the blood of two mythical beings just chilling in his veins, Would’ve been nice to know, maybe, before he got stuck having a whole crisis about it smack in the middle of another world-ending crisis. 

Oni, dragon, Green Ninja. Like he needs another title.

In the end, it doesn’t matter much what he thinks. Everyone moves on and Lloyd is a multi-bred freak of nature, or something. 

His father thinks he should hone his Oni powers. Sensei Wu thinks he should listen to his father but also remember his dragon side. His mother thinks he should read the eight-hundred page historical brick of a book about all known history of the Oni and the dragon. He doesn’t have a clue what his great-grandparents think of him, except that a family reunion would be world-ending levels of terrible. 

Lloyd, who’s grown attached to looking like himself and happens to like being human, keeps reaching for his dao blade first. 

Swordsmanship is something he’s proud of. He’s worked hard for it, through blisters and bruises and blood. It’s something that belongs to him and Kai, something shared and freely given. Something passed onto him, something taught and earned, something treasured.

Lloyd doesn’t have a lot of things like that, so he treasures it all the more himself. 

Treasures the humanity of his family, and how lucky he is to be part of that.

Treasures the things he’s learned from them like family heirlooms he’s never had.

Treasures the fact that they’re there—

Treasures the—

______

The monastery is so quiet, Lloyd’s starting to understand how people lose their minds.

Not really. He hasn’t started talking to himself yet, so that’s a good sign, right? It doesn’t count, if you’re yelling for other people. Doesn’t count if you’re screaming curses at your stupid grandfather who let your whole world split apart and tore away the only people that were yours. 

“It doesn’t count,” he whispers to the sword in his lap. 

Lloyd stares dully at his reflection in the dao sword, marred by the splotchy wear and ugly chipping at the blade’s edges. It’s in miserable shape, worn down and neglected.

A lot like himself, maybe. 

He shudders, drawing in a breath. Sulking won’t sharpen swords. And when Kai gets back — which he will — he’ll be so disappointed that Lloyd’s gone and treated his sword like dirt. 

The smell of choji oil makes his eyes sting, but the familiar sound the rag makes across the blade soothes it. 

He’s glad he took the time to sharpen it up, too, when he visits the city. More than glad when he finds himself atop the train, his missing hood leaving him distinctly uncomfortable as he prepares to fight. 

Lloyd’s hands have warped and twisted, burst in purple and grown claws sharp enough to slice. If he can make them his own again, after that, he can make them hold steady now. 

The handle of the dao blade is worn and familiar, the fraying tassel the same bright green where it brushes the back of his hands, and Kai’s voice yells in his head as loud as ever as he swings it once—

One flip this time, he decides. One flip, one strike.

Swords are his weapon, after all. It’s important for him to remember that.  

And even if he doesn’t—

______

Lloyd’s grown up in a world of weapons, and far faster than he probably should. 

But with every sword swing, every familiar callous carved into his hand, Kai’s there to remind him that his sword is the weapon.

And Lloyd, power or no power, is just Lloyd. 

[zepskies]

A Crime of Passion

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader 

Summary: When Beau Arlen decides to “make it up to you,” he’s damn thorough.

AN: I couldn't help myself lol. I wrote this last night. Here's a quick little drabble for the Take Me Home series, set directly after A Good Man Is Hard to Find!

Based on this request from @jessicalynnann.

Word Count: 550

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Implied smut, fluff, and a murder (of sorts).

Catch up on the TMH-verse: ⤵️

❤️ Take Me Home Masterlist

You just…you couldn’t stop laughing.

“All right, you done?” Beau asked.

You never thought you’d see this man blush so thoroughly. It made you laugh harder, though you tried to stifle it with your hands covering your face.

He had you laid out beside him, still skin against naked skin as the cool air began to dry your dewy bodies.

You were lying against him in an odd position, considering your bed now had a deep crack in the bedframe that ran all the way down the middle. It meant your legs were bent at an angle, almost like you were laying in a recliner seat.

You just couldn’t believe it.

This man had really broken your bed.

In fact, he murdered it. Killed it dead. Though you supposed it was a crime of passion, in this case. (You held in a snort at the thought.)

There were even a couple of screws that had rolled across the tile floor.

“Again, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise I’ll pay for a new frame,” Beau said contritely.

The truth was, he was embarrassed beyond belief.

Another giggle escaped you, though you tried to soothe him by caressing his cheek.

“Baby, it’s okay. This thing was old. I’m surprised it survived the move all the way from Chicago, honestly,” you said. The twinkle of mischief in your eyes made his face warm further.

“But how damn lucky am I,” you added, your lips curving. “My man quite literally shatters expectations when he makes love to me.”

And despite the unexpected cracking sound that had left you wide-eyed, it had been a spectacular finish. Even now, you were still tingling between your legs from how hard you’d come on his cock. (Twice.)

You slipped your bare leg between both of his and pressed a sweet kiss to his chest.

Beau fought it, but he had to smile at your words, and your affection. He sunk a hand into your tangled hair, first brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“You sure you’re okay then?” he asked.

“I’m more than okay,” you said. He felt the shape of your smile against his skin. You pulled back to meet his eyes. “Better the bed than my back, anyway. Jesus.”

Beau let out a sigh. Another giggle bubbled over and escaped you. You rubbed his arm.

“Think of it this way,” you said. “Now we can go pick out a new bed together.”

Beau tilted his head at that, and he nodded. A smile grew across his face.

“Now there’s an idea,” he said. It was probably too soon for him to broach the topic of moving in with you, but this could be a good first step.

“Right?” you replied in excitement. But there was something else dancing in your eyes. “We’ll just have to make sure the frame’s reinforced with titanium or something, because goddamn.”

Beau couldn’t help but laugh. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder while his own shook. You held him to you and didn’t bother to try and hide your own amusement anymore.

One thing you knew for sure?

There was no way in hell you’d ever let him live this down.

And one thing he would never tell you…

Beau Arlen was damn proud of himself.

AN: 😂 Well then. That was fun, and I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Keep Reading:

Here’s a one-shot set a couple of months after this one. It’s called S.I.N.G.:

Summary: Beau wishes you’d take this self-defense lesson a little more seriously.

▶️ Next Story: S.I.N.G.

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Take Me Home Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @brianochka

@branj19 @globetrotter28 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @ades106 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu

@nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @deans-baby-momma @tabsluvsu @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@deanwanddamons @anticxrrupt @lacilou @deans-daydream @deans-spinster-witch

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @iprobablyshipit91

@ladysparkles78 @solariklees @lostin-jensenseyes @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731

@curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow

[sansaorgana]

Can you write a cute one with a bit of smut (if you're comfortable with that obviously) with Buck and female reader where he sneaks her into his room when he knows all the others are away?

hi, love! 😍 I loved the idea of sneaking in and it starts smutty indeed but the ending is spoiled by Bucky 🤣 sorry not sorry, I tend to imagine Reader's life with these two like it's a sitcom sometimes 😁

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

Buck was the only guy who didn’t go out to the pub in town on Friday night. The boys had a whole weekend off and almost all of them decided to celebrate by going to the local town and flirting with the girls while getting drunk. Buck was not a drinker and he already had his girl on the base with him.

“If you stay here like a loser,” Bucky teased him before walking out, “then at least sneak her in here and have some good time, too,” he winked as some man behind him whistled and Buck sighed. “You don’t want to sleep here alone, do you?”

“Get out already,” Buck pushed him out and watched the rest of the boys disappear. He shook his head to himself but the truth was that he found the idea tempting indeed.

“Oh, you stayed?” You asked Buck, surprised to see him alone by the table during dinnertime. “I thought you’d go out with the boys,” you chuckled and took a seat next to him.

“I’d get bored there,” he admitted and you tilted your head to take a better look at him because he sounded like he was crazy. He smiled at you.

“You’re adorable, Gale,” you told him and you fixed his hair a little. His friends were not there to tease him about it and your friends had already known about you two anyway. Women’s gossip travelled faster than any plane. “But you don’t have to miss out on parties. I wouldn’t mind you going out,” you told him.

“I really didn’t want to go,” he assured you. “But you know… I have a whole room for myself tonight.”

You took the hand away and focused on the plate in front of you. You had to admit, you got a little shy at his insinuation. You had been sort of dating for a few weeks now but you had never had a time completely alone for yourselves. Not like that, at least. Of course there had been a few heated kisses in the dark corners here and there. But not much more than that.

“I’m so sorry…” Buck blushed. “God, I’m sorry… Forget about it… Doll, can we pretend I’ve never said that?” He put his hand on your thigh and you moved it away. He looked even more scared and awkward now.

“No, we can’t pretend,” you told him and dared to lay your eyes on him again. “Because I don’t want to pretend you haven’t said that. I think we can do it,” you nodded your head nervously.

Yes, yes, your mother wouldn’t be proud of you at that moment but for God’s sake you wanted something from this life, too, and that man could go down any day.

You loved him, too.

Buck furrowed his brows and then he gave you a wide smile as he finally realised that you had just agreed to spend the night with him.

“I will tell my friends that I have to work late. So they will go to sleep before I join them without knowing when exactly I’ll be back. I’ll tell Colonel Harding I’ll help him with the papers…” you started.

“No, no, he will keep you there until morning,” Buck shook his head.

“No, he won’t be there.”

“But he will realise you weren’t working if the papers aren’t ready tomorrow,” Buck pointed out.

“You silly, I have already finished them,” you rolled your eyes. “I always do more than I tell him so I can have free time here and there. And then I pretend I’ve just done it although it was already done a few days before. He’s been played like that many times by me,” you chuckled.

“You cunning little angel,” Buck pinched your thigh under the table and you giggled. “Let’s meet at eleven by the bathroom.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased him.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you were walking down the dark corridor. You were wearing nothing but a coat over your nightgown and now you regretted it. You wanted to surprise Buck but you were cold and you started to feel like an idiot, too. What if he would find it funny… or not ladylike…?

You almost decided to turn around and change before going back when you felt someone grabbing your arm and pulling you. You squealed but your lips got covered by a familiar hand.

“Shh, little one,” Buck whispered into your ear. “I’ve heard your footsteps,” he told you and removed the hand from your mouth.

“You scared me, Buck!” You whispered.

“I’m sorry, doll. Now, come with me,” he held your hand and guided you further into the corridor. You couldn’t go back to put more clothes on. You took a deep breath in and followed him.

Buck pushed the door leading to the room where the men had been sleeping, making sure to be as quiet as possible. You were alone there but someone could be walking outside. He closed the door behind you and led you to his bed.

When you were finally there, he turned on the small lamp which light was dim and wouldn’t alarm anyone walking by. After all, it was a free weekend and he was able to stay up late reading a book or something.

Then he turned around and took a look at you. He was wearing a T-shirt and pants and he smiled gently as noticed your nervousness.

“We don’t have to… do anything. We can just spend time together,” he told you and sat down on his bed. “What would you like to do?”

“I’m cold,” you admitted.

“Well, then, come here,” he invited you and you bit on your lower lip before gaining the courage to finally open your coat and let it fall to the floor.

Buck’s eyes widened as he looked up at you wearing nothing but a nightgown. He swallowed thickly as his lips opened slightly. The white nightgown looked perfect on your body in the dim light of his lamp and your nipples were hard and perky from the cold. He reached out for you as if he tried to find out if you were real.

“Can you warm me up, Major?” You teased as you crawled up on the bed to curl yourself in his arms.

“I sure can try,” Buck kissed your temple and reached out for the blanket to put it around you. You laid your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat as your fingers started to make circles on his stomach. “Are you warmer now, love?” He looked down to see your face.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I haven’t felt so warm and safe in a long while,” you admitted.

“War is no place for a sweetheart like you,” he said and rubbed your back.

“But war is here anyway. War is in my country, it’s in my world. I can’t escape it. And here I can at least… do something,” you looked up to meet the gaze of his beautiful blue eyes. “It has nothing to do with courage, you know. If we get bombed and I die here, not many people will be sad. You don’t find wives and mothers here.”

“I will certainly be sad,” Buck put his finger on your lips to caress them gently. “Let’s not talk about it tonight.”

You nodded your head and let his fingertips trace the corners of your mouth. You opened your lips slightly and he froze for a while, trying to read on your face if you wanted what he had thought that you wanted. Eventually, you gave him a slight nod and he slowly put his fingers inside your mouth.

You sucked on them and looked up to give him doe eyes. His pupils darkened and you smirked at the sight. You felt his muscles tightening, too.

You raised your hands to grab his wrist and pull his fingers out of your mouth.

“Do you want to touch me?” You asked.

“Yes, please,” he nodded and you giggled at how well-mannered he was.

You guided both of his hands on your breasts and you leaned back to get in a more comfortable position for you to rest and for him to grope you.

His long fingers worked on the bow on your chest and when the ribbons went loose, the nightgown opened, exposing your bare breasts for him to touch gently. You moaned at the sensation and he shushed you before burying his face in your neck to place small kisses and suck on your skin.

His hands were warm and big and he was using them so gently. His goal was not to play with your breasts mindlessly, but to fondle them and explore every inch of the exposed skin. You didn’t feel like a piece of meat, you felt like a sculpture being admired by an artist. And it was making you feel warm and wet between your legs, too. You began to slowly rub your thighs together to get some friction.

Buck moved his head up to place kisses on your jaw now and you reached back to caress his hair and pull him closer.

You wanted to ask him to touch you down there but you felt too shy to do that. You let out a whine instead.

“What is it, little one?” Buck hummed and laid his eyes on your face. He wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked at him, pleadingly. At first he was confused but then he looked down and noticed your crossed thighs. “Do you want me to touch you there, darling?” He asked and you nodded shyly, feeling your cheeks heating up. “Alright then,” he kissed your forehead. “Come here,” he helped you to move down in his arms so you both were laying down now.

You pulled your nightgown up – shyly but eagerly, too. And this time the eagerness won with the shyness. You felt as if you were about to explode at any given moment. You had no privacy on this base until now so you couldn’t remember the last time you would touch yourself. And having Major Buck Cleven touching you was enough to set your whole body on fire.

Buck raised your thigh gently and put it over his waist to get a better access to you and he carefully touched your clit for the first time. He was visibly surprised at how swollen and wet you already were.

You let out a moan and tugged on his shirt.

“Buck…”

“What’s wrong, doll?” He stopped all the movement to make sure you were alright.

“I don’t want to have sex,” you admitted shyly and he furrowed his brows. “You can touch me but I don’t want to… I don’t want to go further. Not yet,” you told him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he shook his head and kissed the top of yours. “Don’t be, little one.”

“I can touch you, too,” you proposed.

“Only if you feel like it,” he said.

“I do,” you assured him. “You can go back to touching me,” you added with a whine and he chuckled before letting his fingertips brush your clit gently.

God, he was a tease.

You focused on the bulge in his pants instead and you decided to tease, too. It was only fair. So you started with caressing it through the material of his pants, focusing on the tip for a while and then going all the way up. In the meantime, you were losing focus a few times from all the sensations he was making you feel between your legs.

“If you keep doing it like this, darling, I’m going to finish in my pants,” Buck chuckled.

“Really?” You looked up with a smile. “I want to see.”

“Oh, you’re naughty,” he shook his head and you felt a light slap on your pussy that made you widen your eyes. It was both slightly painful and incredibly pleasurable.

“Oh, so are you, Major,” you breathed out.

“You like that?” He asked and slapped you again as you whined. “You do.”

You both chuckled and leaned in for a kiss as your hands went back to rubbing and teasing. You were so lost in each other, you didn’t hear someone walking inside.

It was the loud bang of the door that made you jump up on the bed. You grabbed the blanket to cover yourself, absolutely terrified.

Thankfully, it was only Bucky. And he was completely drunk.

“Good evenin’,” he slurred out with a smirk, barely standing on his feet.

“What are you doing here?!” Buck snapped at him.

“Don’t mind me, I don’t have any idea what’s going on around me,” he admitted. “I think I wanted to start a fight, they threw me out. Some nice girl from the town gave me a ride home… To the base, I mean… So yeah… I’m banned from that pub,” he laid on his bed and started snoring half a minute later.

“I’ve never seen anyone falling asleep so fast!” You gasped.

“That’s Bucky for you,” Buck sighed.

“What now?” You asked.

“Well, he’s asleep…”

“No,” you interrupted him. “I can stay here for the night but I will not… No, it’s out of question,” you shook your head.

“Fine,” Buck sighed and left the bed. “Give me a moment, I need to go to the bathroom and cool down.”

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded your head and watched him walk away as you worked on your nightgown to tie the ribbons again in a bow.

When you were finished with that, you stood up and began turning Bucky around.

“What are you doing?” Buck asked you as he had just come back.

“He won’t snore so much this way and he won’t choke on his own vomit either,” you told him. “Help me, will you? He’s quite heavy.”

Buck helped you with that and he covered his friend with his blanket, too.

“It’s like tucking a kid to bed,” you giggled.

“Perhaps not the last time for us if we’re lucky,” Buck looked at you and your cheeks went hot at his words.

“Perhaps not…” you chuckled and extended your hands to take him back to bed and cuddle for the rest of the night.

Cuddling was nice, too.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[snotty-zombie]

Rageous-tober part 3!!

Day 19: Velchid

Day 21: Vampire

Day 26: Orchid

More under the cut 😉

Day 19: Velchid

This kinda marks the spot where I started doing more and more for each entry and making life so much more difficult for myself haha I started like adding extra little bits beside the main piece just for fun which made the pressure of posting on time a lot tougher (I eventually said fuck it and just posted them late cuz who gives af haha)

I honestly love drawing full bodies of Rhinestone because she wears such bright clothing and accessories all covered in stickers and charms (her miku keychain is based off of one I own myself reeheehee) and she’s always pulling a funny face

Stark contrast to Velvet with her neat pearl jewellery and tidy hair and delicate acrylic nails. I try to make each part of her outfit somewhat matching and colour coordinated because I feel like her and Veneer are so anal retentive about that sort of thing like they FREAK if something is like slightly off like their shoes and top are different shades of black or whatever- exhibit A, Velvet’s witch costume which is all matching colours as well as her lovely nails and ring

Then there on the bonus pics is Vels tormenting the smelly boys as well as some Velstone angst, they’ll be ok

Day 21: vampire 🧛‍♂️ 🦇 🩸

QUITE PROUD OF THIS ONE, would you believe me if I said I finished it back in mid September because I was so excited for Halloween? I didn’t know I was going to be doing an inktober event this year so when I saw the vampire prompt I shoved this in a box to wait until then to post it

Veneer couldn’t decide between being a cowboy or a vampire for Halloween so he had the genius idea of combining both into one costume… a vampire cowboy! Cowboy vampire- either works. Veneer gives me HUGE vampire energy, just the inherent cuntyness of a vampire mixed with Veneer’s annoying teenage sass is chefs kiss- plus he’s as pale as a vampire anyway so no need for makeup

And his smelly hairy werewolf bf that he can drag along with his lasso and order to bite people

Day 26: Orchid Rhinestone!

Kidding the prompt was Orchid but it was referring to the same Rageon so

This is a really big one haha it was just an excuse to vomit some of my Rhinestone headcannons onto a page and it was sooooo fun

Starting off at the top, she’s a big video game person, only things she spends her hard earned cash on are video games and cosplay materials but she’ll never admit it.

Secret Easter egg moment there of her and Veneer from Jobiesayscheese’s fanfic (my favourite ever fyi, you should totes read it), the girls who know, know.

Sea urchin Rhinestone appearance! Will definitely be seeing more of her because I’m so proud of my furry designs for them all haha omfg, she makes rattling sounds when she moves, particularly when her spines aren’t tied back- I’m sure you can imagine the sound they make, sort of like hollow bamboo being clinked together mixed with jewellery tinkling

AND HER COSPLAY YIPPEE YIPPEE YIPPEE (another ten points if you can name all the cosplays) she’s as hands on as it gets, nothing is bought, everything is hand sewn and glued and all that, she does everything by hand with her own patterns (most of the time), she even managed to convince Velvet to let her make a costume for her one time so they could have a couples cosplay. She also does literally every kind of craft out there and is always knitting or crocheting something for her friends or gf to wear like a cute jumper or a warm winter hat (she’s a giver) or felting holiday decorations as gifts :3c

Part 1! Part 2! Part 3! Part 4!

[clangenrising]

Hey guys.

It is with great shame that I think I must announce that I can no longer maintain my posting schedule and RisingClan needs to go on a tiny hiatus.

For some background, I've been struggling with work and mental health for a couple months now which culminated in a breakdown a few weeks ago after which my boss insisted I take some time off work to recover. In that time, I've been trying to catch up with RisingClan’s schedule, which I am very behind on, but this week I learned that I need to start packing to move out as well. And to top it all off, I'm in danger of losing my benefits and need to get that sorted out.

Multiple people have told me that if I need to put RisingClan on hold, I can, that my audience will understand, but I've been loathe to because doing so would mean abandoning the "In Real Time" gimmick that I was so proud of and I didn't want to compromise my vision in that way. Unfortunately, though, I have come to the realization that I can either force myself to write and damage my mental health further, write at my own pace and release updates far later than I wanted to hoping that doing so doesn't make the story too different from what I had hoped, OR I can put things on pause until my life isn't falling apart and then start writing again, albiet not in the way I wish I could.

I have decided to do the latter. I'm going to take a break from producing RisingClan content for at least a couple weeks, maybe a month or two, while I move and get my shit together. I'm also going to put Featured Follower Posts on hold. However, during that time I will continue to answer asks since that takes very little effort and I'd love to highlight any fan art if people feel like making any. When I feel I'm able, I'll start writing again and maybe eventually I'll be able to catch up to the current month and resume business as usual. I'm not going to push myself though.

I know you'll all understand but I want to thank you anyway and say I hope that you'll stick with me through this posting gap. The events that are coming up are things I'm really excited for and I hope you'll all be there to see them!

To my lovely patrons, I would appreciate your continued support but I understand if you feel the need to cancel your subscriptions even temporarily. Luckily, I already finished Leafbare's season illustration so that will be posted on time, as usual.

Thank you all. I couldn't do this without your support and I'm looking forward to getting back in the saddle soon.

♡ Rowan

[rileyslibrary]

I imagine that Ghost is pretty crafty and as we know already from other stories, he is always eager to help. What if reader asks him for help to assemble some piece of IKEA furniture? Something big like a closet or even a kitchen, the stuff you can't really build on your own (or it's much easier with help at least).

I don't know how much experience you have with this stuff, but oh my god... The amount of time I already spend during my life sorting these bags of screws, losing my marbles over the instructions, getting into arguments with my partner because I wasn't holding something properly for his liking, the giant pieces of cardboard packaging I had to fold and cram into the dumpster... And then ordering pizza afterwards and being proud of what we did and admiring this stupid new dresser we got like it's some piece of art. Oh memories... :)

Indeed, he’s eager to help, but if you’re the stubborn I-need-help-but-let-me-try-by-myself-first type, I feel he would just sit there and watch you make a mess. You probably didn’t revisit the instructions either, did you? What’s that? You read them once, and that’s enough? Tsk tsk tsk.

Well, he holds the manual, just in case. And he reads it, and it takes so much effort from him not to snatch that L tool thingy they give you with the unassembled furniture and start doing it himself. You called him for the heavy stuff anyway, so he should probably wait until you ask for help.

But you don’t, and, as expected, you start projecting your anger towards him.

“You’re not helping.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asks. “Just say it.”

You look at the instructions in his hand. “What does it say?” you mumble and nod at the booklet.

“It says that you’re doing it wrong,” he replies.

You give him that look that you’re about to lash out at any minute, and he changes tactics without being fazed at all by your attitude. He just wants the job done and you to be happy. And pizza afterwards, of course.

He starts walking around your mess, pointing at pieces of furniture and screws, instructing you while reading the booklet.

“Take this,” he orders while holding a piece of wood and stabilising it with his knee, “Put the screw in here.” and points at the hole.

You do as you’re told. The fact that you’re now seeing progress is enough to shut you up.

After you finish your project, you feel triumphant and need some pizza. He’s hungry, too, but something still bothers him. He doesn’t show it and asks if you can order while he cleans up the cardboard boxes you used to lay the pieces onto.

You go to the other room and call your local pizzeria. He, in return, takes the tools and secretly goes through every screw you’ve placed, tightening them so that it doesn’t fall on you.

[lavendermoonlitskies]

2024 Fic Roundup

Thanks @bellisima-writes for the tag!

What fandoms do you write for?

Only Good Omens. I can’t explain why but that show has been the only one that has ever inspired me this much.

How many words have you published in 2024?

Oh wow I just checked and I guess that would be 41,513 in total 🙈

What is your greatest achievement this year?

I was pretty proud of Dream A Little Dream of Me when I finished that, but now I guess I’d say that my greatest achievement is not giving up on a story I believe in (current WIP) despite everything that has happened in the fandom as well as in my personal life. I don’t expect it to reach “fandom classic” status, it’s probably going to end up flying somewhat under the radar, but that’s okay. I don’t need a lot of attention as some sort of “reward” for my hard work, I just want to write.

What are your top 3 favorite fics you wrote this year?

The Road Less Traveled (WIP)

Rating: unrated

Word count (current): 12,143

The road is Crowley’s only friend in the wake of Aziraphale’s departure. Endless landscapes, filled with the memories of a simpler time, becoming nothing more than a blur as the demon drove impossibly fast to avoid even a glance in its direction.

Maybe he’s running from his past, but is it truly possible to run forever?

It’s A Big, Lonely Universe Out There

Rating: Mature

Word count: 5,618

Crowley softened, watching Aziraphale’s terrified eyes imagine the lonely existence he was dangerously close to. He began to feel the drafty air in Heaven that was just a little bit too cold, a headache forming from the blinding white that covered every inch of that space. The looming threat of being tossed into the fiery pits of Hell over the tiniest hint of disobedience, with nobody there to come to his rescue. The cold stares of his colleagues, each and every one of them glaring at him with disdain and disapproval over the blasphemous ways in which he’d chosen to spend his time on earth. It was cold, so cold.

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

***

It's 1941 in London, England, and Aziraphale & Crowley have had a very eventful evening. The night is almost over when they're sat in the middle of a dimly-lit bookshop, wine glasses in hand. Things may start to go awry when they get a little too drunk, and start admitting things they probably shouldn't.

Find Me In Your Dreams, My Dear/Le Chant du Rossignol (Song of the Nightingale)

Parts 1 and 4 of Dream A Little Dream of Me. Part 1 was the first time I stepped out of my shell a little bit and had someone beta read, and I was really happy with the final product after that (thanks @serenity-black !). You definitely have to read parts 2 and 3 in order to understand what’s going on in Le Chant, but I felt better about how part 4 was written. I guess the more action-packed parts of the stories I write are not totally my strong suit, maybe I’m better at the emotional aspect; what’s going on in these characters’ heads before and after the big event.

What have you learned?

From a technical standpoint I learned a lot about formatting/basic grammar rules for writing a story with dialogue and all that 😅

But I’ve also learned a lot more about myself and what I apparently love to do. Big thanks to the GO fandom for reintroducing me to the joys of reading and writing 🥰

Also I researched a fuckton of random topics for these works, and anyways now I’m a lot more familiar with the map of Europe and I know a lot about Centaurus/Alpha Centauri

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

I tried joining one of those fic bangs this spring because I thought it would bring me more out of my shell, and it kind of did in a way but overall it just didn’t work out. I was excited about collaborating with people and making connections, but it wasn’t exactly like that and the fic itself just wasn’t sparking anything in me. It felt more like a job than something I was doing for fun 🤷‍♀️

Did you beta any fics?

I honestly don’t remember lmao

I don’t think so?

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

Phersu by JunKolt

I absolutely LOVE any fics that place Aziraphale and Crowley in different moments in history, especially when you can tell that the writer really did their research and the historical accuracy is THERE. Beautifully written, romantic, very bittersweet.

Don’t Fall Away From Me by @phoen1xr0se

Technically I read this at the very end of 2023 but I’m counting it anyway

If this fic has no fans I am dead. Fr. Absolutely brilliant. Bravo fellow moot👏👏👏

run across the river (just to hold you tonight) by hope_in_the_dark

Yk I had to throw in a short one just for good measure

Short, sweet, beautiful writing. Perfect for a lil bed time story from time to time, as a treat

Who do you want to thank?

The first one who comes to mind is @thavron who asked me to join their writing group for November (now continuing on into December ofc)! Without the little extra push that your server has given me, I honestly don’t know that I would’ve kept going with my current WIP despite how much I do believe in it. Big thanks ✌️💜

Thanks to @serenity-black (and also Aves whose Tumblr I don’t believe I have if they’re even on here) for beta-reading! It felt weirdly vulnerable to ask someone to take a look at my writing and tell me what they thought but I’m glad I did it and thank you for being so encouraging when you did☺️

Thank you to @thinkinginscripts @butterflywithsass and @manicpixiecatlady for working with me on the “fanfic book club” for the Good Omens fandom! I think it’s been wonderful so far 🥰

And a big thank you to every person who has left a nice comment on my works, you have no idea what that means to me

Happy holidays! ✌️🎄

[crescenthistory]

carina!! I saw your 12 fics for 12 months and I have a curious little spin on it if you don't mind humouring me:

with the year coming to a close, I can't help but reflect on all the good it has brought us (like your many wonderful stories) and I just really need to know.... if you were to do a 12 fics for 12 months sort of wrap up of your own blog, what would be your 12 most memorable fics of the year? which of your pieces really stood out to you? I'm eager to hear what my friends' proudest works are!

xx

my darling elle!! this is such a sweet extrapolation on the appreciation post, thank you<33

this honestly was such an endearing trip down memory lane, and it makes me want to say a big thank you to everyone who have been reading my works and supporting my creative bursts this year 🫂🤍 big hugs to the lot of you<33

now; carina's 12 fics for 12 months

It's Nice To Have A Friend (Remus Lupin) -> this is my favourite fic i have posted, it was genuinely so much fun to write and soso cute. it will always have the most special place in my heart<3

Miracles All Around (Poly!Marauders) -> similarly, i think this is my favourite au of mine, and it has sooo much potential for further exploration that i really want to get into next year

WIP: Potter!Reader x Sirius Black & Jegulus -> i haven't posted this yet, but have worked so much on it this year that it has still cemented itself in my mind as one of my most important fics. i enjoy the dynamics so much and have written the "core" fic + several one-shots based off it. very excited to share next year<3

Feline Touches (Regulus Black, Platonic!Marauders) & the rest of the "series" -> this one stands out to me because it got me one of my friends on here (shout out komi) and really increased the amount of interactions and requests i got<3

My Valkyries Headcanons and Thoughts and Poly!Dorlene fic -> i know there is less of an audience for the girls, so i've been proud of myself for writing for them "anyway" and truly, truly loving the process

Just Us (Narcissa Black) -> same thing as with the valkyries, it heals something within me to write for them and i'm proud of myself for prioritising that

You Too, Silly (Poly!Bartylus) -> my first bartylus fic that had so many bumps in the road that i almost didn't finish it, but i did and it was well received which was a good lesson for me

Come Running (Regulus Black) -> i remember thinking "oh god this was so unnecessary dramatic" even as i was writing it, but i had such a good time anyway lmao

the blood means i love you (Barty Crouch Jr) -> this is my favourite barty fic of mine, for no particular reason...

WIP: The First One To Go (Remus Lupin) -> the hurt/comfort here is truly hurt/comforting so it's taking a while to write, but i adore it so much that it's still one of my first works that i think of in the morning

What Now? (Poly!Moonwater) -> it's a shame it's my only moonwater fic but i love it to death

sleepy midnight escapades (Barty Crouch Jr, Platonic!Remus Lupin) -> finally, this is the fic that i remember as the coziest (and one thing about me, i love cozy fics)

i rarely ever re-read my own works, so this was such a good and rewarding experience. elle, your mind>>>

happy new year to all the lovely people contributing to building such a warm and safe space for me here 🫂🫂🫂

[burningablaze]

Todoroki x Reader - More To This Than Meets The Eye

A/N: Trust me, I was not proud of myself that it took me that long just to finish a fic. I guess I needed time for myself and there was so much going on that I barely thought about writing again. I didn’t mean to stop writing for so long but that doesn’t mean my love for writing stopped. Anyways enough of my rambling, I hope you enjoy this one and this was requested by an anonymous

Summary: Todoroki catches you reading a fic about him and wanted to find out what it was about. You didn’t expect him to react the way he did

Words: 1,212

Ler: Todoroki

Lee: Reader

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

You sat alone in the living room as you sought to continue to read where you left off. You looked behind your shoulders and looked around in every direction to see if someone was heading in your way as you were protective of what you were reading on your phone.

After a few moments of reading silently, you couldn’t help but to feel giddy, squirming in your seat and giggling all the way through. What you didn’t notice was someone was right behind all along.

“This is… interesting to say the least.”

“AAH!”

You jumped in your seat and looked behind you with your hand over your chest.

“Todoroki?! Dude, you gotta stop doing that.”

Todoroki gave you an apologetic smile and took a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice calm and composed. “I just couldn’t help but notice your reaction to what you were reading.”

You groaned and blushed. “Please don’t tell me you read all of that.”

“I think it was halfway through. This is what you like to read? Tickling? Me tickling the other person specifically?”

“Wait, Todoroki! It’s not like that! I-I-I…”

Todoroki’s expression softened as he listened to your stammering explanation. His professional tone of voice remained steady as he responded, “I understand. Sometimes people have different interests, and it’s important not to judge them for it.”

Todoroki walked over from behind and sat down on the cushions in front of you, accepting to hear what you have to say.

You couldn’t help but feel relieved by his understanding demeanor. Todoroki’s ability to remain calm in unexpected situations was one of the many reasons you admired him. It was clear that he valued open-mindedness and acceptance, which made you feel more at ease.

“I apologize if I invaded your privacy,” Todoroki continued, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “It was not my intention. But, if you’re comfortable, I would like to hear your perspective on why you enjoy reading such stories. Perhaps it’s something I can learn from.”

You couldn’t help but blush and try to find the right words. “Todoroki, we have been friends for a very long time and I know you finding out about this for the first time can be… weird,” you said hesitantly.

“I don’t think it’s weird. I just want to understand the concept of this. I’m not very familiar with the tickling thing.” Todoroki replied, his tone curious and sincere.

You sighed. “I like to read this sort of stuff because it’s an escape from reality and it makes me feel better in a way even though I may be touch starved.”

Todoroki looked at you intently, his expression softening with empathy. “I see. So, these stories provide you some comfort and a sense of connection?” he asked, trying to grasp the significance it held for you.

Nodding, you continued, “Yes, exactly. It’s a way for me to experience the feeling of closeness and affection that I might not have in my everyday life. It’s purely fictional, but it helps me feel less alone.”

“And what about me being involved in the stories? Is it something that you would want me to do?” he asked.

You started to get flustered. “Well, it’s more like… imagining what it’ll be like if you were.”

“Oh, I see. May I see what you were reading then?” Todoroki asked. You blinked but gave your phone to him. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

You watched Todoroki scrolling on your phone and you were starting to get nervous. You wouldn’t know how he would feel about this. As you were lost in your thoughts, you felt a squeeze on your sides.

“Hehehehey! T-Todorokihihihi!” “Whoever wrote this about me did not capture my personality at all.” Todoroki said as kept tickling you while reading with a blank stare.

You covered your face to hide from the embarrassment and how much your face was blushing. You couldn’t help but kept giggling hysterically.

“What does ‘digging his fingers into your sides’ mean? Is it something like this?” he asked as he did exactly that, digging his fingers in your sides.

Caught off guard by his sudden movement, you let out a surprised squeak and toppled backward onto the couch. The laughter bubbled out of you even more, intensifying into a full-blown fit of hilarious laughter. “Ahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Nohohohohohoho!”

Todoroki’s friendly tone and playful demeanor continued as he watched you dissolve into laughter. His eyes softened with amusement as he realized how much joy he was bringing you. “I guess this ‘digging his fingers into your sides’ thing is quite effective,” he remarked, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re so mehehehehean!”

Todoroki couldn't chuckle at your adorable laughter. He found it endearing how easily you were able to let loose and have a good time. As he watched you struggle to catch your breath between giggles, he couldn't help but feel a warm sense of contentment.

“If I was really mean then maybe this next paragraph will say otherwise,” Todoroki cleared his throat before reading as he kept tickling your side. “Your laughter turned into delightful squeals as you squirmed and tried to block his tickles. But deep down, it was clear that you were enjoying every moment, secretly begging for more.”

As the tickling continued, Todoroki leaned in closer, his voice softer now. “You know, it's moments like these that make me realize how lucky I am to have you in my life. Your laughter brightens up my day, and I can’t help but feel a warm sense of contentment whenever I see you like this.”

You arched your back as you screamed with laughter. It felt overwhelming from him reading the actions to you. It felt like a nightmare and you lost count of how many flips your stomach did.

“Shut up! Shuhuhuhut up! Ahahahahahahahahahaha nohohohohoho plehehehase!”

He suddenly attacked your belly with both hands after he tossed your phone to the side. “Now, I think I remember something in the fic going “Todoroki thought Y/N was so cute, seeing them fall apart as a blushing giggling mess. Especially when their belly is so so ticklish.” Is it getting to you?” he asked with a sly smile.

“Yes, yes! Please stohohohohop!” you grabbed both his wrists and tried to pry them off with your might. Todoroki chuckled. “I guess I’ve tortured you long enough.” he finally let up and moved to the other side of the couch.

You took that moment to catch your breath. “Damn, Todoroki, you were kinda ruthless.”

Todoroki chuckled again. “Did I at least get everything right as what the fic said?”

You blushed slightly. “You kinda did,” you said nervously. Todoroki smiled. “I’m glad,”

“So, what did you think about all that?” you asked. “Well, again it was interesting to experience something like that, especially from a fic about me.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Y-Yeah,” “But,” Todoroki continued. “I did have fun, watching you giggle and like that,”

“Todoroki!” you whined and threw a pillow at him. He laughed. “But I am serious, if you want to do that more often or just hangout in general, I would be willing to do so.” he smiled.

“Me too, Todoroki.”

[wakeup01]

The Shorts, Like, Maketh The Man

The black shorts were just laying there, hanging off the empty bench. I know, I know. But I wasn’t usually the type to pick up sweaty used clothing in the street, but there was something drawing me to them. Calling out to me. They weren’t really my style even, clearly gym shorts for the sort of person who spends at least an hour a day looking in the mirror. I’d never even set foot in a gym. But still, they were…nice. The polyester material felt good in my hand. Silky. There was clearly some text on the back of them but I was too excited to bother reading it. Maybe I could have them? It didn’t seem like the owner wanted them anymore anyway. I look around for any onlookers and quietly take them, stuffing them away in my pocket.

I wanted to try them on. Needed to. Finding a secluded area, I remove my trousers and pull the smooth fabric up my unimpressive legs. They felt incredibly good around my waist, like they were made for me. There was a warmth radiating from them. Mmff. They seem to press against…all the right places. Clinging to my skin. I catch myself letting out a soft moan, my face blushing red at hearing the sound. Maybe I should take them off, it would be weird to walk home in someone else’s—someone…some..one. Mine. They were my shorts. I leave the baggy trousers behind and step out into the street, an extra boost of confidence in my step.

While I’m walking my body feels slightly off, as if my weight distribution had shifted. Each foot forward felt heavier, stronger. People start to turn and gaze at me. I catch a glimpse of my chunky arms; were they always that veiny? Huh. I see my reflection strutting in a shop window and freeze on the spot. What on earth? There was a completely different person staring back at me. He was sexy as all hell. I looked like a utter gymrat. I touch my sharp, smooth jaw and run my fingers over my harsh buzzed hair. The visage in the reflection copies my exact movements, a large, self assured smirk set on their face. Curious, I lift the hem of my t-shirt. Woah! I was completely jacked! You could sharpen a blade on these abs.

Somehow I had gained pounds of lean muscle in a matter of minutes and my skin had been tanned a luscious golden hue. Certainly, I wasn’t about to complain about this turn of events. Maybe I should pick up discarded clothes more often!

Fuck, my body was li—like, fit. Just check it out. I pull out my phone and take a selfie. Okay. Maybe several selfies. Fine, maybe it was a couple dozen. Who gives a fuck when you look this hot. I didn’t even care about the pedestrians walking past and staring. They SHOULD stare. Admire this prize. This TROPHY. I was in peak form from head to toe. The shiny shorts accentuated my thick, meaty legs perfectly.

My eyes suddenly catch the time on my phone, pulling me out of my shameless self obsession. Damn, at this rate I was gonna be late for Daddy. Wait. Daddy? That’s not right, I wasn’t…

Ugh. My mind felt all jumbled up, like a finished jigsaw puzzle suddenly dropped to the floor. Pieces scattered. It was…I needed to…Daddy! Like, of course. After all, I was just a trophy boy. HIS trophy. An accessory for him to show off. Sculpting my body just how daddy likes it; my muscles existed for his enjoyment. Not that I didn’t enjoy them too…hmm.

My head hurt. Fuck. Was that right? No, I couldn’t be just some brainless boy toy. Now it made sense why the owner abandoned these damn shorts. Shit, It was altering my mind. I was becoming…I needed to remove these—mmff. But right then I feel the shorts squeeze on my bulge. It felt incredible! I shouldn’t, but I never, like, you know, wanted it to stop. My sensitive cock pulsed, thickening while stretching across the fabric. Ahhh! I grin inanely as pre drips down my leg. Like, yeah. Da—daddy loved his boy all hard. He loved when I did as he instructed. A pretty plastic toy to pose and play with. I was so proud to be his. Yes, I was his; body and mind. Like, how did I forget? I can be such an air-headed ditz sometimes. It’s a good thing Daddy also likes his twunky boys dumb; dumb, vapid and full of cum. I was good at those things. Huhuhuh.

I turn around - biting my lip - and look at my tight rear. The shorts thin fabric was digging between the two round globes. ‘Daddy’s Trophy’ was emblazoned on the back, across my cheeks. Mmff. I give my butt a light slap and watch it jiggle. I happily let out a pleasurable moan; it made me feel nice that everyone would know what I am. Explaining it was like, soo difficult and stuff. Daddy says I shouldn’t stress my pretty little head over such complex things. Uhhh. Anyway, these shorts were his favourite, all his boys wore them. He loved watching me dutifully clean the house in them. Or working out in them. Or obediently fucking him in them. Or being fucked…bouncing on his lap.

Oh right! I just remembered! I was supposed to meet him. Sir wanted to finalise our arrangement, there was one last thing to change before I could sign that dull agreement. His trophy boys were always blond. Blond and basic. Huhu. Just like I was about to be.

[chicorystart]

the baby blanket is finally done

it's hard to judge whether or not i like the finished piece, but i really enjoyed the process of making it.

you might notice the stars are different from what i was previously using, and that's because i almost finished the blanket once and decided, "i've learned so much and gained a lot of experience. i bet i could do it better if i tried again!!"

i looked at other patterns for stars and crescent moons and ended up sort of winging it in the end. man i had so much fun with the doing but the thing itself isn't really important? (i mean i hope my sister & niece like it!!) i dunno. i thought i'd feel so proud of myself at this point but i'm kind of like, "ok, that's done. time to move on!"

so anyway back to needle felting! aiming to re-open shop jan 12 :)

[vgperson]

What Did I Do In 2023?

Whatever I wanted, mostly.

----

As I mentioned last year, my site now has an RSS feed with basically everything I've done back to 2020, so this will mainly be going over the same stuff from that, just with added context.

In January, I finally sat down and properly realized an idea for a short story I'd had sitting around for a while: From the Sidelines, about a fantasy RPG expedition going sideways. I remain very proud of it in both concept and execution, and hope people read it.

In February, Your Turn To Die was released on Steam Early Access, receiving character profiles and some bonus mini-episodes, adding two more later in the year.

After finishing From the Sidelines, I carried that momentum to revisit my Ut0p1a story series about funny computer animals. I'd always meant to continue it - and conclude it - but hadn't been satisfied with the ideas I had for it until totally rethinking them this year. In March, I posted the remaining stories one after another: Right to Code and Left to Code. I'm very proud of these as well. Also in March, Kenshi Yonezu released LADY. (Video, interview)

In April, Uri released the Data Book of the Strange Men Series, a big collection of the writing she's done on the games in the series, with a lot of new parts as well, all translated by me.

Then in May... uh, well, let's see. In April, Capcom released the Mega Man Battle Network Legacy Collection. I always adored the Battle Network games, and was initially excited that they finally did the thing... but by the time it came out, I was pretty disappointed by how, while you certainly couldn't call them low-effort ports, the effort didn't extend everywhere I thought it should, with the biggest offenders being the total absence of any "convenience features" except Buster Max Mode, the bad font, and the almost entirely untouched translations.

So, I ended up deciding I might as well just replay the originals, and that was a fun time (aside from the parts that were bad). Doing this, I couldn't help but notice how... turbulent the translations were, even if I'd always known they were less than ideal. I mean, the first two games just used periods for ellipses despite the tight character limits, then in BN3 they had an ellipsis character... but it's center-aligned, Japanese-style? Aside from the intro, which has normal ones? Gosh, somebody should fix that - it's simple enough to find and edit in YY-CHR. "JapanMan" is silly, too - I wonder if anybody made a patch for that? Wait, what do you mean there's just a tool to extract and insert text in all the Battle Network games including the Legacy Collection???

Thus began a journey that sort of occupied the rest of my year. First I did the BN3 Translation Revision, trying not to worry too much about cross-referencing the Japanese text unless something seemed wrong, so that I didn't spend too long on the project. Then I began to consider BN2, with its unfortunate "foreigner" text that would need some more significant reworking. I established more convenient tools for comparing with the Japanese script, and thus did a much more thorough job with it, releasing the BN2 Translation Revision in June (AKA Princess Pride Month).

Finally, after giving myself time to recover and actually finish replaying the series, I knew what I had to do to close things out. With the BN4 Translation Revision, you can finally play Battle Network 4 with a translation that isn't such a mess. Whether you'd want to is for you to decide, though if you can get over the structure, I don't think it's the worst game in the series by any means. (Oh, and in December I also updated the BN3 Revision to 1.1, doing a thorough pass with the methods I'd honed. But I think I'm pretty much good on MMBN translations now.)

Anyway, backtracking to other things that happened during my Battle Network haze... June had Kenshi Yonezu's Moongazing (video, interview), and July had Globe (video, interview, interview).

Last but not least, released in November, I translated Refind Self: The Personality Test Game, a short game from Lizardry (creator of 7 Days to End with You) with a fun concept.

----

Obviously I was right to have said "no promises" last year. But really, Your Turn To Die should get its final part on Steam sometime next year, maybe even early-ish in it. That's certainly the goal.

I'm also hoping to buckle down and finish one of my own games, but as usual, who knows how that'll pan out. Letting my whims carry me this year let me finally finish From the Sidelines and Ut0p1a, which was great, and it also led me down a Battle Network rabbit hole, which was... fine, but definitely for a narrower audience. I'd always like to get back to more free game translations and the like, too, but it takes effort to find things I'd want to translate. For now, I think my increasing desire to be able to let loose some of these original games I've been planning, and the stories in them, might come out on top.

[hardyshoe]

Sonnenblumen, chapter nine - Poppies, for consolation.

Masterlist

Also posted on AO3 - here.

⚘⚘⚘

 My sunflower, 

 I am writing to you on the train back to London and I shall post this before I get into the car on the other side. I hope it arrives quickly, I want you to know how much I miss you already and that I am thinking of you. I always am. 

 Mother is trying to read what I am writing through the paper, she looks vexed, though that is sort of just how she looks. She keeps making snippy comments when the silence has stretched on too long. She called you ‘headstrong’ which she meant as an insult but I am inclined to agree with her. You were wonderful, truly. No one has ever gotten under her skin like that. I will write more on this when I am alone, until then I will think about the look in your eyes when you spoke to her and smile to myself with almost hysterical glee.

 It will no doubt amuse you to know that Daeron has been singing your praises since we left school, much to mother’s chagrin. He has also been reading this (or trying to, he is struggling with my chicken scratch), over my shoulder and would like to add something. 

 ‘Dear Miss sunflower, thank you for letting me stay in your house and letting me look after Rosy bear. My hands feel much better already! Sorry that I stole your mummy’s handkerchief, it was an accident but Aegon says you wont mind. See you soon!’

 You will see that he made me try and write neater because he can’t hold the pen himself right now and his handwriting is apparently much better than mine. He really is very fond of you. Wise boy if you ask me. 

 Anyway, I will finish here, I have more I want to say but Daeron is being nosy. I should only be gone a week, and though it feels insurmountable now, it could be worse. I am going to search Aemond’s rooms for your letters when I get to the house, he is not as subtle as he likes to think. Until I hear from you, or go crazy enough to send you another letter straight away,

 Your Aegon. 

P.S. Daeron insisted on drawing

 a picture for you. It is his Tessarion

 and Rosy bear. I think. 

⚘⚘⚘

 He is right about his handwriting, it's messy as all hell and written on a complete wonk. Images of too-large jumpers and a cluttered dorm swim into your mind affectionately. Daeron’s little drawing is similarly abstract, you think you can make out Rosy bear’s ears although they are bisected harshly by a line of ink, clearly the product of the train jolting on the tracks. 

 You read it six times, cheeks stinging with the intensity of your smile.

 “Letter?” your mother pries over her morning porridge. You’re entirely too giddy to feign annoyance over her intrusion. 

 “From Aegon,” you say, flipping the page in her favour to show her briefly. Her eyes widen a touch at the length and the state of the script, when she reaches the end she raises a brow at the drawing, “and Daeron.”

 She chuckles and returns to her breakfast. There is a hint of relief in her shoulders and when you are halfway through another reading of the letter, she speaks again. “I’m glad it worked out.”

 “Me too, mum.”

 Her smile pinches a little at her eyes when you look at her, “just know that, if those are the lengths they will go to just to interfere, be wary of what else they might do.”

 You open your mouth to speak but she holds up a hand, “I am not trying to warn you off, my girl. God knows I couldn’t even if I tried. I am merely saying that some people are best held at arm's length.”

 “I am not trying to befriend Mrs Targaryen, nor Aemond,” You say sourly. The very idea of playing nice with them has you feeling that familiar burning irritation. 

 She laughs, “I think you would struggle.”

 It takes a second for you to simmer through your rage but her laughter soo has you cracking into fits of giggles too. She reaches for you and clasps your hands over the letter on the table, recovering before she speaks. “I hope you know how proud I am of you, how proud your father is too.”

 “For what?” You ask, confused. 

 She shakes her head, muttering something you cannot catch under her breath. “For sticking by him, even when you thought he had done you wrong.”

 “He needed help-” you begin.

 “And most people would not have been able to look past their pain enough to give it.” She is tracing the veins on the back of your hand like she used to do when you were a child. “Nor would they have seen how desperately he needed it in the first place.”

 You feel so very little then, like you couldn't be trusted to leave the house without wellies on if it were raining or would still instinctively reach for hand to hold when crossing the road. You are struck with a memory, one of your earliest, you pushing a tine pram around the pub with Rosy bear sitting inside. You had shown her to every person in the pub and nodded at them with an exaggerated politeness when you had bid them farewell, one of your mother’s hats falling low over your eyes. 

 Now, you can almost feel the bakelite handle in your grasp, feel the sole loose screw clicking and spinning under the side of your thumb as you lose balance on uneasy legs not yet well practiced enough for grace. 

 “I just hope he knows what a special thing you are.”

 Your finger sits on his nearly memorised letter, the lines that are worming their way into your very being. 

   “He does,” you assure her. 

 “Then I am satisfied,” she says, holding your hand the whole time it takes her to finish her porridge. 

⚘⚘⚘

 Barbara comes in on Wednesday morning, bringing pastries from the café and news that Joan is still in employment, she has a slightly stunned look on her face with that revelation. When she sits though, it morphs into a stern assessment that tells you to explain what the hell you are still doing sitting across from her on the bench that has blackened at the seam with remnant coal dust. 

 You explain what had happened, voice rising shrilly with each sardonic rise of her brow and tightening of her crossed arms. “I am going! I promise I am, that has not changed,” the dubious glint in her eyes does not diminish, “I just couldn’t, not after that. Surely you understand I couldn’t leave him or Daeron in that state.”

 “I will not watch you get stuck here because of him,” she warns. 

 “You say that like you’re trying to get rid of me,” you joke, the jibe is light but Barbara shakes her head seriously. In her bag you can see her mother’s prescription tucked in between her shopping. The brown glass bottle with its shiny white plastic lid stands out harshly against the tomatoes and beans. Your attempt at levity goes down like a lead balloon. 

 “I can’t go without him,” you tell her, voice low but serious. It is a sentiment you have not spoken aloud before yet it is a truth you have known for some time. The sound of the words hanging in the mixed air of the pub, heavy with the particles of dust and old comfort, feels so achingly solid. “Anywhere I went I would spend every moment trying to fill the space beside me that he should be taking up.”

 For a minute or so, she just stares at you, a little absent behind the eyes as her fingers dig around the thin silver christening band on her fine wrist. You squint your eyes a little and you think you can make out the delicate inscription between the tiny scrapes and dents of a lifetime of wear. The sloping italicised writing is familiar when you finally understand it, Mary Elizabeth Crillen. 

 “You love him,” she says, no question in it, just a statement of truth.

 You don’t feel the need to answer in such simple terms as yes or no. Barbara can see your reply in the very way you are. “Would you think me naïve if I told you I knew this is it for me? When he is here I think I could stay a little longer, I am not saying I will!” You add on quickly when she opens her mouth to start up again. “But sometimes, when he is here, I know that he is half of what I have been missing all this time.”

 You think she will be skeptical, think you are blindsided and foolish. Barbara has always been so logical and pragmatic, working in sureties, things that were probable and definitive. 

 And yet, “I don't think you are naïve.”

 She is as light in tone as you have ever known her, voice scraping every so lightly on her vocal chords and giving her a gentle, reverent rasp. You know she understands and it nearly kills you how much you wish it was not the pain of longing she knew but the ecstasy of hope. 

 “Barbara-”

 “Don’t, please,” she cuts you off quickly, eyes flicking to yours and head jerking in dissent. “My situation is what it is, I cannot do a thing to change it and neither can you. Yours is not the same and if you squander your chance to be buried in ground that isn’t laced with the same miseries you have spent your entire life dreaming of shaking off I will never forgive you.”

 In the time between your eyes meeting and the seriousness dropping into your stomach, it takes all you have not to sob. For her and for yourself and the impossibility still of leaving your parents behind. 

 “Do not let yourself down,” she says finally. 

 “I-,” you start, choking a little, “I won’t, Barbara.”

 “Promise me,” she demands. Behind your blinking eyes, a visage of a gangly girl with legs too long and eyes too dark flickers in your mind, how she used to sit on the ground of the little school courtyard with the backs of her legs going red and speckled with imprints of concrete just because Mary liked to spend hours plaiting and unplaiting her thick dark hair. You can still remember the severity beyond age in her voice when she had shaken your hand on a promise to send her a postcard from Paris one day. 

 “I promise.”

 She nods and finally tears the corner off of her flaky croissant, the little scraps of pastry tumbling across the willow print plate you fetched her from the kitchen. 

 “You could hire someone to-” 

 She says your name quietly, with all the gravity of a fallen tombstone. “I know how you are, it is what makes you so brilliant, but you can’t fix this. One day it will be okay, but if I wish for that day to come any sooner than it is supposed to I would be a horrible person.”

 The horrible vision of someone living their life for someone else sends a cold fissure of dread down your spine and you feel selfish for being upset on her behalf. 

 “Okay,” you say simply. 

 The ale pumps shine in the yellow overhead lights and one of them is being hit at such an angle that it tweaks in the corner of your vision. 

 “Mary wants to be a chemist in Manchester, it’s not so far from here and she will be done with at St. Andrews in a few years.” She slips in her delicacy when she stirs her tea, spoon clanging against the side. “The leading professor of mathematics at the university says I show a lot of promise.”

 There lies her hope, bare and obvious in the tiny smile at the side of her red painted lips. Living for an eventuality. 

 “Of course you do, you have a mind beyond what I can even comprehend.” You really mean it, she is wickedly intelligent. She used to run laps around the sweet old teacher who did maths in the upper half of the village school. 

 Barbara goes a little pink in the cheeks and you smile, it isn’t that she is insecure about her mind rather that it is the only compliment you could pay her that would really mean anything.

 “Yes, well, it is not for certain but…”

 “It’s something,” you finish for her and she nods down at her plate. 

 Across the room, the swinging door to the back of the bar flaps in a great swish of air. The clock is nearing eleven and the old group will be in soon, days unfilled with the mentalities of work and labour they surrender themselves to the familiarities of each other's old stories and mournful jokes. There is a thinly worn patch of the carpet at the corner of the bar where they congregate, a bit of the faded red and green floral repetition that had given way to a threadbare glimpse of the beige threads and glue holding it to the floorboards. A testament to monotony.

 When Barbara goes, she tells you she will be back later with Joan and Marlene, if her husband will look after Elsie for the evening, you agree and let her go with a weight still stretching between the two of you. The little pills in her back rattle as she walks to the door and the sound seems to clamour louder when the door has shut behind her.

⚘⚘⚘

 My dear sunflower,

 Bad news. I hate to start my letter like this but it is all I can think of. I am not hurt, do not worry about that, but I will not be coming back up before the hols. Daeron will, he was only given a week's suspension but they gave me two and it was decided that it would be ‘for the best’ if I did not return for the week and a half before school breaks up. I fought like hell, I want you to know that. I didn’t know what else to do, I do not want to be there but I want to be here even less. 

 Otto smacked me and I left it for a while but I am going to keep trying. I am also going to send your Christmas present with this, since I am not sure I will be able to give it to you myself anytime soon. I hope you like it. 

 I have been spending time with Helaena now that I am here, she asks for stories about you when we are sitting under the tree in the garden. She likes that I call you what I do, she likes the sound of you very much. She and I planted some sunflower seeds down the end of the garden, she says they will only take a few weeks to bloom then I can watch them from my window and think of you when they dance in the sunlight. 

 I miss you, I have been keeping your last letter in my pocket since it arrived and I take it out to read every time the distance starts to itch at my joints. I am still looking for your others, I will find them, it is about all I am thinking of in the quiet moments alone. 

 I look forward to hearing from you, you cannot know how nice it is to be sure you will write again. nor how miraculous it is that I am sure at all.

 Your Aegon

P.S. I wrote the notes many moons ago

 but I have not changed them, I still mean

Every word.

⚘⚘⚘

 His second letter arrived a week and a half after he left you. You know, by now, that Daeron is back at the school. A fact that haunts you as you try to sleep every night, but Aegon is still down in London, still further than you can reach him. Even after so little time, the worry is creeping on you at the tone of his letter. 

You stare at the door still, on Wednesdays and Fridays when he should be there but isn’t. It is not that you think he is going to be just that you cannot stop searching for him when he is not around. The Easter holidays are a week away when it comes and you feel a bit of dread at the thought of not seeing him for another month still. 

 It arrives mid-morning, the postie lugging it with a thick parcel wrapped in brown paper, the two bound together with a looping white string tied in a haphazard bow. You read the letter first, though that creeping excitement of a present itches at you and reminds you of your birthdays as a little girl. How you would open your cards first, saving the biggest present for last always. 

 The paper is waxy under your fingers and you prise the shiny sellotape from it in a line of scraping paper that leaves behind an imprint of a perforated edge. It is not wrapped neatly, too much paper wrapped around the object itself that it takes you a few minutes to get into it as you fiddle around on the creased yellow sheets of your unmade bed. 

 It gives way to an unassuming grey cover with a white cotton binding on the spine. You find the lettering of the title is depressed when your fingers skirt on the dull roughness of the paper finish, ‘The story of art in photographs’. The words themselves spike excitement in you but when you open the cover your heart leaps.

 ‘Merry Christmas sunflower, one day I will take you to see every work in this book but, for now, this will have to do.’ 

 Over the page you turn to a photograph of a crouching Hellenistic statue of Aphrodite. She is beautiful and feminine in a raw way, her pose highlighting the folds of the curve of her abdomen and the deep setting of her absentminded eyes. It is the margin of the page that catches your eye though.

 His messy handwriting coats the glossy page in a dull matte of blue ink, your fingernails change pitch when it crosses the border between the two. ‘I see you in the look in her eyes, the way you looked at me when I first told you about my family.”

 It stuns you nearly to death, you feel your heart stop and stutter back into rhythm. You read and re-read the message. When you slide your finger between the pages to flip to the next it slides with uncomfortable speed against your cuticle in a close warning of a papercut. 

 The next is a photograph of the Caryatids of the Acropolis, the draped women forever holding up a roof that crumbled thousands of years ago. They catch your mind as they always have, a timeless companionship stretching between you and them. Then you see it, lining the grey border of the photograph, ‘You would fit among them, with your blazing strength. I would hold Athens up for you, when I see them I think you would for me too.’

 And so it continues, an almost hysterical searching of the shiny blank edges of the photographs for his words. Each page reveals a different version of yourself that he has played witness to and somehow, every version is the person you had seen in yourself when you had first seen each painting. 

 The way Constanza Trenta reaches for her husband, even in death, in ‘the Arnolfini portrait’, ‘how his hand looks for hers in the air, it is how I always feel when you are further than I can reach.’

 "Something in the pearl makes me think of your face, I do not know exactly what but I think it is how you shine against the darkness,” is written on the page of Vermeer’s ‘Girl with the pearl earring’.

 Every little note sends you into a deeper spiral and you have to run the harsh knit of your cardigan under your eyes to stop the fat tears from splashing onto the beautiful pages. You follow a path of his perception of you like it was a painting of your face done in his hand. You have never been so touched in your life, so bowled over by feeling. 

 You love him and you haven’t told him yet. You love him and he sees you in the water of Monet’s painting of the Thames. You love him and he is reminded of the bones of your spine when he looks at Egon Schiele’s sketches of the human form. You love him and he is not here. You love him and he is miles away and you are worried sick that he is hardly okay. 

 ⚘⚘⚘

 My dear sunflower, 

 I am so glad you liked the book, it has brought me joy to think of you happy. I am glad of that at least. I miss you terribly and the flowers at the end of the garden are still only stems. I have been spending a lot of time in my mother’s little gallery room, no one ever goes in there unless she is hosting and the privacy is nice. I know it would make you sad to think of the paintings not being looked at all so I have been going in there to think of you. 

 I do not want to be here anymore, it's been three weeks and I cannot do another four. I know I cannot. I hope you do not think I am weak for that. Last night I snuck out after supper and walked until I got lost. It was an embarrassingly short amount of time and it took me nearly an hour to find my way home. Knowing you and seeing how big the world is through your eyes has made me glaringly aware of how little mine is, just how much there is that I have not seen because I haven’t pushed against the walls I have been put in here enough. It is not your fault, do not think it is a bad thing, but I feel so claustrophobic here now. More so than before, I used to want to leave because I didn’t like it and I wanted to get away from Otto and my mother, not have to watch my father decaying at the dinner table. Now I struggle to sleep because I have this irrational notion that the walls are going to cave in on me and trap me in the rubble forever. 

 Am I going mad, do you think? Sorry if I am and you are being subjected to my nutty ramblings. I think if I did lose it I know I would hallucinate you here with me, and sometimes I long for that in a way that frightens me. 

 I made Aemond give me your letters, I could not find them for the life of me. I am so sorry he did what he did, your words were so beautiful and it hurts to read your pain at his hands. I miss you sunflower, I miss feeling like a real person instead of a shade of failure. 

 Sorry that this is such a miserable letter, I will be okay, I do not want you worrying. Daeron is back now and he and I have been playing knights in the garden where Mother won’t shout at us for the racket. It takes my mind off things a bit, seeing him so happy. 

 I hope to see you in my dreams so that I may touch you again and hear your voice. I do not know what else to say other than I miss you, so I will leave here before you think I really have gone barmy. 

Your Aegon

⚘⚘⚘

 It is that letter that is your final straw. You are standing behind the bar with your father when it arrives and he seems to sense the worry coursing through your blood, he looks at you with concern. The pub is fairly quiet given the hour, the dull thunk of darts hitting the board and the low and easy conversation of the older men. 

 “I need to go to him,” you say to him. He has a rag over his shoulder and it sags with his shoulders when your words hit him, like he knew this was coming. He looks worried too.

 “When?” Is all he asks and you appreciate that. He knows you will go, he would not try to stop you but you know he knows this is the beginning of your absence. 

 “There will be a train tomorrow morning,” you say simply and he nods. 

 “Go and tell your mum, she will want to help you pack.” He jerks his head to the door to the flat and you fold Aegon’s letter carefully into your pocket. You do not say it but there is not much packing to be done, you have been existing in a state of transience for the last few weeks with your suitcases only relieved of the clothes you have been wearing and your daily things. Your summer dresses are still neatly folded, probably deeply creased into their tightly packed shapes. 

 You just hadn’t been able to unpack them. When Aegon and Daeron had been taken back with their mother you had sat on the floor before them, the metal clasps digging into your fingers, but you had not been able to open the largest of them. The thought of putting all your clothes back into your dresser and pinning your pictures to the wall again felt like such a betrayal. So, you have lived like a visitor in your own bedroom and you have slept with your eyes on the half packed bags since that night. 

Your mother does indeed want to help though, and she sits patiently as you iron your travelling suit and hang it on the back of the wardrobe door, pulling tiny bits of inconsequential lint from it with your nails. 

 “Does he know you are going?”

  You shake your head and she gives you a look, not of concern but something closer to intrigue. You pass her the letter from him and watch her eyes narrow and her face pinch in a grimace as she reads. “I am not waiting a week for permission I know will be granted, not when I do not know exactly how he is.”

 She seems to understand and helps you tuck your ‘Sonnenblume’ into your scrapbook. The space that is left on the wall feels unshakably permanent and you trace the dark square of unbleached wallpaper in bed that night. 

 When you put on your travelling suit the next morning, the tailored jacket top with its light flare at the bottom holds you like an embrace and you delight in the way the navy skirt swishes against your legs. You feel terribly grown up in it, your back straighter and your hands moving more deliberately like when you had first been allowed to paint your nails. 

 Of course, you have thought of how it would feel before, many times since you realised that the feeling that festered in your bones had only one cure. However, the practice is different than you realised it would. 

 April’s early sun is soft as down on your face and a frenetic anticipation tickles in unstoppable movement between your joints. Your father has your two big cases and your mother has the littlest one in one hand and is holding yours in her other. The powder blue of the cases shines happily in the light of day, bright plastic handles gleaming. You are sandwiched between the two of them on the thin field path that cuts through to the station. 

 A spike of raw, beautiful excitement leaps in your chest at the sight of the station’s black and white sign and you lag behind in bold faced disbelief as everything hits you properly. You have not been this far before, standing so close always felt like too much of a temptation and a teasing for you to venture so far. What you did not expect having to reckon with is the strange sadness that washes over you like a chill on the breeze, a preemptive longing for your parents and familiarity. It does not sting even nearly enough to make you think about staying but it is there, just a dull little ache between your organs. 

 Your mum's hand pulls tight in yours as she keeps on walking, they both turn back to you and you give a little embarrassed laugh at the way your eyes spark with close tears. The hairs on your arms are standing on end with excitement.

 They pull you into a hug between them, suitcases sitting prettily among the green grass. 

 “Once it is all sorted, you have the most fun. Okay, my girl?” Your father says, arms tightening around you. His voice is a bit choked and you fight a swelling wave of emotion, nodding into him. 

 Your mum is crying outright, sobbing into your arm. “I will be back mum,” you insist with a watery voice. 

 She shakes her head and pulls back to pat you on the cheek, “this time.”

 It could very easily be seen as her pressuring you not to go but you know her better than that. You do not have a response, just a slightly sad and knowing smile which she smothers by pulling you back in again.

 They walk you onto the platform and help you put your bags onto the train. The platform is nondescript with its brown wooden shelter and little old seller who looks surprised to see anyone there when you go to buy your ticket. The sun beats off the shiny red train like glowing stained glass.

 “You’re sure you know where you’re going when you get there?” Your father asks as you poke your hand through the carriage’s window to squeeze his one more time. 

 “As well as I possibly could,” you assure him, thumbing the slip of paper with his address that he had given you all those months ago in your pocket. If you kept a cigarette case of sentimentalities it would be on the top of the stack always, close enough that you could take it out to trace his handwriting from time to time. 

  “And you will send us a letter when you are all sorted?” Asks your mum, reaching for you too as the train starts to clatter into motion. You hold onto them for as long as you can before they are pulled from your reach. 

 “As soon as I can.” They both nod and start to wave you away. You call after them, “I love you!”

 “We love you too!” Their voices are half swallowed by the receding steam and screeching wheels but you hang out the window until the borders of the station are stolen from your vision all the same. 

 In the green velvet carriage, you sit down, a bizarre buzz of silence tingling at you. You are still sure of yourself and your decision but it is one thing to plan and another entirely to be sitting on a train bound for a place you have dreamed of for years. 

 As the view out the window blurs with the speeding engine, you open the window and breathe in deeply. There is a stream of chimney smoke bleeding past the window and this time, as it fills your lungs, it smells like excitement. 

⚘⚘⚘

 London feels like a different country entirely when you step off the train. You thought you might be wearied by the journey when you finally arrived, nearly six hours on the trains and three changes from station to station, the distance stretching between you here and home is another weight on your shoulders. However, you can’t seem to find the burden in it now, just fervent anticipation at being so very close. 

 The station is busier than you have ever known any place to be, paths of every direction forged by men in suits with dripping umbrellas and women with herds of little children. You get swept up in watching it all for a minute, standing near the ticket gate with your bags tugging your shoulders half out of their sockets. It feels oddly calming, being so still among such movements. You feel like the viewer in Boccioni’s ‘the city rises’, observant to a cloud of sound and colour and unstoppable life. 

 Through the station, you carry yourself like a lighthouse, head circling to every angle in an attempt to capture a permanence of some kind, something in this that you can revisit when life gets too quiet when you inevitably return home. 

 Outside, a porter in a navy cap and uniform kindly puts you into a black taxi, rain sluicing off its sides and down the windows and doors in an interminable cascade. It is bizarre, watching the droplets chase each other down your watery reflection when it had been so hopefully warm back home. 

 The city blurs outside in a mirage like haze of colourful shop fronts, people in beautiful clothes and quick paced life. What a dreadful hurry everyone seems to be in. 

 “I apologise for the hold up, Miss. You know how it is when it’s tipping it down, everyone thinks they are made of sugar.” The diver’s accent is thick, you think it must be cockney though you are not quite sure. The thing is, you don’t know how it is. You’ve seen miners trudging home in rain so thick it pulls the coal from their skin and washes into the grass at the roadside. You laugh anyway, because the dichotomy is blinding and it tickles you to be included. 

 “It’s quite alright, I’m in no rush. Besides, I am enjoying the view.” You catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, he is an older gentleman with hair greying in his brows. His eyes twinkle with amusement and smile at him. 

 “You don’t sound like you're from around these parts. First time in jolly London?” He asks and you find his innocent question funny in the way that he acts as though he is not curious. 

 “Yes, it is. I am visiting a friend,” you say, though it feels wrong to describe Aegon in such a way. He is so very much more than just your friend, no word seems right to capture what he is to you though. 

 “Must be a very fancy friend living in Kensington, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he tacks on the last part in a bit of a rush, as if worried he might offend you. 

 “I think you might be right,” he raises his eyebrows and you explain, “I have never been to see him before, you see. In all honesty, I do not know what I should be preparing myself for.”

 That makes him chuckle, “A shiny white townhouse by the address, quite a large one I should think.”

 You alight the picture negative of your bague conjuring of the Targaryen house with his description, they align like different angles of the same shot. “That sounds about right, though I am sure it will still surprise me.”

 He nods and turns back to the traffic, the roads have quieted a little with distance put between you and the station, the passers by growing more sharply dressed. You watch a woman in a tight white dress clipping through the rain in heels of impressive height, a man beside her carries an umbrella aloft above her quaffed hair. 

 “This fella a good friend of yours?” the cabbie asks. 

 “Something like that,” you offer and his lips quirk at your evasiveness that absolutely gives the game up. 

 “Well, I hope you have a good stay, Miss,” he bids as he slows right down in front of a gleaming terrace of white stone, bejeweled with neat black metal fences and front doors in glossy reds and blues. You are glad then for your travelling suit, a mast of tightly tailored manners to wear into batter. Everyone needs an armour of sorts, you wear yours in the sharp darts at your hips and hide away your sorts and bombs between the shoes in your suitcases. 

 The driver takes your bags to the door and parts with a nod, you return with a smile and a wave. His car starts up behind you and your knocking is underscored by the lowering hum of his motor. 

The doors swing open after the whir has faded, revealing a portly old man with ruddy cheeks and a suspicious glare.

 “Good afternoon,” you greet brightly. Your smile is not returned. 

 “Can I help you?” he asks, eyes on your bags stacked next to you on the step.

 “Yes, thank you. Is Aegon home?”

 If possible, his eyes narrow further, “Master Targaryen is at home.”

 You can tell he is being intentionally evasive. No matter. “Could you fetch him for me?”

 “And whom might I say is calling?”

 You smile at him again, playing your own turn at evasiveness. “Just tell him it’s his sunflower, he will understand.”

The man nods curtly, shutting the door in your face once again. Left alone, you step back from the house to look up. There is something a little frightening about the long stretching façade of the street, for a building clearly some hundred years old or more, the stone sparkles like new. The black paint on the wrought iron stair rails and balconettes has nary a chip in it. 

 This lack of weathering is strangely off putting. There should be a grime of living and age in everything. 

 Compared to the surroundings you have left behind, the houses on this road are downright clinical, polished white teeth giving you a mocking, condescending smile. Greying straw in old thatched roofs and wooden benches green with lichen play in your mind. 

The door bangs open suddenly, framing a dishevelled Aegon. “Sunflower!” He is wide eyed with disbelief, sweeping you into an all consuming hug which lifts you clean off the floor. “How are you here?”

 He pulls back to cup for face between his hands, as if checking you are real.

 “You told me I ought to come and visit, I thought I would take you up on it. Though, if I am an imposition I can get a hotel-”

 “Don’t be silly, this is the loveliest surprise. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” There is a jubilant relief in his tone and you feel a pang of concern at the pain peeking out from behind his joy. 

 “I think I might have some idea,” you say, lightness burning through you in increasing waves of magnitude. 

 The moment of harmonious happiness is broken with the clearing of a throat. The butler has your bags in his hands and a disapproving look on his face. “Where might I be taking these, sir?”

 “The yellow room, please Miller, nearest my mother’s gallery.” The older gentleman nods, leaving with a final narrowing of his eyes. 

When his form has disappeared up the stairs, you whisper to Aegon, “He seems a right miserable sod.”

Aegon cackles, kissing you squarely on the lips. It feels like exuberance and tastes like relief. “Come in, I’ll give you a tour if you want? Though, you’re probably too tired…”

 You shoot him a glare, “of course I’m not too bloody tired.”

 He grins and pulls you in by the hand. 

 The moment you get past the door, you are covered in a hush like entering a cathedral, a clocheing like someone has their hands over your ears. A feeling of being alone and watched at the same time. Every step you take bounces off your patent leather shoes and up the walls, licking across the ceiling and back into your ears. Aegon is barefoot and you think it might be for that very reason.

 A great staircase curls into the impossibly high ceiling, its polished bannister adorned with geometric decorations in painted wood. Your eyes twist after it as Aegon starts to speak again.

 “You’ve come at a good time, Mother is in town with Otto and they won’t be back till supper,” he says as he drags you into a cavernous living room, though, you’re not sure how much living actually goes on in here. There is not a speck of dust anywhere, and each chair, however beautiful in their cohesive, art-deco glory, seems placed at a certain and precise angle. 

 Every piece in the room is beautiful, sun beam like decorations in rich wood on the backs of the sofas and corresponding greens and blues linking each fabric in the room. Yet something is off. For all the art-deco beauty, the room feels like a subsidisation of the movement. Like a veneer on ply board posing as solid oak, it lacks the weight.

 You have a book at home on modernism and art deco, it has always been one of your favourites. Something about the period has fascinated you since you first read about it, about the wild art scene in Berlin and the conveyance of pain and misery through the art. You should be excited by everything you see here but it leaves you feeling empty and angry in a way. 

 For a period defined by such deep feeling, perhaps the sharpest in human history, modernism has always been fascinatingly melancholic to you. The décor in the Targaryen house is so obscured from that message it looks like a caricature. Aegon had said his grandfather came here after the war, that his family had, if anything, benefitted from the conflict because of the deal made to produce uniforms for the army. 

 The room reeks of that lack of understanding and a burning desire to assimilate. None of the usual sorrows play this room in their eternal shows on the raised piano stage. There is no vestige of the desperate grasp for vivacious pleasure in the face of incomprehensible loss, no guttural guilt at being alive to see another day only to drink it away in a frenzied dance. No, this room is nothing more than a farce, and it is ugly and rotten for the gall it has to pretend to understand. 

 Room after room follows the same pattern, too neat, too cold and far, far too big. Aegon flits around the mausoleum, pointing things out like they were headstones of long forgotten relatives.

 What strikes you most is the complete lack of human presence, no one has left so much as an indent on a dining chair and you begin to understand that night with the handkerchief more. How the evidence of anyone is something to be cleared away quickly by an unseen maid once they have left the room. You poke your fingertip onto the shining top of a side table as you leave the dining room in spite, relishing the visage of the spiralling print left behind.

 He takes you up the stairs, waxing poetic about the times he had ridden them down on his mattress because he knew it would wind his mother up  something awful. 

 The upper hall is wide and lit coldly by the late afternoon sun that pours in from a blue and white stained window at the end. Every door is shut tight and you follow him down the shut off maze until he turns you down a shut off corridor. He looks at you cheekily and knocks on the first door on the left, the sound echoes and fills the silence as Aegon holds a finger over his lips. 

 The door opens and you look down to see Daeron kneeling on the floor in front of an open book, he looks up and yelps when he sees you, jumping at you with his whole weight. “Miss sunflower!”

 With arms full of the little boy and the hand of the man you love steadying you between your shoulder blades, you feel the cold of the house chased back a little. You kiss Daeron’s soft hair as he babbles on about the first week of his holiday, the highlight of which being his first loose tooth which he pulls back to wiggle proudly.

 “Oh! How exciting!” you exclaim and he nods happily.

 Aegon snickers behind you, “I told him how Davey took my first tooth out and he thinks I am going to do it to him now.”

 Daeron yelps, “I won’t let you! I won’t”

 You turn to him, his maniacally smiling face calming some of the worry in your heart. “Don’t tell me-”

 “Tied it to the door handle and kicked it shut,” he nods proudly and Daeron hides behind you fully, hands over his ears and a low sound of fear coming from his mouth. 

“Good god,” you say, hand over your mouth. 

 “It was wicked, I got blood on Mrs Thompson's cream carpet and we spent the night in the cold shed but we couldn’t stop laughing.” His eyes pinch, fond somehow despite the darkness, “I did not tell him about that bit.”

 “What is going on?” Comes a fine voice from down the hall, it would startle you if it weren’t so soft. You look down the row of doors to see a girl just younger than you standing with a hand around her wrist. Daeron stops his panicky sound and runs to her. 

 “Helaena, come and meet Miss sunflower!” He demands, taking her wrist and dragging her towards you. She is beautiful in a fragile way, a stiff breeze would bowl her clean over and she seems to almost float across the floor instead of walking. Funnily enough, she is exactly how you expected her to be and you smile in greeting. 

 She has a shining gemstone in her hand and she looks you over before she does anything. Perceptive lilac eyes swimming in the space around you before meeting yours. 

“I have heard a lot about you.” Her voice lilts gently, intonation a little different that normal parlance. “You look like a sunflower.”

 It is a funny thing to say and you don’t quite know what she means but it makes you smile nonetheless. “Thank you,”

 She just nods, putting the rock into your hand and closing your fist over it. The clear purple is the same as her eyes, as Aegon’s and Daeron’s and it is warmed by her touch. 

 “Come and read me your tenses,” she says to her little brother, he protests but when Aegon mimes tying a string around his tooth he bolts in front of her. You laugh brightly. It is a kind act of tact from Helaena, as much as you have been looking forward to meeting her and seeing Daeron again, you cannot let more time go without making sure Aegon is okay. 

 “We will see them later for supper,” he assures you and his smile turns cheeky “I believe there is a gallery you might be interested in.”

 He pulls you back into the main upper hand and down to a room in the middle, when he opens the door, shooting you a broad grin, you nearly yell with excitement and slip through the door in front of him. This room is unlike the others, the walls are plain blue and there is no furniture, just rows of neatly hung paintings on the walls which hum with importance. 

 You can hardly believe what you are seeing, Picasso’s sketches just like Aegon had said the first time you met him, a richly moody Turner that stops your heart, a river scene in sharp coloured oils by Constable. Other names jump in your mind with familiarity that startles you and you are breathing shallowly as you take in the twenty or so works. 

 You stop in front of a small canvas, a pensive young woman in a field under a dark sky, her skin translucent in a way that could only have been the hand of Millais. You are in front of it for some time before you feel Aegon’s presence behind you, the warmth of him hanging in the scant space between you. His voice is low when he speaks, laced with trepidation, “I am scared you are going to disappear if I look away from you.”

 It breaks your heart to hear how sure he sounds that you might not be real, and you turn to meet his unblinking gaze. “I am here Aegon, I’m not going anywhere. I promise I am real.”

 “Well, you would say that…”

 You kiss him, tenderly and slowly. Hands in his hair and twisted in his loose shirt. He melts into you and the way he holds you is as much a hug as it is a sigh of relief. He kisses your cheeks and your eyebrows and your temples in frenzied succession and you laugh. 

“Mother is going to be furious,” he says, a little bit gleeful. 

“I find I do not care much,” you say and Aegon dances around you with untameable giddiness. 

 Later, when you have snuck down the corridor to his room and tucked yourself between his sheets, you will ask him if he is alright and you will hold him while he cries because he is not. You will chase away the cold and the emptiness of the house as best you can and you will find a phone book and make good on the promise you made yourself when the thought first popped into your head. When he knows you are not a dream you will tell him how much you love him. Right now though, you laugh with him and kiss him freely and openly, holding onto the untouched happiness before anyone can try and scrape it out of your hands. 

⚘⚘⚘

Happy Friday dearest readers! I apologise for this going up a little later than six but I had some final edits to make. I really hope you enjoy it, I love writing letters and I was waiting to reveal the belated Christmas gift to you all week. Thoughts and comments are always appreciated. All my love, SlaginSecret xxx

@neithriddle