#but he did and he gave us 13 brilliant years (and he has SO much more to give and do and succeed at and he will)

[cecoeur]

it's hell on earth to be heavenly them's the breaks, they don't come gently

[wilsons-striped-ties]

may tc challenge (incomplete)

by @lustingtc

Day 1 – Have you ever said something embarrassing to/in front of your TC?

i kinda told him he was my favourite teacher, one time i accidentally served him the wrong coffee so i think that was the most embarrassing thing that i did in front of him maybe?

Day 2 – When did your TC start teaching you? Does he/she still teach you?

from the start of 2022, till the end of 2023 for years three and four. unfortunately i've graduated so he doesn't teach me anymore, but i still do see him!

Day 3 – Do you know anything about your TC’s childhood/youth?

he used to play truant for his mother tongue lessons in junior college HAHAH and he used to look up to che guevara and used to have poster of him in his bedroom.

Day 4 – Describe your TC’s eyes.

the warmest brown ever, when the sun/light hits his eyes, it turns golden and i turn into a goner. he's just the most brilliant shade of brown eyes and its just so bfljidhlcnqm

Day 5 – What’s your favorite outfit on him/her?

he always just wears dress shirts and dress pants/jeans but i love his dark blue dress shirt and grey dress pants/light blue jeans during prom and when i gave him the cupcakes respectively, it's just SUCH A GOOD COLOUR ON HIM

Day 6 – How do you try to impress your TC?

sometimes yeah, but not really eh i just naturally did well in his lessons and worked very very hard

Day 7 – Describe what you think your wedding would look like. What are you both wearing? Who’s invited? What’s for dinner?

traditional wedding outfits? close friends and family invited, dinner a fusion mix of both our cultures hehe

Day 8 – Have you ever caught him/her staring at you? How did you react?

UHHH i'm not sure, but i've caught his eye contact a couple times and i would just wave, smile, talk to him or yeah HAHA

Day 9 – If you would buy your TC socks, what would your chosen ones look like?

interesting question HAHA hmm i think maybe some coffee socks cause he is very obsessed with coffee or something with passion fruit because it's his favourite fruit HAHAHA

Day 10 – If he/she visited your family for any reason and you’d have to cook, what would you cook?

uH probably something like kungpao chicken cause he likes spice and chicken i think???????? i dont know but i'd definitely bake something for him, cooking not as much...?

Day 11 – If you lived together, would you rather have kids or pets with him/her?

anything's fine as long as it's with him hehe

Day 12 – What is your opinion on age gap relationships? Do you think a certain age gap isn’t good anymore?

as long as it's legal, consenting and not entirely illogical, i think it's okay. of course, long term relationships with like forty year age gaps are a bit tough but like if you really wanna, and you both are consenting adults, it's okay then? HAHA i'm rambling yeah

Day 13 – What would you do if a friend told you she had a crush on your TC?

kinda pissed and protective (territorial) but i've got no fear, he follows me on instagram yknow, he doesn't follow anyone else other than his family members and a fifa meme page. i baked him cupcakes for his birthday. that friend has serious competition 🤩🤩🤩

Day 14 – Do you know when your TC’s birthday is? How old is he/she?

yesss 7th july! i have no idea how old he is :'

Day 15 – What would you do if he/she found your blog, knew it was about him/her but he/she was still trying to figure out whose blog it is?

he would most DEFINITELY know it was me oh wells but i would just maybe archive my blog or something?

Day 16 – If you were on a class trip with your TC and a friend of yours wasn’t feeling well in the middle of the night, would you be the one to knock on your TC’s door loudly and wake him/her? Would the sight of his/her sleepy face and pajamas be worth standing there in your own pajamas and with your sleepy face?

I WOULD DEFINITELY KNOCK and it would be SO WORTH because it would be the cutest most kdrama thing ever and i would just instantly nosebleed and die

Day 17 – Can you remember what happened in the last dream you had about your TC?

he told me he was leaving the school and we grabbed coffee at a mall that hadn't opened yet cause it was super early in the morning and we hung out

Day 18 – Has your TC ever had a conversation about you with your parents? If yes, what did he/she say?

oh ya for sure he told them i was self driven and a really good student to teach or something and he told them to thank me for baking the cupcakes cause they brought it up and honestly i didn't think it would mean that much to him but i'm glad that he loved them :'

Day 19 – Think of a song that reminds you of your TC and tell us your favourite line from it.

secret love song, "and nobody knows i'm in love with someone's baby" :'

Day 20 – What was the best mark you had in one of your TC’s tests? Did he/she say something to you about it/write something on it?

full marks, he always writes "very gd/good :)" on them so yeah

Day 21 – Have you ever stalked your TC online? If yes, what did you find? If no: do it and tell us what you find, it’s fun!

YES I DIDDDDDD i always do and i found only a little stuff unfortunately like his facebook a picture of him and his kids and that's about it, he isn't really active anywhere

[star-my]

Teaser: Vixen

Godmother: Vixen will be released for Jimin's birthday weekend!

Rating: M/18+ (MDNI)

Tags: Jimin x OFC, Mafia AU/ Gang AU, CEO AU, Stray Kids make several appearances, TXT cameos, Smut (Oral (M + F receiving), Fingering, PiV intercourse, Missionary, Loss of Virginity, Aftercare)

TW: Human Trafficking (not by BTS members), Light Violence, Light Medical Issues (a side character has a heart attack but recovers)

Total Word Count: 20k

Part One: 5.7k (Friday, October 13)

Part Two: 8.4k (Saturday, October 14)

Part Three: 6k (Sunday, October 15)

Teaser under the cut (0.6k)

A woman all in black walked purposefully into the old warehouse. Several men and a few women were working busily in the large space, barely looking up at the click of her heels.

The door to the private rooms built into the warehouse swung open with the slight squeak of a hinge needing oil.

Gold eyes scanned over its occupants.

“Where’s Hyunjin?”

“He’s restocking the medical room since he got his new supplies,” answered a man with vermilion hair, stretching from his slump over a computer.

“Thanks, Chan.”

A tall man with long black hair popped out of a side room. “You called, Boss?”

The woman nodded shortly, clapping her hands for attention. “You all know that since Park Wonshik died, Bangtan’s been targeted. Well, the head of Bangtan had a brilliant idea to partner with the Grays, business-level and gang-level, through marriage.

“The head of Gray’s daughter is marrying Park Jimin on Saturday. The other mafia will find out tomorrow. With Bangtan and Gray united, the mafia looking to take over Bangtan may set their sights on smaller game, so we need to be prepared for any backlash against us.

“Minho, you figure out if the others are planning to attack anyone. Hyunjin, find out how much Bangtan has on Stray Kids. Everyone else, get ready for an attack, worst-case scenario.”

“Yes, ma’am!” saluted the eight men in unison. They turned to their tasks, leaving Chan to approach the woman.

“Vix, you sure about this?”

Vixen’s blood-red lips curved in a smile. “Don’t worry, Channie. I have everything under control and I have plans for every variable, just like oppa taught me.”

Chan sighed. “Alright, then. I trust you, Vix.”

“Boss, here’s the file on Shin Ara you wanted.”

“Thanks, Hoseok.”

Jimin took the file and flipped through it.

Good grades, though they slipped the year her mother Aeri died; friendly but only had a handful of close friends- four girls she met in college, four of her father’s employees, and one ex-boyfriend, Lee Minho, whom she was still friendly with. Graduated high school and college with honours, has an arts degree in photography, and had recently purchased a building on the edge of downtown Seoul for a gallery.

Who are you, Shin Ara? Why did you so readily agree to marry a stranger?

Jimin mulled over the possibilities, staring at her picture on the screen before him.

Another knock on the door roused him. “Sir, it’s time for your suit fitting.”

“...You may kiss the bride,” announced Seokjin.

Jimin carefully lifted the veil over Ara’s reddish-brown hair, careful not to mess up her hairdo, and met her eyes with a smile he hoped wasn’t too eager.

Her eyes locked on his, a hint of a smile in their mahogany depths. He smiled back, placing his hand on her cheek, his thumb cupping her jaw. The steady beat of her heart pounded under his thumb as he dipped her slightly, the crowd cheering in celebration.

With a wink at her surprised glance, he swept his thumb over her lips, pressing his own to his thumb.

Seokjin gave him a minuscule nod that he caught out of the corner of his eye. No one else appeared to have caught the faux-kiss, thankfully.

Jimin really didn’t want to have to explain to his teasing brothers that the big, bad mafia boss didn’t want to scare his new bride away.

Sihyeon straightened the train of Ara’s Alexander Wang dress and handed her the bouquet of pink ranunculus. Jimin extended his arm, Ara looped hers through his, and they swept down the aisle.

Jungok caught his eye on the way by, “Don’t forget your promise,” he mouthed.

The promise, in Jimin’s copy of the contract– Jungok’s only stipulation.

Do not let Ara find out that you or I are in the mafia.

Taglist: open | @otome-wandering, @bangtan-famiglia-net ...

[joemuggs]

Chimes of Freedom

Three years ago I did an oral history of Orbital's "Chime" for MOJO. This is it...

Paul Hartnoll: From the age of 13 I was in school bands and local bands in Sevenoaks, usually playing guitar. Then when I was 16 and my brother was 20, about ‘84, ‘85, we started getting drum machines and what have you together. We were listening to electro, hi-NRG, Tackhead, Cabaret Voltaire, Chakk, Severed Heads. We’d turn up at local discos with a Front-242 or Dead Or Alive record, or a bunch of electro 12”s, and pester the DJ to play them. Then, when house came along in ‘86, ‘87 – the stuff like (The House Master Boyz’) House Nation and (Nitro Deluxe’s) This Brutal House - we immediately thought, Great! This is like electro and hi-NRG together!

Phil Hartnoll: I was doing an apprenticeship, so I had a bit of money, and any spare cash I’d spend on synths. I never had aspiration, I just wanted to know what synthesiser sounds were. Paul was much more driven, he wanted to be in a band. We gradually got tapes together, we’d give them to a few people, then Paul found this guy Jazzy M.

Jazzy M: My show was called The Jacking Zone, and it was the first ever proper house show on London airwaves. The stuff was already coming in from Chicago, but I wanted to hear if people could make it here in the UK - so on my radio show, I asked, Are you making music? Come and bring it to me!, bold as brass. So (Paul’s pirate DJ friend-of-a-friend) Jack Man Jay brought me this tape. It’s wondrous to think back that I had no other information but ‘Paul from Kent.’

Paul: I went up to see Jazzy in this record shop in Croydon, My Price I think; it was quite terrifying, really, because he was like a John the Baptist of house music, such an evangelist, a real character. He ran around the shop collecting all these 12”s, then went, ‘What you do is brilliant, but it’s too fast, and you need to copy these records.’ I said, I haven't got any money. He just looked at me like this was an abstract concept, and went, ‘Money? Nah, you can have them. Copy those, come back when you need some more.’ He became my mentor right up to the time when I finally gave him Chime.

Phil: The way Paul wrote Chime was very impulsive and instinctive, that non-thinking-about-it creative vibe is really captured there. Normally he’s much more the musician, the nerdy one who’ll sit down and work things out, where I’m just a Tasmanian devil - Wurrrrgh, press that, what’s this do? - so actually it was funny for him to do such an unconscious, unconsidered kind of track.

Paul: I was just trying out a way of recording where I did it all live to the four-track, without worrying about mucking about and syncing different tracks. I started about four in the afternoon, I think it was a Wednesday, a couple of hours before I went to the pub. I guess I was trying to do something a bit Detroit techno, but really, I just took some random samples from my dad’s easy listening records, put in the ‘dum dum dum du-du-dum’ bass at the beginning, job done. Right at the end I thought, What’s that weird sound? and it was the descending string bit. Sounds OK, I’ll put that in… and that was literally it.

Phil: His mates were sitting on the sofa hassling him to finish it as he did the live recording to tape! I’ll be honest, Chime never floated my boat massively because that sort of Salsa-ey rhythm didn’t really sit right with me, but I realised it really stuck out as quirky and weird, which is why it worked for us and helped as break through. And it really did go mad.

JM: He brought it into me at Vinyl Zone at the weekend, the shop was packed with DJs, I put the tape on and the whole place went spare – ‘I want it! I want it!’, thinking it was a new 12”. I was really cheeky, like, Ha ha, no you can’t have it, it’s not released! Right that minute, I went, I’m having this. I’d been working on setting up the Oh’Zone label so it felt like perfect timing, spiritual almost.

Paul: Jazzy told me to go home and re-record it, but with an extra bit at the end where it all comes back in – ‘and do it on a metal tape as well.’ I spent £3.25 on a cassette to record it on, the most expensive one I’d ever bought, and I was thinking, It’d better bloody be worth it.

JM: I’ve still got that tape, it’s a TDK MA90 with just ‘CHIME’ written on it. The brilliant thing is, that’s what we mastered the vinyl off - 12, 13 minutes whatever it is, no edits, nothing, just straight on to the Oh’Zone 12" (released in December 1989). And that was my label launched! 1,000 copies, then another 3,000, it kept getting bigger. I even played it out off the cassette too, before the vinyl. I remember it was Clink Street or one of those really grubby underground raves. The whole place went absolutely crackers. Johnny Walker was DJing there too, he worked at Polydor which was in the same building as Tong - so that’s how he got to know about it.

Pete Tong: Soon as I heard it, I had to sign it. I did the deal with Jazzy on the track, then rolled it into a bigger deal with the boys - because I knew I wanted a longer-term thing for them with (London records dance imprint) FFRR. It was a bit of a seminal moment for British homegrown electronic music; before them we had DJs going into studios with the help of engineers – S’Express, Bomb The Bass, M/A/R/R/S - learning how to make records cut-and-paste style. Then the next big wave was the talent doing everything themselves: The Prodigy, Underworld, The Chemical Brothers and Leftfield. And Orbital really set the tone for that.

Helen Mead: My first thought on getting the record was, Wait, this isn’t The Orb! And second - and this is how trendy everything had become - I thought, Oh they’re supposed to be named after orbital raves? God that’s so over. But with their live shows, they started something else. At the time I had such a battle to make people realise that there could be any link between dance music and live music, whereas I knew they interlinked.

Paul: We’d only played one show before, as The Hartnoll Brothers, amazingly supporting a local Kent go-go band. But a friend of ours (Johnny Delafons) drummed for the Shamen, and we ended up meeting them (Orbital played their first gig supporting The Shamen at the Islington Town & Country Club 2, February 1990)

Mixmaster Morris: Doing the Synergy tour with The Shamen was their first proper live gig. I took them out to buy sequencers to make it easier to do the live sets, and the first time I ever heard them play was their first soundcheck. Everything was moving so fast in 1990, and I’ll always associate Chime with that. It was in the charts as we were touring, so it just got more and more popular, everyone got more and more crazy. The Shamen weren’t in the charts at that point, they didn’t have a hit ‘til 91, so Orbital got bigger than everyone else on the tour. They were still only getting £10-15 a night like the rest of us, mind.

Phil: When we did Chime on Top of the Pops (on March 22, 1990), we were a square peg in a round hole. We were so awkward standing there trying to mime - we thought we were being all clever having everything unplugged. Ugh, it was pretty painful. We had a big argument with them asking why we couldn’t play live, but at the end of the day you can’t refuse Top of the Pops! Then of course we had Snap! on afterwards doing, “I Got The Power!” and they just showed us up even more.

Paul: Between us, 808 State, The Shamen and their mates, it really felt like the beginning of something, of people deciding they didn’t like the old nightclub regime and wanted something new. From there we got involved with (crusty tribal rave promoters) the Megadog lot. It was very word of mouth, it was really about being evangelical for this culture. Very different to all the Sunrise and Energy raves which we’d play - they were run by blaggers who were only in it for the money, and they would run things very shoddily. 

PT: They were very much in tune with the free parties, the traveller mentality, the DIY mentality. And they presented themselves as a band from the start. Them, The Shamen, The KLF, I think they showed the way. To this day, I tell producers starting out, If you want to be seen as a band, you’ve got to act like it, not just another DJ making a record.

Phil: Playing it live was where the magic came in for me. It was so simple, just a few samples, the 303 - which was my little baby to mess around with - and couple of other analogue synths, it was really easy to jam it out. You can hear how much we’d go off on one with it on Son Of Chime (released on the Live At The Brain album, 1990). Sometime around this we went up to Liverpool, that guy James Barton who started Cream asked us to do a private do for him and his mates, about 100 people. As soon as we’d played it, they’d go, Play Chime again, play Chime again! We must’ve played it for half an hour, maybe more.

MM: They played Synergy shows all through 1990, and we were doing underground parties at the same time - the whole point of those was to do an all-night party with no DJs, only live electronic music. A classic one was at a rehearsal studio in Willesden - maybe 1,000, 1,500 people, well overcrowded - which kickstarted (touring Megadog rave event) the MIDI Circus and was a precursor to Experimental Sound Field in Glastonbury in 1992, where Underworld, Orbital and everyone played for the whole weekend. 

HM: It was probably 1993 before people realised how big this whole scene had become: that’s when you had Aphex Twin, Sabres of Paradise, Leftfield, all coming through. So Chime was big, but I don’t think anyone knew how big it was all about to get.

Paul: I could never get sick of hearing Chime. Aside from just being proud of it, it’s given me my entire life of doing music. How could I ever not get a thrill from that?

[demie90s]

The Ultimate

Shuri x Fem!reader

Warning: None. Like 840 words

Part 1

⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼

East of Wakanda a Tribe living only out of Vibranium, however only 2 left made fully out of the source. Queen Hadi and her husband and King Malik. Together they had only one child.

This child came to be be name Princess Y/fn of the Adamma tribe. Better known as the lost tribe of Marrakech.

Born October 10th, 2004. The strongest beings in the world. Born with multiple powers that she had to train everyday , but babies don’t know how to control things.

Willingly at least.

Telekinesis, Hydrokinesis, Aerokinesis, Geokinesis, and Super Strength.

At 5 she was excepted to learn seven languages at the same time. Was this easy on a child no…of course not. But she did surprisingly well, and by 8 she knew…

- Kech ( Mother tounge ) not counted

-Spanish

-English

-French

-Russian

-Korean

-Japanese &

-Xhosa

At age 9 Y/fn made such advanced technology they created a passage to the quantum realm that only they have access to making them the first of human kind to start civilization there.

At age 10 her mother wanted her to experience the best of life. She thought training her so much at a young age would create a cold blooded killer. Working around chemicals all day didn’t help either.

So they was sent on a trip to North America. Specifically the US. She grew to hate how self centered the people were.

How they consistently harmed their own kind.

How lazy and unfair their laws where.

This did take a toll on her causing her to see how the world really works. Her own people being murdered and mistreated. She does not smile often and has been taught to show no emotion but she could not help but to feel constant aching in her chest when these things happen.

At age 13 they returned home and continued to train. This did not surprise her mother. She was only there for 3 years.

But one day in the US can make you want to blow your brains out.

At the age of 14 she started to perfect her powers. This was not a must but purely for fun. Best part about made of Vibranium is you technically can’t die.

Brute force is one way to destroy the metal, but only if one possesses the strength of a god.

By 15 she was titled The Ultimate by her mother, her father, her people.

Her parents didn’t want her to waste away being that nothing was after them. So they did something.

At 16 the Avengers recruited her.

This can happen if you have an exceptional power or skillset, and happen to catch positive attention from a current member. But in her case her parents made them.

Not that she had a problem with it but come on. Going out and saving people willingly was in no way shape or form better than staying home in her comfortable bed.

Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, Hulk, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, Spider-Man, Nebula, Rocket, Captain Marvel, Okoye, Black Panther, Ant-Man and more.

Her favorite being Okoye & Black Panther. She considered them ‘her home away from home.’

Okoye is an skilled martial artist and master of staff and spear fighting. She carries a specialized vibranium spear, capable of collapsing into a handle for quick concealment.

A weapon traditionally wielded by members of the Dora Milaje. An elite group of warriors who serve as the all-female special forces for Wakanda.

They also serve as the Black Panther's personal bodyguards. Also known as Prince T'Challa the King of Wakanda and the eldest child of T'Chaka and Ramonda.

⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼

She loved the thrill fighting gave her but before she returned back to her home Prince T’Challa suggested that she goes back with them because they wanted some new weapon ideas and he wanted her to be there when he was crowned king.

To which she agreed. She was going to come back even if she hadn’t to check out some of their technology.

When they landed back in Wakanda she was introduced to The Princess.

Possessing one of the most brilliant minds in the world. Princess Shuri, she also the chief science officer for Wakanda, a position she cherishes much more than her royal status.

“Hello I am y/fn Adam- ” You began quickly getting cut off making her stand with wide eyes.

“I know- I am sorry it is just that I am a huge fan. I have never met anyone made out of Vibranium this is so cool.” The Princess said quickly.

You smirked.

‘Praise kink is on 100’

“I am a big fan of you to. I heard about your Vibranium Gauntlets and theyare absolutely amazing.” You say in awe.

“What a cute little nerd moments they are having.” T’Challa said out loud earning a quick slap to the arm from his mother and a chuckle from Okoye.

You looked around the beautiful land as they spoke. “Could I show you some of my new inventions. I could use an smart persons opinion.” Shuri asked.

“Of course” You replied waving at the others while she held other hand leading you to her lab.

That is where it all started.

————————————————————————————

[luxwritesfanfic]

Don’t Take The Money

Poor reader thought it would end up being a normal Sunday but that must’ve been the mix of bleach and Pinesol fumes getting to their head. Or, the one where reader finds out they have more in common with the other woman in Sherlock’s life than they thought and Sherlock has an aneurysm at the revelation. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were just waking up when Sherlock was moving around the bedroom trying to pack his overnight bag. You groaned at the noise of drawers being opened and hangers jostled and rolled over onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Sherlock? You’re leaving?”

He stopped in his tracks back towards the closet and moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. He looked down at you with fondness that so many people thought he was incapable of feeling and as always, it made your heart swell. Brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, you relished in his undivided attention.

“A case was brought to my attention. I won’t be gone for long, it’s a few towns over.” He insists, trying to ease your worries before they arise.

Although you’d miss him, it never did anyone any good when Sherlock was bored. He needed something to keep him occupied and you needed time to clean up the drywall shrapnel that constantly covered the couch due to the boredness. It would give you the opportunity to deep clean the flat and the idea wasn’t so bad.

“Is John going too?” Sherlock nodded. You don’t know why you asked, they always worked together.

You turned your head to kiss his palm and sat up to get out of bed. “Okay. I’ll make you breakfast before you guys leave. Nobody likes train food anyway.”

Sherlock moved to help you stand, one of the smiles he reserved just for you gracing his lips. “You take excellent care of me. But you should know, you don’t have to be useful for this to mean something to me.”

He caught you off guard, but he usually did when he read you like a book. Your whole life you’d made yourself useful and you weren’t sure if people liked you for you or for the fact that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them. You would do anything and everything for Sherlock and it didn’t have anything to do with being useful, honestly. You loved him dearly and you couldn’t imagine treating him like you felt anything less than that. You couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Omelettes or pancakes?”

—

Your shirt was soaked from washing the dishes and you smelled like a mixture of bleach and formaldehyde from scrubbing the fridge clean and removing the severed head that took up the space where your coffee creamer should be. You had done more loads of laundry than you could count, bleached the bloodstained tub from Sherlock’s latest pig quest, the entire flat smelled like Bahama breeze and you couldn’t be more content. The boys weren’t due back for a day or two so you figured you’d spend some time with Mrs. Hudson when you were done and see if you could meet up with Bucky and Greg for lunch. When you passed the kitchen on your way to your bedroom to change, you decided that this may be the only chance you ever get to clear off the dining room table. Sherlock’s science equipment had overrun it and you figured it wouldn’t hurt if you straightened it up just a bit.

You were in the midst of cleaning out Sherlock’s beakers when you heard the knock on the door. Figuring that John would have posted on his blog that they weren’t currently taking clients because they were on a case, you expected to see Mrs. Hudson and the mop she was letting you borrow. You cracked the door just enough to see who was on the other side and was surprised to see an older woman holding a plate of baked goods who wasn’t Mrs. Hudson.

“Hi... how can I help you?”

The woman in question’s eyes lit up at the sight of you and you weren’t sure why. She smiled and gestured to the platter in her hands. “Is Sherlock Holmes here?”

She must be a client, you thought. Shaking your head, you responded, “No, sorry! The boys off on a case. I’m a friend of theirs. Is there something I can help you with?”

She was looking past you into the flat and you weren’t sure what she was looking for. “Do you mind if I come in? I could really use a cup of tea. And I wanted to drop these cookies I made for Sherlock off.”

You looked at what she was holding and decided it wouldn’t really hurt to let her in, and the cookies looked amazing. Sherlock must have helped her in some way.

“Sure, come on in. Sorry about my clothes... I’ve been doing some spring cleaning.” You stepped aside and let her in. “So, are you a client of his?”

She went to place the platter on the table and you were excited that it was already worth cleaning off the table. “Not quite. I’ve known him his whole life and have loved him even longer.” She turned and smiled at you, seeing through you in a way that seemed eerily close to Sherlock.

You hummed, taking in her answer. Sherlock didn’t talk much about his friends, so you weren’t surprised that you never heard of her.

“Just a minute, I’m gonna change.”

You excused yourself to the bedroom where your phone was charging on the bed. After sending Sherlock a quick text that someone who wasn’t a client was here for him, you dug around in the closet for something clean and more appropriate.

The lady didn’t really seem like a threat and you were sure if it came down to it, you’d be able to protect yourself. You could chuck the skull on the mantle if need be, it was a hard hitter.

When you returned, she was wandering around the flat and looking at all of the pictures of you, Sherlock, and John that you’d recently framed and put out.

“You and Sherlock, you’re close, yes? Tell me about him. It’s been so long.” She was holding a picture that you took of you two in the back of a taxi. Sherlock was on his phone but you thought his hair looked extra good and the golden hour light made him look like an angel so you had to take the picture.

“Yeah, I mean. He’s a seriously great person. A brilliant detective, he’s so smart. He helps all these people for free, and he never complains if they don’t offer him anything. He hates when I tell him he’s a godsend but who else would do that? Um... he’s really funny, probably one of the funniest people I know. You just have to keep up with his humor. It can be kind of dry, but it’s there. He’s one of the most loyal people there is and he’d do anything for the people he cares about.”

It was so easy for you to speak so highly of him. It was like second nature.

“He can be stubborn sometimes, and he can be a little more blunt than he needs to be but... he’s amazing. There’s no other way to explain him, really. He’s got a light that comes from him that rivals the sun and I don’t think it could ever be dimmed.”

She turned back to you and slowly broke out into one of the biggest grins you’d ever seen someone wear. “You really love my son.”

“Your son?” You blinked, unsure of what was going on. You really started to look at the woman in front of you and you realized Sherlock had her eyes. A complete copy and paste. “Oh my God, you’re Sherlock’s mom. I never even introduced myself. I’m Y/N, a friend of-”

“You’re not his friend, dear, and I’m not blind. Old age takes a lot from you, but I could never miss the way my son shines. And you... you see it too.” She walked up to you, still holding the picture frame in her hands. “You love my son in a way that no one else has. Let me tell you all about him.”

—

You couldn’t stop laughing.

Sherlock’s mom had brought over tons of scrapbooks and old pictures that she had acquired over the years, and you had a feeling she knew you were here alone before she even knocked on the door. Mycroft, probably. You spent the whole day getting to know each other and taking a stroll down memory lane with her telling you all about Sherlock as a kid and how it was growing up with two geniuses as sons. She even gave you a copy of one of Sherlock’s high school pictures that you were going to cherish forever. She seemed so happy to have someone to talk to and assured you that spending time with you was the closest she had felt to Sherlock in a long time.

You insisted that she stay and let you make dinner, but she was as equally stubborn as Sherlock and ordered you takeaway as her treat. You tried to argue but she was having none of it. “My God, you scrubbed this whole flat clean. I’m not going to let you dirty your dishes. How does Chinese sound?”

—

Sherlock barreled up the steps with all the force he could muster in his legs and rushed in to see you, perfectly fine and all in one piece, having dinner with his mother.

“Sherlock!” You both exclaimed, his mother full of excitement and you full of worry.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, standing up from your end of the couch. “I thought you were on a case? Is everything okay?”

“I’ve been texting and calling you all day! You’re that daft that you couldn’t text back once all this time?” He’s still out of breath and he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. His tone is exasperated and you could hear the mix of anxiety and relief in his voice as he’d yet to acknowledge his mother. She seemed perfectly content to sit back and watch the situation unfold, amusement at her son’s unusual outburst gracing her features.

“My phone was dead! And then I put it on the charger and I forgot about it once your mom came, by the way!” You went to the bedroom and retrieved your phone to find a dozen missed texts and calls.

Probably just a client. SH

11:07 AM

Are you sure it’s not a client? SH

11:43 AM

Are they still there? SH

1:00 PM

Missed Call

1:17 PM

Missed Call

2:03 PM

Call me back. SH

3:26 PM

Y/N, I’m on a case. Call me back. SH

3:44 PM

Missed Call

4:13 PM

Is everything alright? SH

4:52 PM

Missed Call

5:08 PM

Missed Call

5:10 PM

Missed Call

5:12 PM

I’m boarding the train now and I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry. SH

5:21 PM

Sherlock followed after you, still without ever acknowledging his mother, and shut the door after himself. With his palms braced against the wooden door, he tried to ease the tension out of his bones through a deep breath as he watched you check your phone. He wasn’t worried about the case at all. It was mostly solved and what little was left John could do with ease. He felt the weight of the missed calls in his stomach like lead and the three hour train ride that he couldn’t curse to defy time any quicker. He had plenty of enemies and you had virtually none, so there would be no reason to think you’d hesitate to assist anyone who came to his door, especially if it was in the name of helping him. He thought he’d walk into a crime scene and he couldn’t shake those images out of his head.

You got up from the bed and walked over to him, reaching to wrap one arm around his neck and to take his hand in yours in the other. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, and then to his chin, over his eyelids, his nose, and then lastly you met his lips, murmuring “I’m sorry” in between every kiss. He didn’t usually voice it, but you had known him long enough to know when he was upset. He relaxed into your touch as he always did and you pulled away from him long enough to pull on the ends of his scarf. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Let me help. We got takeaway for your mom and I but we can share mine. I got what you like anyway.”

He let you pull his scarf and jacket off and you were delighted to see he wasn’t really mad with you. You hang his jacket on the closet door and by the time you turn back to face him, he’s already making his way back out to the living room. Following after him, you see his mother gesturing him to come over.

“What are you doing here? I thought I told Mycroft to tell you I was away on business.” He was messing with the cuffs on his sleeves but his question was directed at his mother with unmistakable intent. She tsked at him, and you began to see even more similarities in their mannerisms.

“That’s no way to talk to your mother, William. I was spending some time with your darling partner here and I don’t even get a kiss or a hug?” She began gathering her belongings and threw her purse over her shoulder. You weren’t happy to see her go.

You did peak up at the name. “William? Your name is William?”

Sherlock groaned, ignoring you completely. You swore you could see a blush dusting his cheeks. In no time he was at the door, holding it open for his mother. “It’s getting rather late, don’t you agree? Father must be wondering where you are. Be sure to pay Mycroft a visit the next time you’re in town. I assure you, he always has time for family.”

She turned to you and blew you a kiss. “I had a great time with you today, I hope you’ll manage to bring Sherlock home more.”

Walking over to Sherlock, she paused to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, “I know you know what you could lose here. So be sure you don’t, Sherlock.”

Before she totally stepped out of the flat, she turned around one last time. “Promise me you’ll come home soon. Your father and I miss you dearly.”

“I heard you the first ten times. Goodnight and safe travels, mother.” Sherlock shut the door before his mother could get another word and your shoulders slumped.

“Hey, that was your mom! She’s really nice. We had a good day.” You started to clean up the coffee table and take the dishes into the kitchen. You couldn’t understand Sherlock’s relationship with his family but you were sure there was a lot of things you didn’t know. Still, it was nice to have a chance to bond with your (maybe one day) future family. It was then that you realized that Sherlock never said anything when his mother mentioned you being his partner. You two never really officially defined what you were, so to see him not object to an actual title made you feel all warm inside.

“No, you had a good day. I was trying to work a case and clear a man’s name while trying to figure out if I’d come home to you kidnapped or dead.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, watching you from the doorway. You looked back at him as you dropped the dishes into the sink and let out a sigh. You hated the fact that you let him down.

“I have to go back tomorrow to tie some loose ends with John. If you come with me, I have a feeling I’ll get over it a lot quicker.” His voice was quiet but full of mirth. He won’t hold this over your head, and you both know this, but if it makes him feel better you’ll follow him. You’d follow him to the ends of the Earth and off the edge if he lead you.

Sherlock pushed himself off of the doorway and walked towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

“So, you’re staying home tonight?” You swung around the  kitchen doorway and called out to the hall. You hadn’t even thought about Sherlock having to go back, and you couldn’t help but be excited that he would be there for you to fall asleep next to tonight. 

“You didn’t expect me to make the trip back at this hour, did you? Besides, I sleep better with you and it’s obvious that I don’t focus well if you’re not around, Which is why I need you to come with me tomorrow. It seems you owe me, anyway.” Sherlock takes a step back so you can see him in the bedroom doorway, and you can feel your heart in your throat.

He’s so beautiful, you think, all alabaster skin and lean muscle. He’s pulling a t-shirt over his head and you wonder if you could manifest a photographic memory long enough to commit him to memory. Of course he notices you staring, and you almost want to mention all the times you catch him staring at you but he changes the subject and opens the blankets for you and you shut up and follow him. You follow him and you love him and you wake up in the morning at the crack of dawn to run downstairs and order coffee from the shop next door before your train leaves, being sure to get them to write “William” on the cup. Sherlock doesn’t find this funny at all, but he still lets you fall asleep on his arm on the train ride there and doesn’t complain when his arm falls asleep right along with you.

He thinks that if this is the life his mother wished for him as a child, that would be one thing he could take off of his list of things she eventually needs to answer for. Because mothers know best, and when it came to you, she could have never been more right.

[helliontherapscallion]

Magnum Opus (Adrenaline Junkie Part 7)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 2,451

(A/N): our dear little (y/n) needed a break from the angst, so I gave them one : )

You were finally done with the prototype for your prosthetic. It took blood, sweat, and tears and hours upon hours to get the measurements precisely right, but you were finally done. You were one step closer to freedom and you were ecstatic. You were practically vibrating with excitement.

Sprinting up the stairs with your pride and joy closed and wrapped in a sheet, you made a beeline for the front door passing Philza in the process. You heard him ask you something, but you were already darting past him through the door and outside. Before long, you were at the top of the cliff you designated as your test site. 

The cliff was perfect for gliding. It towered over the ground at a perfect height for you to gain air resistance in time and overlooked a vast, empty field that stretched as far as the eye could see. A few herds of chickens and cows were scattered here and there, but if you were careful you could probably steer away. Probably. If you hit a cow, it wouldn’t hurt that much, right? 

Sliding on the prosthetic was a little bit of a struggle. You had to awkwardly twist your body around and uncomfortably reach for your upper back to fasten the leather belts securely around your nub, but you would get faster at it once you put it on more. Smiling in satisfaction when it was on, you tested out the abduction and adduction capabilities of the iron joints by pulling on the string you attached to the ends of each joint. The wing opened and closed with ease.

Now, the only thing you had to test out was if it worked or not. You backed up to the point of the cliff where it started to slope down and took a few deep breaths. Here goes nothing.

You broke into a sprint towards the edge of the cliff. The precipice was coming nearer and nearer, there’s no backing out now, you had to follow through if you wanted a successful flight. If you killed yourself in the name of innovation, then so be it. 

When you bunched up the muscles in your legs to jump out as far as you could, you pulled the rope that extends your wing and firmly pulled it taut. You wobbled in the air slightly before you stabilized yourself. The air was flowing freely past you as you glide through the warm summer air. 

You started to laugh loudly in triumph as you soared through the air. For the first time in almost one and a half years, you felt truly free. You felt infinite even like nothing could drag you down. Time around you seemed to slow down as you relished the feeling of freedom and being emancipated from your life on the ground. The warm air rustling through the base of your feathers on your left wing felt like heaven. 

Unfortunately, what goes up must come down. You were getting closer and closer to the ground, so you had to land. You extended your legs under you and your feet made contact with the grass below you. Your momentum made you take a few swift steps forward, but overall, you landed safely. 

Cackling, you jumped up and down in place and repeatedly punched the air. Your wing fluttered happily rustling the strands of grass around you with strong gusts of air.

“YES YES YES YES I FUCKING DID IT!”

“I’M BRILLIANT!”

“HOLY SHIT!”

The nearby herds of animals scurried away from you, their peaceful grazing interrupted by your excited shouting. Normally you would’ve felt bad for them, but you didn’t care; your invention worked! You had to show your family, they had to see this.

Philza was startled by the front door bursting open and banging against the wall. Your loud voice booming through the silence of the house. There goes his quiet day.

“DAADDDDD, WILBUR, TECHNO, TOMMY COME HERE I FUCKING DID IT! I! FUCKING! FIGURED! IT! OUUUUTTTT!”

You heard footsteps running towards you as Philza ran down the hallways and into your field of vision. His startled wide eyes scanned your form. Your face was split in a wide grin and your eyes were impossibly wide as they regarded him. Your entire body was practically vibrating like you were barely keeping your excitement and elation at bay. Your wing was flittering rapidly behind you.

But what caught his eye was the leather attached to your back where your other wing was supposed to be. It was the exact same size as your left wing.

“I-Is that…?”

You giggled uncontrollably in glee. “Yes! Oh, I need to show you how it works!”

You grabbed his hand and drug him to the couch with a surprising amount of strength. Plopping him down, you began spewing and gesturing wildly towards your newest invention.

“Ok ok ok, so this is just a prototype of course, but I was inspired by a bat’s wings with the leather and the general structure. I made the joints and the structural support rods out of thin iron so that it doesn’t weigh it down or make any drag. I can open and close it with this,” you pulled the rope and the wing opened, “and I have a hole for my wing to go into and it’s secured by belts and it even lets me glide and ohmygoddadisntitamazing?”

Philza looked at you with disbelief as you rattled on about how your invention works. How exactly did you make this without him noticing that you were making it? Where did you learn how to work with leather? When you were done, he looked at you with a smile.

“It’s fantastic hun. But how do you know that it lets you glide?”

You paused and gave him a sheepish smile. “About that… I may have, kinda… sorta, jumpedoffacliff.”

“You what? Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

You felt a burning anger flare up from deep inside of you. You just found out that you could somewhat fly again and he has the audacity to not care. “Yes, but how was I supposed to know if it worked or not? It’s not like I have anyone with the same sized wing as I do. The measurements had to be exact. One wrong measurement would make you crash! But that’s not the important part, I can fly again! Don’t you care about that?”

His eyes softened. “Of course I do, (y/n). It’s amazing that you can fly again but I’m just worried about how you tested it out. What if it didn’t work? You could’ve died again, (y/n).”

You felt your eye twitch. “Dad, life is all about risk. If you don’t take a risk every now and then, you’re just… standing still! What kind of life is that?”

He held your heated glare with sad, desperate eyes. “I… I just can’t lose you again, (y/n). Promise me that I won’t lose you again. That you won’t do reckless things like this anymore.”

Oh.

You let your stance relax and your left wing tucked itself back in. Walking over to him, you sat next to him, wrapping your left wing around him in an awkward kind of side hug. Fiddling with your thumbs, you replied softly. “You aren’t going to lose me again anytime soon, that I can promise you, but I can’t promise that I won’t do reckless things. Like I said, life is all about risks. You have to take them if you wanna move on. I wanna move on with my life, I’m sick of being stuck in one place.”

He rubbed at his eyes tiredly as he sighed. There was no convincing you when you were like this. He’s learned that trying to steer you in another direction is like Sisyphus finally reaching the top of the mountain only to have the massive stone roll back down again. Getting you to agree was something that went against your motives just wasn’t going to happen. 

“...Do you want to move out?”

“What? Nonononono, I don’t want to move out yet. I just meant that I was tired of not moving on with life after that thing took my wing.”

He gave a watery chuckle. “Good, I wouldn’t have anybody to make me breakfast in the mornings or split wood with me if you moved out.” 

He twisted his upper body towards you and pulled you into a warm hug. “I’m not leaving anytime soon. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

You two stayed like that for a while before he pulled back and gestured for you to turn around. You obliged and he got a closer look at your prosthetic, opening and closing it with the rope.

“...This is just a prototype. I’m still trying to figure out a way to automatically move the wing without having to pull the rope.”

He hummed in thought. “Have you thought about using redstone?”

“Yeah, but everything’s just too… bulky. I might have to make a tiny sensor so that it receives impulses from my muscles and moves when I want it to. That’s gonna take me a long time.”

“I’m sure that you’ll figure it out soon, you’re creative. Probably the most innovative of your generation… I’m proud of you, ya know. You’ve grown up and overcome so much in such a short amount of time.” He said genuinely.

You felt your face heat up and a small smile shaped your lips. You loved it when people praised you for your achievements, especially your dad. It warmed your heart to hear that he’s still proud of you, even if you’re almost an adult now. 

He clapped a hand on your shoulder and started to walk to the door.

“...Where are you going?”

He looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “We are gonna go find your brothers so we can show them how amazing you are.”

Your eyes lit up and your previous excitement returned tenfold. Laughing boisterously, you grabbed his hand and started sprinting, dragging him behind you. He laughed with you as he kept up with you with ease. 

You two ran until you hit the forest where Tommy was with Tubbo at the goat hybrid’s bee farm. They looked at you with alarm as you both almost crashed into one of the hives. Bees buzzed around peacefully, completely contradicting the energy you and Philza had. 

“Tommy, Tubbo, you have to follow us!”

They glanced at each other. “Why-”

You shushed them. “No questions! I have something to show you!”

You turned on your heel and started to sprint towards the woods where you can hear the soft strumming of a guitar. 

“WIILLBURRRRR”

His head poked out from behind a large tree trunk. “What could you possibly want? I’m practicing.”

“No time to explain, follow me.”

You once again ran away towards the shooting range Techno was in. Currently, he was working on his aim with a crossbow. 

“Techno!”

He jumped and accidentally pressed the trigger, making the arrow completely miss the target by several feet. He lightly glared at you. “(Y/n), don’t do that. I could’ve sho-”

“Sorry Tech, but you’re coming with me. I have something to show you.”

Like you did with Tommy and Wilbur, you darted off without letting him respond. In no time, you and your family reached the cliff. At the top, you turned towards them with a slightly crazed grin and sparkling eyes. They looked extremely confused as to why they were up there.

“I bet you’re all wondering why I’ve brought you here today. Well boys, I present to you,” you paused for dramatic effect, “my magnum opus!”

You yanked the rope and your leather wing extended with a glorious fwoosh. You watched as their jaws dropped and they looked at you with differing expressions. Philza looked at you with beaming pride, Techno and Wilbur looked at you with complete surprise, Tubbo smiled widely at you, and Tommy was speechless.

Grinning wider, you pointed out all the intricacies of your invention. They all listened attentively, absorbing every single detail you explained. They were fascinated with the idea of using prosthetics. 

You smirked. “Now, I’m sure you all would like a live demonstration. Step aside.”

You turned around and started walking towards where you started your take off earlier. You steeled your nerves and broke into a sprint. Once again jumping off the cliff and pulling your wing open, you heard your family gasp as you wobbled in the air slightly before you steadied yourself and began gliding. Their horrified gasps and shouts quickly turned into cheering as you glided away from them. 

As you were midair, you heard the flutter of feathers behind you as Philza appeared in your peripheral vision. He was grinning widely at you as his giant wings flapped to keep him next to you. You grinned back and in that moment, everything felt right. You would always have your family to support you.

You landed safely on the ground with a few steps and Philza followed suit, pulling you into a soft winged hug. You squeezed him back with vigor.

“(Y/n),” he whispered. “I am so, so proud of you, my little inventor.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you hugged him tighter. You could hear your brothers and Tubbo (whom you considered your pseudo brother at this point with how often he hangs around the house) running towards you two. It would be a minute or two until they reached you. Until then, you just wanted to stay in your dad’s loving embrace. 

“OI DAD DON’T HOG THEM!”

You were ripped away from Philza’s comforting embrace and pulled into Tommy’s chest. He squeezed you in a bone crushing hug and started to spin you around.

“(Y/N) THAT WAS SO FUCKING COOL! THE WAY YOU FLEW WITHOUT BOTH WINGS HOLY SHIT THAT WAS POG!”

He let you go and you were given a congratulatory pat on the back and wide smile from Tubbo, who wasn’t quite accustomed to you yet. Techno smiled at you with pride and rustled your hair and Wilbur swung his arm around your shoulders, leading you back towards the house. “Well, I say this calls for a celebration.”

The feathers on your wing fluffed up proudly at the praise. “I’m down, but first could one of you help me take this off? It hurts after a while of wearing it.”

The rest of the night was illuminated with laughter and joy, the house booming with life. This was another moment where you felt infinite in the universe, surrounded by the people you hold dearest.

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Business Trip Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 出差之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Note: This date features S2 Victor, but contains no main storyline spoilers!

[ This date was released on 13 May 2021 ]

"This flight will be reaching its destination soon. Please fasten your seatbelts...”

Hearing the announcement, I shift my gaze away from the notebook laptop, rubbing my slightly swollen eyes.

The company recently took up an important collaboration, which is why I had to make final amendments to the proposal even in the middle of a business trip.

Drawing up the window at the side, what enters my vision is a patch of deep blue. Above the vast water, the small islands are reminiscent of dark emerald gems.

MC: So beautiful...

It’s as if I’m able to sense the greenery from across the window, and it adds a tinge of anticipation to this trip.

Even though the reason why I’m here is to attend an international meeting spanning three days.

The moment I step out of the airport, I see the apologetic expression on the staff’s face.

Staff: Hello, are you Miss MC?

MC: It’s me. Did something happen?

Staff: I’m incredibly sorry. Because of our negligence, the car that was supposed to pick you up is scheduled to arrive only in the afternoon. However, another guest has agreed to share a car with you to the venue.

MC: That’s fine, as long as the other party doesn’t mind.

-

When we reach the carpark, my brows arch at the sight of a long Bentley. I can’t help but criticise silently that the host would use a car with such high specifications.

The staff steps aside to pull the door open. I bend and enter the car, prepared to thank this important guest whom I have disturbed.

MC: Hello, thank you...

Lifting my eyes, I meet an indifferent face.

MC: ...Victor?!

In the spacious car, Victor is wearing a black suit as he typically does, a thin picture album in his hands. 

Since Victor, who should be at another end of the earth, has appeared before my eyes, I’m unable to react immediately.

MC: ...what are you doing here?!

Victor: Why can’t I be here? LFG receives an invitation from the host each year. This year is no exception. 

He glances at the time on the television screen installed in the car. He taps his knuckles against the picture album, his tone calm.

Victor: Also, who else would be willing to wait fifteen minutes for you.

I clear my throat hastily, displaying a brilliant smile.

MC: I have to give CEO Victor a proper thanks for waiting patiently then! But I really didn’t expect you to attend the meeting personally. Didn’t you always refuse in previous years?

Victor looks at me with slight surprise.

Victor: You remember these things really clearly. I happen to have time this year, and...

He pauses, his gaze landing on me.

Victor: I wanted to see if a certain acclaimed producer is just as skilful and at ease when faced with an international collaborative partner.

Hearing the mildly teasing tone in Victor’s words, I can't help but crinkle my eyes into a smile.

MC: In that case, I definitely won’t disappoint CEO Victor. This meeting is really important to our company. I’m bringing out one hundred percent of my fighting spirit, which I haven’t done in a very long time.

While speaking, I scoot backwards into the soft chair. With Victor at my side, the tension that I’ve been experiencing is finally alleviated slightly.

MC: Fortunately, the host arranged for the venue to be at a resort. We can have a good rest too. I heard the scenery on that small island is pretty good. And there are lots of kittens...

Victor: I’m guessing the reason why you came here to attend the meeting was for the resort.

Hearing this, I stare at the picture album in his hands. The page which has been flipped open happens to be the view I saw from the plane. It’s clearly a brochure for this place.

MC: CEO Victor, aren’t you looking at a brochure?

Victor: It was to while the time away while waiting for someone.

Even though I’ve exposed Victor, his expression remains unchanged. He closes the brochure composedly, which has a few images of cat paws on it.

Victor: Do you want to look at it?

MC: No need. Actually, the main reason why I came here isn’t for the resort.

Victor: Then what is it?

The expression in my eyes changes, revealing a smile.

MC: My reason is very obvious. It’s to expand our company’s influence internationally, and obtain a few more million dollars’ worth of LFG’s investments.

Victor doesn’t refute my words. Instead, he folds his arms in front of his chest and leans against the wall of the car, meeting my eyes calmly.

Victor: What do you plan to do?

MC: Before coming here, I noted down the organisers and brands, then wrote proposals based on their preferences and styles. But from the looks of it, there seems to be a faster method.

I smile while facing Victor, speaking unhurriedly.

MC: For instance... getting close to an extremely important guest at the meeting.

Victor arches his brows, the upward curl at the corners of his lips softening his well-defined features. 

Victor: I’ll look forward to it then.

-

The meeting that spanned the entire afternoon finally comes to a temporary end. After politely turning down an invitation to the dinner banquet, I leave the venue, standing outside and taking in breaths of fresh air.

Victor: Why are you hiding here?

Turning my head, I see Victor who appears to be leaving as well.

MC: I’m heading back to rest and prepare for tomorrow’s main event. What about you? What are you planning to do?

He glances at the insuppressible fatigue on my face, then continues walking.

Victor: Like you, I’m heading back to rest.

He doesn’t walk quickly, as though waiting for me to chase after him. Curling the corners of my lips, I speed up my footsteps and follow him.

In this resort surrounded by water, exquisite glass houses sit among the elegant scenery, reminiscent of illustrations from a fairytale.

Two small wooden signboards with cats drawn on them attract my attention, and I continuously turn my head around to peer at them.

Victor: What are you looking at that has left you unable to walk properly?

MC: There’s a story written on these wooden signboards, and I find it interesting.

It’s a simple yet heartwarming short story: a mysterious kitten knocks on the door of guests, giving them a secret, warm gift.

MC: Do you think a kitten will knock on my window tonight?

I turn to Victor, saying this jokingly. However, he’s the same as always, shattering my imagination with his words.

Victor: It’s just an advertising tactic by the resort.

Kitten: Meow~ 

Before he finishes speaking, a soft sound drifts from the thick clump of grass at the side. My eyes brighten instantly.

MC: See? The Cat Resort lives up to its name.

Very soon, a calico cat leaps out from the thick grass, its black eyes seeming to scrutinise the both of us.

I squat down, wanting to reach out to play with it. However, it’s incredibly proud and aloof.

MC: ...what a cold cat.

The “cold” calico cat avoids my outstretched hand and goes to Victor’s feet, circling him in a clingy manner.

MC: Why is it only warm towards you?

Victor: Your earlier enthusiasm probably gave it a scare.

Kitten: Meow~ Meow meow~

The kitten lifts its tiny head, raising a paw and “condescendingly” leaves two paw prints on Victor’s trousers before leaving in a leisurely manner.

Victor: ...

Watching it jump back into the grass, I retract my gaze, continuing forward with Victor.

MC: I didn't expect you to have an affinity with animals. Whenever I want to get close to the stray cats below the company building, I have to “give offerings” of cat food first.

The gentle evening breeze brushes past. In this leisurely atmosphere, Victor’s tone is casual and relaxed.

Victor: Maybe the cat food you bought doesn’t taste good.

MC: I buy high quality cat food, okay?

Engaging in idle chatter while walking, we soon reach the houses that have been prepared for us.

Detached glass houses scattered in a disorderly fashion appear before our eyes. What surprises me is that the small house Victor is staying in happens to face mine.

The two windows aren’t that far apart, and they face each other, conjuring a carefree atmosphere. 

MC: I didn’t expect our residences to be so close by. This way, we could start chatting just by opening the windows.

Victor: ...I won’t do such a silly thing with you.

MC: I was just kidding. See you tomorrow! Rest early, CEO Victor.

Waving at him happily, I turn around and push open the door to the small glass house.

-

Everything in the small house is as exquisite as the exterior. Through the transparent ceiling, I can see the glow of sunset.

Now that I’ve returned to the residence, the exhaustion from the journey immediately spreads through my four limbs. With a “plonk”, I fall onto the soft bed.

It is only after releasing a huge breath that I think about shutting the curtains. When I walk over to the small balcony, I see the person standing opposite.

Victor is holding a cup of coffee at the window, and is currently meeting my gaze.

He has removed his outer jacket and has his sleeves rolled up, making his entire person seem much more relaxed. I can detect a smile from the expression in his eyes.

Recalling how I looked sprawled on the bed earlier, my face instantly heats up.

MC: [whispering] That’s so embarrassing...

Pretending to be calm, I shoot Victor a smile, then tug on the thick curtains firmly.

The room instantly descends into dimness, and also covers the slight tinge of red on my face.

Buzz buzz - at this moment, my phone vibrates.

Victor: There’s a meeting tomorrow. Sleep early, and don’t get overly excited.

-

Upon waking up, the room is so dark that there doesn’t seem to be any light coming in. Drawing the curtains, I realise that the sky’s almost dark.

Warm yellow lights from the opposite house enter my vision, reminiscent of tender candlelight in twilight.

At some point of time, it had started raining outside.

And behind that curtain of rain, there’s an indistinct figure.

Victor seems to be reading documents while sitting by the window.

MC: He’s still busy with work at this time?

After thinking about it, I put on a coat and sneak out of the door.

-

MC: Thanks for your help.

Carrying the congee I purchased as a take-out, I walk down the glass-roofed corridors. Falling rain patters outside the corridor, embellishing the night with even more coldness.

Kitten: Meow~

At this moment, a calico kitten suddenly appears at the side, and it’s clearly the same cat Victor and I met before.

With the same happy and contented gait, it comes up to me, then lifts its head to stare at me.

After being confused for a few seconds, I lift the congee in my hand, and the kitten’s line of sight slowly shifts upwards too.

MC: Turns out you’re just a little greedy cat despite your aloof appearance. But I can’t let you eat this. I still need to feed a “big cat”.

Despite me leaving mercilessly, the calico cat follows behind me all the way.

MC: Fine, you can visit Victor with me then.

It lets out an excited “meow”, though I’m unsure if it understood what I said.

MC: I’ll take that as an agreement.

When I walk to the small glass house, Victor’s room is still lit. I pick up the cat and lean towards the window, tapping on the window with a thud.

The figure sitting in front of the window pauses. The curtains which weren’t closed completely are pulled open.

Victor’s face appears in the window clearly. When he sees me and the cat in my arms, he’s slightly stunned for a moment, obvious surprise flashing across his face.

Warm light illuminates the room with a soft and comforting glow. Even Victor, who is sitting amidst the warm colour, seems to become much gentler.

Lifting the kitten’s paw, I wave it a few times in greeting.

MC: Hello Mr Victor. We’re here to give you a present.

He chuckles in resignation, the word “dummy” leaving his lips silently.

Victor sets the documents down neatly, then gets up to open the window. While supporting the window frame with a hand, he looks down at me with a scrutinising gaze.

Victor: What are you doing outside this late instead of sleeping?

MC: I should be the one asking you that. Why are you still working this late!

Hearing this, he lifts his hand and rubs the space between his eyebrows, but the veins in his eyes can still be seen faintly.

Victor: There’s an issue related to an acquisition by LFG. Goldman called and asked for my opinion.

MC: Is the issue serious? 

Victor: It’s manageable.

He sets down his hand and brings it to me. I stare at this unfurled hand, blinking in confusion.

Victor: Didn’t you say you brought something for me?

Only now do I remember my official business, and I hide the thermal bag with the congee within it in my arms.

MC: Victor, are you going to take my congee and then ask me to leave?

Victor: ...when did I say that. It’s just that a certain someone has a “tough battle” to fight tomorrow, and has to maintain her vigour.

MC: I’m fine. I just took a nap and feel so much better.

While we’re talking, the kitten in my arms suddenly meows impatiently. Then, it leaps out of my arms. 

It jumps into Victor’s room deftly, then stands on his desk, licking its paw calmly.

MC: ...it really likes you. It doesn’t even want my congee now.

I grumble, and Victor suddenly chuckles softly.

Victor: Didn't you buy the congee for me? I don’t intend to share it.

Hearing this, I recall the serious matter I came to attend to by making this trip.

I scan my surroundings. It’s still raining, and there’s quite a distance to the door. And this window happens to be sufficiently low.

After giving it some thought, I roll my wrists, then speak.

MC: Victor... move a little to the side.

Victor: What are you planning to do now?

Victor arches his brows in a lack of comprehension. However, he follows what I said and shifts away from the window.

In the next second, I support myself on the window frame, hopping across smoothly.

When Victor sees the faint footprints on the windowsill, he’s silent for a few seconds.

Victor: ...

Victor: Looks like you truly had sufficient rest. You’re full of energy.

MC: This is a special situation. Scholars in the ancient times would leap over walls to meet beautiful women. Today, I’m leaping over the window to bring you congee.

I retrieve the piping hot congee from the bag, placing it in front of Victor.

MC: For you. Have some supper before continuing work.

Victor lowers his head to look at the congee, the corners of his lips curling upwards indistinctly.

Victor: Is this what you called “catering to my tastes”?

MC: That’s right. So I hope CEO Victor would help me out tomorrow in preventing awkward silences.

Victor: It depends on your performance.

He picks up a spoon, stirring the slightly solidified surface of the congee slowly. The fragrance of rice makes my stomach grumble uncontrollably.

Smelling the fragrance, the calico cat circles our feet, meowing coquettishly.

MC: It seems hungry. The congee I ordered is pretty bland. Why don’t you share some with it?

Victor: Looks like it isn’t the only hungry one.

Victor gives me a meaningful glance, then splits the congee into three portions. The portion that he blows cool is placed in front of the kitten, and another is pushed in front of me.

Victor: After you’ve finished eating, go to bed.

MC: I didn’t even say that I wanted to eat...

I can’t help but mutter to myself while happily taking a spoon and sending a scoop of congee into my mouth.

Victor: The proportion of water and rice is wrong, it wasn’t cooked long enough, and it doesn’t bring out the taste of congee.

Hearing VIctor’s comments, I pause in my movements, then release a soft ‘hmph’.

MC: I wasn’t the one who cooked it, so your words don’t hurt me.

Ten minutes later, three completely clean bowls convey the greatest gratitude towards the chef’s hard work.

The satisfied calico cat has long since found a space on the carpet and rolled into a ball, snoring and sleeping soundly.

Victor: It’s also time for you to return and sleep.

MC: I still don’t feel like going back. I just had a nightmare, so I don’t feel drowsy at all. Why don’t I stay behind and accompany you while you work? I could wait for tomorrow’s sunrise too.

Victor: ...seems like you just want to use my room to watch the sunrise.

Seeing that he remains unmoved, I raise my hands, looking at him with a face filled with sincerity.

MC: I’ll definitely keep quiet throughout, and won’t disturb your work!

Victor doesn't say anything, returning to his documents. He seems to have tacitly allowed me to “run amok”.

I sit on a sofa chair at the side obediently, supporting my chin with a hand while sneaking peeks at him.

Beneath the warm lights, the side of his face seems to become much gentler. However, his slightly furrowed brows reveal a faint sharpness.

Rain patters down outside the window, a stark contrast to the tranquility within the house.

Looking at Victor’s figure, my eyelids grow heavier and heavier...

Victor suddenly senses a weight on his shoulder. He turns his head, only to see that the girl who claimed that she wasn’t drowsy is currently sound asleep, eyes shut tightly.

Victor: MC? 

The girl wrinkles her nose, as though she’s having a beautiful dream, or feeling nostalgic for the delicious food from earlier.

He recalls the story written on the wooden signboards earlier in the evening about the kitten which taps on windows and sends gifts. A soft chuckle rises from his throat.

Along the horizon, a hazy ray of light sneaks in through the window in front of them.

🐈 Phone call: here

🐈 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[bangtanfancamp]

∴ summary: After spending a gloomy afternoon  trying to get out of your own head alone , you finally seek out your boyfriend for help

∴ masterlist

∴ one shot

∴ pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

∴ word count: 2k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: soft angst, comfort, established relationship

∴ warnings: oc is struggling with something akin to depression, it’s alluded to but not explicitly stated

∴ author’s note: this is incredibly self indulgent and was written in one go. I’ll edit later. I’d rather have it here to share sooner in case anyone needs it as much as me.

─────────────────────

“Joonie, what are you doing? Are you busy?” Your voice comes out small as you peak around the corner into his office, sweater pawed knuckles sneaking around the edge of the door frame.

He doesn’t look up at first. Perhaps you really were too quiet. Or maybe he’s just that immersed in his book. It’s not a cover you’ve seen before so it very well may be the latter. You know how he is when he has a new thing to get lost in. Ever your astronaut adrift, exploring the moons just beyond whatever new world he’s found.

He looks so at home now. Cozy in his den of words and letters. Perfectly domestic amidst lofty thoughts and paragraphs. His skin is mostly bare today, his coordinated tank top and shorts exposing a golden expanse of toned arms, long legs . They’re folded up and crossed, a little boy lost in wonder as he sits on his futon.

His hair is a warm chestnut this week, fringe too long around the lashes but too short to pull back. The way it refuses to cooperate when he brushes it out of his eyes, trickling silkily, stubbornly back into place, exactly where it wants to be, makes you want to chuckle.

He still hasn’t noticed you’re there. Too far gone in whatever his newest philosophy is to notice the way you study the dip of his furrowed brow, how it juxtaposes against the relief of his shadowed dimples, smiling even as he frowns. He finds so much pleasure in being studious— just for fun. No matter how much concentration it takes. You’ve always admired that about him. Admired everything about him really.

Clearing your throat, though you hate to interrupt him, you try again. 

“Joonie?”

 Somehow it’s even quieter than before, and as he turns another reverent page, you know you’ll have to physically intervene to interrupt him. You sigh. You hate to break the spell. He loves days like this—with the rain trickling down the window’s glass casting shadows on his focused face— he’s so happy to read when it rains.

He leans forward then without looking up to take a sip of his Earl grey, bumbling when the steam unexpectedly fogs his glasses. He laughs at himself, folding his book so it splays across the seat to mark his place and removing his glasses. It’s the first time he’s looked up. He spots you then, his face splitting into the smoothest “there’s my girl” smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey… how long have you been standing there?” His voices comes low, warm, soothes something in you that desperately needs rest.

“Long enough to see you blind yourself with tea, it seems.” You try to smile back, but it’s a weak, floppy thing. Your cheeks can’t seem to commit so it falls a bit too flat. His brows pinch when he sees it. Something’s amiss.

“Hey… are you okay?” His inscrutable eyes analyze you, and you let him. Too tired to resist or put up a fight.

“It’s not my day, joonie.” Your voice is pitiful, even to your own ears. You’d normally wince at sounding like this in front of anyone else. But honestly, it’s okay. It’s Namjoon you’re with. You don’t have to play games or hide things. Not here. Not with him.

“Yeah?” His eyes catch yours as his palms rub the tops of his thighs. It’s an invitation. You know the gesture by now.

“Yeah… again. There have been so many of these lately,” you say, crossing the room to him, his arms unfolding to welcome you into them. “They come too often and stay too long. They’re terrible house guests. I’m tired of them, joon. I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

You’re scooped against him now, head on the space between his neck and his chest, fingers twisted into his tank top, bum in his lap, knees tucked up til you’re as small as you can get. There’s a broad palm of his on your back, fingertips on his other hand traveling the length of your arm in tender caresses as his cheek rests atop your head.

“Maybe we should start charging them rent. I bet even they can’t afford to pay that in this economy.” He offers the idea solemnly, fully committed to carrying out the metaphor that your mental health really is just an unfortunate airbnb plagued with hideously mannered squatters.

“You know, I love that about you, Joon.”

“My inability to pay rent?”

You nuzzle a sappy no into the heat of his neck,” dummy, your very real ability to never minimize things that are hard to me.”

The dip of his chest as he exhales is oddly soothing. It makes you feel like you’re being rocked and god if you don’t need to be cradled right now. “Things  have been really hard lately, haven’t they?” He wonders aloud.

“It isn’t just my perception?” You look up, eyes entirely too pitiful, too round to belong to a functioning adult. No, Namjoon’s heart goes soft as he realizes he’s looking at the eyes of a very scared four year old you. The haunted gaze of an innocent girl who never got told everything would be alright. Even without knowing any more than that, it makes him want to cry.

“No, my sweet girl, it’s not.” Closing his eyes, he presses somber lips to your forehead, scooping you close to shield you— from the world, from yourself, from all the insidious things that took root in you so long ago you’re not even sure how they got in. His wide hands grip you tighter, a feeble attempt to help hold you altogether.

It’s silent then. A few beats of quiet, only disrupted by the clumsy clatter of irreverent raindrops on glass. His caress stays steady against your soft sleeves, his languid fingers perpetually in motion as he attempts to soothe the wounds that sit just beneath your skin.

You look up at him again, unsure what you’ll find. 

You almost cry when you see the gentleness in his eyes. No judgment anywhere within them. Just something kind that stretches into the lines his eyes carve as he smiles. How you itch to gently peel his horn rimmed glasses off the tip of his button nose and kiss it. Bless him.

God, you don’t know why he’s so nice to you, but you’re so glad that he is. The smile you give back to him is wobbly, trembly, poorly constructed— but so so sincere that it makes your sad eyes shine. He bumps your nose with his, burying himself against your forehead as you cocoon into him.

You want to ask him what he’s reading, listen intently to him as he tells you all about it, but you know you can’t. You can’t decipher anything today. It all feels too heavy. You can’t carry the weight of anything new with hands already full. At this point, you’ve lived in this soft hoodie of his , the one you stole after his tour two years back because it smelled like him, for the past 3 days. You don’t even have the energy to change. With that kind of retention rate, seems there’s no point in asking your brilliant professor to explain anything.

Still, it’s always so nice to hear his voice. Especially with your ear to his chest like this. 

So you ask anyway.

“Will you read to me, Joonie? Life always feels better when you’re reading.” You press your face deep into the copper of his neck, an open mouthed kiss placed against his pulse.

“It’s all kind of theoretical,” he chuckles. He’s bashful. If holding you weren’t occupying his hands, you know they’d be nervously fiddling with the back of his neck. A nerdy boy with a too big brain hesitant to share his discoveries.

“Is it good though? You’ve already read Jung to me, and I stayed awake through that. I think I deserve more credit.” You poke his throat with your nose. You’re not genuinely affronted, it’s just nice to remind him you're competent too. Sometimes.

His sweet chuckle then is earthy and rich, all dark molasses. “True. You actually gave pretty good feedback for that too. Fine. Didn’t mean to underestimate you. Just… bear with me if it feels odd? I haven't read it before. I can’t vouch for it all yet.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the cuddles and my Kim Namjoon audiobook.”

He can feel your smile against his skin. It makes him press you just that extra little bit tighter against him, exhaling soft through his nose when he feels you return the gesture.

Scooping up his paperback, he adjusts his glasses where they’ve slipped down his nose, clearing his throat to project like the narrator he claims he’s not but loves to be. He’s quiet for a few more beats. You can hear pages rustling as you sink against his skin. You imagine he must be trying to find where he was when you interrupted, or perhaps searching for a passage that seems apropos. Which he chooses, you don’t know, but you can feel when he settles, just before his caramel voice sweetens the thin air of the room.

“It's the same with the wound in our hearts,” he begins. “ We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wounds continue to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We're all going to get hurt. But here's the trick - they also serve an amazing purpose. 

When our hearts are wounded that's when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That's why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life.”

You aren’t sure when your eyes opened, not sure when they began to glaze over or when you started to cry. But you did. And you are. The salty things dripping down against Namjoon’s silken skin. Your sweatered knuckles try to knock them away, but to no avail. Your cheeks are still a wet mess and now his collarbone is too.

“Joon, what is this? What are you reading?”

“Oh… um, it’s— terribly long title but— Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon's Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart. Isn't that a mouthful?” his laugh is self deprecating, small, but still the most beautiful sound.

God, you hate how sensitive and soft you are right now. You don’t want to be sitting here at 4pm in your boyfriend’s lap crying over a paragraph in a book you've never even heard of before, but here you are.

“ is that… what the whole book is about ?”

“You know, I don’t know. I haven’t read it all yet. Jackson recommended it, I’m just now getting to it. Why - do you not like it? I can put this down. Read you something else if this is too heavy. You always like the poetry. I can grab that one anthology you like.”

You can feel as he starts to shuffle beneath you, eager to track down new reading material for you, afraid he’s scared you off, when the fluttering weight of your palm tethers him to his spot.

“No, stay. Keep reading. I want to hear the rest.”

You can practically hear him smile. Relieved. Can feel his dimples manifest without even trying. He kisses your hair, tilts your chin up to kiss you too. The complexity of bergamot and black tea making his supple lips even more bewitching than normal. The window in the corner is cracked open, the humidity it leaks in making your skin sticky as you lean against him.

He’s lovely like this. The rain soaked air mixing with his natural scent, a broad hand on your chin, warm thumb beneath your lip as you mold pliant into his kiss. He ends it with a peck to your lips, a tap of his nose to your nose, before hoisting you so close against him you just may fuse together.

And he reads. He reads until he’s exhausted. Til the rain has stopped, and you’ve drifted to rest pressed against the skin of his chest.

He folds the book shut once your breathing has stilled, his thumb marking the page as he tips you both to lay down sideways. As he extends his pinprick tingling legs for the first time in ages, you hoist yourself around him in your sleep like a koala, and he chuckles. That’s usually his move.

He kisses your hair then, traipsing fingers tenderly through the escaped bits of it that brush across your cheeks. He wonders if you know how madly in love with you he is. How often he’s wondered what he’d do without you. Today, like most days lately, your light was dim, but still kelvins brighter than anyone else’s.

He sends a silent thank you to whatever deity arranged things in such a way that he can hold you to his chest like this as the daylight saving’s darkness floods his studio office. You seemed so sad today, but he knows it won’t last forever. It’ll pass. It always does. He’ll just hold you until it does. And then some.

[mhevarujta]

Zoya and the Darkling [Rule of Wolves Spoilers]

It’s a pity that fandoms mostly focus on romantic/sexual relationships, because The Darkling and Zoya have one of the most epic dynamics in the Grishaverse. The way they affect each other is so complex.

Zoya did not go to the Little Palace after being tested in the usual manner of Grisha travelling across Ravka to recruit children with powers. She was a young girl, a child really, living with a bitter and broken mother, in a home where her Suli inheritance was not appreciated, in a country that would condemn her both because of the power she let her demonstrated AND because of who she would have been without it. She was basically sold as a child-bride and her mother deluded herself into thinking that her daughter would not be raped by the old man she was marrying so that she’d feel better about herself, not to mention that she poisoned Zoya with her fears and made her afraid of her own heart. At the wedding her power broke loose and her aunt took her to a hard journey to the Little Palace so that Zoya would be tested and have a chance at a better life.

Zoya was taken in and she was separated from her family, but her aunt was ALWAYS in her heart. She started training and she was stronger than most, she was also driven and resilient. She arrived at the Little Palace when she was 8-9. When she was 13, she was the youngest one to be chosen as part of a group that would travel with the Darkling to Tsibeya to find the white tigers of Ilmisk because one of them was supposed to be an amplifier. By that age, Zoya was half in love with him already and she lived for his rare appearances at the school. She was the best, she had fought to be so, and he wanted him to see it. The Grisha were focused on hunting the female tiger, but the amplifier was a male one. He tried to kill the female’s cubs and Zoya gave them the protection of her body, she got scars that she never had tailored and she almost died, and killed the tiger to defend the cubs; not for the sake of power.

It wasn’t HER turn to get the amplifier, but since she killed the tiger only she could claim it. And THIS brilliant scene happens:

Some part of me always feared that he would send me away, banish me forever from the Little Palace. I told him I was sorry.

“But the Darkling saw me clearly even then. ‘Is that really what you wish to say?’ he asked.”

Zoya pushed a dark strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I told him the truth. I put my chin up and said, ‘They can all hang. It was my blood in the snow.’”

Nikolai stifled a laugh and a smile played over Zoya’s lips. It dwindled almost instantly, replaced by a troubled frown. “That pleased him. He told me it was a job well done. And then he said … ‘Beware of power, Zoya. There is no amount of it that can make them love you.’”

The weight of the words settled over Nikolai. Is that what we’re all searching for? Was that what he’d hunted in all those library books? In his restless travels? In his endless pursuit to seize and then keep the throne? “Was it love you wanted, Zoya?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I wanted … strength. Safety. I never wanted to feel helpless again.”

  “Like calls to like” fits the Darkling and Alina, but it also fits Zoya and the Darkling… in fact it fits Zoya and Aleksander even more so. Both were powerful and KNEW it. Both eventually learned to be unapologetic about it and saw it as their safety net. Both were taught that power would give them safety, survival, fulfillment in some ways, but not love. And yet, as much as they denied it and hid their hearts they DID want to be loved more than anything.

Zoya only rises thereafter. She gets her rank, she is one of the most valued Grisha in the Little Palace, she is admired for her strength and beauty, she armors herself with arrogance, and ruthlessness. But she has not friends. Both her and the Darkling are surrounded by people, they are admired, but they don’t have people close to their heart. The Darkling always cared about Baghra as much as he could still manage and Zoya cared only bout Liliyana and Lada (an orphan girl that her aunt had taken in).

The Darkling SAW her. He saw how she tried like no other, he saw her pain, her anger and he considered these to be things that he could use to control her and to push her towards the direction he desired. And despite not being appreciative of her devotion when he had it, he missed it when it was gone.

When Alina got in the picture everything changed for Zoya. Yes, Zoya had feelings for the Darkling and I DO believe that her feelings and vanity would have been hurt to some extent by the intimacy in the way he approached Alina, but the primary problem was Zoya’s sense of injustice. Zoya had tried for YEARS, had trained hard, had sacrificed to be where she is. Alina never asked for any of it, but from Zoya’s perspective Alina would have been an untrained Grisha who got all the status, power and recognition that SHE had fought for without even trying. Until then, Zoya had been praised for wanting power, but when her anger is not convenient anymore, the Darkling punishes her for it and does not have a second thought about her.

And yet she remained loyal as always.

Even more so than rank, the Darkling and Liliyana were Zoya’s safety-net. And in ONE MOMENT, by genociding Novokribirsk, Zoya’s own mentor, the one who gave her safety and who was meant to create a haven for the Grisha, a person who KNEW her and who KNEW that she had family there, showed that he had no care for her, not care for human life and she wiped out the last people that Zoya loved.

He left her broken inside. In Siege and Storm, Zoya was at her lowest. She has to plead to Alina to have a position in the second army and she has to reveal a part of her heart; not just her loss of Liliyana. Her voice BREAKS when she says that the Darkling could have warned her of his plan; her pain at the idea that he did not give a crap about taking EVERYTHING from her is raw and cutting.

But she is not a quitter. She adjusts, she pulls her pieces together fast, she is a warrior and she stays on the right side without a question.

Then the Darkling attacked the very Grisha he was supposedly fighting for and killed half the people that Zoya had EVER KNOWN. And she still keeps fighting.

 Enter Rule of Wolves. There is SUCH DEEP IRONY in this book and the way Zoya and the Darkling’s arcs interconnect is a prime example of Leigh’s amazing writing.

The Darkling had told Zoya that they would change the world and he completely stopped paying attention to her the moment the potential of Alina’s power blinded him to anything else. And yet, when he returns Zoya has gained the kind of power that could eventually rival his own. But he STILL thinks that he should be the one to rule Ravka. He still thinks that he is the best option for the country. And once more, he criminally underestimates Zoya and overestimates himself.

Who else is vengeful and afraid of his own heart, I wonder…

Aleksander considered Zoya weak for the very same things that were his own fatal flaws.

But unlike him, Zoya SAW her flaws. The Darkling shut himself off more and more in order to save himself from pain. Zoya eventually opened up her heart to grief and pain to become the person her country needed and to embrace her power. She opened the door, when the Darkling did not manage to do so. She showed more courage than he did… and he SAW it.

Aleksander hoped to become the savior during the battle, he wished to demonstrate how only HE could save Ravka. But seeing Nikolai and Zoya defending the country is the first time it registers that there are others who are up to the task and who may be better suited than he is.

And he becomes essential in Zoya being accepted as a saint and in her rise to power partly because he wants to gain her favor but also because he finally sees all her potential, all she can achieve, how a Grisha queen of such power might give the Grisha the haven they need, when he clearly can’t.

And what is left for him to do? What does he want? He wants to serve the country he loves in a way that will affirm his sense of self-importance (he wants to offer something that no one else can) and he wants to be loved. So his new objective is to stop the blight.

The blight was created because of his own power. This man who hunted down and ruined the life of a young girl (Alina) in order to force her to be his balance, so that he could freely use his power in a very imbalanced way, finally realizes that HE is responsible for his power and that HE can be the only one to balance it and himself. So there is a new path he sees ahead of him: he can sacrifice himself to stop the blight and in the process Ravka might finally see that he always wanted to protect the country… and it might love him back. He KNOWS that he has committed crimes, he does not seek redemption, but he desired for all he has done to matter. And it can’t matter if he is not at all responsible for its country’s well-being and if everyone hates him. He has lived so many lifetimes without happiness or fulfillment and they would all have been wasted.

But he can’t achieve this by himself. This man who always thought that he could do things alone, and who took away everything Zoya had fought for, NEEDS her allowance for his centuries-long life to gain a scrap of meaning. He needs her allowance to be appreciated and loved.

I can’t be the only one who sees what a beautiful twist of fate this is.

At the same time Zoya herself understands the Darkling. She understands how anger and using power as a coping mechanism can corrupt. Knowing herself and seeing how he turned out are essential in her becoming a good ruler. He is the cautionary tale of what she could but will never allow herself to become.

When he explains his plan, she KNOWS that he’ll be in eternal pain and she has does not mind that his will be his fate. But when she sees the aftermath of his sacrifice and when she feels the kind of pain he’ll be experiencing for eternity, it leaves her shaken. She feels that pain in her own heart and this is not a fate that she wishes even on him. Genya and Alina are very much willing to let him rot but Zoya, who also believed that she could forgive him, feels that she has to.The Darkling has not redeem himself. He is doing penance. But as Genya mentions, there’s a fine line when one has to do the math of how much a person has to pay and of how much pain they have to feel before their punishment stops being just and they become victims instead. Zoya, being afraid of becoming him, knows that learning to show forgiveness is the only way forward, it’s the way for her to keep her heart open and not become the avalanche.

Zoya Nazyalensky has become everything that Aleksander Morozova, the lost boy, wished to be. Poweful, eternal, with friends, with a true partner, holding the best position a Grisha could imagine without forcing her rule and finally giving their people a true chance without comprominsing them. 

The Darkling was hoping that Alina would have been his balance. We are told how she might make him a better man and she might make him a monster.

But at the end of the day it’s Zoya who allows the Darkling to become the closest thing to decent that he can be at this point.

It’s the Darkling’s life that allows Zoya to see the lines that she will not cross and how to not become a monster.

And it’s Zoya’s ability to forgive him and her willingness to save him that becomes the backbone for the next phase of the Grishaverse, whenever Leigh decides to write it.

The way their paths entangle will always be at the core of the story.

_______________________

@myfriendscallmeraba​ I’m tagging you because you asked for it. It’s very encouraging to have someone interested in my ramblings.

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

Stories I haven’t read yet, but clearly need to put on my ever-expanding List.

~*~

Welcome back queen [Thank you, it’s so lovely to be back!] if ur still doing follower recs I gotta recommend I would wait for a thousand years by bleuett it’s soooooooo good

[This one was actually recced to me by two different people, the other of whom said, “ Maybe I'm crying a little so I feel like a should recommend ‘I would wait for a thousand years’ by bleuett on ao3.”]... it’s def. on my List!

I would wait for a thousand years

by bleuett (T, 10k, wangxian)

Summary:  During the worst of winter, a traveler comes to stay at Lan Wangji's inn. He wears a red ribbon in his hair.

“Do you see the rabbit?” Wei Ying asks and points at the moon. “That’s the moon rabbit, he helps make Chang’e more immortality elixir. He keeps Chang’e company.”

“I do not wish the rabbit for company,” Lan Wangji says tightly. “You are the one I want by my side.”

“And I’m here, Lan Zhan. If you go to the moon, I’ll follow you, I’ll always be here now.”

~*~

I just read a great fic by aisthuu "every love story is a ghost story", didn't see it in your recs so wanted to recommend it! LWJ is a guqin composer and teacher, buys a cheap guqin off eBay which ends up being attached to WWX's spirit from canon era. It's bittersweet, LWJ deals with Lan's homophobia (implicit in a Lan way) and his feelings towards the ghost. This is author's only ao3 fic and honestly I don't remember how I stumbled upon it, but I'm happy I did and hope you will enjoy it too!  [I’ve recently read this one, and loved it!]

every love story is a ghost story

by aisthuu (M, 59k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Summary:  The man is in Lan Zhan’s bed. Did they—he begins to wonder, eyes trailing to where the man’s body lies under the blanket. Had Lan Zhan—?

Then the sleep-fog clears and Lan Zhan realizes that the young man isn’t quite opaque around the edges.

“You’re a spirit.”

The spirit narrows its eyes. “I’m so much more than that.”

(Lan Zhan buys a guqin off eBay for a suspiciously low price, only to find that it’s haunted. And now there’s a ghost in his bed.)

~*~

Ok so I absolutely have to rec "see you yesterday" by glyphic. It's a wip, but it's currently at 101k so there's a whole lot there, and it's terrible and wonderful and beautiful all at once. The way the backstory of canon events is adapted to the modern-with-cultivation setting is brilliant, and then there's the amnesia, and then there's the time loop. This fic lives permanently rent-free in my brain.

see you yesterday

by glyphic (M, 101k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  

Wei Ying 21:09 hey lan zhan what’s the weirdest way youve died

Lan Zhan 21:11 Falling encyclopedias.

Wei Ying 21:12 omg no way that’s so rude turning books against you???

Lan Zhan 21:13 A betrayal I will never forget.

On Halloween night, an exiled demonic cultivator and a Lan disciple get stuck in a time-loop, find each other, and try to figure it all out.

~*~

If you are looking for recs for yourself I absolutely love (the complete!) story Just as the Snow Melts by draechali on AO3. It's a canon divergence where everyone lives, even WWX! ~ @airmidcelt

Just as the Snow Melts

by draechaeli (T, 67k, wangxian)

Summary:  Like a snowy mountain top in spring the residents of the Burial Mounds trickled down the mountain and joined the flow of society.

“I went to the Burial Mounds,” Lan WangJi said.

“Ah, yeah… I’m sorry Lan Zhan,” replied Wei WuXian, “I hadn’t thought anyone would come to visit. I am still not sure how it happened; I brought A-Yuan to Yiling to play by the river and then ended up somehow teaching a bunch of children swimming and writing along with him.”

~*~

Hello! It's come to my attention that you have not as yet read Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation! Please do! It's the only thing that gave me joy during 2020 😆 like proper belly laughs and disney villain style cackling. It is a wip, and it is long but so so worth it!! The author has reworked the entire canon through these message crystals and still conveys complex characters despite the tricky format. It's just so good!! Highly highly recommend it! ❤ ~ @theladypeartree  [Oh!  I’ve been subscribed to this one, and know that @swaglexander-the-great is a reliable provider of Hilarity, so I’m excited for it to be finished!]

Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation 

by Hades_the_Blingking (T, 49k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  The Untamed universe is exactly the same, except everybody has magical crystals that have a suspiciously familiar messaging system. The story is pretty much the same as the show, except everyone lives!! (so minor changes).

or in which Wei WuXian tries his darndest to date Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng possibly has a aneurysm, Jin ZiXuan is still the most awkward human alive, and Xue Yang makes me write some VERY cursed things. Written in chatfic format! :3

~*~

Chomrafy on AO3 deserves love and encouragement; she’s written a body of compact, poetic, and eloquent shortfics each of which can stand alone, but that comprise an intricately cross-referential and mostly internally-consistent universe. They’re grouped as chapters in works according to theme; for example, “in cupped hands” focuses upon Jin Ling and his second-generation baggage; “Departure in Autumn” portrays the last years of WWX’s first life. Follow the tag “Chomrafy’s MDZS shortfics.” [I don’t see this tag?]

in cupped hands

by chomrafy (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary:  Of secrets, of futures, of love. A Jin Ling-centric collection of 200-word fics.

Ch.1: Jin Ling repays a debt (JL, JC, & WWX). Ch.2: Jin Ling and a ghost in the mirror. (JL & JYL) Ch.3: A matter of friends (JL & the other kids) Ch.4: In this house we don't keep dogs (JC & WWX) Ch.5: In the end, he remains silent (JL & uncles) Ch.6: A first night hunt, of sorts (JL & the other kids) Ch.7: Jin Ling, forgiving, forgetting (JL & LXC & JGY) Ch.8: Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling argue (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.9: Jin Ling and his father (JL & JC) Ch.10: Jin Ling speaks up (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.11: Jin Ling and a piece of home (JL, JC, & WWX)

Departure in Autumn

by chomrafy (not rated, 6k)

Summary:  Four perspectives. A steady march to the end.

Ch.1: Because if anything happens to them, Wen Qing would never be able to heal with these hands again. Ch.2: As long as this is still home, Jiang Yanli will wait as long as she needs to. Ch.3: Five times Jiang Cheng reaches for Wei Wuxian, one time he turns away. Ch.4: Whether the road is broad or narrow, bright or dark, they would have to keep walking. Wei Wuxian digs Wen Qing's grave.

~*~

Hello, hope all is going well. I don't have an ask, by I do have a recommendation. I read this fic a while ago and found it again. I just wanted to recommend this for everyone. Let me know what you think please. Thank you. [Oh!  This one’s in my To Read list, but  I’d forgotten about it.  Mmmm, fox!wwx and dragon!lwj.]

Ten miles of Lotus Flowers

by Yukirin_Snow

M, 274k, wangxian

Summary:  He was a mischievous fox spirit, wreaking havoc where he went, about to depart on a journey that would span centuries.

He was a heavenly prince, a proud dragon destined to ascend the throne to become emperor.

Neither expected their paths to collide over the span of three lives.

~*~

I forgot if it was your blog 😥 that recommended “Bestseller” (when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528316/chapters/51318766)

But OMG IT WAS HILARIOUS!!! I LOVED IT!! And if it wasn’t your blog, I’m so sorry for how weird this sounds 😭😭😭😭 I just loved this fic so much that I have to tell it to someone 😢 [It’s on my List, but I haven’t read it yet!]

Bestseller

by pupeez4eva

M, 8k, wangxian

Summary:  He had written the book to prove a point. It was never supposed to be a big thing, and he certainly never intended for everyone — Jiang Cheng, Zewu-Jun, the Juniors, literally everyone— to be reading about his sex life.

Oh God, he definitely needed to make sure Lan Zhan didn’t find out about this.

(Or, when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit).

~*~

I’d like to rec On Your Marks, Get Set, Bake! by @blackwiresgrowonherhead

It’s one of my absolute favorites and I laughed out loud so many times when reading it

on your marks, get set, bake!

by BlackWiresOnHerHead

G, 41k, wei wuxian & juniors

Summary:  Jin Ling resumes thumping on the door to room 721, and the small collection of freshmen starts chanting “Senior Wei! Senior Wei! Senior Wei!” with increasing volume until finally Wei Wuxian opens the door.

“Yes?” he says with his widest, most innocent eyes.

“Senior Wei!” demands Lan Jingyi, shoving himself to the front of the group. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a contestant on this year’s season of The Great Gusu Bake Off?!?”

--

Several months ago, college student Wei Wuxian secretly competed in the most popular reality show in the country. The show starts airing in the fall. The freshmen in his dorm collectively lose their minds.

~*~

If you're in the mood for v. short ridiculous fun fic, may I suggest My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio by x_los It's 2k modern cultivators AU, featuring WWX calling LWJ's sword Bitchin' [omg I’m laughing so hard] and I think it's more fun going in blind?

My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio

by x_los

T, 2k, wangxian

Summary:  Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

[butterflies-dragons]

Eugénie Grandet and Sansa Stark

Art credit: 1) Chinese Book Cover for "Eugénie Grandet" by Margarita Winkler; 2) Lady Sansa by Batata-Tasha

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Channeling my inner Sansa Stark in order to avoid the terrible reality of late, I lost myself in some of the French, Spanish and Russian classics. Eugenié Grandet (1833) by Honoré de Balzac was one of them.

Eugenié Grandet is a book that Sansa Stark would love:

They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Eugénie (23) and Sansa (13) are kind, generous, eager to please and extremely romantic girls.

Although they are both dutiful daughters, they have a strained relationship with their fathers and at some point they defy them out of love.

The main different between Eugénie and Sansa, aside their age, is their education. While Eugénie is a provincial girl from Saumur with almost zero formal education, Sansa, a northern girl, comes from high nobility and has been educated to be the perfect lady and queen.

Eugénie and Sansa aren't exactly the same, but while reading Balzac's novel it's very difficult not to find them similar. Even Eugénie's house in Saumur resembles Winterfell and the North, the same way Eugénie's walnut tree from her garden resembles the Heart Tree from Winterfell's godswood.

I'm sure that GRRM knows about Honoré del Balzac, however I have no certainty if he has read Eugénie Grandet. But I would not be surprised to know that he did read the novel, and in that case I would even suspect that Eugénie inspired him, even a little, while creating Sansa.

It could all be just a coincidence, of course.

FAIR WARNING : EUGÉNIE GRANDET SPOILERS

Saumur / The North & Winterfell

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

Such elements of sadness formed the physiognomy, as it were, of a dwelling-house in Saumur which stands at the end of the steep street leading to the chateau in the upper part of the town. This street—now little frequented, hot in summer, cold in winter, dark in certain sections—is remarkable for the resonance of its little pebbly pavement, always clean and dry, for the narrowness of its tortuous road-way, for the peaceful stillness of its houses, which belong to the Old town and are over-topped by the ramparts. Houses three centuries old are still solid, though built of wood, and their divers aspects add to the originality which commends this portion of Saumur to the attention of artists and antiquaries.

(...) The whole history of France is there.

(...) The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

The vast and frigid realm of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell, is generally considered the first and oldest of the Seven Kingdoms, in that it has endured, unconquered, for the longest. The vagaries of geography and history set the North apart from their southron neighbors.

It is often said that the North is as large as the other six kingdoms put together, but the truth is somewhat less grand: the North, as ruled today by House Stark of Winterfell, comprises little more than a third of the realm. Beginning at the southern edge of the Neck, the domains of the Starks extend as far north as the New Gift (itself part of their realm until King Jaehaerys I convinced Winterfell to cede those lands to the Night's Watch). Within the North are great forests, windswept plains, hills and valleys, rocky shores, and snow-crowned mountains. The North is a cold land—much of it rising moorlands and high plains giving way to mountains in its northern reaches—and this makes it far less fertile than the reaches of the south. Snow has been known to fall there even in summer, and it is deadly in winter.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The North

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. "The barrows of the First Men."

Robert frowned. "Have we ridden onto a graveyard?"

"There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace," Ned told him. "This land is old."

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Sewing and Embroidery

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

By the window nearest to the door stood a straw chair, whose legs were raised on castors to lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a height from which she could see the passers-by. A work-table of stained cherry-wood filled up the embrasure, and the little armchair of Eugenie Grandet stood beside it. In this spot the lives had flowed peacefully onward for fifteen years, in a round of constant work from the month of April to the month of November. On the first day of the latter month they took their winter station by the chimney.

(...) Mother and daughter took charge of the family linen, and spent their days so conscientiously upon a labor properly that of working-women, that if Eugenie wished to embroider a collar for her mother she was forced to take the time from sleep, and deceive her father to obtain the necessary light. For a long time the miser had given out the tallow candle to his daughter and la Grande Nanon just as he gave out every morning the bread and other necessaries for the daily consumption.

(...) In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes.

(...) "and your cousin (...) who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) Her treasuries were not the millions whose revenues were rolling up; they were Charles’s dressing-case, the portraits hanging above her bed, the jewels recovered from her father and proudly spread upon a bed of wool in a drawer of the oaken cabinet, the thimble of her aunt, used for a while by her mother, which she wore religiously as she worked at a piece of embroidery,—a Penelope’s web, begun for the sole purpose of putting upon her finger that gold so rich in memories.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Underestimated

"We will try to relieve the monotony of your visit here. If you stay all the time with Monsieur Grandet, good heavens! what will become of you? Your uncle is a sordid miser who thinks of nothing but his vines; your aunt is a pious soul who can’t put two ideas together; and your cousin is a little fool, without education, perfectly common, no fortune, who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) “Not at all, monsieur l’abbe. This young man cannot fail to see that Eugenie is a little fool,—a girl without the least freshness. Did you notice her to-night? She was as yellow as a quince.”

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

"I … I had not thought, my lord." "Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . .

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called "the Queen of Thorns." Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

The woman that calls Eugénie a "little fool" is Madame des Grassins, who despite underestimating Mademoiselle Grandet, wants her to marry her son Adolphe.

In a similar way, Cersei Lannister underestimates Sansa, believing her unworthy of her beloved son Joffrey.

Romantics

They were able to examine Charles at their leisure without fearing to displease the master of the house. Grandet was absorbed in the long letter which he held in his hand; and to read it he had taken the only candle upon the card-table, paying no heed to his guests or their pleasure. Eugenie, to whom such a type of perfection, whether of dress or of person, was absolutely unknown, thought she beheld in her cousin a being descended from seraphic spheres. She inhaled with delight the fragrance wafted from the graceful curls of that brilliant head. She would have liked to touch the soft kid of the delicate gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, the freshness and refinement of his features. In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes, and whose life flowed on beneath these unclean rafters, seeing none but occasional passers along the silent street,—this vision of her cousin roused in her soul an emotion of delicate desire like that inspired in a young man by the fanciful pictures of women drawn by Westall for the English “Keepsakes,” and that engraved by the Findens with so clever a tool that we fear, as we breathe upon the paper, that the celestial apparitions may be wafted away. Charles drew from his pocket a handkerchief embroidered by the great lady now travelling in Scotland. As Eugenie saw this pretty piece of work, done in the vacant hours which were lost to love, she looked at her cousin to see if it were possible that he meant to make use of it. The manners of the young man, his gestures, the way in which he took up his eye-glass, his affected superciliousness, his contemptuous glance at the coffer which had just given so much pleasure to the rich heiress, and which he evidently regarded as without value, or even as ridiculous,—all these things, which shocked the Cruchots and the des Grassins, pleased Eugenie so deeply that before she slept she dreamed long dreams of her phoenix cousin.

(...) In the pure and monotonous life of young girls there comes a delicious hour when the sun sheds its rays into their soul, when the flowers express their thoughts, when the throbbings of the heart send upward to the brain their fertilizing warmth and melt all thoughts into a vague desire,—day of innocent melancholy and of dulcet joys! When babes begin to see, they smile; when a young girl first perceives the sentiment of nature, she smiles as she smiled when an infant. If light is the first love of life, is not love a light to the heart? The moment to see within the veil of earthly things had come for Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

(...) It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were.

(...) He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. "

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind … and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. "It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

She loved King’s Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

[…] They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

Eugénie and her deep infatuation with her Parisian cousin Charles Grandet, reminds me a lot of Marianne Dashwood and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

Charles was a prince in Eugénie's eyes, with all his dandy manners and Parisian refinement. Charles was the South and the pretty songs for Eugénie, the same way Prince Joffrey and even Ser Loras were the South and the pretty songs for Sansa.

Dressing well as a weapon

An early riser, like all provincial girls, she was up betimes and said her prayers, and then began the business of dressing,—a business which henceforth was to have a meaning. First she brushed and smoothed her chestnut hair and twisted its heavy masses to the top of her head with the utmost care, preventing the loose tresses from straying, and giving to her head a symmetry which heightened the timid candor of her face; for the simplicity of these accessories accorded well with the innocent sincerity of its lines. As she washed her hands again and again in the cold water which hardened and reddened the skin, she looked at her handsome round arms and asked herself what her cousin did to make his hands so softly white, his nails so delicately curved. She put on new stockings and her prettiest shoes. She laced her corset straight, without skipping a single eyelet. And then, wishing for the first time in her life to appear to advantage, she felt the joy of having a new gown, well made, which rendered her attractive. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best." Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II "I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa I I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

Here, while Eugénie uses the business of dressing to try to impress and gain the affections of her cousin Charles, Sansa uses the same resource as a shield against Joffrey's ill temper and to cover the bruises left on her skin by Joffrey's ill temper.

Complimenting someone's name

“Is anything the matter, my cousin?” he said. “Hush!” said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, who was about to answer; “you know, my daughter, that your father charged us not to speak to monsieur—” “Say Charles,” said young Grandet. “Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautiful name!” cried Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "I don't even know your name." "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" —A Clash of Kings - Jon III "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Kissing Cousins

“My dear cousin—” “Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,” she said, opening her purse, “here are the savings of a poor girl who wants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant of the value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, after all. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse of your sister.” —Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— “I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managed my affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris. All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on a commercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be in demand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship is loading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and ten thousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very small beginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—” “Do you love me?” she said. “Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling. “I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her. She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she saw him, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached the corner near Nanon’s den, in the darkest end of the passage. There Charles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longer resisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most unreserved of kisses. “Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marry you,” said Charles.

(...) After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin. Those who have known that most endearing of all passions,—the one whose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortal illness, by human chances and fatalities,—they will understand the poor girl’s tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now so narrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed. She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he was about to traverse. At last the eve of his departure came. That morning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious case which contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the only drawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now empty velvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodly number of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man’s love.

—Eugénie Grandet * * * How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II "I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories." (...) She put a finger to his lips. "I know what you want, but it cannot be. I am no fit wife for you. I am bastard born." "I don't care. I love you best of anyone. " (...) "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble. (...) "The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? —The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Eugénie and her cousin Charles's brief romance is nothing like any of Sansa's experiences with suitors, but it reminds me a bit of Sansa and her little cousin Robert Arryn interactions.

Despite looking at his provincial relatives with disdain at first, after knowing about the financial disgrace and death of his father, Charles gets use to the humble and monotonous life of Saumur and especially gets fond of Eugénie's kindness and generosity.

In a similar way, despite the violent events from Sansa's snow castle chapter in A Storm of Swords, after the the death of his mother Lysa, Sweetrobin clings to Sansa/Alayne as a mother figure and later love interest.

Charles is nothing like Sweetrobin though, he is more similar to men like Harrold Hardyng and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

At the end, similar to John Willoughby's actions, Charles Grandet chooses to marry a girl he doesn't love to re-gain his high status in Parisian society and a nobility title, unbeknownst that Eugénie had become extremely rich, richer than him and his new bride combined.

Harrold Hardyng is not Sansa's cousin but Robert Arryn's cousin and heir. Harry consented the betrothal to Alayne only to gain the political support from Petyr Baelish.

And while cousin Charles's kisses mean love's kisses to Eugénie, cousin Robert's unrequited kisses remind Sansa of another forced and unrequited kisses from the past that left only trauma and fear in her.

But despite all her awful experiences from unworthy suitors, Sansa still longs to know kisses of love, and she associates those with Snow and she happens to has a cousin named Snow. More about this later.

You will know it some day / You may learn that one day

It was a death worthy of her life,—a Christian death; and is not that sublime? In the month of October, 1822, her virtues, her angelic patience, her love for her daughter, seemed to find special expression; and then she passed away without a murmur. Lamb without spot, she went to heaven, regretting only the sweet companion of her cold and dreary life, for whom her last glance seemed to prophesy a destiny of sorrows. She shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures. “My child,” she said as she expired, “there is no happiness except in heaven; you will know it some day.” (...) Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath. This is love,—true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance. “My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer—and die!” —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." —A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

This is a parallel but also a contrast between Eugénie and Sansa.

Eugénie's mother wasn't happy with her husband. Monsieur Felix Grandet was an awful husband and father. His only love was gold. That's why at her hour of death, Madame Grandet envisions a destiny of sorrows for her daughter, knowing well that not only the Cruchots and des Grassins coveted Eugénie's inheritance, but it was her own father, Monsieur Grandet, the most dangerous threat to Eugénie's welfare.

On the other hand, Catelyn Stark, Sansa's mother, was very happy with Eddard Stark. Ned was a good husband but a terrible father. Being aware of her good luck in her marriage, Catelyn said this to his firstborn son Robb: "We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." —A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V.

Catelyn's words of hope to her son contrast to Petyr Baelish's words of sorrow to Sansa, not only because the bad omen, but because he is an active player in the sorrows that await Sansa and her family.

Strained relationship with their fathers

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

On the morrow Grandet, in pursuance of a custom he had begun since Eugenie’s imprisonment, took a certain number of turns up and down the little garden; he had chosen the hour when Eugenie brushed and arranged her hair. When the old man reached the walnut-tree he hid behind its trunk and remained for a few moments watching his daughter’s movements, hesitating, perhaps, between the course to which the obstinacy of his character impelled him and his natural desire to embrace his child. Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood. If he rose and continued his walk, she sat down obligingly at the window and looked at the angle of the wall where the pale flowers hung, where the Venus-hair grew from the crevices with the bindweed and the sedum,—a white or yellow stone-crop very abundant in the vineyards of Saumur and at Tours. Maitre Cruchot came early, and found the old wine-grower sitting in the fine June weather on the little bench, his back against the division wall of the garden, engaged in watching his daughter. —Eugénie Grandet * * *

He had only to look at Sansa's face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard IV

Monsieur Felix Grandet and Lord Eddard Stark were awful fathers to Eugénie and Sansa. They both used their daughters for their own business but they never tried to understand the girls. They both could only watch them from apart not knowing how to approach them.

The severity of Père Grandet and Lord father Stark towards their daughters made Eugénie and Sansa defy them for the first time when they fell in love with Charles and Joffrey.

Ned was not the awful person that Monsieur Grandet was, though. Despite all his flaws as Sansa's father, he gave his own life in order to save Sansa from the same fate.

Melancholic Beauty

When his daughter came down the winding street, accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass or Vespers, the inhabitants ran to the windows and examined with intense curiosity the bearing of the rich heiress and her countenance, which bore the impress of angelic gentleness and melancholy. (...) “Mademoiselle, the best way to stop such rumors is to procure your liberty,” answered the old notary respectfully, struck with the beauty which seclusion, melancholy, and love had stamped upon her face. —Eugénie Grandet * * * Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. —A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Although it is a bit morbid to find beauty in someone's grief and misery, this image of our heroines being graceful while in disgrace got my attention.

This regard of Eugénie and Sansa comes from two men that wanted to reach them and gain their favor. Monsieur Cruchot, the notary, wanted Eugénie to marry his nephew, President Cruchot de Bonfons, while Tyrion Lannister, already married to Sansa, wishes to get her affections despite their forced marriage.

This is the point of view of two men that wanted to play the hero of a damsel in distress, but they are not the heroes that those fair maids wished for.

Love's kisses / Lover's kisses

Her imprisonment and the condemnation of her father were as nothing to her. Had she not a map of the world, the little bench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Did she not taste upon her lips the honey that love’s kisses left there? She was ignorant for a time that the town talked about her, just as Grandet himself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure in heart before God, her conscience and her love helped her to suffer patiently the wrath and vengeance of her father. —Eugénie Grandet A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

While Eugénie's love to Charles gives her strength and dignify her in her tribulations, Sansa, in front of a beautiful winter scenery, feels soiled by her southern experiences. She feels that she doesn't belong in that pure, innocent world, as white as Snow.

Yet Sansa, defying her supposed maculated fate, embraces the beauty of the falling Snow that reminds her of home, and compared the sensation of the snowflakes brushing her face to lover's kisses.

The calling of the Snow at dawn was too powerful for Sansa to resist it. It was like the Snow telling her, you are wrong, you belong with me, let me kiss you to prove it.

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

No one will ever marry me for love

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

Only six individuals had a right of entrance to Monsieur Grandet’s house. The most important of the first three was a nephew of Monsieur Cruchot. Since his appointment as president of the Civil courts of Saumur this young man had added the name of Bonfons to that of Cruchot. He now signed himself C. de Bonfons. Any litigant so ill-advised as to call him Monsieur Cruchot would soon be made to feel his folly in court. The magistrate protected those who called him Monsieur le president, but he favored with gracious smiles those who addressed him as Monsieur de Bonfons. Monsieur le president was thirty-three years old, and possessed the estate of Bonfons (Boni Fontis), worth seven thousand francs a year; he expected to inherit the property of his uncle the notary and that of another uncle, the Abbe Cruchot, a dignitary of the chapter of Saint-Martin de Tours, both of whom were thought to be very rich. These three Cruchots, backed by a goodly number of cousins, and allied to twenty families in the town, formed a party, like the Medici in Florence; like the Medici, the Cruchots had their Pazzi.

Madame des Grassins, mother of a son twenty-three years of age, came assiduously to play cards with Madame Grandet, hoping to marry her dear Adolphe to Mademoiselle Eugenie. Monsieur des Grassins, the banker, vigorously promoted the schemes of his wife by means of secret services constantly rendered to the old miser, and always arrived in time upon the field of battle. The three des Grassins likewise had their adherents, their cousins, their faithful allies. On the Cruchot side the abbe, the Talleyrand of the family, well backed-up by his brother the notary, sharply contested every inch of ground with his female adversary, and tried to obtain the rich heiress for his nephew the president.

This secret warfare between the Cruchots and des Grassins, the prize thereof being the hand in marriage of Eugenie Grandet, kept the various social circles of Saumur in violent agitation. Would Mademoiselle Grandet marry Monsieur le president or Monsieur Adolphe des Grassins?

(...) “If I had a man for myself I’d—I’d follow him to hell, yes, I’d exterminate myself for him; but I’ve none. I shall die and never know what life is. Would you believe, mamz’elle, that old Cornoiller (a good fellow all the same) is always round my petticoats for the sake of my money,—just for all the world like the rats who come smelling after the master’s cheese and paying court to you? I see it all; I’ve got a shrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple. Well, mamz’elle, it pleases me, but it isn’t love.”

(...) She (Eugénie's mother) shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures.

(...) (Eugénie) Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

“If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

—A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

It came to her suddenly that she had stood in this very spot before, on the day Lord Eddard Stark had lost his head. That was not supposed to happen. Joff was supposed to spare his life and send him to the Wall. Stark’s eldest son would have followed him as Lord of Winterfell, but Sansa would have stayed at court, a hostage. Varys and Littlefinger had worked out the terms, and Ned Stark had swallowed his precious honor and confessed his treason to save his daughter’s empty little head. I would have made Sansa a good marriage. A Lannister marriage. Not Joff, of course, but Lancel might have suited, or one of his younger brothers. Petyr Baelish had offered to wed the girl himself, she recalled, but of course that was impossible; he was much too lowborn. If Joff had only done as he was told, Winterfell would never have gone to war, and Father would have dealt with Robert’s brothers.

—A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

“I will be safe in Highgarden. Willas will keep me safe.” “But he does not know you,” Dontos insisted, “and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.” “My claim?” She was lost for a moment. “Sweetling,” he told her, “you are heir to Winterfell.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

“Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father’s place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The girl’s happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark.” […] “She must marry a Lannister, and soon.” “The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name,” his uncle Kevan put in.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

“How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?” The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now. “I … can scarcely wait to meet him, my lady. But he is still a child, is he not?”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As you can see, Monsieur Grandet's banker des Grassins wished Eugénie to marry his son Adolphe, while his lawyer Monsieur Cruchot wished Eugénie to marry his nephew President Cruchot de Bonfons. Both, the Cruchots and des Grassins, coveted Eugénie's inheritance.

In a similar way, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, Theon Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Harrold Hardyng, and even Lysa Tully in the name of his son Robert Arryn, coveted Sansa's claim to the North and Winterfell, with all the lands, money, armies and political power that come with the name Stark.

So, when I read these lines, 188 years after Balzac wrote them:

(...) and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

I couldn't help but think about Sansa Stark and one of the saddest quotes from the ASOIAF series:

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

Walnut Tree / Heart Tree

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— (...) I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—”

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling.

“I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

(...) When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

(...) In the mornings she sat pensive beneath the walnut-tree, on the worm-eaten bench covered with gray lichens, where they had said to each other so many precious things, so many trifles, where they had built the pretty castles of their future home. She thought of the future now as she looked upward to the bit of sky which was all the high walls suffered her to see; then she turned her eyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and to the roof above the room in which he had slept. Hers was the solitary love, the persistent love, which glides into every thought and becomes the substance, or, as our fathers might have said, the tissue of life.

(...) Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood.

(...) At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes which had followed it.

—Eugénie Grandet

As you can see, Eugénie's walnut tree is the heart of her house in Saumur. In the old wooden bench beneath that immense tree, the cousin lovers Eugénie and Charles Grandet exchanged vows of eternal love. As Charles said later, beneath that walnut tree they got married.

Eugénie sat in that same wooden bench for years, remembering and waiting for her lover. Charles, on the other hand, forget his promises of eternal love, broke those vows and married another woman.

In a similar way, the weirwood trees are called heart trees, the weirwood from Winterfell's godswood is called the Heart of Winterfell, and godswoods are a sacred places for praying and meditation, under the weirwood tress lovers kiss and make promises, and heroes vows to protect the realms of men:

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it.  The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn I

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. "This is a sacred place, we will not defile it."

When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. "They're watching us," he whispered. "The old gods."

"Yes." Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night.

"Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow," they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

The woods fell silent. "You knelt as boys," Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. "Rise now as men of the Night's Watch."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Robb bid farewell to his young queen thrice. Once in the godswood before the heart tree, in sight of gods and men. The second time beneath the portcullis, where Jeyne sent him forth with a long embrace and a longer kiss. And finally an hour beyond the Tumblestone, when the girl came galloping up on a well-lathered horse to plead with her young king to take her along.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

In contrast to Eugénie, who fervently clung to her walnut tree that became the symbol of her vows of eternal love to Charles, since Sansa left Winterfell, she only found godswoods without a weirwood tree:

The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home. The Eyrie was no home. […] When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Even the gods were silent. The Eyrie boasted a sept, but no septon; a godswood, but no heart tree. No prayers are answered here, she often thought, though some days she felt so lonely she had to try. Only the wind answered her, sighing endlessly around the seven slim white towers and rattling the Moon Door every time it gusted. It will be even worse in winter, she knew. In winter this will be a cold white prison.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

But despite the absence of a weirwood tree, those empty godswoods became a metaphor of Sansa herself, lost in the south and longing to come back home:

A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa Stark has started her journey back home, she is going back North to take back her heart:

But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, “I’ll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She’d go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She’s gone back north, she has. That’s where her gods are.”

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

A veil of courtesy / Courtesy is a lady's armor

She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy speeches. She hid her misery behind a veil of courtesy.

—Eugénie Grandet

What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Agency, richness, power... And loneliness

At the end, life gives Eugénie her revenge, especially against the people that always coveted her vast wealth.

Eugénie was at last free, independent, rich and powerful, but she was very lonely. Her only comfort was the company and loyalty of la Grand Nanon:

Eugenie Grandet was now alone in the world in that gray house, with none but Nanon to whom she could turn with the certainty of being heard and understood,—Nanon the sole being who loved her for herself and with whom she could speak of her sorrows. La Grande Nanon was a providence for Eugenie. She was not a servant, but a humble friend.

—Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

La Grand Nanon was often compared to a loyal dog and she was in charge of the wolf-dog that protected the old Grandet House in Saumur.

Nanon did everything. She cooked, she made the lye, she washed the linen in the Loire and brought it home on her shoulders; she got up early, she went to bed late; she prepared the food of the vine-dressers during the harvest, kept watch upon the market-people, protected the property of her master like a faithful dog, and even, full of blind confidence, obeyed without a murmur his most absurd exactions.

(...) Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open, and took her rest with a mind alert.

(...) Nanon went to bolt the outer door; then she closed the hall and let loose a wolf-dog, whose bark was so strangled that he seemed to have laryngitis. This animal, noted for his ferocity, recognized no one but Nanon; the two untutored children of the fields understood each other.

—Eugénie Grandet

La Grand Nanon and the wolf-dog remind me of the Stark children's direwolves, of course. Loyal companions and protectors until the very end.

After the deaths of Monsieur et Madame Grandet, only Nanon remains to Eugénie. Then, thanks to the new financial independence of Mademoiselle Grandet, La Grand Nanon became rich as well, and she even got married to her old suitor Antoine Cornoiller.

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

The day on which Maitre Cruchot handed in to his client a clear and exact schedule of the whole inheritance, Eugenie remained alone with Nanon, sitting beside the fireplace in the vacant hall, where all was now a memory, from the chair on castors which her mother had sat in, to the glass from which her cousin drank. “Nanon, we are alone—” “Yes, mademoiselle; and if I knew where he was, the darling, I’d go on foot to find him.” “The ocean is between us,” she said. While the poor heiress wept in company of an old servant, in that cold dark house, which was to her the universe, the whole province rang, from Nantes to Orleans, with the seventeen millions of Mademoiselle Grandet. Among her first acts she had settled an annuity of twelve hundred francs on Nanon, who, already possessed of six hundred more, became a rich and enviable match. In less than a month that good soul passed from single to wedded life under the protection of Antoine Cornoiller, who was appointed keeper of all Mademoiselle Grandet’s estates. Madame Cornoiller possessed one striking advantage over her contemporaries. Although she was fifty-nine years of age, she did not look more than forty. Her strong features had resisted the ravages of time. Thanks to the healthy customs of her semi-conventual life, she laughed at old age from the vantage-ground of a rosy skin and an iron constitution. Perhaps she never looked as well in her life as she did on her marriage-day. She had all the benefits of her ugliness, and was big and fat and strong, with a look of happiness on her indestructible features which made a good many people envy Cornoiller.

Eugénie became so rich that she was considered a Queen and the sovereign of her own court:

It seemed unlikely that Mademoiselle Grandet would marry during the period of her mourning. Her genuine piety was well known. Consequently the Cruchots, whose policy was sagely guided by the old abbe, contented themselves for the time being with surrounding the great heiress and paying her the most affectionate attentions. Every evening the hall was filled with a party of devoted Cruchotines, who sang the praises of its mistress in every key. She had her doctor in ordinary, her grand almoner, her chamberlain, her first lady of honor, her prime minister; above all, her chancellor, a chancellor who would fain have said much to her. If the heiress had wished for a train-bearer, one would instantly have been found. She was a queen, obsequiously flattered. Flattery never emanates from noble souls; it is the gift of little minds, who thus still further belittle themselves to worm their way into the vital being of the persons around whom they crawl. Flattery means self-interest. So the people who, night after night, assembled in Mademoiselle Grandet’s house (they called her Mademoiselle de Froidfond) outdid each other in expressions of admiration. This concert of praise, never before bestowed upon Eugenie, made her blush under its novelty; but insensibly her ear became habituated to the sound, and however coarse the compliments might be, she soon was so accustomed to hear her beauty lauded that if any new-comer had seemed to think her plain, she would have felt the reproach far more than she might have done eight years earlier. She ended at last by loving the incense, which she secretly laid at the feet of her idol. By degrees she grew accustomed to be treated as a sovereign and to see her court pressing around her every evening. Monsieur de Bonfons was the hero of the little circle, where his wit, his person, his education, his amiability, were perpetually praised. One or another would remark that in seven years he had largely increased his fortune, that Bonfons brought in at least ten thousand francs a year, and was surrounded, like the other possessions of the Cruchots, by the vast domains of the heiress.

Later, after knowing about Charles's betrayal, Eugénie chooses to marry President Cruchot de Bonfons under certain conditions. It was a sham marriage, only in name, but never consummated:

(...) “Monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie with a noble composure, inspired by the thought she was about to express, “would it be a sin to remain a virgin after marriage?” (...) “Monsieur le president,” said Eugenie in a voice of some emotion when they were left alone, “I know what pleases you in me. Swear to leave me free during my whole life, to claim none of the rights which marriage will give you over me, and my hand is yours. Oh!” she added, seeing him about to kneel at her feet, “I have more to say. I must not deceive you. In my heart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling. Friendship is the only sentiment which I can give to a husband. I wish neither to affront him nor to violate the laws of my own heart. —Eugénie Grandet

And even when President Cruchot de Bonfons was waiting to Eugénie's early death, he was the one that died and made his widow even richer by adding the Cruchot's fortune to the already vast Grandet's fortune:

Nevertheless, Monsieur de Bonfons (he had finally abolished his patronymic of Cruchot) did not realize any of his ambitious ideas. He died eight days after his election as deputy of Saumur. God, who sees all and never strikes amiss, punished him, no doubt, for his sordid calculations and the legal cleverness with which, accurante Cruchot, he had drawn up his marriage contract, in which husband and wife gave to each other, “in case they should have no children, their entire property of every kind, landed or otherwise, without exception or reservation, dispensing even with the formality of an inventory; provided that said omission of said inventory shall not injure their heirs and assigns, it being understood that this deed of gift is, etc., etc.” This clause of the contract will explain the profound respect which monsieur le president always testified for the wishes, and above all, for the solitude of Madame de Bonfons. (...) Endowed with the delicate perception which a solitary soul acquires through constant meditation, through the exquisite clear-sightedness with which a mind aloof from life fastens on all that falls within its sphere, Eugenie, taught by suffering and by her later education to divine thought, knew well that the president desired her death that he might step into possession of their immense fortune, augmented by the property of his uncle the notary and his uncle the abbe, whom it had lately pleased God to call to himself. The poor solitary pitied the president. Providence avenged her for the calculations and the indifference of a husband who respected the hopeless passion on which she spent her life because it was his surest safeguard. To give life to a child would give death to his hopes,—the hopes of selfishness, the joys of ambition, which the president cherished as he looked into the future. —Eugénie Grandet

But Eugénie's vast riches were an empty victory for her. The avarice of her father marked her life.

Due to the frugal life style imposed by Monsieur Grandet, Eugénie was never attached to money and gold like her father was:

In spite of her vast wealth, she lives as the poor Eugenie Grandet once lived. The fire is never lighted on her hearth until the day when her father allowed it to be lighted in the hall, and it is put out in conformity with the rules which governed her youthful years. She dresses as her mother dressed. The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life. She carefully accumulates her income, and might seem parsimonious did she not disarm criticism by a noble employment of her wealth. Pious and charitable institutions, a hospital for old age, Christian schools for children, a public library richly endowed, bear testimony against the charge of avarice which some persons lay at her door. The churches of Saumur owe much of their embellishment to her. Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

“I have none but you to love me,” she says to Nanon.

The hand of this woman stanches the secret wounds in many families. She goes on her way to heaven attended by a train of benefactions. The grandeur of her soul redeems the narrowness of her education and the petty habits of her early life.

Such is the history of Eugenie Grandet, who is in the world but not of it; who, created to be supremely a wife and mother, has neither husband nor children nor family.

—Eugénie Grandet

Eugénie was meant to be a wife and a mother, she wanted to love and be loved, but life only gave her sorrows and riches.

This sad ending reminds me a bit of Show Sansa's ending. She was a Queen of an independent Kingdom, but she didn't get any of her siblings with her at Winterfell.

But, unlike Eugénie that only knew the likes of Charles Grandet, the Cruchots and the des Grassins, and even if Sansa doesn't know it yet, there is someone who despite being offered Sansa's claim, had chosen her over Winterfell and the North and the name Stark:

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Unlike Tyrion, Willas, Theon, Littlefinger or even little Robert, who pursued Sansa’s claim over her, Jon Snow chose Sansa over her claim. Among all the high lords interested in becoming the Lord of Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, the bastard Jon Snow refused to despoil his sister Sansa of her rights, even if her claim is the one thing he has wanted as much as he had ever wanted anything.

Jon Snow is not some fancy suitor from the South like Charles Grandet was to Eugénie, like John Willoughby was to Marianne Dashwood, like Joffrey, Loras and even Harry were/are for Sansa/Alayne. Jon Snow has Stark blood, he was raised by Ned Stark, he worships the old gods, and he knows very well that you can't make false promises in front of a weirwood tree:

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

So, there is hope.

The end.

[This post is very personal and was written during somehow convulsed times. So, if you have come this far, thanks for reading.]

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 13 | I gave him a choice, he wanted to wear it

A/N: So this is the last chapter of the main story for Tom and Vivian.  But not the last I am sure we will see of them. Thank you for all the wonderful support for these two!   

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: With the air cleared, Tom and Vivian continues to move forward in their relationship.  

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

1 Year Later

“Does this get any easier?” Vivian leaned to whisper to Sophie as they made their way to their seats in the audience. 

“No. The press junket is the worst.” Sophie squeezed her arm. “But this one is much more bearable with you here.”

“That goes double for me.” Vivian smiled. 

“Tom, is he…” Sophie raised a knowing eyebrow. 

“I gave him a choice, he wanted to wear it.” Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Ben, still being a brat?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yes. We can discuss that later. I need punishment ideas.” 

Vivian smirked. Sophie and Ben had been exploring their own relationship dynamics over the last several months. Both of them knew Tom and Ben were trading notes and so they did likewise. “I’ll think about and text you some thoughts. Something Tom wouldn’t have warned him about.” They both giggled. 

The past year had been hectic. The kitchen remodel took twice as long as Vivian hoped, forcing the two of them to eat out more than both wanted to. While the speculation regarding Tom and her relationship status died down significantly after Luke made a statement denying any secret marriage ceremonies, but it never really went away. She grew used to the stares and mutters and closed up her circle of friends and family in response after Ashley spilled that Tom and her met on an online dating site, effectively ending their friendship. Vivian found solace in her new friendship with Sophie, who understood better than anyone her unusual life circumstances. And life with Tom was as exciting as ever, especially with introducing new toys in the bedroom and elsewhere.

The two of them settled into their seats in the front row and waited for the show to start. Vivian beamed as both Tom and Benedict were introduced onto the stage to promote the newest Marvel film. Tom’s hair was longer, and he grew the beard back. He smiled at Vivian as he caught her eye in the audience. She recognized that smirk; he was up to something. And she was certain that something did not include the cage he was sporting under his navy double breasted suit. No one could tell unless they were looking for it. Tom had gotten good at hiding it. 

“Now, Tom,” the interviewer leaned in after he asked several questions about the film to both Tom and Benedict. “your love life has been quite the subject of the papers this past year.”

Tom’s cheeks reddened, and Vivian’s fists clenched. “So it would seem. I try to not pay too much attention, Graham.” 

“Well, I can imagine with such a stunning woman taking up all your attention.” Graham flashed the picture from the day Tom suggested she move in together. “Vivian, right?”

Tom nodded. “Yup.”

“Is it true the two of you met on a dating site?”

Tom blushed at the question. An old one at this point. They both rehearsed an answer for such an occasion. 

“I don’t comment on the specifics of my relationship, Graham.”

“But I do!” Ben interjected. Tom frowned at him. Vivian’s eyes cut to Sophie, whose face was frozen in panic. “And I can say their relationship…” Ben glanced over at the two of you and winked. “… is built on mutual respect and trust.”

Tom sighed in relief and leaned back on the couch.

“Hardly newsworthy, Ben.” Graham groused. 

Tom perked up and leaned in towards the host. “Well she is here in the audience, should we ask her for any juicy details?” 

Graham pumped up the audience, who cheered as Vivian sunk deeper into her chair. Sophie scowled next to her. 

“Darling, can I tell them anything about us?” Tom smiled as he looked over at her.

“No.” she called out. 

Tom’s eyes sparkled again. “Not even our big announcement?” 

Vivian’s brow furrowed in confusion as the audience oohed and cheered. She had no idea what announcement Tom was talking about. Certainly nothing had been cleared with Luke. Or her.

“I think she might need a little convincing, Graham. May I?” Tom gestured towards Vivian. 

Graham nodded. “Why not? It’s not like you are here to talk about a movie or anything.”

Tom chuckled as he stood and moved towards Vivian. He kneeled in front of you. It was only then she noticed his hands shaking. He fiddled with his signet ring. 

“Tom…” she started.

“Darling, this past year has been an adventure. A journey I have gladly taken with you. You have enriched my life in a way I could never imagine. I know that you are it. You are the one. You are mine and I am yours.”

Vivian’s brain swirled, only snapping back to reality when Tom fished a small box out of his jacket pocket and Sophie grabbed her arm. Tom popped open the box to reveal a brilliant cushion cut diamond set in platinum. 

“Will you marry me?” Tom’s voice cracked. 

Vivian sat there silently as a hundred eyes stared at her. But the only ones that mattered were right in front of her. Impossibly blue. And brimming with tears. Pleading, begging and full of love.

“Yes.” Vivian’s voice warbled. She cleared her throat, her own eyes now watering. “Yes, yes!” She repeated.

Tom’s face broke out into the widest, most perfect boyish smile ever as he slipped the ring on Vivian’s finger. She grabbed his face and kissed him, pulling him onto her lap. The audience erupted into wild applause.

“You saw it here first, Tom Hiddleston is now engaged.” Graham announced 

“You are going to pay for this later.” Vivian muttered against Tom’s lips. No one else could hear her.

“I was planning on it.” Tom smirked, kissing her again.

“I was talking about Luke.”

Tom chuckled, kissing her cheek. “I already ran it past him, darling. I have to get back up there.”

“We are talking after.” She pushed him away playfully.

Tom winked at her and headed back onto the stage. Vivian showed off the ring to Sophie. She smiled.

“I know. He asked my opinion about it a month ago.” she confessed. “But he picked it out all by himself.”

Vivian admired the ring. “Am I the last to know about this ring?” 

Sophie giggled. “No, it is probably your mother.” 

“You’re right. She is going to flip.” 

They didn’t get to say much else as the show was coming back from commercial break. 

The rest of the interview went better than perfect. Tom beamed on stage, constantly catching Vivian’s eye. More than once, Ben had to nudge Tom’s knee to bring him back to the interview. Vivian giggled from her seat. Sophie and she slipped backstage to meet Tom and Ben back in the green room. Ben came in first, catching Vivian in a hug.

“Congratulations! Despite my first misgivings, I can’t think of a more perfect match for this ridiculous man.” Ben commented as he kissed Vivian’s cheek.

“Um… thanks… Ben.” She responded. 

“How come I never get a greeting like that?” Sophie groused, smiling the whole time. 

“Sorry, darling.” Ben rushed to dip Sophie and kiss her. 

“And who is the one that gagged when I did the same thing?” Tom commented, sidling next to Vivian, his arm wrapping around her waist. Her hand instantly fell to the small of his back.

“That was before I knew the truth.” Ben commented, righting Sophie, guiding her to the small sofa in the room. 

“You mean I could have had this romantic guy the whole time?” Sophie playfully swatted Ben’s thigh, which he dodged. “You are paying for that.”

“Add it to my list of transgressions.” Ben leaned to kiss Sophie again. 

“Which reminds me,” Vivian piped up. “I will send you ideas first thing in the morning.”

Ben and Tom groaned. Tom called over to his friend. “Stock up on ice and a soothing cream.” He turned to Vivian and kissed her lips softly. “Do you like the ring?”

“I love it. You did so good.” She ruffled his hair. Tom’s cheeks turned a dark pink. 

“Thank you, darling.” He squirmed in place. 

“Would you like a reward tonight?” Vivian’s hand slid down to cup Tom’s ass. 

Tom moved close to whisper in her ear. “What did you have in mind, darling?” 

She whispered right back, sending shocks through Tom’s body. “How about you get to pick which toy I use to peg you with tonight?”

Tom’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Vivian, the blush deepening to cover his entire face and neck. 

“I… I…” he muttered, his cock straining in his cage. 

“I mean it is not every day you get engaged, and you have been the best boy, sunshine.” Vivian cupped his face and kissed his lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Vivian.” Tom wrapped his arms around her. 

[myenterpriseisparked]

The Voyager Bunch

Or, Rascals: Voyager Edition

-----

Based on this post

This is dedicated to @jellybeansarecool @bizships @emilie786 @joyful-voyager and @subtle-spock for providing ideas, encouragement, and for generally being really awesome people. Also they are the nicest folks ever. Go follow them.

This ain’t my first fanfiction rodeo, but it is my first Star Trek fanfiction rodeo so I beg for your patience. Also, I am perfectly aware that there are some plot holes in here. This is because I am an animal scientist, not a Starfleet physicist/biologist/whateverist. Swiss cheese also has holes and swiss cheese is good so please consider that.

Click here to read on AO3, if you prefer. Thanks for reading!

-----

Despite having only been a captain for a few years, Kathryn Janeway had seen more unusual occurrences, courtesy of the Delta Quadrant, than most Starfleet captains combined. Some days, she felt a little overwhelmed by the summary of the last three years of experiences. Other days, she was grateful for the callouses such challenges had built over her nerves, preparing her to face even the strangest incidents without panicking.

Today was a day to be grateful, because without having seen everything she had seen, the prospect of her Chief Engineer, Chief of Security, Head Helmsman, and most brilliant Ensign being reverted into child-like versions of themselves would have launched her straight into a spiral of panic.

“How-” Janeway paused for a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose, “how exactly did this happen?”

“Well, ya see, ‘Lanna and Harry and I were in that shuttle and then this big black thing showed up and we flew into it and there was a big flash and-”

Janeway held a hand up, cutting off the shockingly fast string of prattle. “I think I understand that part, Tom, thank you.” She spoke as gently and patiently as possible. “What I don’t understand is how Tuvok got into this.... predicament.”

She turned toward the tallest of the four children, who stood with his hands behind his back in a way that would have been exactly like Tuvok, if the pre-teen boy weren’t fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and looking around the bridge, open mouthed and starry-eyed. “Tuvok?”

The Vulcan turned toward her. “The shuttle was stuck in the anomaly and the tractor beam wasn’t working, so I rammed my ship into theirs to dislodge it.” Tuvok nearly smiled, which was jarring to see on his features, no matter how much younger he looked. “It worked, but I got sucked into the anomaly too. When we came out the other side, we looked like this.”

He motioned to Tom and B’Elanna, who were standing next to him, both of which appeared to be around the age of 5 or 6. Harry, who looked to be about a year old, was currently tucked into Chakotay’s arms, playing contentedly with the rank bar at the large man’s throat.

Janeway looked the group over, ignoring the humored smiled playing at her first officer’s lips. With a sigh, she turned to the members of her senior officer team that were not currently under the age of 13. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“I would like to run some experiments first, but I am wondering if I can age their DNA back to the correct age in a process similar to the one I used to turn you and Mr. Paris back into humans after the, ah, Warp 10 incident,” The Doctor said.

“That might put their bodies back at the right age,” Kes said, brow furrowing, “but their minds appear to have reverted to their new biological age as well. Will the DNA reversal process fix that?”

The Doctor tilted his head. “I’m unsure. I need more time to research and run simulations.”

Janeway nodded. “Get started on that right away. In the meantime,” she turned back to the children and her commander, “let’s get you four something to eat.” 

Neelix jumped to his feet, practically lighting up the room with his enthusiasm. “I’ll fix you kiddos up something real nice!” He dashed over to the door with a wild grin. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll have the best grilled cheese sandwich you’ve ever smelt!” He saluted the whole room and practically bounced out the door.

Janeway glanced over at Chakotay who, for the first time since he had picked up baby Harry, looked nervous. His worried glance met her own and he tilted his head.

“Well,” Chakotay sighed, “hopefully these guys aren’t as picky of eaters as I was.”

-----

As unappealing as Janeway found Neelix’s cooking to be, it was, apparently, perfect for kids, as evidenced by the unrestrained glee with which Tom, B’Elanna, and Tuvok devoured their sandwiches.

The captain couldn’t help but smile as Tom downed the second half of his sandwich in a few bites and think how the older version of Tom would have been appalled to see himself eating Neelix’s cooking with such enjoyment.

As the older children ate, Janeway found herself spooning some kind of mashed vegetable mix into Harry’s waiting mouth. At first, she was a little uncomfortable with the idea of feeding one of her best officers, but, once she was able to get past the strangeness of the entire situation, she found herself enjoying the funny expressions and eager attitude of the baby in front of her.

“Gosh, he’s such a cute baby.” She said with a grin for the fourth time.

Chakotay leaned over, his shoulder brushing hers as he smiled at Harry. “I’d like to agree with you, Captain, but you keep hogging him so I can’t get a good look.” He turned to look her in the eye, raising his eyebrow teasingly.

She shoved him playfully with her elbow. “You got to hold him earlier in the conference room. It’s my turn.”

“I think your turn ended about ten minutes ago,” he grinned.

“I think I can find something else for you to do if you’re going to take Harry away from me, Commander.” She returned his grin.

“Fine,” Chakotay shook his head with a chuckle, “but I get him later.”

-----

Several hours had passed since lunch and, much to Chakotay’s disappointment, baby Harry was still firmly in Janeway’s possession, perched on her hip and looking for all the world like he belonged there.

Chakotay tried not to think too much about how naturally Kathryn had taken to caring for Harry as he watched her pace the bridge, checking on various scanner readings and flight paths, from his position on the floor by their command chairs. Beside him, Tom and B’Elanna rolled a ball back and forth between them, excitedly chattering about... well... everything.

“Do you think the whales were really THAT big?” Tom spread his arms out to the side.

“Yeah they were!” B’Elanna exclaimed loudly enough that the entire ship could probably hear it. Despite Chakotay’s best efforts to get her to lower her voice, the young girl seemed to only have one volume. “I saw a big fake one in a museum once and it was HUGE!”

“Whoa!” Tom’s eyes widened. “Bigger than this ship?”

B’Elanna tilted her head. “I don’t know, but it was definitely bigger than me!”

The two kids laughed, rolling the ball back and forth faster.

“Hey Tom?”

“What?”

“You’re my best friend!” B’Elanna suddenly reached forward and gave Tom a hug.

Chakotay glanced up at Kathryn to exchange a look of awe before he turned back to the kids on the floor. “But B’E, I thought you just said a few minutes ago that I’m your best friend.” He raised an eyebrow, hiding his smile.

The young girl gave him a look that he had seen far too many times on her older counterpart’s face whenever he said something particularly dumb. “I can have two best friends, duh.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

Suddenly, he saw Kathryn’s purposeful walk stop out of the corner of his eye. 

“Chakotay,” her voice was even and tense, “where’s Tuvok?”

Eyes widening, Chakotay glanced around the bridge. Tuvok was no where to be seen.

“Chakotay to Tuvok.” He stood as he tapped his commbadge. “Tuvok, please acknowledge.” They waited a moment and, upon receiving no response, moved simultaneously toward the turbolift. 

“It’s possible he hasn’t figured out how to use his comm.” Janeway tucked Harry closer to her side as they stepped into the lift. “Computer: locate Tuvok.”

“Unable to comply.”

Janeway gave the ceiling a glare. “Why?”

The computer did not respond.

“Maybe the de-aging effect has made it difficult for the computer to locate him.” Chakotay rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he’s alright; he’s probably just exploring the ship; you saw how amazed he was by everything in the conference room earlier.”

She nodded tightly. “Let’s hope so. Where do you think he’s gone?”

“Maybe to the holodeck?”

“Or his quarters.”

“What about the mess hall?”

“He just ate.”

They both paused, mulling it over.

“Alright.” Kathryn straightened. “I’ll check holodeck one and his quarters, you check holodeck two and the mess hall.” She turned back to the lift door. “Holodeck one.”

Chakotay swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying not to think of all the ways a small child could get hurt on a spaceship like Voyager. As the turbolift began to move, Janeway’s badge chirped.

“Kes to the captain.”

Her brow raised as she tapped the emblem. “Go ahead.”

“I think I’ve found something you’re missing.” Kes’s usually lighthearted tone was even lighter, clear amusement seeping through.

Kathryn turned to look Chakotay in the eye, a hopeful smile brightening her face. “I’m on my way.”

-----

Honestly, Janeway was a little ashamed of the fact that she didn’t think to go looking for her best friend among the orchids and other plants in the aeroponics bay, considering his horticulturally-related hobbies. As she and Chakotay stepped into the room, smiles crept onto both of their faces as they watched Tuvok carefully transfer one of Kes’s sprouts to a bigger pot. After patting the soil around the plant firmly, he wiped a hand across his forehead, smearing dirt on his face to match the dirt on his uniform.

Kes smiled up at the command team. “He came down and asked about a hundred questions about our system and then offered to help me with my work while we talked because its ‘more efficient to talk and work than simply talk.’” 

Janeway chuckled at Kes’s approximation of Tuvok’s speech pattern. “Thanks for letting us know, Kes.” She reluctantly handed Harry to Chakotay, who flashed his dimples, and crouched next to Tuvok. “Hello there.”

Tuvok glanced up quickly before resuming his work. “Hello, Captain. Did you know that these Talaxian green beans take only a week and a half to reach maturity?”

“I did not.” Janeway raised a brow and tilted her head. “That’s very impressive.”

“I thought so too when Kes told me.” He patted the soil around another plant and set it aside, retrieving another sprout.

“Tuvok,” the captain reached forward and rested a hand on his shoulder, “I’m glad you’ve found something to do, but you have to tell someone where you’re going before you wander off. We didn’t know what happened to you and Chakotay and I were really worried.”

Behind her, Chakotay’s heart flipped. There was something rather... intimate about the way she had referred to both of them being worried about a child.

“I’m sorry, Captain.” Tuvok nodded his head. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Janeway smiled and stood. “Why don’t you help Kes down here for a while and then come back up to the bridge when you are ready?” She looked at Kes. “That is, if Kes is alright with that.”

The young woman smiled. “Of course, I’d love some help.”

Janeway nodded and turned back to Tuvok. “Be sure to let us know when you’re on your way back up.”

“Of course, Captain.”

She patted him one last time on the shoulder and turned back to Chakotay. They fell into step beside one another and entered the elevator.

As the doors whooshed closed, Janeway turned to Chakotay with the intention of reclaiming Harry, but stopped. A smile grew across her lips as she watched Chakotay bounce Harry gently, allowing the little boy to palm his tattoo in curiosity. Even as one of Harry’s chubby fingers poked him in the eye, Chakotay simply chuckled and took the tiny hand in his own.

He finally turned to look at her. “What?”

Kathryn just shook her head, grinning wider. “I was going to take Harry from you, but I can’t bear to break up this cute little arrangement.” She motioned to the two of them with a long finger.

The corner of Chakotay’s mouth kicked up a little higher. “Captain, did you just imply that I’m cute?”

Her brow arched, but her smile didn’t diminish. “It would be hard for anyone to look unappealing with a cute baby in their arms.”

Her heart stopped suddenly as she realized what she had just said. From the look of Chakotay’s face, he had caught it too. Implying that he and the baby were cute was one thing; calling him “appealing” was another. Before she could say anything else she might regret, Kathryn turned back to the lift door, schooling her features back into the face of the Captain.

If she had turned but a half-second later, she would have seen a wide smile break across Chakotay’s face.

-----

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I need more time. I won’t deactivate myself until I have a solution, but this situation is very delicate and I can’t risk rushing my tests. You’ll need to find somewhere for the children to sleep. Hopefully I’ll have a solution tomorrow.”

Kathryn nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”

With a grim smile, the feed from sickbay switched off, leaving her to look at her dark reflection in the black screen. Something like relief swept over help alongside a touch of regret. On one hand, she could really use her senior officers back in functioning shape. On the other hand....

Her eyes drifted back down to Harry, who had pulled a bit of her hair out of it’s ponytail and was curling it around his tiny fist in unbreakable fascination. A smile tugged at her lips as she cuddled him a bit closer. 

She could get used to this.

The thought struck her before she even knew what she was feeling and, as soon as she admitted it to herself, she took that feeling and shoved it as deep into the recesses of her mind as she could. She was the captain of a ship that was constantly in danger and she shouldn’t dwell on things she couldn’t have.

Kathryn sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, Harry, looks like we need to find you a place to sleep.”

Turning back to the computer, she moved to set him down so she could use both hands to search the crew quarters layouts for a suitable place to keep the children overnight. As soon as Harry’s feet touched the ground, a wail rose from the back of his throat and his face scrunched.

Kathryn quickly scooped him back up. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

The boy’s cry of protest faded into whimpers and he buried his head in her shoulder, clinging to her tightly.

A warm feeling washed over her. “Ah,” she smiled, “I see.”

She pulled him closer and turned back to the computer, tapping buttons with one hand. “You can stay up here with me, then.”

The door to her quarters chimed.

“Come in.” 

Before she could turn to greet her guest, mischievous giggles rose from the door. Eyebrow raised, she whirled around to find Chakotay standing in the doorway, a stack of PADDs in his hand, a tiny engineer on his left leg, and a tiny helmsman on his right.

He stepped forward with far less difficultly than she would have expected, given the extra weight on his legs. He crossed the room quickly and passed the PADDs to her. “The crew reports you requested.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, glancing down at the still giggling forms. “Not to alarm you, Commander, but it would seem that you have a couple of lifeforms attached to you.”

Chakotay’s eyes grew wide in mock surprise. “Really?” He turned his head and shuffled around, as if to look at his back. “Where?”

Tom and B’Elanna’s laughter grew. Suddenly, Chakotay leaned over and scooped the two of them off his legs, lifting them both up over his shoulders as their shrieked in delight.

He turned back to Kathryn with a wide smile. “Not to worry, Captain, I’ve apprehended the life forms.” 

She smiled back with a soft chuckle. “We need to find a place for the life forms to stay tonight.”

Chakotay’s smile faded into a more serious, but not displeased look. “The Doctor doesn’t have a solution yet, then?” He lowered Tom and B’Elanna to the ground. They scampered off to the viewport, excitedly chattering about the stars.

“No, he needs a bit more time.”

Chakotay nodded. “Maybe I could take them for the night, that way someone is there to keep an eye on them.”

Kathryn shook her head. “I have no doubt in your babysitting abilities, Commander, but four children is a lot for one person to watch alone and your quarters are not big enough for Trouble 1 and Trouble 2 to run around in.” She gestured to the kids at the window. 

“Fair point. Maybe I should take Harry and Tuvok then, and you could take Tom and B’Elanna?”

She turned Harry away from Chakotay. “Trying to take my boy again, are you Chakotay?” 

He chuckled and shook his head. “Do you have another idea, then, Mom?”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to smirk at him and continue speaking without any indication that his previous sentence had impacted her. “My quarters are the largest on the ship. If we set up cots here in my living room we could easily both keep an eye on the children overnight.”

“Sounds good to me.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “How about I go collect Tuvok from aeroponics and some food from the mess hall while you get the cots set up?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He gave her one last lingering smile, which she returned, before heading out the door and down the hall.

-----

Apparently the lunch they had shared earlier that day had been misleadingly easy. Supper was, to put it lightly, a challenge.

“B’Elanna, eat your own food and stop taking from Tom’s plate,” Kathryn said firmly.

“But Tom isn’t eating it!”

“I was going to eat it! I’m just a slower eater than you are!”

“Well eat faster then!”

“B’Elanna!” Chakotay set down the spoon he had been using to feed Harry and fixed her with a stern look. “That food isn’t yours, and Kathryn already asked you to stop taking Tom’s food. You won’t be asked again.”

B’Elanna mumbled out an apology and stuffed another bite of her own meal into her mouth.

Kathryn shot Chakotay a grateful smile and turned to Tuvok, who was holding up one of his vegetables to the light. “Tuvok? What are you doing?”

“I’m looking at the xylem and phloem of this plant.”

She bit back a smile. “I appreciate your curiosity, Tuvok, but I need you to stop studying your food and start eating it.”

The young Vulcan turned to her and nodded. “Of course.” He politely chewed and swallowed his food and turned back to the captain. “Did you know that this particular plant is a distant cousin of Terran broccoli? You can tell by the-”

Chakotay smiled as he watched Kathryn listen to Tuvok’s fourth lecture of the evening on plant biology. Neither of them were certain of what he was talking about most of the time, but his enthusiasm for the subject was nearly infectious and neither of them minded listening.

“Chakotay?”

He turned away from the scene across the table and looked at Tom next to him. “Yes?”

“After dinner, will you read to us?”

“Of course.” Chakotay smiled and ruffled Tom’s hair. “Anything particular you want to hear?”

“I want to hear about your missions with the Maquis!” B’Elanna bounced in her seat, all of that barely-contained Klingon energy starting to spill over. 

“Or perhaps you could read to us from a classic story,” Tuvok raised a brow. “I’m fond of the works of Tolkien, maybe Tom and B’Elanna would like ‘The Hobbit’ too?”

“What’s a hobbit?” Tom’s face scrunched in confusion.

“Maybe,” Kathryn interjected before Tuvok could give a detailed recounting of the beloved childhood book, “Chakotay could tell us a story from his tribe.” Her eyes met his across the table. “He is pretty good at recounting ancient legends.”

Heat crept up the sides of Chakotay’s face as he held her stare. “Maybe.”

“Nah,” Tom’s voice broke through the pleasant tension between them. “I wanna know what a hobbit is!”

Chakotay chuckled. “Alright, ‘The Hobbit’ it is.”

-----

It took some time to get the older three to settle into bed, but finally, they began to yawn and snuggle deeper under their blankets. As their heads grew heavier, Chakotay wrapped up his story telling and the command team began to tuck their young companions in for the night.

As Chakotay wished Tom and Tuvok a good night’s rest, Kathryn carefully extracted B’Elanna from where she was snuggled into her side and took her over to her cot. As she got the small girl settled, she suddenly reached up and captured Kathryn in a tight hug. Surprised, Kathryn’s eyes widened, but she returned the gesture in earnest.

“Kathryn?”

“Yes, B’Elanna?”

“You’re my best friend.”

Kathryn blinked and pulled back to look B’Elanna in the eyes with a small smile. “I thought Chakotay and Tom were your best friends.”

“I can have more than one best friend.” B’Elanna’s voice was filled with deep confidence, despite how sleep-laced it was.

“Fair enough,” Kathryn chuckled, pulling the blankets tightly around the girl. “Goodnight.”

She met Chakotay in her bedroom, Harry still in his arms.

“Any time I try to set him down he starts crying.” Chakotay grinned sheepishly. 

She grinned back. “I had a similar experience earlier today.” She reached up and brushed hand over the boy’s soft, black hair. “Its a good thing he weighs next to nothing.”

At Kathryn’s gentle touch, Harry stirred. His dark eyes found Kathryn’s and he reached out for her. With a look of mock hurt, Chakotay transferred the boy to his desired location.

“I’m trying not to be offended right now, Harry.”

Kathryn simply grinned and bounced the baby in her arms gently. “It’s alright, Chakotay. He has excellent taste.”

Chakotay shook his head, dimples flashing. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

She turned toward the bed and settled herself on one side, her back resting against the pillows and Harry resting against her chest. “Let’s see if we can get this one sleepy enough to not notice if we set him down.” She looked back at Chakotay, who was still standing, rather awkwardly. She patted the bed next to her with a smirk. “Come on, Commander. Get some rest. We’ve has a big day, wrangling the kiddos.”

He smiled and crossed the room to the other side of the bed, gently sitting next to her, his legs stretched out. “It has been a long day,” he said with a sigh. “But, I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed it.” He tilted his head to look at Kathryn, who was already looking up at him.

“Nor I.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, Chakotay was very aware of how close their faces were. He watched as Kathryn’s eyes slid down to his lips. Before he could do something he couldn’t take back, he took a deep breath and turned away.

“Well,” Kathryn cleared her throat, sounding more like the Captain now, “it’s been fun but we should get some sleep. I’ll keep an eye on Harry here and take him to his cot in a few minutes. You should go ahead and rest, Commander.”

“Of course.” He tilted his head and gave her a small smile. “Goodnight, Kathryn.”

She grinned back. “Goodnight, Chakotay.”

-----

Apparently, Kathryn didn’t stay awake long enough to take Harry back to his cot, as evidenced by the weight on her chest as she stirred awake the next morning. She slowly became aware of her surroundings and the previous day’s events came flooding back to her.

She also became distinctly aware of the warm, comfortable presence beside her. As she opened her eyes, she realized that her first officer’s arm was settled around her shoulders and that his shoulder was currently her pillow. His head rested atop hers and the hand that was not draped around her shoulders was resting on top of Harry’s back next to her own.

The situation was all rather snuggly and, were it not a violation of every professional barrier Kathryn had erected between her and the commander, she would have had no issue in savoring the moment.

Then again.... maybe she could allow herself just a few moments to pretend that the baby in her arms wasn’t her star technical officer and that the man holding her close wasn’t her XO and that this was a perfectly normal situation.

Before she could get too far into her fantasy, however, Chakotay stirred next to her, his dark eyes fluttering open to find her own.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice huskier than her own as sleep clung to it.

“Good morning.” 

They looked at each other for a moment before Chakotay carefully extracted himself from her side, helping her up so she could carefully place Harry in his cot in the living room without waking the boy or the other children who were still sleeping. Without a word, they quietly prepared breakfast and coffee, steeling themselves for another day of handling the kids.

-----

“I’m afraid I’m a bit.... stuck,” The Doctor ground out with obvious difficulty.

The captain raised an eyebrow. The EMH admitting that he was struggling to solve a problem was a rare instance indeed. “How so?”

With a huff, The Doctor turned back to his desk, flipping through experimental results from a stack of PADDs. “Kes was right; the DNA reversal process I initially thought might work will not account for the de-aging of the officers’ brains, so I decided to look at the type of radiation that might have caused this and, to be completely honest, Captain,” he turned back to look her in the eye, “I have absolutely no idea how this even happened. There’s no evidence of radiation, the temporal energy around them is unidentifiable, and I can’t figure out how their cells and their minds were reversed.” He lowered his head. “I’m unsure of how to even proceed from here.”

Kathryn nodded, taking the emotions that were beginning to tumble in her chest and stuffing them as far down as she could. “Very well, Doctor. Take a rest and we can all come back to the issue later once we’ve had time to think.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up. “Don’t despair yet; there’s a lot of other brilliant minds on this ship besides your own. We’ll figure it out together.” She smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze before heading into the turbolift.

As the doors slid open, she found Tuvok waiting in the lift for her. She smiled down at him and stepped inside, calling for the bridge.

“Chakotay to the captain.”

She tapped her badge. “Go ahead.”

“We need you on the bridge, there’s a bit of a situation.”

She raised a brow, glancing down at Tuvok, who was gazing at her intently. “On my way.”

-----

“So they want to.... interview us?”

“They want to interview you specifically.”

“To see if we are worthy of going through their space.”

“Something like that.”

“And going around their space isn’t an option?”

“It would add another 7 months to our journey, so this interview is our ideal option.”

“No pressure, eh, Commander?” Janeway shifted Harry from one hip to the other with a long sigh. “Alright. Hail them.”

After a moment, a blue and red humanoid alien appeared on the screen.

“Greetings, Ambassador.” The Captain flashed a polite smile. “I’m Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager.”

The alien woman inclined her head. “Hello, Captain Janeway, I’m Ambassador Tel Parah of the Doonian Delegation.” Her eyes swept the bridge. “You’re ship is heavily armed, which, according to the laws of our people, requires that we do a personal interview of the commanding officer to ensure that violence or other manners of chaos will not be instigated as you pass through our space.”

“Of course, I understand.” Janeway smiled again. “What questions may I answer for you?”

Over the course of the next 30 minutes, Janeway was grilled on their purpose in passing through Doonian space, the types and numbers of weapons they carried, and the journey they had made so far. Just as Janeway thought there wasn’t possibly anything more she could tell them, Ambassador Parah paused and looked up from the computer device in her hand to study Janeway. After a moment, she spoke again.

“Just one more thing, Captain Janeway,” a slow smile slipped onto her face, “What’s your son’s name? He’s absolutely precious.”

Janeway raised her eyebrows in surprise and glanced down at Harry, who she had nearly forgotten was still in her arms. At some point, he had removed her combadge and was currently turning it over and over again in his tiny hands, taking a moment here and there to bite parts of the object he must have found particularly interesting. Kathryn exchanged an amused glace with Chakotay, who shrugged off screen, before turning back to the ambassador. 

“This is Harry.” Janeway smiled, turning the boy so the ambassador could see him better.

The other woman smiled widely. “How adorable. He has the brightest eyes.”

“He does.” Kathryn smiled back down at him.

“You know,” Parah leaned back in her chair, “I usually don’t allow anyone through our space that isn’t from a system or planet we are already know and trust and so I wasn’t planning on letting Voyager pass. However, when I saw your baby and how well-cared for and happy he seems, I felt that I could trust you somehow.” She smiled again. “We value children highly in the Doonien Delegation. Children are often a reflection of a parent’s character. I can tell by Harry’s disposition and curiosity that you are of a fine character, Captain.”

Janeway cuddled Harry a little closer, heart warming. “Thank you, Ambassador, I take that as a high compliment.”

“As you should.” Parah leaned forward again. “You may pass through our space. We will have you stop at three checkpoints on your way though which I will send you the coordinated for in a moment. Have a safe journey.”

The screen went blank and Kathryn turned to Chakotay.

“Should I feel bad that I let her believe Harry is my son?”

Chakotay chuckled, stepping close enough and lowering his voice enough that the rest of the bridge could pretend not to hear him. “Are you saying he’s not?”

Her gaze grew softer. “I guess he’s sort of been like a son to me since we got on board.” She looked back down at him. “I feel very protective of him.”

Chakotay rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know.”

They smiled at each other again. Chakotay opened his mouth to say something more but, suddenly, there was a tug at Kathryn’s elbow.

“Captain? Now that the negotiations are over, I think I have an idea about how to fix Tom, B’Elanna, Harry, and me.” Tuvok’s eyes were bright and eager.

“Alright,” Captain Janeway smiled down at him. “Let’s get The Doctor up here and we’ll hear your idea together.”

-----

Chakotay exchanged glances with The Doctor and the Captain over the table as he bounced both Tom and B’Elanna on his knees. “Could that really work? It seems almost too easy.”

“Well, if this is a phenomena that’s inexplicable and is tied only to the anomaly the shuttles passed through, I feel like sending the children back through isn’t our worst idea.” The captain rubbed the back of her neck. “Doctor?”

The holographic man continued typing into his PADD for a moment before stopping and reading. “I- I honestly think this could work.” He slid the PADD over to Janeway. “It’s hard to predict, since we have no idea what exactly caused this, but if we send the shuttles through the anomaly opposite of the way they first went through, I think it just might turn them back to their usual ages.”

“How do we know it won’t just make them even younger?” Chakotay watched as B’Elanna slipped off of his knee, pulling Tom along with her to go play in the corner.

“We’d have to run some tests to be sure that they don’t. Perhaps we could send a plant through first, or some other organic life form.” The Doctor took the PADD back and made a note.

“We would also have to make sure that, if the tests show some promise, Tuvok can take the shuttle back through the anomaly.” Janeway turned to the boy sitting at her right. “Well, Tuvok? Do you think you could pilot the shuttle?”

He shook his head. “Since I don’t have my older self’s memories I don’t think I could.”

“We could use the tractor beam to send the shuttle through,” Chakotay said. “If we give them enough of a push to go through the anomaly, they should be able to pilot themselves back to Voyager once they get out the other side and have returned to their normal ages.”

Janeway raised her eyebrows. “Well, it’s worth a shot and I don’t have any better ideas. Commander, set a course for the anomaly. Doctor, prepare the experiments.”

-----

Tom and B’Elanna seemed to sense that something was up as they suddenly became even more clingy. The whole trip back to the anomaly, B’Elanna shared the captain’s chair with Kathryn, insisting with all of her Klingon passion that the older woman tell her more stories from earlier in their journey through the Delta Quadrant. At the helm, Tom hung on to Chakotay’s arm, watching the stars go by and asking Chakotay a hundred questions about piloting starships. Tuvok sat in Chakotay’s usual seat, interjecting with questions of his own here and there, and Harry sat on Kathryn’s knee, chewing on her jacket sleeve, her combadge still clutched tightly in his left hand.

After they reached the anomaly, it took a couple of hours for The Doctor to complete his experiments and, once he had declared that plants that had gone through the anomaly twice were returned to the same age the started as, they began preparing the children to enter the anomaly themselves. 

“Will it hurt?” B’Elanna asked in the smallest voice she had ever used in her life as Kathryn tucked the small Starfleet uniform that she had come through the anomaly with around her shoulders.

“It won’t,” Tuvok said. “It didn’t hurt when we came through the first time, did it?”

She shook her head, but didn’t look very reassured.

“It’s okay, ‘Lanna!” Tom grabbed her hand. “I’ll be right beside you.”

Kathryn stood and took a step back, feeling almost as if someone had filled her chest with some of Neelix’s heavy stew. She had to let them go, of course, this wasn’t the way they were supposed to be, but she was certainly going to miss seeing the level of innocence her officers had now. B’Elanna was unburdened by trust issues, Tuvok was passionate and bright, and Tom - well, she supposed he hadn’t changed all that much, but at least he seemed to be genuinely happy, not just putting up a front of humor to protect himself.

It would be hard to see them go back, but maybe, now that she understood how the world and time had changed her friends, she could help them.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a tug at her collar. She looked down to see Harry pulling at her pips, completely enamored by the gold metal.

“Oh, Harry.” She nearly choked on his name. Since he was so young now, she didn’t have any insight into his personality after having seen him as a baby, but she was going to miss his innocent curiosity and familiar weight on her hip.

Before she could think too much about it, she handed Harry over to Tuvok. The younger boy scrunched his face up and whimpered at the change of hands, but Tuvok bounced him gently and he settled down, reaching for the pointed tip of Tuvok’s ear.

Kathryn took a step back, feeling Chakotay step up behind her so that they were nearly touching. “Best of luck, you four.” She gave them her most reassuring smile. “See you on the other side.”

She and Chakotay hurried up the bridge and gave the go ahead for the ensign who had taken over Harry’s post to begin using the tractor beam to move the shuttle out into the anomaly. They stood side-by-side on the bridge and watched the shuttle go through. At come point, they grabbed each other’s hands and squeezed each other tightly.

There was a flash as the shuttle passed through the anomaly. After a few terrifyingly quiet moments, the shuttle came bursting out of the other side and a voice crackled over the comm.

“Cochran to Voyager,” confusion leaked through Tom’s voice. “What the hell just happened?”

Kathryn and Chakotay smiled at each other in relief. “What’s the last thing you remember, Tom?” Chakotay asked.

“B’Elanna, Harry, and I were coming back to Voyager when we- wait a second, how did you get here, Tuvok?”

Janeway laughed. “Why don’t we get you four back on board and then we’ll explain everything.”

“Copy that. See you in a few.” Tom’s voice grew quieter, like he was leaning away from the comm. “I have a feeling this is going to be one heck of a story.”

-----

After everyone had been debriefed and left to process the last two days of strangeness, Chakotay found Kathryn in her favorite spot; on her couch and staring wistfully out at the stars as they drifted past. She had shucked her jacket and taken her hair out of it’s clip, leaving her in her grey turtleneck with her hair falling around her shoulders and face.

“Got a lot on your mind?”

She turned to smile at him, a note of sadness in her eyes. “It’s been an interesting couple of days.”

He settled on the couch a ways down, turning to face her. “It sure has.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to miss our kids.”

“Me too. It was fun having little ones around, playing at being a parent.” She fidgeted with the seam on the couch. “It was different and they sure did give us some challenges,” she chuckled, “but I loved it.” 

“Have you ever thought about having kids of ou-” he coughed, “your own?” 

Her crystal blue gaze caught his. “Yes.” She smiled and looked out the window again. “I always thought someday I would be a mother.” With a snort and a smirk, she continued; “Of course, I never thought I’d be mothering my helmsman, security officer, engineer, and technical officer.”

Chakotay laughed softly. “I think you were mothering them before they were turned into actual children.”

“Perhaps.” A pause. “What about you? Did you ever think about being a father? Outside of the whole instance with Seska, of course.”

He nodded. “When I was in the Maquis, no. My life was too fast-paced to be a proper father. If I was going to be a dad, I wanted to do it right and I couldn’t have done that from a Maquis ship.” He took a deep breath. “After joining this crew, though.... I’m in a better place now, and I think I’d be thrilled to be a father.” He looked over at Kathryn to find that she was already looking at him with something like wonder in her eyes. He held her gaze for a moment and, finally finding a bit of courage, he said: “I’m more at peace.”

A smiled played at the corners of her lips, and her eyes looked a little like they were silver-lined, though Chakotay couldn’t quite tell for sure in the low light of her quarters.

“You were really good with the kids. You would make an excellent father, I have no doubt.”

He smiled. “You would make an excellent mother. You’re a natural.”

“Thank you, but I barely felt like I knew what I was doing.” She chuckled.

“You could have fooled me.” He grinned for a moment, before his countenance grew more serious. “I hope you get your wish someday, Kathryn. I hope you get to be a mother.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Chakotay suddenly felt his chest tighten. Had he said too much.

Before he could fall too far into his panic, her hand slid over to his, giving it a squeeze. He looked up into her eyes, which definitely had tears in them now.

“I hope you get to be a father too Chakotay. Someday.”

He squeezed her hand back and they both fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the view of the stars outside Kathryn’s window.

[3mmafr0st]

Hard to Hate Chapter 2

Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1678 Warnings: Swearing, angst, enemies to lovers, eventual smut? Taglist: @intpeach​ @aria-dne​ @allthebestmenarefictional​ Ask me if you want to get added to the list! Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15,

Read the Russian translation Here

The smell of cut grass permeated the air as I took a deep breath in. The moments before practice were always the best, the still static feeling in the air. Quidditch was my only escape from what plagued my mind. Suddenly I was jostled out of my state of calm by a rough hit to the shoulder by Marcus Flint. 

“Get your head in the game, Lestrange, we’re gonna need it for the match against Gryffindor.”

“Like I’m the one whose going to need it, Flint.” Everyone knew that I was the best chaser on the team, but Snape, as much as he loved me for being a Slytherin who was good at potions, he was a raging sexist. He probably had some trauma or something, but that was no excuse, and for that reason, Flint was captain. Sadly, I had to take orders from this absolute asshole. We ran drills for about an hour. I was just getting into my groove. Every drill was executed perfectly. We were going through drill number twenty-eight again, which was my favorite, as it meant Flint had to relinquish the quaffle for the first time in a while. Warrington passed it to me, and I quickly zoomed down the pitch towards the goal posts, faking twice and then throwing it right through the hoop as Flint caught the rebound. Everything was perfect and I gave Warrington a quick high five. I celebrated a little as we set ourselves up for the next drill, when all of a sudden, something struck my chest. 

The force of the bole made me lose my grip on my broom for a split second and I tilted over, plummeting out of the sky. Panic began to set in as I reached out for my broom, quickly grabbing it and flying back down to the ground, back to safety. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins, and I finally looked down at my chest to process what had happened. A splattering of red and gold paint littered the front of my uniform. I turned around to see Cassius hitting the ground, hard, and I ran over to him. He groaned, turning towards me, the same red and gold patterning splayed over his uniform. Marcus flew to the ground, being covered with paint as well. I knew immediately who it was. 

“You absolute dicks!” I screamed, looking around frantically. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as my top two suspects, along with a few others, ran towards the exit that headed to Gryffindor tower. I looked to Flint to make sure that he had Warrington, and then ran after them, abandoning my broom, wand in hand.

I was already so far behind them, but I knew exactly where they were going to be. I stormed my way up to Gryffindor tower, but came to a problem getting in, the painting that guards the entrance of their common room. It took me a minute to figure out exactly how to get her to let me in. Her singing could be heard all the way down the hall, and everyone in Hogwarts knew that flattery would get you everywhere with the Fat Lady. I walked up to the portrait and began the compliments, telling her all about how amazing her voice is, how good she sounded. 

“Well, clearly you aren’t Gryffindor but I like you, come in,” She told me. The minute I passed the portrait, the facade fell, and my fury settled. 

“Weasley, get your ass down here this instant!” I yelled, making one of the younger kids, Creevey I think, stick his fingers in his ears. I hear shuffling upstairs and it didn’t take long to see Percy Weasley, Head Boy of Gryffindor, dragging his two younger brothers down the stairs. It amazes me that the two of them are somehow related. 

“I know they did something obviously, but what happened?” 

“These two almost killed Warrington with their stupid prank!” 

“Oh come on, Lestrange, he wasn’t that high up,” Percy smacked Fred in the back of the head and looked back to me.

“I’ll be taking them back to McGonagall right away, thank you for letting me know.”

“That is not what’s going to happen here, locomota wibbly!” All three of the Weasley boys fell to the ground, as their legs failed underneath them.

“That’s it Lestrange, you’re in for it!” Percy exclaimed, his voice cracking from the sheer anger halfway through the sentence. 

“No, Weasley, I don’t think I am,” I mused, as I left the common room, shutting the door behind me. I said goodbye to the Fat Lady, before hurrying off to my own common room. 

Once I made it back, I shut the door behind me quickly, and leaned my back up against the door, just a little out of breath from sprinting down that many stairs. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Melody was sitting in the common room as always, waiting for me to come back from practice so we could study and get our homework finished. “You’re early, and a mess, so something must have happened.”

“The Weasley twins decided to grace us with their presence during practice, took Warrington right out of the sky,” Mel’s hand immediately goes to cover her mouth in shock.

“They really did that, that’s a lot coming from them.”

“Not really, it’s only a step further than what they normally do. It was only a matter of time before they pulled something as stupid as this.” The two of us laughed and talked for a little while, just like normal, with dumb contemplative questions and talking about muggle stuff. Ever since the third year, Mel has been teaching me all about the muggle world, everything out there is just so interesting and amazing. Strange, if you think about it, the daughter of the two most prolific Death Eaters known and a muggle born witch being best friends. The two of us jumped out of our seats as loud knocking and banging could be heard from the outside of the Slytherin common room. I looked around for a minute, my eyes wide. 

“Ms Lestrange, you are to come out here this instant!” The shrill, angry voice of Professor McGonagall was muffled by the stone walls. 

“What the hell did you do?” Mel’s voice was in that whisper yell that kinda made you panic a little more than you should. 

“I may have made a stop at Gryffindor tower before I came back here.” Mel smacked me in the back of the head and I couldn’t help but whisper yell a little “Ow!”

“You’re an idiot sometimes, you know that? Go and answer McGonagall, running and hiding is only going to prolong the inevitable, hell, it’ll probably make it worse.” I rolled my eyes at her, even though I knew she was right. I sighed and got up to open the door. 

“Good evening, Professor, what can I do for you?”

“My office, Ms Lestrange, immediately.”  And with that, she turned around and began to walk towards her office. I followed behind, internally panicking about the inevitable punishment that I would be getting because of what I did, not that I regretted a thing, it was totally worth it. 

The minute I stepped into the office, the fog of tension was so thick that if it was real, I wouldn’t be able to see three feet in front of me. Percy, Fred, and George all sat on the other side of McGonagall’s desk, each with their own brand of scowl. I walked over to them, but just far enough away from the brothers to feel comfortable. McGonagall walked behind the desk and sat in her chair, the same color of green velvet as her robes. 

“So does anyone want to explain to me why we’re here, or do I have to do that as well?” Her eyes were accusing, making me yearn to just walk out that door. Of course, Percy spoke up. 

“Earlier this evening, Ms Lestrange stormed into the Gryffindor common room yelling for quote “Weasley.” So by default, I thought of the twins, who are known for causing general trouble and mischief. When I came downstairs with the two, she informed me that the two knocked Cassius Warrington off his broom during a prank the twins pulled at their quidditch practice. When I told her that I would turn the two of them into you, Professor, she proceeded to hex all three of us and leave us in the common room.”

“Thank you. Mr Weasley, now, does anyone else wish to add to the information being presented?” I tried to hold my tongue, but.I couldn’t help it.

“Professor, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but with how high up Cassius was, combined with the paint filled balloons being launched at us, the two of us both fell off of our brooms. I was quick enough to get back on and land safely, but if Cassius hadn’t landed like he did, he could have been seriously injured or worse.” Once I started the sentence, I just couldn’t stop. Fred looked as if he was going to try and say something but George gave him a look that said,’don’t you dare,’ and he stopped in his tracks. 

“Mr’s Fred and George Weasley will both be getting two weeks detention for this, and Ms Lestrange, one week, is that clear?” McGonagall said, clearly not wanting to deal with this any longer. I wanted to argue that two weeks detention was not an equal or fair punishment for near murder but I held my tongue, just wanting to leave. 

“After classes, you will all be reporting to the Transfiguration room, is that clear:” I nodded and so did the twins. The professor dismissed all of us, and I left as fast as I could, not wanting to be near them for longer than I had to. 

I guess I had five hours of the Weasley twins to look forward to tomorrow, absolutely bloody brilliant.

[soldrawss]

Could you please post more of your lovely wholesome Rottmnt content? Your AUs are golden and I’m sure all of us would appreciate, love and cherish anything you give us.

I’m ALWAYS down for posting some ROTTMNT AU content, thank you so much for your sweet words and the chance to bombard you with more of my au stories. (You didn’t specify which rottmnt content so I’m taking artistic liberty and answering with BBM content) He’s another little story I wrote for my Big Brother Mikey AU.  (Zach had asked if Raph ever outgrows Mikey because he’s genetically built like a freaking tank and I not only said yes, but Leo and Donnie eventually outgrow him too, and then this short was born)

So Mikey's not like, TALL by any means. At around 20 he reached his peak height of 5'7, and that was that. But for a good portion of their childhoods, he was the tallest. Only naturally so, since he was the oldest. 

But then the twins turned 16 and hit a goddamn growth spurt and shot up like vines from a fairy tale and effectively outgrew Mikey. Which Mikey saw coming... sorta...

The twins had been around his height for a while, so it wasn't too surprising when the day finally came that Mikey, as he was standing in the kitchen making some scrambled egg tacos, noticed Leo walk up beside him and reach for the stash of chocolate peppermint bark that Mikey had to use a stepstool to stash up on the top shelf, (He hid them up there from their Christmas holiday party because Raph and Donnie had kept eating them to the point of getting sick) and Mikey finally thought, "oh my god, there goes my best treat hiding place". And sure enough, when he forced the twins to stand by the hallway wall, (where they had all their heights measured with color-coded crayon lines, something they used to do as kids with their dad that Mikey didn't really grow out of continuing despite all the times they've moved) the blue and purple lines had overtaken the orange line as the tallest height.

And it was a little bittersweet, Mikey DEFINITELY teared up about it despite Leo and Donnie giving him hugs and teasing him good-naturedly about it, but it was a good bittersweet. Leo and Donnie were growing up. They weren't the fierce and protective kids they used to be, guarded with nervous and untrusting anger that kept cultivating in their unstable childhoods. An anger that was almost seemed second hand, there without them having to reach for it, and Mikey used to lose sleep over hoping that they wouldn't feel like the world was against them forever. He hoped they could be kids for a long as they could be, much longer than he ever had the chance to be. 

They were so small, they'd always been so small. Born a month and a half premature, and tiny in Mikey's already small 7-year-old arms. He figured they'd always be that small, always fit right there, perfectly in the circle of his arms.

They still do, but not in the fearful and sheltered and scared way they used to. Not in the perfect way that made Mikey seem bigger than life, and able to shelter them from the worst of the world’s hurt and pain and cold. 

Now it's with a bounce in their step and a wry smile on their lips and a contented sigh in the mornings on their way to school, and Mikey lifts his arms up because how DARE they think they can just sneak off to do cool teenager things and not give their embarrassingly affectionate big brother a hug goodbye. And they sorta crouch now, bending over so that Mikey can wrap his arms around them, but they do it, and it feels right, and they hug back just as hard and Mikey is thankful they didn't outgrow this. Mikey isn't upset when the twins grew taller than him. But it's a completely different story with Raph. Because Raph was always a big kid. He was a brick as a baby. Round with baby fat and soft cheeks that Mikey used to blow fat raspberries into to make him giggle and no matter how big he got, he was never too big for Mikey to carry around and hold in his arms forever. At least, that's what Mikey thought, anyway. He didn't notice when Raph stopped jumping into his open arms whenever he got home, not at first. Racing like he had something to prove from wherever he was in their little apartment complex to meet Mikey at the door with a tackling hug to Mikey's middle with all the force of a runaway freight train. Mikey never stumbles or falls back from the familiar weight, because he knows, like he knows all the freckles on Raph's nose and all the curls in his baby brother's hair, that he'll always be there to catch him no matter what, so it was never something Mikey was consciously aware of. And sure, maybe he's a little aware of Raph's growth, but again, Raph was always a big kid. Mikey was always buying him new clothes and shoes, because he either ripped or outgrew his old ones, and he never quite fit into Leo's or Donnie’s or Mikey's quite right. It isn't until Raph's in 8th grade, and he's coming home with a note for Mikey to read about him joining the football team as a freshman come the next school year, and the coach want's Raph to do summer training with the rest of the team, that Mikey has to take a step back because WHAT? Raph is a baby, no WAY is he ready to play football what on EARTH is the coach thinking. It isn't until LH, after hearing Mikey complain about it to him later that night, "Because I don't know El. Raph was pretty excited about it, but Football is whole worlds dangerous. Weren't you just telling me last week about the statistics on brain damage and the correlation it has with contact sports like football? And how that damage is permanent? Raph could get hurt, like SERIOUSLY hurt. I don't know WHAT the coach is thinking putting a Freshman on a varsity team," tells Mikey, "Well, I mean, look at him, Mike. Kid's built like a brick wall. He could probably take a few hits better than some of the seniors can," that Mikey finally looks at Raph and REALLY looks at him. Because,,, yeah ok, Raph IS built like a brick wall. 13 years old and suddenly he's a whole head taller than Mikey and about as big as 4 of him and WOAH when did Mikey's baby brother, this kid, HIS kid, the only one Mikey will ever have, the one he raised since he was 12 year's old, and holding to his chest, shielding from a pot of boiling water, get too big to hold to his chest anymore. Too big to shield. And Mikey has to sit down and not have a panic attack because oh no oh god oh no. All his brothers, all his little brothers, that Mikey put his EVERYTHING into raising, providing, protecting, are suddenly not so little anymore. Not so in need of protection anymore. 

Donnie was off in grad school, getting a billion degrees and doctorates because he was smart enough to do everything and anything, and Leo was on a basketball scholarship at NYU, full ride, and he's skating through life on charm and smarts and innate talent to turn everything he touches into gold and Raph is 13, but he's already getting offers to be a centerline guard on a football team at a high school he doesn't even attend yet, and coming home shining bright and brilliant because of it, the same way he comes home after acing a bio test or landing another lead role in his theatre club and suddenly they don't NEED Mikey anymore.  

They don't need him like they used to, and certainly not in a way Mikey needs them. Because they're growing up. Growing into their own people, with their own lives, and it's exactly what Mikey wanted, of COURSE, it is. Mikey used to kill himself, working days and nights and holidays and THEN some, working on borrowed time he didn't give to himself, to make sure that his brothers GOT the opportunity to grow like this. To be the magnificent and amazing people they were always meant to be, despite the situation the world put them in. But Mikey has only ever lived, really, for his brothers. Mikey never let himself have anything. He always gave it to his brothers, freely and willingly. But now that his brothers don't need him anymore, what's there left of Mikey? What was Mikey supposed to do now? Mikey stopped growing at 20, but his brothers kept growing and getting bigger and brighter and outshining the universe, and when Mikey wasn't looking, he thinks they got too big from little him anymore. (Cue an existential crisis from Mikey at age 28, where LH and Raph call Leo and Donnie at college, to come down and have an intervention with Mikey because OF FUCKING COURSE THEY DIDN'T OUT GROW HIM ARE YOU KIDDING??? Mikey will always be their big brother and they'll ALWAYS need him. Maybe not need him the same way they did when they were kids. But they'll still need his weekend phone calls, and daily cat videos sent in the group chat, and kisses to their temples and pillow fights on the nights Leo and Donnie spend a weekend home and warm hugs and warm breakfast casserole and the constant "I love you"’s that wouldn't fill their hearts the same way if it came from anyone other than their big brother. And Leo and Donnie are 21 and are tall enough to be trees, and Raph is 16 and can bench press all of them if he tried, and Mikey will never be taller than his little brothers again. But they'll never be too big for Mikey's hugs or love. They'll never be big enough where they won't need their big brother. Mikey is the only thing that they’ll never outgrow.)