#elder-pride writes good boy gone bad

[qianinterprises]

Summer '78

Pairing | bully!Jeno x chubby!Reader

Warning(s) | bullying, harsh words, cussing, sexual assault, name calling, fat shaming, poor shaming, face slapping, angst, hurtful comments, yelling, the Dreamies are not nice people (I know I did Jaemin wrong, I'm sorry)

Synopsis | Jeno was a bully, and you were his primary victim. Nothing should have changed, but Jeno began getting tired of bullying the girl he was in love with simply because she didn't conform to societies beauty standards. So she was chubby? So what?! His friends didn't see it that was.

Genre | ANGST, retro-flashback

Author’s Notes | So I wrote this a while back for an event of NCTA, which was basically writing a retro fic. This fic is very different than the fics I usually write. For one, it is told in Jeno's perspective rather than the readers. For two, this is a "chubby fic." Meaning the reader is seen in the fic as having a larger body weight, which, may I add here, is not a problem, nor should it ever be. If you are being bullied for anything, please don't let it go unreported. Report it as many times as you have to because bullying is not ok, whether it's done at school, at home, or anywhere else. Also, there is a possibility that there will be a part two, I have had some people (before posting it here) request a part two but I'm on the fence about that, but perhaps a part two will show some change and growth on Jeno's part. So we'll see. Tell me your opinions though! I hope you enjoy~

Word Count | 3.5k

Taglist | @treasuretaeil @hachanbaecon @nschitty

A group of six boys sat around a table talking and laughing until a loud crash resounded through the snack shack that brought their attention to a waitress on the floor, yellow heels scattered behind her, empty tray in her hands and spilled drinks everywhere as well as on a girl by the table the waitress had fallen at.

“Clutz,” one of the boys, Jeno, mumbled, shaking his head.

“Fatass,” Jeno’s best friend, Jaemin responded.

The other four muttered something along the lines of agreement as they watched the waitress cowering on the floor with a bright red face as the girl now covered in cola shrieked about her ruined clothing and hair.

Jaemin got up from his seat angrily.

“What the hell are you doing to my girlfriend!” he yelled, approaching the pair.

“Jaeminnie! She poured soda all over me!” the girl pouted, running into Jaemins arms.

Jeno rolled his eyes.

Jeno shook his head. Out of all of the boys in their biker gang, Jaemin just had to be the most gullible, falling for the Queen Bee of the high school who used him for nothing more than his money and face.

“She ruined my shirt,” Jeno heard the girl whine.

Jaemin embraced her tighter.

“You’ll have to pay for her clothing, fatty!” Jaemin demanded.

The waitress was someone Jeno recognized. (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). She had been one of his best friends when he was a shy ten year old trying to fit in. They both befriended Jaemin and the rest of their group and somewhere along the way, he’d gotten muscular and tall while she’d gotten chubby. With Jeno’s looks, he’d always been popular with girls, but when he became interested in them as more than friends, he’d dumped the girl in favor of girlfriends.

She was a bullied girl wearing outdated clothing that made adequate grades. A nobody. She didn’t fit into any groups. She drifted through high school being shoved against lockers while her books were thrown across the hallway and what little lunch money she had was stolen. More often than not, Jeno or one of the other guys was the perpetrator.

“I can’t…” (y/n) muttered, looking down at the floor.

Jaemin kicked the carrying tray away from her, making the girl flinch.

Something in Jeno’s heart snapped against his chest, but he’d never allow it to escape. He watched tears gather in the corner of the girl's eyes and Jeno fought the urge to pull her to his chest.

Feelings began to stir their first year in high school when he and (y/n) had been seated side-by-side in homeroom and he’d leaned over to tease her about her recent, awkwardly styled hair when he’d met the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

The feelings made his stomach twist in knots and his body tingled. Feelings and sensations that only grew stronger when their skin brushed or when her angelic voice met his ears.

The feelings were what drove him to brash treatment. His hands shoving her shoulders against the lockers as he demanded for her money. Fingers harshly tugging at the ends of her hair. His voice yelling horrible things at her just to hear her speak back.

He couldn’t tell anyone how he was feeling either. Dating the chubby girl would cause him to lose whatever popularity he had obtained along with his pride and his gang. Their leader couldn’t be seen as the weak punk who decided to date the chubby girl from a poor family.

Jaemin sneered down at the blushing girl, taunting her loudly and Jeno watched her feeble attempt at hiding her face.

“Jaemin! Let’s go. Chubby over here isn’t worth our time,” Jeno called loudly, voice filled with authority that had Jaemin immediately moving away from the girl.

“Fine. But she owes us free meals for a week! Those clothes were expensive!” Jaemin whined.

He kissed his girlfriend's cheek and walked to the door to wait on the rest of the gang who were stuffing their last few fries in their mouths or finishing off their milkshakes.

“Let’s roll,” Jaemin called, a grin on his face.

Jeno shook his head at how fast the male changed perspectives. He grabbed his leather jacket off the back of his chair, sliding his arms into it and let it snap against his back.

The last few members finished their plates, leaving them on the table before grabbing their own jackets and following Jaemin out the door. Jeno took the end, stopping by the waitress on the floor.

“Maybe get some heels your fat feet can walk in, huh Dollface?” he sneered.

Her face flew red again and he rolled his eyes.

“And you should stop blushing. You look like a tomato. Vegetables aren’t attractive. Although it’s fitting. Tomatoes are plump.”

He walked out the door without another word, heart hammering painfully in his ears. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but that was a problem. He couldn’t think chubby girls were beautiful. What would his friends think?

The loud purr of an engine met his ears and he sighed happily, most of his regret getting washed away, uprooted by the smell of motor oil and tires.

Jeno’s ride was a cherry red 1960 Harley-Davidson motorcycle with shiny silver wheels that didn’t match the rusted gas tank or muffler that Jeno was now saving to restore among other things. The black leather seat was slightly cracked from wear over the years and the breaks didn’t always work great. His headlight needed a new spark plug and the oil line leaked. Still, with all of these issues, he loved his bike. Each new issue gave him something to work on at night in his father's tiny little garage when all he wanted was grease on his chest and a wrench in his hand.

“Let’s go Jeno! I wanna ride!” Donghyuck moaned from his spot on his own bike, revving the engine with his right hand.

Jeno rolled his eyes at Donghyuck’s whining. Out of all of them, he was the one that loved traveling the most. They’d gone all the way up the coast the day they’d let Donghyuck lead them.

Jeno nodded and threw his leg over his bike, kicking the kick start lever and sighing happily as the bike roared to life beneath him. He pushed off his kickstand and allowed it to roll forward.

“Let’s go!” he called.

He rolled to the front of the group before revving the engine and turning onto the main road leaving the beachside snack shack behind.

~

When Jeno pulled into the driveway of his house, he parked his motorcycle beside his elder brother's black and gold Harley, letting the kickstand rest against the dirt driveway and dismounted..

He made his way into the house where his older brother, Jaehyun, was sitting alone in the living room flipping through channels.

Jeno’s heart hurt. All through the ride, he thought about (y/n) and the pained look in her eyes every time someone teased her. He knew it wasn’t right to bully her, especially for something as shallow as her weight or her clothes, but when the girls Jeno dated began mocking her, Jeno joined in, and pretty soon, she was alone. It hurt that Jeno could have stopped it. He could have kept her as a friend instead of ditching her, and now, here he was, hopelessly in love with the girl he bullied and too afraid to stand up to his friends out of fear that they would dump him.

“I have a problem,” he groaned, flopping down on the couch.

Jaehyun turned the small box television off and turned his attention to Jeno. Jeno rolled his head back on the plush green sofa and sighed.

“There’s this girl I like…” he started.

Jaehyun groaned in disinterest.

“So tell her. Not like you can’t get any girl. I heard you’re one of the kings of your class,” he replied.

Jeno whined. It was true. He could virtually have anyone he wanted, yet the one person he couldn’t have was the one he desired.

“I can’t. My friends wouldn’t approve and she’d never go for me… not after everything I’ve done,” he muttered hopelessly.

“Why do you care so much what your punk friends think? Do what you want, not what they want you to do.”

Jeno sighed. It wasn’t that easy and Jaehyun should know that.

“She’d never go out with me anyway and I can never tell her!” Jeno whined, hoping his brother would understand.

He was far too ashamed to come out and say exactly why she wouldn’t. “There’s girls that don’t like you?” Jaehyun asked, clearly shocked.

Jeno nodded sullenly.

“Just one…”

That seemed to make the links click in Jaehyun’s mind and Jeno wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“You don’t mean you like the poor girl you always bully, do you?”

So Jaehyun knew about that. No wonder his brother had grown distant since Jeno had started high school.

“Um… yes…” he mumbled.

Jaehyun shuffled around on the beige chair he was sitting on before one of his dirty socks was being chucked at Jeno’s head.

“Hey!” Jeno snapped.

“You don’t treat people like that! You and your friends are assholes! That poor girl won’t forgive you for what you’ve done to her!” Jaehyun yelled.

Jeno wanted to yell back, but he knew Jaehyun was right. He was an asshole.

“What do I do to get her to like me… I don’t know how to stop this mess…” he mumbled. Jaehyun groaned and grabbed the large remote, flipping the television back on.

“You make things right. Stop bullying the girl and apologize like you mean it. Even then, it may be too late,” Jaehyun answered before his attention was back into the heavy box television.

Jeno sighed. He knew his brother was right.

~

The next afternoon, Jeno pulled his motorcycle into the parking lot of the snack shack, parking alongside Jisungs rusting brown one he refused to let Jaemin or Jeno strip and repaint.

Jeno dismounted and walked into the shack. His friends were crowded around their usual table, talking loudly.

Jeno walked over to the table and slid into the booth beside Renjun.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

Jaemin was cackling and fishing ice out of his soda glass.

“(y/n) is on our table today!” he smirked.

Jeno’s heart dropped. That meant they’d be extra cruel to her today and Jeno really couldn’t do anything to tell her or his friends how he felt. The universe must really hate him.

Jaemin got the ice out of his cola glass and held it in his palm, his faze shifting to where (y/n) was shuffling around in her red striped shirt and black pants, wearing those same yellow heels.

“What are you gonna-”

Jeno was cut off as Jaemin smirked and launched the ice cube across the table, getting enough air to fly across the room until it dived down into the low cut v-line of (y/n)’s striped shirt.

“Yes! 10 points!” Jaemin cheered loudly.

(y/n) squeaked at the sudden intrusion of ice, a sound that Jeno found oddly adorable, even if it wasn’t a good kind of squeak.

Her face flamed red and she hurried back to put her notepad down on the chef’s counter before moving back to their table.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked, her voice having gone up an octave from embarrassment.

“I want a chocolate milkshake,” Renjun answered.

(y/n) jotted it down and moved to look at the rest.

“I want a burger that’s charred on one side, but not too charred. Don’t bring me burnt meat or I’ll make your fatass eat it,” Jaemin said.

Jeno sighed at his friend, shaking his head subtly.

“I want a burger with a dollop of ketchup and three pickles. Don’t you dare give me any more or less than three pickles,” Donghyuck ordered.

Jeno rolled his eyes. Donghyuck didn’t even like pickles.

She glanced at Jisung and Chenle, both who were contently sipping their cola’s and completely ignoring her existence, so, after scribbling down everyone else’s orders, she turned her eyes to Jeno.

“Coke with ten pieces of ice and a burger.”

(y/n) nodded, writing all of the information down and shuffled off to the counter again.

“Do we really have to be that mean to her? She looked like she was going to cry,” Renjun muttered.

Jaemin rolled his eyes.

Jeno nodded in agreement to Renjun. Her face was sullen and her eyes glistened with tears that hadn’t fallen. His heart sank at the thought that maybe something had happened at home or that their words had finally gotten to her. In all the time they’d been bullying her, she never once said anything much to them, and they’d never seen her cry.

“Do you think we should lay off her?” he suggested.

Donghyuck and Jaemin snorted at the same time.

“Why would we do that?” Donghyuck asked.

Jeno shook his head. His friends could be such assholes sometimes. They wouldn’t even stop for someone that seems to be almost crying, they just use it to play more games. More buttons to press.

“If you’re so worried, Jeno, go check on her,” Chenle challenged.

“Yeah, go check on her!” Jaemin cackled.

Jeno shook his head and sighed, getting out of the booth. He knew very well what they expected him to do, or at least, what they wanted him to do, but he didn’t know if he could take calling her names anymore. Not when it felt like his soul was screaming at him not to.

He didn’t have much of a choice as he made his way over to her, however. He couldn’t control what his friends wanted and what he was obligated to give.

He moved up behind her and while her back was turned, he brought his hand down hard on her butt as his friends cackled loudly from their table. Jeno’s ears burned in embarrassment and guilt. If his mother knew what he’d just done, she’d be dragging him out of the snack shack by his ear.

He didn’t really know what to expect from (y/n). What he didn’t expect however, was her body whirling around rapidly, her hand raising angrily, and the sharp stinging sensation across his cheek.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! I HAVE DONE NOTHING TO YOU, AND YET ALL YOU ARE YOUR ASSHOLE BUDDIES WANNA DO IS BULLY ME! WELL PISS OFF! I DON’T NEED THIS!” she screamed.

Jeno’s eyes widened. This was new…

“YOU ARE A BUNCH OF PUNKASS BOYS WITH NOTHING BETTER TO DO, BUT I SWEAR THE NEXT TIME I HEAR A COMMENT ABOUT MY WEIGHT, CLOTHES, OR HAIR, OR ANYONE TOUCHEs ME, I WILL SHOVE MY FAT FOOT UP YOUR BUTTHOLE!” she screamed angrily.

The cackling from the table had stopped as the boys gaped at their waitress in shock.

“AND YOU IDIOTS CAN GET YOUR OWN DAMN BURGERS!”

The snack shack had gone deathly quiet. Jeno stood as still as a statue, face still stinging, but not quite as painful now. The outburst from this usually quiet and reserved girl shocked him to his very core, but it also made him feel worse. Sure, the ice throwing, name calling, and excessively stupid orders had added fuel to the fire, but it was Jeno’s action that had thrown her over the edge.

“I-I’m… sorry…” he stammered out.

“DON’T SAY SORRY TO ME AFTER THE HELL YOU’VE PUT ME THROUGH!” she screamed.

Jeno’s heart pounded in his chest and his eyes gazed at her fearfully.

“I think it’s time you go home, (y/n), calm down and come back tomorrow,” the owner of the snack shack said, walking out of his office.

(y/n) nodded and let out a sniffle. Jeno didn’t know when she’d started crying. She grabbed the bag the owner handed her before running out of the shack.

“And you, young man. You and your boys get out of my shack. You’re all banned for a week. Come back in here acting like that and you’ll be banned permanently,” he said, eyes fixed angrily on Jeno.

Jeno turned to look back at his gang and sighed, waving a hand for them all to follow.

~

After the incident, Jeno hadn’t felt much like going on a ride with the rest of the gang. They were all perfectly fine, cackling and talking about the outburst, but Jeno couldn’t stomach it. The way she’d screamed. How upset she’d looked. He was done being a bully. Now he just needed to figure out how to go from bully to courting her, if that were even possible.

He parked his bike beside Jaehyun’s again, happy to see his brother was home and not at the rusty body shop he worked at.

He ran into the house, taking the front steps two at a time, and when he was inside, he made his way to the room he shared with Jaehyun.

“I need to borrow your boombox!” he yelled at the male.

Jaehyun, clearly not expecting the sudden intrusion, jumped off the small bed, stuffing the adult rated magazine he’d been “reading” under his mattress. Jeno rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time to find ways to ruin Jaehyun’s relationship with his girlfriend or rat him out to their mother.

“I. need. Your. boom. Box!” he enunciated.

Jaehyun stared at him incredulously.

“Uh… Why?” he asked.

Jeno shook his head angrily and shoved past Jaehyun to siffle through his side of the room searching for the large, heavy, cassette playing boombox his brother had bought a month ago.

“I need it to fix my (y/n) situation!” Jeno explained as he searched.

Jaehyun groaned.

“Movies aren’t real! That won’t work!”

Jeno ignored him. The guy always showed up at the window of the girl he was hoping to impress and the girl always forgave him. It’d work. It had to.

Jeno grabbed the large boombox from beneath Jaehyun’s bed, groaning at the weight. He heard Jaehyun sigh.

“Good luck then.”

Jeno didn’t need it. This would work. It had to work.

~

The ride to (y/n)’s house had proven to be a bit difficult as he struggled to hold the boombox against him. The box was large and heavy, with a small cassette player at the top that already had his chosen tape resting inside it.

The trip over was one of many stops and repositionings in an attempt not to drop the box that could very well make everything alright. He could just imagine her grinning in glee and running down to meet him, forgiving him for everything he’d ever done to hurt her.

By the time he got to her house, dusk was falling. He had maybe ten minutes before darkness engulfed the sky. Ten minutes in which he’d be tasked with making everything better.

He moved around the side of the common two story house and found (y/n)’s window easily. She appeared to be dancing to the music playing from the vinyl record player he could almost see perched by the window. It brought a smile to his lips. She looked so happy and carefree.

He could watch her all night, but he was here for a reason. He had to apologize for everything he’d ever done and confess.

He found a rock likely from her driveway by her window in the grass and picked it up. It was only one so he had to make it count.

He pressed play on the cassette player portion of the boombox and ‘It’s sad to belong’ came flowing out melodically from the speakers.

”Met you on a springtime day,”

He threw the rock hard against her window, flinching as he heard the rock bounce off. He was surprised it hadn’t broken the window.

”You were mindin’ your life and I was mindin’ mine too. The window opened and Jeno’s heart hammered in his chest.

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n)! I am so in love with you it hurts. I am so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you! All the bullying. All the teasing. I’m so sorry. You’re not fat or ugly! You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen! I just couldn’t show it! But I don’t care what my friends think! I love you! I want to be with you! I want to court you! Please forgive me!” he pleaded, not giving the girl a chance to say anything.

When he finished speaking, the song was nearing an end and his body was shaking. The girl looked almost close to tears again and Jeno grew hopeful that in any second, she’d run downstairs and jump into his arms.

“Yes it’s sad to belong to someone else when the right one comes along.”

“You love me huh? Well you have a funny way of showing it,” she sneered.

The window slammed shut and the drapes were immediately dropped, leaving Jeno alone in the darkness of the evening, his hopes dashed across the grass.

He’d waited too long to apologize.

[antebunny]

Continuation of this based on the Maleficent AU over on @angstymdzsthoughts because I write trash when my life is going terribly. 

All his life, Lan Wangji has heard more about his mother than he has actually seen his mother. He and Lan Xichen were taken to see her as many times as they could, but more often than not, it wasn’t safe to be around her. But Lan Wangji heard the other Lans talking about her, sometimes.

“How sad,” the elders would say. “The first not to accept the Grounding.”

On the good days, Lan Wangji’s mother would let him sit on her lap as she combed first Lan Huan’s, and then Lan Wangji’s hair. She would ask about their day, and invariably something Lan Wangji said would make her laugh. But with the good days came the bad days, when Mother flew into a terrible rage and could not be approached by anyone, not even Father, and Father was her fated one. On the bad days, Mother had to be left alone in her house until she calmed down, and no one ever let Lan Wangji go near.

“It’s because of the wings,” Lan Wangji is told. The wings that his mother once had, back when she was a heavenly spirit, the wings that make her want to leave.

“Such a tragic tale,” some of the elders say, shaking their heads. “Such a tragic love the main Lan family faces, generation after generation.”

Mother is never able to accept the binding, and no one knows why. Father performed it correctly, to this everyone swears up and down. Qingheng-jun has always been the pride of Gusu, but he grows increasingly more and more frantic during Lan Wangji’s sixth year, the year that Mother gets sick. Soon, the whole world knows that Madame Lan has a seemingly incurable disease. Before Lan Wangji turns seven, his mother dies. He knows because he never sees his father after that either. He’ll later learn that Father, unable to accept both the loss of his fated one and his own failure, retreated from the world, leaving his sect duties and his children to his younger brother.

“It is the destiny of one of you to find your fated partner in a heavenly being,” Uncle explains to Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, but he doesn’t say it with the same pride and finality that he explains the other rules of the Lans.

Lan Wangji grows up. And though he’ll never admit it, Lan Wangji privately hopes that this destiny is not his to bear. It’s terribly unfair for both the sect duties and the Grounding to fall to Lan Wangji, and consciously he hopes that his older brother does not have to bear both burdens. But privately, somewhere buried deep where Lan Wangji cannot find it or examine it too closely, he hopes fervently that it is not him.

Then he meets a boy with black wings underneath the moon of the Gusu mountains, and his entire world changes.

Wei Wuxian laughs, and Lan Wangji has never heard anything like it before. His great black wings unfurl like ink from a brush, and they effortlessly lift his feet off the roof.

“I’m technically not in the Cloud Recesses,” he points out, silver eyes sparkling with mirth.

Lan Wangji can feel his ears turn a violent shade of red. He withdraws his sword, then, but a single flap of Wei Wuxian’s wings carries him above Lan Wangji’s head. And even then, in the exhilaration and frustration of their first meeting, Lan Wangji hates those wings for taking Wei Wuxian out of his reach. They’re beautiful, his massive crow wings. Each feather is a soft black that shines purple under the right light. Lan Wangji wants to touch them and see if they’re as soft as they look, but he doesn’t dare.

Wei Ying is magnificent, and Lan Wangji can only despair.

-

His brother is the first one to notice.

“Wangji,” he says, one day when he finds Lan Wangji with two bunnies and no explanation. “I’ve noticed that you seem to be spending a lot of time with the crow spirit, Wei Wuxian.”

Not by choice, Lan Wangji wants to say, but he knows it isn’t true, and lying is forbidden. But he doesn’t know what the truth is. He’s unsure, because Wei Ying is unsure. Wei Ying teases, Wei Ying smiles at him so sincerely and says not as pretty as Lan Zhan only to finish with I’m only joking, Lan Zhan! What if it’s not Wei Ying? What if Lan Wangji gets it wrong?

So instead, he says nothing.

His uncle is the second person to notice.

He’s frowning and stroking his beard after the day’s lectures have finished, and he stop Lan Wangji to talk after the other students have all left. “Yunmeng’s Head Disciple, and Sect Leader Jiang’s adopted son,” he muses out loud. “His…rambunctious personality makes me cautious, but he is one of the best cultivators of your generation. I am confident that he will recover from the Grounding.”

Lan Wangji tries to picture Wei Ying’s loud personality being confined to a single room for any period of time.

“Wangji,” his uncle says, when he notices Lan Wangji clenching his fists. The word is at once filled with pride, a warning, and gentler reassurance. “What happened to your mother was a tragedy,” he says, echoing the words of countless elders. “It has never happened before. There is no reason why it should happen again.”

There is no reason why it wouldn’t, Lan Wangji thinks. Still, it hardly matters, in the face of generations of tradition, in the face of his own destiny. There is no denying it: he loves Wei Ying. His next course of action is to perform the Grounding, before Wei Ying returns to Lotus Pier. His uncle expects him to. The elders all expect him to. Even his brother doesn’t understand his hesitation. And yet–

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “Come flying with me!”

When Wei Ying takes him flying, he takes him higher than Lan Zhan has ever gone by sword. Together, they soar over the misty mountain tops of Gusu, past pine forests and heavy clouds. Wei Ying is an single black spot in the blue heavens, but he dwarfs the entire sky, and Lan Wangji, in a place he doesn’t stop to think about, has never lived more in a day.

“Wei Ying,” he says at the end, when Wei Ying sets him gently back on the ground. His tongue is lead in his mouth. He knows what he should say–he should ask Wei Ying to take him to the cave in the back of the mountains, and there, where the wings have no power, he should perform the Grounding. But Lan Wangji looks at Wei Ying, framed by his crow wings in the green fields of Gusu, and all he can think is: Wei Ying loves his wings.

Which is why all that comes out of his mouth is: “Will you marry me?”

-

“Wangji,” Uncle says, and now his name is simply a warning. “You are doing this wrong.”

Lan Wangji bows his head low over the table he is seated by.

“I have left the Grounding to your own prerogatives,” Uncle begins to lecture, further angered by his silence. “I have raised you to be obedient and righteous, but if I must perform the Grounding for you, then I will.”

“No,” Lan Wangji blurts, and his uncle raises an eyebrow. Somehow, he knows that is wrong. His hands are clammy in his lap. “No,” he repeats, in a tone expected from him. “I will perform it. Tomorrow morning.”

“See that you do,” Uncle says. A dismissal.

-

He almost doesn’t.

Wei Ying is sprawled by his side, fast asleep, but his wings are wrapped around Lan Wangji when he wakes up. He rolls Wei Ying over slowly, carefully pulling his hair away from his back. Lightly, he runs his hands over the wings one last time, wings that were softer than he thought they’d be, and then he withdraws Bichen. His grip hasn’t trembled on his sword in years, but it does now.

In the end, it is very simple: Wei Ying loves his wings, but Wei Ying loves him. Surely that is enough. It has been enough for countless generations of Lans.

In the end, it is too simple. Lan Wangji flicks his wrist, and Bichen tears through Wei Ying’s beautiful wings. Wei Ying does not stir. He sheathes his sword and collects the wings reverently. He steps out of the room, long enough to leave the wings on the table, and returns to a devastating surprise:

Wei Ying is gone.

Naturally, the first person Lan Wangji goes to is Lan Xichen, and together they head to the Jiang disciple quarters. Lan Wangji is distressed the whole way, thinking of a Wei Ying who woke up alone, in the dark, missing his wings. He was supposed to be there to explain it to Wei Ying. He was supposed to be there for him.

But Wei Ying isn’t in the Jiang disciple quarters. None of the Jiang siblings are. The other Jiang disciples are still asleep, but when Lan Wangji makes an exception and wakes them up, they have no idea what’s going on. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen split up, but no one Lan Wangji talks to has seen Wei Ying or the Jiang siblings. And when Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen circle back around to the quarters of the first Jiang disciples they talked to, they’re gone.

By the time the sunrise fades into yet another bright day, all of the disciples from Yunmeng Jiang are gone. None of the other guest disciples have seen them, not even the ones awake at that time. It is as if they simply all vanished back up to the heavens without a word, without a single warning.

And Lan Wangji is left reeling in their wake, stunned at the thought that somehow Wei Ying’s Grounding has gone even worse than his mother’s.  

[skellebonez]

How about #6 and 73 for that part of Winterpower's cursed au where Macaque 'asks' Jin and Yin to work for him? - Pixel Anon

Ooooh, an excuse to write the twins? Heck yeah, I'll take that! Hey @winterpower98 here's another Cursed Au fill, I hope you like my take on how this scene could have gone down.

Let’s make a deal shall we?/You’re putting an awful lot of trust in them.

In retrospect, perhaps messing with one of the people that seemed to hang around the Six-Eared Macaque and Monkie Kid on a more than semi-regular basis wasn't the best idea for a fun afternoon. Yin had managed to get out of the scuffle unscathed at the time (except for his pride), but that wasn't exactly the case at the moment...

It happened pretty quickly, they hadn't even been hiding when Macaque got the jump on them. Both Jin and Yin had tried to fight, knowing that if he made chase with actual intent they would be found fast, but of course they were no match for someone who was equal to Sun Wukong himself. He'd centered most of his assaults on Yin, probably because of the aforementioned fun afternoon, and it took little time for him to gain the upper hand he was looking for. For his part Jin looked like he was ready and willing to drop kick the monkey currently holding Yin by the horn and throat. He probably would have too, if he wasn't worried that Macaque would be fast enough to actually hurt Yin even more before he would be able to land a blow. Instead he grit his teeth, looking angrier than Yin had ever seen him before in their lives.

"Fine!" Jin yelled, clutching his fist. "Fine, what do you want from us?"

Macaque looked between the two, smirking more than a little wide. Yin knew he had really messed up when he saw Macaque come to Mei's aid, but nothing had scared him more than him looking victorious.

"Alright," Macaque growled out, a half chuckle following quickly. "Now, you both better listen to me."

"Hard not to when you're right next to my fa-ACH!" Yin yelped as Macaque yanked on his horn. "Right, sorry, listening. Listening really good!"

"Good," Macaque said, smirk lowering into something less victorious and more 'I have won and you know it', if that made any sense to anyone not one of the Gold and Silver Demons. "Let's make a deal, shall we?"

"What kind of deal?" Jin asked after a pause, watching the hand still around Yin's throat cautiously. "You want us to do something for you?"

"Work for me."

"Work!?" "For you!?" Jin and Yin said in tandem, staring at the much more powerful demon as he let up on his grip on Yin's throat, but not his horn. That he kept in a very tight hold.

"I have my reasons," Macaque explained preemptively, though it wasn't much of an explanation at all really. The twins decided in a look at each other it was best not to question it for the moment. "It won't be particularly hard work, either. You do a few things for me every once in a while, like keeping an eye on the Monkie Kid and not fighting him or his friends." The last part was said darkly, like a very thinly veiled threat.

Oh yeah, Yin had struck a nerve apparently. Oh boy... the rumors about Macaque being close to the Monkie Kid were no joke after all.

"And uh... what's in it for us?" Jin chanced to ask. It was only common sense, to ask what you could get in return for a job after all.

"How about you don't go home with a missing horn each?" Macaque growled with his smirk back in full force, sending a shudder down Yin's back. "But, to be fair... Wouldn't it be worth it to say you have the Six-Eared Macaque on your side? Among other things."

And that gave the twins pause. Sure, the threat was one thing. But... if word got round that they had it in good with the Six-Eared Macaque... and this would be a perfect excuse to implement Calabash 2.0 (now without the Calabash itself needed). They'd had plans to just mess with MK but hands on experience messing with him? Free of any real danger since he was also in good with Macaque? Well, that sounded like a good time just handed to them on a silver platter!

Step 1: Join Macaque. Step 2: Mess with Monkie Kid.... they still didn't have a step 3.

Yeah, it was a little weird but that was their hobby at the moment!

Not to mention those... other things.

"You know what? OK," Yin answered first, taking the initiative over his elder brother. "We'll take the deal."

----------

"Hey, MK!" Yin smiled as he wrapped one arm around shorter human's shoulder. "Why the glum face? Aren't you happy, kid?"

"You get to hang out with us!" Jin chimed in, wrapping his arm around the other shoulder.

"Not really..." MK muttered, for all the world looking like the very uncomfortable middle to a Gold and Silver Demon Sandwich.

Macaque watched on from the roof of a nearby building, more than ready and willing to jump in and kick the twin's asses if need be. But so far nothing had been too bad. It honestly... lifted a little bit of tension off his shoulders that he hadn't realized was weighing him down so harshly. Not by much, but noticeable enough.

Noticeable enough especially when someone else's weight replaced it around his shoulders.

"Peaches," Macaque greeted softly.

"Macaque," Wukong returned less softly, watching the mismatching trio as they met up with a very excited Mei. "You're putting an awful lot of trust in them. That's-"

"Odd, I know," Macaque agreed, watching as Mei punched Yin hard enough in the shoulder to knock him over and rush to his side to help him up. It seemed his assumption that she would take to them in her own way wasn't far off. "You don't have to tell me that. And I don't trust them completely."

Not yet. Maybe never.

But it was better to have more demons on their side than against them.

[vrishchikawrites]

About YZY leaving YMJ/JFM with her kids Post-WWX Arrival

Dear Dee, feel free to delete or ignore this or post it, whatever floats your boat. This just stuck in my head after those posts and I had to blurt it all to someone. Thanks for taking the time to read my word vomit.

So I had to do this instead of an ask because it got long and I wasn't sure how many asks it'd need or how short I could cut it down without losing parts of the argument. And then other things came up as I was writing and, well.  Well..... >_>;;;; 

But you know, after that post/ask you had about YZY fics saying 'Fuck U' to YMJ/JFM & leaving both with her kids, I had a sarcastic 'yeah right' attitude about it. Mainly due to a lot of negation emotions to such an abusive (and delusional) bitch, partly due to how she wouldn't do that since it doesn't seem to be something her sort of character would consider either because she'd think of it as 'losing' (losing what, IDK, it's why I consider her type of person crazy) or she legit wouldn't think about such a viable action.

But then later, in the shower, I seriously went 'Wait, she can't fucking do that' and it wouldn't be about how MXTX uses her as a part of the narrative but entirely about the/their culture in the novel; the actions that have and would be taken in response; and her entire toxic personality as well.

1) We already know that the sects and the cultivation world in general is sexist, elitist and so Capital T 'Traditional' to the point that it's starting to petrify and any deviancy from this is an exception rather than the norm. YZY might be a madame of a great sect (for what that's worth considering how shit of a madame she's been and the titles she's chosen for herself) but she's still a woman even with her high rank and the things she's personally accomplished.

Even if she was in her rights to leave a 'bad' marriage, she'd be the one who'd get scolded more instead of JFM by her natal family, her former husband's family and by their entire society at large even if she had a few singular supporters. Because That's Not How Things Are Done in their society and I do believe that such a thing was rare even when it was accepted method by the upper echelons. Especially since it would have to be done by more than YZY simply deciding that She Wants Out and just- goes and Gets Out. With no serious allegations that would allow her to divorce or separate from YMJ/JFM without the input from her family, JFM's family and, I think, possibly some measure of compensation as well. And no, having or bringing in a 'bastard child' is not a serious enough offence for such a humongous decision. I think something more along the lines of treason or crimes against multiple, high-ranking parties would be more along the lines. Maybe.

And even if she does this, she'd be considered 'Used Goods' (such a terrible comment) and there'd be no other good/proper marriage prospects for a divorced woman with children let alone a woman like YZY with her entire abrasive personality and attitude put off even easy-going JFM.

(If she'd been widowed then it'd be more forgiven but I consider that a Real Bad End since, IMO, it would lead to the sudden and inevitable decline of YMJ either via mass exodus of disciples and/or residents of LP; being merged with another sect due to it's unstable leadership; or create an internal political war 'cause I bet you anything that the YMJ Elders/relatives (if they have any) Would Not Want YZY in charge of YMJ when she's already proven herself such a shit betrothed let alone madame.)

2) Speaking of families, while YMJ/JFM/LP as a whole might be glad to see YZY's back, I don't think her natal sect, MSY, will be glad to see her come storming back after all the effort they put into getting that particular marriage alliance with YMJ. And if she brings her children with her? Oh man, oh boy- mother or not, that could be considered as kidnapping or line theft (is that a thing?) especially if YZY is also seriously considering divorce proceedings and raising them as Yu and not Jiang. That could give leave to, for anyone more unforgiving and maybe JFM if he's pushed enough, disown both JYL and JWY from the Jiangs through no fault of their own (though I'm sure YZY would make it so as well as blame JFM for her own decisions and mistakes).

Therefore, any inheritance or benefits they might gain for being legitimised children of a great sect are forfeited. JYL will likely lose that betrothal with JZX because JGS will drop it like a hot potato and JWY won't be a sect heir because YZY literally decided to remove that by deciding to raise JWY as a Yu, no matter their blood relation to JFM. They leave him, they leave YMJ and everything attached with it. Which is if YMJ/JFM doesn't demand MSY to give back their heir/ess and to punish YZY for her actions. Or send all three of them back for the appropriate reactions/decisions.

Their society would demand no less in reaction because, to them, it would seem like YZY had gone mad and JFM would look weak (or weaker) and imply that YMJ is vulnerable and exploitable if JFM doesn't do something in response to her actions. That's not even getting into what the other smaller sects may try to do in an attempt to curry favour with YMJ or what LLJ or QSW would try in order to destroy or diminish YMJ. And whether JFM chooses to demand his children back or not, it may not change the fact that this may give him reason enough to choose a nephew or niece to be the new sect heir especially if, even after getting rid of YZY's poisonous influence, JWY grows up to be his mother's child more than his father's or even his own person.

Either way, such a thing would bring great backlash on YZY, and MSY as well as the collateral. No one would want to give face to her or her children because it would bring up some very uncomfortable questions and scenarios to the other sects- specifically, what would happen if the female members of their clans/sets decided to follow the footsteps of YZY and leave with their children and heirs. Especially if they use it as an excuse to leave for their own comfort and whims and not some legitimate wrongs and dangers. That would create some more restrictions on women thanks to YZY

3) And lastly, if any one of those idiot YZY stans think that she'd ever give up the status of being a madame of a great sect they'd be as crazy or crazier than her. YZY is all about status and power and face. Specifically, her status, power and face and how people in her reach reflect her or 'insult' her. She is a selfish, terrible, abusive and toxic person and can only see people in regards to how they would benefit her and the elevation of her and in no other way. Especially her family. They cannot be their own person, they can only be an extension of her and gods forbid they go against her.

We can see this in how she treats the people she supposedly loves. JFM? Arguments day in, day out along with accusations and slander of cheating, having one(1) supposed 'bastard' and being 'in love' with CSSR. Which all seems sus as hell. And that's when she's actually there and not out 'night hunting'. Even her 'training' seems to border on unhelpful rather then helpful if my vague recollections of juniors fainting from exhaustion can be relied upon (please call me out if they're not or find proof).

JYL? Berated by not being 'strong' but not helped at all to be 'strong'. It doesn't help that YZY seems to believe in the same standards strength in their society- that is, of martial masculine strength which does not and should not apply to JYL who has been said to be sickly. Which means h should have been learning a different way of cultivation/fighting anyway.  If that was something she wanted and had been offered in the first place- which I doubt. That isn't even getting into her repeated generational trauma mess of a betrothal which was decided only by those 'sworn sisters', accepted by her as a way out of her terrible home life and puts her squarely within reach of JGS who we know to be a womaniser, rapist, predator and a possible ephebophile considering we don't know the exact age of his youngest 'conquest' or the age of MZY's mother when they met which could be anywhere from 14 to 21.

JWY? Gods, so much meta on him and his(non-) relationships with his parents that I don't think I can contribute more to it. It's been all said and done. Unless people want me to stir the pot by saying that, maybe, just maybe, YZY resents JWY as much as she 'loves' him.Either because he's her son and yet never manages to 'accomplish as much' as WWX or because he's a boy and therefore, more benefits and allowances than a girl/woman- more than anything that YZY ever got without either a fight or screaming at someone about. *shrug*

So, in conclusion to this sudden an unexpected essay that I wrote(I'm so sorry about that, I thought it would be shorter -.-;;;;), YZY leaving YMJ/JFM with her kids? Impossible. Not without some sort of personality transplant or a complete AU. She's too prideful, too bitter, too angry, too everything negative and little positive. She's a resentful product of the values and restraints of her society taken to the extreme negative with a willingness to inflict her pain on others to an abusive degree. But she's also too obsessed and reliant on those same values and restraints to keep up the image of her status. So her? Giving those up? You'd be more likely to see WRH as a doting grandfather than that.

---

Dee - All of this is true and yes YZY leaving YMJ is highly unlikely. While there will be consequences if she decides to leave, she does canonically lives separately from her husband. They seem to be in a situation where they are married but living separately, which was a common way to end a marriage (at least in spirit) back then. She essentially had all the perks of being Madam Jiang but fulfilled none of the responsibilities.

Afaik, her training the Jiang disciples is a donghua thing? I may be wrong but I recall she spent most of her time nighthunting.

As for taking her children along with her- that's completely impossible. At that point, children were the property of the father. She could leave but she would've never been allowed to take JC.

[satsuma-saturn]

Hey how are you?

Can you please write a hc where the brothers have a huge fight one day and when they go to see how mc are before hear and see everything, they're surprised bc mc doesn't seem to be affected by that, and when one of the brothers ask why they aren't scary they are just "believe me or not, I've seen way worse back in my house" and then the boys just try to fight less bc they want mc to have a good experience with the concept of family, since they don't have this

(I'm really sorry if it don't make sense)

A/N: As someone who gets triggered around yelling and fighting, this was therapeutic to write. I just imagined MC growing up with their parents screaming at each other daily and just fighting, which is low-key what I grew up with. Sorry if they seem a little too similar or if this isn’t exactly what you wanted, I’ve just been sitting on this for way too long. ALSO I didn’t include Mammon, Asmo, and Beel b/c I couldn't think of a situation with them fighting anyone else, so that’s why they don’t exist in this HC. Not that they aren’t capable, I’m just having a small brain moment. I’m just not entirely happy, but I have rly bad writer’s block and need to post it. Anyway, enjoy!

Warning(s): fighting (arguing), screaming/yelling

The Brothers’ Reactions to MC not Being Affected by Their Fighting (Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan, Belphegor)

Lucifer

It wasn’t unusual for him to have some sort of spat with one of his younger bothers, sorry, brothers

More often than not, it was Satan or Belphie, since they seemed to have some vendetta against him

Or he was simply yelling at Mammon about some overdue, unpaid bills

Maybe even Asmo, for bringing uninvited guests into the House of Lamentation

Yet, the fight earlier in the day was worse than usual

There was a screaming match between all of the brothers over something trivial

Afterwards, the eldest had wandered the house, in search of you

Upon finding you, he was surprised to see that the fight had not terribly affected you

When questioned, you reveal to him that it isn’t an unusual thing for you to hear, especially

He frowns at this new information, perturbed that you’ve had to listen to this at home

So, he makes an effort not to scream at his brothers so much, especially while you’re around

His pride would never allow you to know how that affects him, though

Leviathan

It was definitely Mammon

Once again, Mammon had taken money from his younger, otaku brother, and Leviathan isn’t having it

Now, the three of you are in the sitting room, with Levi unleashing his anger upon Mammon, who is at your side

You sat there, listening to it all

Mammon was defending himself, meanwhile, Levi was trying to get his money back from the elder brother so that he would be able to buy some limited edition Ruri-chan figure

After dinner, you were in your room, working on homework that you had been procrastinating on for too long, as you didn’t want to do it

Your DDD buzzed and lit up, indicating a message

It was from Levi

He was asking you to come to his room

Putting aside the unwanted homework, you immediately decided to head over to the otaku’s room

As usual, it was dark, and Levi sat on the floor, controller in hand

When you approached him, he silently handed a controller to you, without even as much as a glance in your direction

You thanked him, for both the controller and the silent apology, even if the fight had not affected you much

Satan

Once again, Beelzebub had eaten the brothers out of house and home

Satan was getting sick and tired of it

Every time it was his turn to cook, he’d check the pantry and fridge, only to discover that everything was gone

There was literally no one else it would be, other than Beel

Now, he’d have to go to the store before dinner, or there would be nothing to eat

No matter how many times he told his younger brother to stop eating everything, he still did it anyway

He was starting to get heated, not wanting to spend his hard earned money on food that they’d have, had it not been for his glutton of a brother

That’s it.

Stomping up the stairs and down the hall, he kicked open the door of the twins’ bedroom, to you sitting on Belphie’s bed, chatting with the twins

Your mouth opened in shock at the ruined state of the door, but he paid no mind

Instead, he stood in the doorway, unleashing his wrath on Beel

Belphie clapped his hands over your ears, but you could still hear the fourth oldest, loud and clear

After his tirade, his emerald eyes swung to you, Belphie’s icy hands still over your ears

He said something to you, but you couldn’t hear him

With a visible sigh, he disappeared from the doorway, leaving the three of you in a stunned silence

Later, you were in your room, when your door creaked open

It was Satan, coming in to apologize for his earlier outburst

You told him not to worry about it, since you were used to it

He simply stood and stared at you, unsure of how to apologize or even react

Of course, he felt awful about it

But later on, you found a new book in your bookbag, with a written apology inside the front cover

Belphegor

It does not take much for this demon to get pissed off and want to fight someone

If anything, he would most likely be fighting Lucifer, given how much they’re at each other’s throats

Lucifer was pissed that Belphie was caught skipping class yet again

So, you sat, listening to Lucifer lecture the sleepy demon, though he was relatively calm, for his temperament

Belphie wasn’t having it, though

Instead, he starts arguing back, eventually escalating the situation to an all out fight

Even though you were meant to be studying with him, there was no way you could be in that situation anymore

Though you were used to it, you didn’t feel the need to sit there and listen to the yelling

Later on, you located Belphie in the planetarium

He had been napping, but woke up as soon as you stepped in, which was highly unusual for the Avatar of Sloth

You sat next to him, and he pulled on you, wrapping his arms around you

He nuzzled into your neck, whispering a quiet “sorry”

Though he didn’t say anything else, you knew what he was apologizing for

Before you could even reply, he was already asleep

“It’s okay, I’m used to it…”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Play date with the Lans and Nies! Except it's Nie Mingjue training with little Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen painting with Nie Huaisang! Baby brothers getting crushes!!!! Adorable all around!!!!!

Lan Xichen had been told several times not to expect that things would be the same as they’d been the last time he’d visited Qinghe and the Unclean Realm.

It was unusual that he’d visited before at all, in fact; usually, the heirs to the Great Sects were raised very firmly in their own traditions before allowed to venture out to meet any others – often only in their teenage years, when they were wise enough to learn from others without losing the core of their ancestor’s teaching. But his uncle had been friends with old sect leader Nie, personal friends in addition to being allies, and so he’d had the chance to visit once before, a few years back.

He’d enjoyed that visit. 

He’d been very young, younger than Lan Wangji was now – sometimes he felt he was still younger than Lan Wangji, who was not quite nine years old but very solemn about it – but Nie Mingjue was very nice to him, showing him around and playing games with him very earnestly as if he hadn’t had any friends at all.

It didn’t feel at all like the older boy had been humoring him. They’d even gotten in trouble with their parents together, having tried to switch their baby brothers around so that old Nie would stop complaining about his child’s low vitality and Lan Xichen’s Uncle could have some peace and quiet from Lan Wangji’s very effective lungs at last.

Things would be different now, of course.

Lan Xichen was nearly thirteen years old, on the verge of adulthood (in the technical sense, anyway), but Nie Mingjue…

Nie Mingjue was already Sect Leader.

(It puzzled Lan Xichen a little, how someone he remembered as being only a few years older than him could have so quickly shot into the ranks of real adulthood – were there really six years between them? It didn’t seem possible, but then again, he had spent his childhood visit looking up at Nie Mingjue from a great distance...)

It was Nie Mingjue, not old Nie, who greeted them at the door, and who sat with Uncle in the study to drink tea and talk politics. And when he was done with that, he had to go and deal with sect business, first a table full of papers that Lan Xichen would never be allowed to look at and then a hall full of people asking questions and after that he had to lead saber training for the Nie sect disciples.

It wasn’t until right before bedtime in Gusu that Lan Xichen was able to find time to talk to his friend.

“You look tired,” he said, and Nie Mingjue smiled a little, nodding in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Nie Mingjue rubbed his eyes. “Can you spend some time with Huaisang tomorrow? I haven’t had as much time for him as I’d like, these past few days, and he’s only just barely started being able to handle being away from me for a few hours without going into a panic.”

“Certainly,” Lan Xichen said, and a beautiful idea appeared in his brain. “And I’ll send Wangji to you, of course.”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him.

“We did always say they’d make a good trade,” Lan Xichen said, and smiled when Nie Mingjue laughed.

-

The next morning, Lan Xichen told Lan Wangji that his duty for the day was to go and help Sect Leader Nie with whatever he needed, which Lan Wangji accepted with a deep, solemn nod that suggested he was preparing to go to war.

“It won’t be that bad,” Lan Xichen coaxed. “It’s only Mingjue-xiong. Don’t you remember when he came to visit Gusu a few years back? You sparred with him a few times, and later –”

Lan Wangji’s ears abruptly turned bright red and he shook his head furiously to forestall any further commentary. Lan Xichen pressed his lips together to keep from laughing; Lan Wangji had had the most adorable crush on Nie Mingjue in those days.

“You know,” Lan Xichen said innocently, “given that it’s morning, I think you’ll probably find Mingjue-xiong at the training grounds…”

Lan Wangji was gone faster than the wind.

Still chuckling, Lan Xichen went to go find his own charge. Nie Huaisang had been sick with allergies during part of their visit to Gusu, staying inside so he wouldn’t make them worse, so Lan Xichen hadn’t had much of an impression of him – he remembered a little dumpling, a round face with a vivacious smile and an awful lot of giggling, a sunny contrast to Lan Wangji’s natural seriousness.

The shy, skinny child that flinched away from him and hid his face away behind a fan wasn’t anything like the child he’d remembered.

Nie Mingjue had said something about Nie Huaisang having developed a tendency to have brief attacks of heightened panic, Lan Xichen remembered, which were worsened if he couldn’t lay eyes on his elder brother for any extended period of time. He must be afraid of losing his brother the way he’d lost his father, which Lan Xichen could understand – the painful memory of being told his mother wasn’t there anymore still stung bitterly anytime he let himself think too much about it, and it’d been years, not months.

(Nie Mingjue’s visit had been the only thing that had managed to lift Lan Wangji’s gloom after the death of their mother, and Lan Xichen would be forever indebted to him for that. Even if he’d never tell him the exact reason – Lan Wangji would immediately expire out of sheer embarrassment if he ever did.)

“I’m going to be spending time with you today,” Lan Xichen announced, and Nie Huaisang looked more resigned than anything else, turning his head gloomily to look at where his saber was sitting in its proper place. “How do you feel about painting?”

Nie Huaisang paused and very slowly turned his head back to look at Lan Xichen suspiciously. “…real painting?”

“With ink and colors and everything,” Lan Xichen promised. He knew that Qinghe Nie tended to believe that physical exercise was a good antidote to grief, but he’d personally found that art worked better for him as an escape – maybe the same would be true for Nie Huaisang. “We can go paint some landscapes. Or maybe we can see if we can find any birds?”

There were a lot of birds in Qinghe, and all different types, too. It was as if every time Lan Xichen turned his head, there was a new explosion of feathers in some new configuration.

“I like birds,” Nie Huaisang murmured, his voice very soft.

“We’ll keep an eye out for any we see, then,” Lan Xichen said enthusiastically. “If we can catch one, I’ll convinced your brother to let you keep it.”

Nie Huaisang’s face brightened, and Lan Xichen was sure it wouldn’t be hard to convince Nie Mingjue to let his brother keep a few animals, not if he could see that smile. “Really? I can keep one at home?”

“Really.”

“It’s safe now?” Nie Huaisang asked, hopping off the bed to go put his hand in Lan Xichen’s.

Lan Xichen thought that was an odd question, but nodded again. “We’ll buy a nice bronze cage in the market,” he said, thinking that Nie Huaisang might be worried about cats or something – another notable feature of Qinghe. Stray cats everywhere. “That’ll keep it safe.”

“Steel is better,” Nie Huaisang said as Lan Xichen led him out. “Bronze will bend if a fist hits it hard enough; it won’t protect whatever’s inside.”

“Steel it is, then,” Lan Xichen said. He’d only thought that bronze would match the décor of Nie Huaisang’s bedroom; steel would clash and ruin the feng shui. “Maybe plated in bronze?”

“That works!”

-

“I’m a Sect Leader now,” Nie Mingjue told Lan Wangji, who was standing at attention better than some of the adult Nie sect disciples. “What I need right now are good lieutenants. Are you capable?”

Lan Wangji nodded firmly.

“It won’t be that interesting,” Nie Mingjue warned him. “If you think you’ll get bored and want to wander off –”

“I won’t,” Lan Wangji said, and there was a note of determination and pride in his voice that made Nie Mingjue want to pick him up with one arm and give him a hug the way he’d done in the past.

He didn’t, of course. For one thing, it’d be beneath his dignity as a Sect Leader to so causally embrace a child from another sect – or anyone, for that matter; for another, Lan Wangji had always had a great deal of pride for a child, and Nie Mingjue had long ago figured out that the best way to deal with pride was to offer respect where it was due.

“Very well then,” Nie Mingjue said. “I will count on you.”

Lan Wangji lifted his head and clenched his fists, his eyes shining, and his expression only became more and more happy (in that barely-noticeable way he had) when he realized Nie Mingjue was giving him tasks that actually needed doing, rather than merely filling the time to entertain him.

Nie Mingjue wouldn’t have done the latter regardless – he’d always disdained the idea of condescending to a child like that – but as a matter of fact he did need the help: someone to write things down as he made decisions, to survey things and report back to him what he saw, to arrange that he would have fresh ink before he noticed he was out, to put signatures on things that needed to be signed once Nie Mingjue had approved the idea, to inconspicuously serve tea during important political discussions while keeping enough of an ear out to be able to remind Nie Mingjue of everything that had been discussed later…

His advisers were right; he really did need a deputy. Possibly several of them, if he couldn’t find one competent enough to serve alone.

“Wangji,” he said towards the end of the day, and Lan Wangji looked up at him from where he was faithfully copying out one of the letters that needed to go out before the end of the day. He was barely tall enough to sit properly at the table, but his calligraphy was perfect. “You helped me a great deal today. Well done.”

Lan Wangji nodded and looked back down to finish off the letter, only the redness of his ears revealing his embarrassment.

They went down to the entrance to meet Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang, who were returning from their outing for the day – Nie Huaisang was clutching a giant bird cage covered in a cloth, with a smile that almost looked like the one from last year, from before, and Lan Xichen had paint splattered on his face and white clothing.

“Do I want to know?” he asked Lan Xichen dryly as he gestured for the two children to greet each other, but Lan Xichen only laughed.

“I promised him he could keep whatever we found,” he said with a smile. “Also, Huaisang has some paintings he wants to show you. If you like them, you might consider hanging one up in your office.”

He will hang them all up no matter how ugly they are, Nie Mingjue decides immediately. He doesn’t say that out loud, merely nods and says, “We’ll see, then.”

“How was Wangji?” Lan Xichen asked. “He didn’t bother you, did he?”

“Don’t be absurd, Wangji’s a good boy,” Nie Mingjue said. “And an excellent deputy. If he wasn’t your brother, I’d try to steal him away from you.”

“He might like that,” Lan Xichen said, looking at Lan Wangji fondly. “Maybe when he’s a little older, I can send him here for a season, to improve his cultivation –”

Lan Wangji didn’t do anything as crass as nod furiously, but his expression showed distinct signs of interest; he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to Nie Huaisang, who was rambling into his ear.

“And perhaps I’ll send Huaisang to the Cloud Recesses for your uncle’s teaching,” Nie Mingjue replied, mildly hopeful – it was out of the question right now, with Nie Huaisang only sleeping through the night half the days in the week and never when he was on his own, but it would be nice, in the future. He thought that his younger brother would enjoy the serenity of Gusu.

“– and then we caught a bird, look!” Nie Huaisang concluded, pulling the cover off the birdcage.

Nie Mingjue glanced over, then did a double-take and stared.

“Xichen,” he said, with admirable restraint. “Did you actually promise that my brother would be allowed to keep a vicious flesh-eating hawk?”

“There’s no way a hawk is that small,” Lan Xichen said. After a second of observing Nie Mingjue’s face, he added, a little weakly, “…right?”

[percydarling]

I'll be honest,if the weasley kids had a tv show I would have percy as my favourite. Bill aand charlie arent in it so I wouldnt have an opinion (they're obviously hinted at but never there) Arthur's gonna annoy me kinda, molly is really nice but she always compares her kids. Ron (as lovely as he is) can be really mean to percy and just sucky to him. I love Ginny but everyone knows jk made her because "girl power= not feminine traits!1!1!1!" I love her,I love her love for quidditch but I feel like I still clearly see what she represents and that's jks sentiments (like cho for example, as an asian it's never gonna leave my mind). The twins would be great in theory but 2 twins insulting their older brother, burning a hole through their brothers tongue? Pranking everybody ALL THE TIME? I say I love them but seriously if I studied at hogwarts I would loathe them because hey, were in class- prank somebody in a more boring one or after. Also they're way too mean to percy.

Percy is the kinda dude I'd identify with, I hate how his family shames him alot. Sure hes ambitious but at the same time I hate when they bully him for his pride in his prefect badge and his head boy badge, like CMON! Gryffindor traits??? PRIDEFUL like yeah hes gonna be happy because he feels accomplished. I remember getting into model un and I talked about it at dinner time,my siblings got kinda annoyed but did they insult me abt it? No! They understood that this was a big part of my pride. They teased me a little "Haha model un-er" or "your rooms the country your representing right? Oops I dont have my passport" regular happy sibling stuff. You dont insult your brothers pride and joy, it's obvious hes so happy about it.

If there's gonna be a show on the Weasley family, the only interestee Weasley I would be watching is for Percy. Now let's go through every Weasley.

Arthur- at work, never home, if at home in shed exploring muggle things instead of probably bonding with his children.

Molly-would do chores, help children and maybe chat with next door neigbour. A slight chance of bonding with kids. Not very entertaining really.

Bill and Charlie- I mean depends whether they're even there or gone. If they're there they'd probably argue with each other. Maybe we'll get the Bill earring story and Charlie dragon obsession. Other than that maybe sibling bonding which is always good.

Twins- I cannot emphasize enough as to why I wouldn't watch the twins, if there was such a tv show. Each episode they'll probably prank someone most probably Ron and Percy. And then these pranks would get violent and physical and they would still be the saints and Percy the villain.

I mean the twins cause Ron's phobia, almost make him take the Unbreakable Vow (Ron was 5!) and then beat his Puffskein to death.

AND PUFFSKEIN IS AN ANIMAL.

And that's only Ron. If I start on Percy the jokes are endless but let's just end with the twins tried to locked Percy in a pyramid( God knows how old!). Enough said.

Ron- We already have Ron content in the book. Do we really need more? Yes we do but not if it's Ron insulting Percy. And if this show was before Harry and Hogwarts then Ron would be a young child like 9-10 years old and I personally wouldn't be interested. I love Ron but he loses absolutely no moment to insult or bitch about his brother. Plus Ron is whiny. Sometimes.

Ginny- They'll probably make her a Mary Sue who can do no wrong. They would seriously do that and make her a female version of the twins. Sorry not interested in watching her.

When we come to Percy there are so many things we can do. We can see bonding with Bill or Charlie. Percy being a good older brother and helping with nightmares. Percy being his mother's support system. Percy helping Arthur with his work. Percy teaching Ron chess. Percy planning a prank with twins. Percy playing dolls with Ginny.

With Percy you can relate him to everyone in some way or another. We know Molly loves Percy and probably considers him her favorite. Probably. Arthur with the Ministry so Percy and Ministry. Percy going to Bill with help for studies. Percy helping Charlie research about dragons.(Percy telling Charlie his dormmate is crazy about quidditch and asking if Charlie could give him tips and an autograph)

Percy playing chess with Ron. We know Percy is protective over Ron and Ginny. So we can assume that Percy teaches Ron chess and helps him read. Percy reading to Ginny about Harry Potter.(Really though who else would have? Molly would be busy and Bill and Charlie wouldn't)

Or we can have Percy writing stuff. Short stories and articles. Percy being a writer. Percy singing , dancing or drawing. Percy sneaking to Muggle town and talking to them.

Percy finding Scabbers.

Percy going to the Lovegood residence and talking with Luna's mother because she is such an amazing person.

(And taking her death the hardest)

Also Percy bonding with Luna.

Percy bonding with Uncle Billius or Great Aunt Muriel. Also reminsing time with Uncle Gideon and Fabian.

Percy having babysitter called Lily Potter who looked just like him but with bright green eyes. She reads to him about adventure stories and tells him she loves him very much and once brought her husband with her(who's an animagus!)

(While his brothers rejoiced the fall of You Know Who, Percy cried because Miss Lily and Mr James were dead. That was the time Percy realised that bad things happen to good people)

Well to put it in short there are so many angles with Percy which makes him interesting in my opinion.

If they do make let's hope they don't screw Percy over like they did with him in that damn game.

Also for that Percy interacting with Muggles there's an interesting fanfic called Percy's Diary.

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/7542632/1/Percy-s-Diary

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Percy is the only Weasley who I can relate to which makes me love him more. I am an elder sibling, have been constantly insulted by family and friends for following rules and very rarely been put down for being excited for something.

And the whole making fun of Percy is bullying when they're laughing at him and not with him.

These 2 prepositions make all the difference when it comes to teasing and bullying.

And the twins are bullies. They are.

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy? You should've said something, we had no idea."

This is one of the lines they say.

How much do you want to bet that the twins didn't say something like this to Bill when he became prefect and HeadBoy?

Percy was a constant butt of their jokes and pranks, including bewitching his prefect and Head Boy badges to read Pinhead and Bighead Boy respectively, and sending dragon dung to his office at the Ministry.

This is from the official wikia. People can try to make the twins saint and say it was all good natured and everything. But I will always see the twins as bullies.

And the thing is the twins and Ron never bothered to praise Percy and that just feels wrong. Everytime they talk about Percy it's qn insult. When I talk about my brother to an acquaintance I don't insult him unlike Ron.

I feel that as Percy fans we love him because he is complicated. He isn't like the rest of the Weasleys. He isn't charming or funny. He's just a normal guy trying to do better and Percy fans get it because it's relatable. We can relate to being ordinary. He doesn't have earrings or pranks or a saviour best friend. He's just a guy who follows rules and wants to be successful. Who wouldn't relate with that?

And maybe some of us have been ridiculed just like Percy so we understand. We also understand that this is Harry's biased view and all he has been told about Percy is usually by Ron or the twins who insult him on a regular basis. And Harry is no better! He uses words like pompously like he understands how a person talks pompously?

So I love Percy a lot because I relate to him and I would never in my life apologise for loving such a complicated character.

[evandearest]

The Garden of Eden | Part II: Reflection

Pairing: James March x reader (you) |  ~Part: (2/4)~

Summary (Part Two): When memories are all that clouds your vision, how do you begin to break cycles and live in the present? Can you overcome your irrational fear when paradise is only a memory of long ago? Living through hell can make or break you.

Warnings (in this part): Slight PTSD, that’s all I would say.

Word count: 3,586

Notes: I’m so excited to be posting this! This part is quite a bit longer than the last one. I absolutely loved writing it though! Be on the lookout for many metaphors, biblical references, and *reflective* events. This part is complex in many ways, and a lot of things tie into one another. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!!

Also a side note, if you’d like to be on the tag list for this series just let me know!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

An odd feeling settled upon you as rays of sunlight blinded your eyes. Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t exactly pin it down, but all you knew was that you felt calm. Calm was not a part of you, as much as you portrayed to others that it was. Spending nearly ten years with a man you didn’t trust could do that to you.

The bed underneath you was soft, the scent in the air surrounding you lavender. You wondered for a moment where you were, your heart jumping as your eyes glanced around you frantically. That’s when you remembered: you were in James’ hotel. James’.

Your nerves lessened when you thought about James, a small smile curling your lips. As soon as you had arrived at the hotel, he insisted that you get a room to yourself to get the best rest possible. He’d even sent his maid to give you a basket of everything lavender to help you sleep: candles, essential oils, soap. He practically spoiled you the minute you arrived. You couldn’t deny how good it felt, though. You felt like a queen.

You sat up in bed, wondering where the man pervading your thoughts was. You glanced at your side table, noticing the vase of white roses immediately. When had those gotten there? The tiny card leaning against the vase caught your attention in particular. You reached for it and opened it. The small note was in James’ neat handwriting, reading:

“Good morning, darling. Gather yourself and meet me in the lounge. I do hope my accommodations suited you. Yours truly, JPM.”

You smiled, your curiosity spiraling at the thought of what he had planned for you. You quickly jumped out of the bed, going to the bathroom to get ready. You noticed immediately of all the things in this bathroom that weren’t normally in hotel bathrooms. There were tons of beauty items for women that most men don’t even know exist. You knew it was James. He was so thoughtful, giving you anything you could possibly need and more. James had taken the time to be sure you had everything. Your heart fluttered at the thought, excitement settling within you. James really did have everything, and now you had James. You knew it was going to take a long while before you were used to this luxurious treatment, but you weren’t complaining. You’d dreamed of living this kind of life since you were merely a child.

Once you had showered, gotten dressed, and did your hair and makeup, you were ready. You smiled at your reflection. James had picked the most fashionable clothing to put in your closet, and you simply loved having a reason to dress up in general. But it wasn’t even about you, in reality. You wanted James to see how much you appreciated everything he was doing, so you were going to make sure that you put all he gave you to use. It was all for James. You were going to spend every second doing as much as you could for him. He had saved you, after all. You couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if James hadn’t arrived when he did. That was the worst argument that you and Robert had ever had.

You scolded yourself for thinking of Robert. You needed to focus on now, on the new life you were beginning. You couldn’t just shake it off, though. You still felt the need to be vigilant, to walk on egg shells. You sighed. You didn’t want to be in a bad mood today, of all days. James needed to see how much you appreciated and cared for him. You took a deep breath. Just focus on now, you told yourself, before taking one last look at your reflection.

When you entered the lobby, you were surprised to be greeted immediately by James’ maid, Miss Evers.

“Right this way, Ms. Y/L/N,” the woman smiled, gesturing with her arm for you to follow. She made her way up the stairs, you following behind curiously. It was as if she was escorting you somewhere. Your questions weren’t left unanswered for long, however, as you found your answer at the top of the stairs.

The entire bar was empty, which seemed odd compared to it’s usually bustling atmosphere. The dining area was decorated to the brim with white roses, all surrounding a table in which had plates full of fruit, pancakes, eggs, and many other breakfast foods. You gasped quietly at the extravagance as your eyes landed on James, who stood in front of it all, hands clasped together politely as he awaited you. He smiled at the sight of you.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted, walking over and offering an arm to you. You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, a wave of déjà vu coursing through you. 

You remember you were so excited. Los Angeles was a gorgeous city in it’s own, and you felt so lucky to have been born in a city in which held so much opportunity. You were merely fourteen; barely old enough to even think for yourself, but you’d always been smart. Your mother had assured you of that since you were born, always putting your education above all else. She’d told you, “One day when all the distractions of young age are gone, you’ll realize why you need to be prepared.” You hadn’t understood why then, but the words had always stuck with you. It was one of the first times that she had trusted you on your own. Most of the time, she had always put her fear for your safety first, but on that day she had given in to your pleas.

She had let you walk to the garden of white roses, three blocks down, by yourself. When you thought about it now, you realized just how defining that moment of your life was, because what happened when you got to that garden had changed your life forever.

White roses had always been your favorite flower, ever since you had first passed that blooming Southern California garden at three years old. The owner was a tiny sweet elder lady, gracious and elegant as ever. She had owned the garden her entire life; it was her pride and joy. She’d always welcomed polite visitors, and if she caught you, she’d tell you all about the flowers, and how special they were. She said that they had brought to her all of the pleasantries that her life held; love, wealth, and even an eternal feeling of youth. That’s why she never picked or sold them, she said; “if you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.” Some people said that she was a witch; you just thought she was sweet, maybe a little kooky, but nice nonetheless. You had grown to look up to her.

When you had arrived at the rose garden on that day, however, you were greeted with a new presence foreign to you. The boy stood as still as a statue, his eyes raking over his surroundings. Based upon his height and physical appearance, you had assumed that he was about the same age as you. You watched him as he picked a rose from the bush, bringing it up to his nose to smell. You approached him quietly.

“If Mrs. Smith knew you picked one of her flowers, she’d claim treason,” you said, catching the boy’s attention. He looked at you in bewilderment.

“Where did you come from?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sneaky,” you said jokingly with a teasing smile. He blinked, his confusion still evident. “But seriously,” you continued, “you better hope she doesn’t see you. She doesn’t like people who disturb her flowers. In fact, she’d probably curse you.” At that, the boy smirked.

“Is she a witch?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Some people think so,” you replied, walking closer to him. “If you ask me, I think people should listen to her. She’s very intelligent.” You nudged his side, watching him to gouge his reaction. He raised his eyebrows, watching you carefully.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for one, she’s ancient. That gives her some credits. For another, she grew this garden, and she’s experienced much more than most people. You should hear her stories.” You smiled as you plucked the rose from the boy’s hand and twirled it between your fingers, admiring it.

“She sounds fascinating.”

“She is.” After a moment of silence, you looked up at him, only to catch his eyes. You smiled shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“James March,” the boy said, offering his hand to you.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” you introduced yourself in return, smiling up at him.

There was another moment of silence, the both of you just staring at one another. James suddenly took the rose from you again. He pulled a knife from his pocket, your heart stuttering slightly at the sight of it. But James didn’t try to harm you, he simply chopped the stem of the rose off. His hand came up to your face as you smiled nervously at him.

“I think your wrong,” he said, tucking the rose in your hair behind your ear. He stepped back, smiling softly at you. “See? Sometimes even dying flowers can serve a beautiful purpose. It’s a sacrifice. Sacrifices aren’t evil.” You paused, a shy blush forming on your cheeks at his actions.

“I never thought of it that way,” you whispered, reaching up to tuck the rose more firmly behind your ear. You smiled at James, a weird feeling you’d never felt before settling upon you. His simple action and thoughtful words had made you excited in a way you’d never known. It had created a spark; a strong urge inside of you that was almost indescribable. And as you looked in his eyes, you wanted nothing more than to relive that feeling over and over again. You swore you’d never let him go.

Suddenly, you were looking at his face again, but this time much older.

“Darling, are you alright?” James asked, and you blinked quickly, your focus shifting present.

“Yes,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you realized just how deep into the memory you had been. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” he said, studying you. “Are you sure you feel pleasant? You were quite far gone, I called your name several times. Did you rest well?”

“Yes, of course,” you said quickly, reaching out to clasp his hand tightly as you smiled reassuringly. “I promise. You just surprised me, is all.” James nodded, seeming fairly convinced, before smiling and gesturing towards the table.

“Alright darling, well why don’t you sit and eat something. A proper meal should do just the trick.” You smiled and nodded back at him, moving to sit in your chair that he pulled out for you. Once you were situated, James moved to sit across from you at the other end of the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you enjoyed most, so I instructed Miss Evers to make several morning dishes,” he said, grinning at you. “I hope it’s suiting for you.”

“Of course,” you said, placing a few items on your plate. A few minutes passed as you ate, your mind drifting back to last night’s events in the silence.

“Are you happy, my love?” James suddenly asked, snapping you out of your thoughts once again.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, smiling at him sincerely, “yes of course!” You could tell from the look of concern still on James’ face that he wasn’t convinced. You sighed, deciding to just be honest with him. “I just... it’s difficult to process how my life just changed.” You paused, watching James closely for a reaction. He stared, waiting for you to elaborate, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’ve been alone for so long, living a horrible, unhappy life. I’m happy now, with you, but I can’t just turn that feeling off, that feeling that this moment is fleeting. It-- it terrifies me...” You trailed off, your mind wondering as you stared at the roses around you. The roses that James decided to decorate your breakfast with. The roses that had ultimately brought you together in the first place. The roses that James kept bringing around for you. Your roses. You turned your attention back to James, your eyes meeting his.

“These flowers, why did you pick them?” you asked him seriously. A look of confusion clouded James’ expression.

“Well,” James started, “I suppose they have some semblance to us, darling... these were the very flowers--”

“Of course, I remember...” you trailed off, thinking of what to say next. “But really, there has to be more to it...” It came out as more of a question than a statement. You just didn’t understand why he was bringing up all of these memories.

“Of course, dear,” James said, sighing. He looked you in the eyes, and you could see the sincerity there. “I knew you wouldn’t recover in a day, a week, a month, even a year...” he paused, his eyes downcast at the tablecloth. “I just hoped that by reminding you of what we can be once again will help you settle. My only wish is to make you happy...” he paused again, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. This time you were met with certainty. “I want to take us back to that time. To that garden. To when we flourished the most even if the rest of the world was, well...”

“Hell. The rest of the world was hell,” you finished for him, your eyes teary at his sweet sentiment. James, however, faltered slightly at your words. You paused, taking note of the way he cringed at the mention of hell, before you reached to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly, lovingly. “Thank you James.” Your voice held so much emotion, and at that, James stood before walking over to you and pulling you out of your chair and into his embrace.

“Darling,” James whispered into your hair. You hummed in response, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his manly scent. You clasped onto him tightly. “Whatever may happen, I promise I will never let you slip from my grasp ever again... you shall never be afraid again. I would give everything away just for your happiness. You inform me and I will have it done for you, whatever you may need.” It was a firm promise, and you knew he meant it. James didn’t make empty promises. Your chest felt as if it might explode with love and adoration for this man. He really did want to give you the world. He really was your heaven... your God.

-♥-

After you had finished breakfast, James had insisted that he take you on a tour of the Cortez, and you weren’t going to turn him down. It was his pride and joy, and regardless, it was the most gorgeous place you had ever stepped foot into. You were nearly finished, with only two more floors to explore, when James started acting strange.

“James, what’s wrong?” you asked, placing your hand on his arm. He grimaced before looking at you nervously.

“Well, you see...” he trailed off for a moment, his voice hesitant. You began to get concerned. “These floors are still under slight renovation...” You giggled at his words.

“James,” you said sweetly, “it’s okay, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

“Well, no, that’s-”

“I’m serious,” you interrupted, giggling once again. The elevator dinged as you reached your destination. You smiled before taking his hand and leading him out. He sighed, still looking standoffish.

James had been telling the truth; there was a particular section of the hallway in which there was a wall being built, but it was small. You didn’t understand what he was so nervous about.

Suddenly, a loud shout rang out through the hallway, causing both you and James to flinch in surprise. There was a sound of commotion and James quickly walked towards the scene; you following closely behind him.

“What’s the issue?” James demanded someone standing at the back of the gathering crowd of men. There was a sound of someone groaning in pain. You stood at a distance away, more interested in the small white rose twirling between your fingers.

“One of the construction workers collapsed, sir,” the man informed him. At this point you’d lost interest, zoning in on the pretty rose in your hands. James barked a few orders at the men, but you weren’t really paying attention.

You looked up as James returned to you.

“I apologize for the interruption,” James said, obviously irritated.

“What’s the problem?” you asked, confused.

He paused, looking at you softly, “I thought that may have worried you.”

“Men get hurt all the time,” you said passively.

“Of course...” James trailed off, looking slightly confused, which made you confused. What did you do? Were you supposed to be worried? You brushed it off, smiling at him expectantly.

“Ready to continue with the tour?” you asked him, turning your back on him. You began walking back down the hall, glancing behind to see James following you. You rounded the corner, only to run into someone unexpectedly.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping. Luckily James stabled you before you hit the ground. You looked up, your eyes landing on a beautiful blonde woman. You paused, studying her, before a realization dawned upon you. You’d seen this woman before.

You remember her distinctly, for she was the person who had ultimately made you lose all hope. James’ wife, Elizabeth. You’d seen her all that time ago when you had first tried to escape your husband. She’s the woman that had made you believe James didn’t love you anymore.

When James had come back for you, you’d assumed that his relationship with her had failed. So why was she here?

“Why, hello,” the woman said, glancing between you and James, a weird grin on her face. She looked at James. “And who might this lovely lady be?”

You turned to look at James, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. James’ jaw was clenched as he stared at Elizabeth, and right there and then you knew he didn’t like her.

“It’s okay, James,” she purred, her smirk never leaving. “I’m not offended. We both knew it was never going to work.” She turned to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Countess Elizabeth.” She offered a hand to you, and you took it gracefully. James was disturbingly quiet beside you. You decided to take the ropes.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied smoothly.

“What’s all the commotion down the hall?” Elizabeth asked curiously. You could tell that she had some kind of ulterior motive, otherwise she would have moved on.

“Nothing important,” you replied nonchalantly. It was the truth. You didn’t feel the need to be competitive with this woman anymore; you knew who James stood by, and you trusted him. You turned to him, intertwining your arms together. “James here was just giving me a tour. I hope you don’t mind?” You smiled politely at Elizabeth. She paused, her expression one of slight surprise. It seemed to be a strange look on her.

“Of course not,” she said through tight lips. “You two have fun.” You smiled at her kindly once more, before you and James continued on, arm in arm.

Once in private in the elevator, James turned to you.

“I have to say,” James said, smiling at you, “you handled that well. You do know that Elizabeth was... shall I say, challenging you?”

“I know,” you said, smiling at him reassuringly. “But that’s the thing: she was the one challenging me. Obviously she thought she had something to fight for. I know what’s mine.” James expression morphed into one of surprise, and then pride.

“Of course you do, dear,” he said, smiling down at you. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The kiss was loving and at the same time slightly rough. You loved how James could make you feel like this; so powerful. After a heated moment, he pulled away.

“Darling, despite your present confidence in the matter,” he began, “I’d like you to know that regardless of Elizabeth and I’s history, she will never compare to your glamour. You truly are a revelation like no other.”

You smiled once more at his words, thinking back to that day in the garden once more, and to your mother’s words. The feeling you had now was a reflection of the feeling you had then. He’d always made you feel so incredibly self-assured. You felt like no matter what happened to you and James, nothing could break you at this point and time. And your mother had been right: gaining the knowledge was important.

Now that you’d ate the fruit of the garden and survived hell, what could possibly stop you?

You felt invincible, so long as he was by your side. You no longer feared the past or the future; you were completely centered present, all cycles broken. And it had took James less than a day to make you feel this way. Your excitement soared as you thought about your future with James. You knew that so long as you had him, you were unstoppable together. You were gods.

You didn’t need the garden, after all. Paradise lost stood no match to you, because with James, you could survive anything.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

[oneweekoneband]

In the first cold hours of a new December morning, Taylor Swift once again revealed herself to be the primary antagonist in my hero’s journey. Weary and woebegone as I am, I will not waste strength on any attempt to deny that this latest attack has knocked me off balance, but I believe it is important that I—we, really, the lot of us who have been bloodied pitiably beneath this most brutal show of force—rebound immediately into a defensive posture so that there might be any hope at all for survival. Taylor’s second pandemic album will be released at midnight tonight, so I guess Shakespeare and his little “play” about elder abuse can get fucked after all. The album is called evermore. It was hubris, I can see in retrospect, which led me to tempt my enemy by writing all these words about her on this, the week of her birthday, knowing as I do that Taylor is one of those especially dangerous adults who make a big deal about both birthdays and lucky numbers. Icarus is my name now, covered in melted wax and tumbling to the sea. So as to steel ourselves for these horrors yet to come, I offer now, with not arrogance but the faith of the foolhardy, my best conjecture as to the content of each detestable track. 

willow - Could be about a tree. Could be about a girl. More likely it is both somehow, which is extremely pervy, and not just because that’s part of the plot of the unspeakably cursed The Raven Cycle novels, which I, a full blown adult with, generally speaking, normal brain function, voluntarily read for the first time this summer because some of us, ma’am, used the pandemic for activities that hurt only ourselves, not others. Well, happy holidays, tree fuckers.

champagne problems - Whatever this is, know that I will be considering it a work after Fall Out Boy’s “Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends” and I’ll be right to do so and many people will say as much admiringly and they’ll smile at me with pride and doff their caps as I go.

gold rush - If this song is anything but a loving, comprehensive summation of the children’s novel DEAR AMERICA Seeds of Hope: The Gold Rush Diary of Susanna Fairchild then I’m going to walk directly out of my home and, deadly virus be damned, keep walking until I’ve entered Taylor Swift’s instead, at which point I will begin to scream out a litany of complaints at the very top of my voice, ceasing only when her security team kills me or we fall in love.

tis the damn season - Worst case scenario this is a sad Christmas song (the best kind of Christmas song) and it devastates me in the most degrading way possible. Best case scenario it’s really bad and dumb and I can live without pain.

tolerate it - Many possibilities here. Could be about white-knuckling it through a period of depression, or a breakup. Most obviously, it could be about COVID-19 lockdowns keeping us trapped in our homes, disconnected from loved ones, going slow-brained and strange, bowls piling up, and suddenly so desperate for human interaction that even memories of having drinks with somebody from Hinge who quoted Friends twice in an hour are tantalizing in comparison to the touch-starved dreamstate of staying indoors... But I kinda feel like this is Taylor replying “COPE” from on high to my tweets about how I would rather be boiled alive than have to face the existence of this record.

no body, no crime (feat. Haim) - What would be very good is if this is a homosexual romp about Taylor Swift and the one hot Haim guitar girl with the really gay energy doing a murder together a la “Somethin’ Bad” by Miranda Lambert with Carrie Underwood, but honestly, it is probably another song about Gone Girl.

happiness - Impossible to speak on this since, thanks to Taylor Swift, happiness is something with which I have no familiarity. 

dorothea - Have seen chirping on the odious bird application about how perhaps this song title suggests that Taylor has written a song about Middlemarch, titling it for Dorothea Brooke, but I reject this because it implies that Taylor has read Middlemarch, which is a premise I cannot accept. Whether this refusal is out of self-preservation, being unwilling and in fact unable to face a world where Taylor Swift read and was moved to creation by the novel which was my most essential friend the summer I got dumped by a guy who I still had to work feet away from in a candle factory for another month, and about which Emily Dickinson (Emily Dickinson whose birthday it happens to be today, which isn’t to say that this means anything about anything. I am simply trying to batten down all hatches literally and spiritually in light of having been had once again by this numerology obsessed demon) once wrote "What do I think of Middlemarch? What do I think of glory.” or because I just at my core do not believe that Taylor has read a single book since Gone Girl I couldn’t possibly say.

coney island (feat. The National) : Some ungodly americana ass bullshit that is going to ruin my life. The thought of holy terror shaped like a horse girl Taylor Swift and trickster nymph in the body of a tax accountant Matt Berninger, two individuals I have allowed, separately, to cause me grievous psychic harm, having even the barest amount of one to one contact, even digitally, has made me want to peel all my skin off and put it back on flipped inside out so that I might, when I look in the mirror, see a version of myself which approximates how I feel.

ivy - Another song for the plant lesbians. That’s fine, and I’m happy for that community, but what I want to know, looking at this growing pile of songs named after women, is where, Taylor, is the song about loudmouth queen Inez, legendary gossip and, for my money, the star of folklore?  

cowboy like me - Putting it as mildly as humanly possible, to slit my throat would be less cruel. I am drawing a straight line from me writing illegible sequels to perfect film An American Tail: Fievel Goes West (itself a sequel) in crayon as a toddler, to Paula Cole’s “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” on the radio in my mom’s two door Honda, to me everyday after school in third grade changing into the cowboy costume my godmother bought, to me at fourteen internalizing a sense of righteous indignation that would take years to even begin to outgrow when Crash beat Brokeback Mountain for Best Picture, to the winter I dropped half my classes out of fear and sickness and read paperback westerns on the twenty third floor of the college library for tens of hours at a go, to the profoundly gay episode of Supernatural called “Tombstone” which is, yes, named for the profoundly gay cowboy film Tombstone, to the inspired and revitalizing pause in “Space Cowboy” by Kacey Musgraves where she’s like, “You can have your space........ cowboy”, to Mitski’s Be the Cowboy, to the perfect boygenius cover of certified classic “Cowboy Take Me Away”, to whatever the hell this is going to be.That line is not to make a point at all. It’s just that there is a line and beside it there is me, incapacitated.

long story short - Just like all the other times anyone has ever invoked this phrase in the entire history of human beings expressing themselves with language, it is going to be a huge lie, because this woman never shuts up.

marjorie - After all that Taylor has put me through over the years, she should have at least named one of these wretched things “ellen” after my dead Sagittarian grandmother, whose birthday is tomorrow, December 11th, which is again, the release date of Taylor Swift’s second album in sixth months, but it’s probably for the best that she didn’t because you simpletons would immediately think it was an homage to George Bush’s friend Dory the fish, and therefore gay, regardless of the actual text of the song, and it’d be the “betty” massacre all over again. That being said, this is almost assuredly another horny song about some mid-century white lady. Only days ago Taylor was telling Entertainment Weekly that she’s been watching a lot of movies in quarantine, and while she didn’t name 1958’s Marjorie Morningstar starring Natalie Wood, I wouldn’t put it past her.

closure - God, I hope this one is another Kaylor classic so we can all act like complete raving lunatics online from the confines of our own plague quarters for a few days. It’s been a hard year.

evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - I’ll be catatonic by this point. Who cares?

right where you left me - Yes, in hell.

it’s time to go - Yes, TO HELL.

[aqours-remade-again]

So I mostly really loved SU Future but boy oh boy do I have some Opinions on Rose’s writing :))))))! (don’t we all though)

OK before I go on, full disclosure: for the most part I loved this premiere of Steven Universe Future. In particular, the episode with the Roses (and especially Chill Rose) and Pink Pearl in general is easily my favorite thing to come from SU in a very long time; far more so than the movie, actually. But oh my God; I’m so fucking sick and tired of this shit with Rose Quartz doing everything wrong.

Rose’s character arc, if... er... debatable, makes sense. Pink was born into the highest echelons of power within her society, with three elder sisters who were tyrannical and neglectful towards her. When given the opportunity Pink finally understood that their empire was built on genocide and destruction, and devoted herself to Earth’s freedom, and begged her sisters to not let this planet be destroyed. She faked her own death in a hopeful attempt this colony was just something to appease her and the Diamonds would lose interest afterwards; this resulted in a war with horrific consequences, and Pink/Rose spent the rest of her life, thousands of years atoning for this mistake. Even if it wasn’t a perfect narrative, its one that makes sense.

But this franchise and its writers seem hellbent to just pile it on, like every single bad thing that’s ever happened was Rose’s fault; and its getting really frustrating. I fucking HATED that the SU Movie basically boiled down to “lol this was all Rose’s fault :))))” Rose understood she made mistakes. Rose made a lot of mistakes. But again; she spent thousands of years atoning for them, and its because of that the Earth still exists at all. Earth would have been destroyed thousands of years ago if she didn’t chose to own her mistakes and fight for Earth’s liberation. And now we have a narrative about Pink’s “destructive tantrums” that physically maimed Volleyball? What the fuck is that? We literally saw in one of Steven’s dreams White Diamond reaching for a non-damaged Volleyball. The whole reason the Diamonds had a redemption arc (one that was EXTREMELY rushed btw) was because they did really horrible things and they needed to become better people if this universe was going to change; that’s the whole point of a redemption arc! Villains did bad things that needed redeeming! They did bad things in the past! That’s what a redemption arc is for! Why is it so hard to say that White did SOMETHING bad to Volleyball? What’s with this show’s fucking obsession with piling every single bad thing onto Rose’s name? What’s next? Did Rose do Chernobyl?

Rose saved the world, just as her son would thousands of years later. No matter how you look at it, no matter her mistakes, Rose is the second most important character to this universe other than its titular character, her son; perhaps THE most important. All this shit we see with the school for gems on Earth, the theme of how liberating and beautiful and wonderful the planet Earth is and why everyone fought so hard to protect it? That is owed to Rose who rejected the power of her birthright and her right to monarchy to preserve it; none of this would be possible without Rose’s rebellion. But it really feels like the narrative has forgotten that. Ever since Bismuth this narrative has been on a really bad downwards slope with this and its getting worse, and although we haven’t finished this miniseries... does anyone have any real hope they can fix it after this? It honestly disappointed me that Rose’s portrait is just gathering dust somewhere now; I was really hoping in the episode with the Rose Quartzes they’d find some common ground and take pride in their mother’s legacy, only to be immediately bombarded with this. And no, that Pink USED to be destructive but became a healer as part of her redemption arc, which in the narrative was resolved nicely a very long time ago doesn’t make it better. I was already on my last straw with Spinel’s backstory, this shit just reaks of “Oh shit uhhh what do we do now...? OK! Pink did ANOTHER bad thing! OK that’s the conflict now.”

And everyone, I love Steven Universe. Its one of my favorite shows ever. That’s why I get so upset about this. This narrative that Pink changed doesn’t make it better. It was touching when the fusion said about how Pearl always tried to see how Pink was changing and how Volleyball never understood Pink could never change; but after seeing that episode, how is any viewer supposed to reasonably feel other than piling onto the idea Pink was the worst person to ever exist? This idea of a “reverse redemption arc” doesn’t work when all that is ever added to Pink’s character now is more reasons to hate her. By the end of this, Rose’s portrait is gone. We are not being given more reasons to cared about a flawed character; just more and more to dislike her.

“I can’t even deal with one more horrible thing she did!” yeah me too Steven the writing surrounding your mom is getting really fucking obnoxious and I’m sorry the story can’t assign literally one bad thing to her sisters at this point. I’m sorry your mom has to be responsible for Literally Every Bad Thing That Happens Now and the entire narrative of her saving the world is almost nonexistent at this point.

anyways to end this on a positive note: the Pearls gay. this is Good

[unfolded73]

Today and All the Days that Follow (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

At 8880 words, it’s probably insufficient to call this a 6x14 reaction fic, although it’s that too.  An exploration of relationships, both on the wedding day and in the future. Rated Explicit (ao3)

Other Season 6 reaction fics: 6x01, 6x02, 6x04, 6x06, 6x07, 6x13

NOTES: Thanks to Emily Hampshire for saying in an interview that David and Stevie are soulmates. Thanks to the Rosebudd denizens for speculating how David and Patrick's wedding night might've gone - I think I stole some ideas from you guys. Thanks to my husband for giving me so many ideas for ridiculous sex-adjacent banter. Thanks to Dan Levy for writing this fucking show.

And another thing: This fic does reference the "happy ending" a couple of times in a lighthearted way. It's not a big part of the fic but it is mentioned.

And one more thing: I probably only have to say this because I've written some dark shit in the past, but while it may sound like I've imperiled Patrick's health at one point in this fic, he's fine. Don't worry.

__________________________________________________

9:47 a.m.

Marcy Brewer sipped her tea, giving the waitress Twyla a smile as she gathered up their empty breakfast plates. Twyla met the smile with one of her own at ten times the wattage. “I’m so excited for this evening,” Twyla gushed. “I love weddings.”

“We’re excited too,” Marcy said as Clint pulled out his wallet.

“I mean, I didn’t love my cousin Darryl’s wedding, but to be fair we warned him that saying their vows while skydiving was a bad idea,” Twyla continued.

Marcy met Clint’s eyes and tried to keep her face neutral. “We’re just worried about the rain,” Marcy said, trying to change the subject before she learned more about Darryl’s tragic wedding ceremony.

Twyla looked out the front window of the café and frowned. “Yeah. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“We’re just on our way to meet Johnny and Moira now,” Marcy said, “so I guess we’ll find out how much of an issue the weather’s going to be once we speak to them.”

Clint handed a credit card to Twyla and stood up. “I’m going to run to the restroom,” Clint said, patting Marcy’s hand as he left the table.

The door to the café swung open and revealed David fumbling awkwardly with an umbrella before he managed to get it folded and the door closed against the driving wind. He hurried to the counter and spoke in low, urgent tones to Twyla, who gave him a sympathetic nod and made her way over to the espresso machine.

Marcy stood and approached him, concerned by the anxious way he was drumming his fingers on the counter and biting his lip. She hadn’t spent that much time with David in person, but he looked like he was close to a full meltdown.

“David,” she said, a gentle hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“The rain has ruined everything,” he said in a small, breathy voice. “We’re going to end up getting married in a barn.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sure you won’t have to get married in a barn,” Marcy said, rubbing up and down on his upper arm. He wore a soft sweater with a rainbow heart on the chest, and Marcy’s own heart squeezed at the thought of him choosing to wear that sweater before he changed into his wedding tuxedo.

David laughed humorlessly. “You’d be surprised how many major events in this town have happened in a barn.”

Twyla brought over a coffee cup, handing it to David and handing Clint’s receipt and credit card to Marcy. “Listen, David, I’ll get someone to cover for me today so that I can help with whatever you guys need today. And if Jocelyn hasn’t already done so, I’ll put out the word to everybody to pitch in,” Twyla said.

“Thanks,” David said, “That’s… that’s really nice of you.”

“We love you guys,” Twyla said with another sunny smile. “The least we can do is make sure you have a nice wedding today.”

“See?” Marcy said when Twyla left to deliver someone else’s breakfast. “Everyone’s behind you. It won’t be ruined.”

David nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “I just wanted today to be perfect.”

“Well, weddings are never perfect. Did I ever tell you about how my sister stepped on my train and ripped it about ten minutes before I was supposed to walk down the aisle?”

Shaking his head with wide eyes, David put his hand over his mouth. “What did you do?”

Marcy shrugged. “We pinned it with a couple of safety pins and I got married in a ripped dress. In the end, I was still married to the love of my life at the end of the day. And you can’t really tell in the pictures unless you know what to look for.”

David took a sip of his coffee, and Marcy thought maybe he was shaking a little bit less than he had been when they’d started talking.

“Patrick is the love of my life too, you know,” he said softly.

Marcy put an arm around him, giving him a squeeze. “Oh, David. I knew that the first day we met.”

~~~

2034

“I told Patrick he wasn’t wearing enough sunscreen,” David fretted on the screen of her phone. Marcy could tell by the herky-jerky movement of the camera and the motion of the ceiling above his head that David was pacing the floor.

“David, there’s no need to catastrophize until the biopsy comes back. And even if it’s bad news—”

“Oh, God—”

“Even if it’s bad news,” Marcy said more firmly, “skin cancer is treatable. The odds are very good these days.” She ignored the ball of anxiety in her own stomach, focusing on soothing her son-in-law’s nerves.

“All those baseball games, and hikes… just last month he was outside all weekend helping to set up for the Elm County Pride events.”

Marcy watched David flop down on the sofa and run his hand over his face. “You aren’t going to be able to stop him from doing the things he wants to do, David. Believe me, I had to tell myself that with every trip we made to the emergency room when he was a kid.” There was a droning sound outside, and she looked up in time to see Clint trundle past with the lawnmower. It was a job he insisted on doing himself even though they had plenty of grand-nieces and grand-nephews who would do it for them if they asked. She supposed the reckless apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

A smirk flashed across David’s face. “That arm he broke twice aches sometimes before it rains now.”

Marcy snorted. “He deserves it. He was an idiot when he was a teenager.”

They looked at each other’s faces through their phone screens for several seconds. At fifty, her son’s husband was as handsome as ever, his hair streaked with bits of grey and the lines beside his eyes more prominent. “Also, I’m afraid I’ll be bad at taking care of him,” David said quietly.

“Well, that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”

She startled a laugh out of David with that. “It’s definitely not. Just ask your son.”

“I know you think Patrick is the one who takes care of you, but the thing I’ve learned about you boys over all these years is that you have a knack for not falling apart at the same time. When you need him, Patrick is strong for you. But when Patrick needs you, you’re strong for him.”

She could see the glassiness of tears in David’s eyes. “I hope you’re right, Marcy.”

“Listen to your elders, David,” she said as David’s head whipped around toward something outside the range of the camera. “What is it?”

“He’s on the phone,” David whispered. “It might be the doctor.”

Marcy waited, trying to take her own advice not to worry until there was definitely something to worry about. It almost worked.

Finally, she could hear Patrick’s voice, followed immediately by an expression of relief on David’s face. “Are they sure?”

“Yeah, she said it’s benign, but that I should have it checked in another six months.” Patrick came within view of David’s phone camera. “Hi, Mom,�� he said, his eyes darting to David. “David, did you tell her…?”

The image blurred and swooped as David likely was gesticulating with the hand holding it. “I needed someone to talk to about this, honey.”

Patrick sat down next to David and pulled him into his side. Marcy watched as David hugged her son, the camera at an angle, the phone probably forgotten in his hand.

“I’m sorry if you were worried, Mom,” Patrick said as he pulled out of the hug and David rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder.

“You need to tell me about these things, Patrick. I worry more when you don’t talk to me.” It was a well-trod pattern between them, stretching back to when Patrick was a teenager. She didn’t seriously think Patrick would change now, but it felt better to chide him anyway.

“I know,” he said placidly, turning and kissing the top of David’s head.

“Thank you for being there for us, Marcy,” David said.

“Of course.” She swallowed back tears that threatened to spill over. “I love you, my sweet boys.”

~~~

1:39 p.m.

“So,” Stevie said after she and Patrick had his car doors closed, their raincoats dripping onto the seats and floorboards. “Now we just have to break it to David that the wedding is going to be at the Town Hall.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna go well,” Patrick sighed. “But it really is the best option. He’ll see that, right?”

Stevie gave him several exaggerated nods like she was a bobble-head doll. “Sure.”

Sighing again, Patrick started the car.

“I know he’s been really extra about the wedding, but you know it’s only because marrying you is really important to him, right? Like, the most important thing he’s ever done,” Stevie said as they pulled out of the motel parking lot.

“I know,” Patrick replied. “I mean, there have been moments that I was worried that the wedding was more important to him than the marriage, but…” He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face when he thought about their future in this town. “David’s gesture with the house allayed my fears on that count.”

“David likes things to be just right, is all. So his mind kind of obsessively goes over and over and over stuff that matters to him until he has it the way he wants it. Like his wardrobe. Or the store.”

“Yeah.” Patrick took a left turn toward his apartment. “You know my future husband very well.”

After a long pause, Stevie asked, “Can I tell you something and you not take it the wrong way?”

“Well, that’s not at all ominous.”

“I think David is, like, my soulmate. Not romantically!” she added quickly. “Just…our friendship is the most important thing in my life. And maybe it always will be.”

Patrick pulled into his parking space at the apartment and shut off the car. He turned and stared at Stevie, trying to wrap his head around what she’d just said. “I’ll confess I’m struggling with the concept of a non-romantic soulmate.”

“That’s because you’re a disgustingly romantic person. I’m … not that. And look, I know that while David is the most important person in my life, he has you and you’re his person. I get that. And I’m more than okay with it. It’s great, actually. I love you guys together, and I love who David has become being with you.” She looked down at her fingers. “I just wanted you to understand… I don’t know. I’m not saying this right.”

Maybe she wasn’t, but Patrick didn’t have to understand her feelings to support them. After all, he’d never understood how she had just stopped wanting to sleep with David at some point. Patrick couldn’t imagine sleeping with David and then not wanting to do it again and again, forever.

“Stevie, I was already aware that you and David have a special bond. You guys are alike in ways that he and I will never be, and so you probably understand him in ways that I don’t.” He reached over and took her hand in his. “I think that if David hadn’t been your friend first, he and I probably would never have made it here. You made him a better person. I suspect that you still do.”

She snorted. “I’m way too much of a mess to make anyone a better person, but I appreciate that you think so.” She squeezed his hand and let it go. “You’re a close second in the best friend department, you know.”

“I’m honoured,” Patrick said, but then he narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s just because the one thing you can’t do with your best friend David Rose is complain about David Rose, isn’t it?”

Stevie shrugged, laughing. “So what if it is?”

Patrick moved to get out of the car, but then stopped. “I’ve been meaning to say, I assume I have you to thank for David’s change of heart about New York? And the house?”

“He just needed a tiny nudge in the right direction, that’s all. Same as always.”

“Thank you. Seriously.”

“Well, since I’ve once again set your love life on the right path like I always do, I expect payment.”

“How many bottles of wine?” Patrick asked.

“Nope, not that. I have demands about the house. I want to be able to drop by and visit whenever I want. And dinner at least once a week when I’m in town.”

“Should I have an extra key made for you?” Patrick asked, smirking.

“Duh.”

“Okay, but I can’t promise you won’t walk in on something you’ll regret,” he said, finally getting out of the car and hurrying through the rain to the front door of his apartment building.

Stevie was grimacing as she followed him inside. “Fine, I’ll text first.”

~~~

2022

There was a sharp knocking sound on the window pane of the back door, and Patrick looked up from the tax documents spread out on his kitchen table to see Stevie’s face framed through the glass. He gestured for her to come in.

“There’s some coffee left,” he said, his eyes already back on his paperwork.

Stevie went straight for the cabinet where the mugs were, getting one down and filling it with coffee before she came over and looked at what Patrick was doing. “Hmm, looks like you’re working.”

He looked up and blinked balefully at her. “Yes. This tax paperwork is due at the end of the week.”

“Looks like you’re working at home. When you have a perfectly good desk in the back of the store,” she said before sipping her coffee.

“I have a little more space to spread out here,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you and David are having a fight.”

Patrick put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, you clearly have already talked to him, so out with it. Tell me what you’re here to tell me. And it’s not a fight, it’s a… minor disagreement.”

“Uh huh.”

“Stevie—”

“It sort of seems to me that you were having a reasonable debate over where the second Rose Apothecary location should be and then the debate experienced some… scope creep.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Scope creep?”

Stevie threw up her hands and groaned. “I’ve been in a lot of meetings with the Rosebud Motel Group leadership team lately, sorry.”

“Ooh, tell me what other business-y buzzwords you’ve learned.”

“Don’t change the subject, Brewer; we’re talking about you and David right now, not my career.” She sat down at the table across from him, shoving some papers out of the way so that she wouldn’t have to set her coffee mug down on top of them.

“So what did David say?” Patrick asked, a bit afraid of the answer.

“Here’s what I think,” Stevie said, not answering the question. “I think that you do a lot in this marriage and around the store because you like being needed. And also you like to take charge and control things. Classic service top behaviour.”

Patrick had thought he was done blushing about his sex life around Stevie; apparently not. “I’m sorry, what?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “David talks to me about stuff, you know that. Anyway, my point is that when you get overwhelmed and need help, you have a hard time just asking for help. Instead you passive aggressively make David feel bad that he isn’t doing more.”

“I’m not being passive aggressive.”

“Patrick, you are totally being passive aggressive. And I’m not saying David doesn’t share some of the blame: he’s got this learned helplessness thing that I assume dates back to early childhood and believe me, I find it as annoying as you do. Maybe more so.” She raised her coffee to her mouth and took a sip. “But if you’re overwhelmed right now, maybe you should try just straightforwardly asking David to help you.”

Patrick pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Fine.” He looked up at her. “For someone who claims to not do relationships, you certainly seem to know a lot about them.”

“When would I have time for a relationship? A significant amount of my free time is taken up by being your and David’s marriage counsellor.” She stood up from the table. “So are you good?”

Sighing, Patrick nodded. “I’m good.”

“Good, because I’ve got a flight to Michigan tonight to visit some of the midwestern motels.” She gave him a little wave and left via the back door.

Patrick picked up his phone and called David.

“Hi,” David answered on the third ring.

“Hey. I’m sorry. Can we talk?”

There was a pause, but Patrick could almost hear David nodding. “We can talk. I love you.”

Patrick was already stacking up his papers to return to their file folders. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He glanced around the kitchen, frowning. “And hey, can you tell Stevie to stop stealing our coffee mugs? She just took another one.”

David laughed. “It’s not just the coffee mugs. She has some of our dishes and flatware too.”

“Cool,” Patrick deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “And I love you, too.”

~~~

5:05 p.m.

Patrick spotted his father coming in from his reflection in the mirror as Patrick prepared to tie his tie. He dropped the two ends of it and spun around. “Thank god,” he said at the sight of the styrofoam containers in his father’s hands. “I don’t know why it just now occurred to me that I forgot to eat today.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine,” his father said with a smirk. “Could there possibly be something else on your mind?”

They sat together at the small desk in the town hall back room where they’d sequestered themselves to change for the wedding. Patrick’s mother was with the other relatives who had made the trip into town, texting frequent updates about his extended family’s shenanigans.

“Oh, I double checked with Stevie. She has the wedding rings,” Clint said as he tucked a napkin into his collar to protect his tuxedo shirt.

“Is she absolutely sure?” Patrick copied his father’s actions with his own napkin, imagining that if he managed to get mustard on his wedding shirt, David might change his mind about getting married. Finally, he dug into his food.

“She said she texted you a picture as proof,” Clint said with an amused smile. Patrick pulled out his phone while he chewed and sure enough, there were three pictures from Stevie in his messages: one close-up of the open ring box with two wide, gold bands in it, one selfie of her putting the box in the jacket pocket of her suit, and one of her flipping off the camera. He grinned and put the phone away. “Yeah, she has them.”

“She seems like an excellent maid of honour for David,” Patrick’s father mumbled around a mouthful of burger.

Thinking about Stevie’s delight at the happy ending mishap a couple of hours ago, Patrick chuckled and took another bite of his burger. “Yeah.”

“These burgers aren’t very good,” Clint admitted.

Patrick put his down. He’d managed to take three bites out of it, but the butterflies in his stomach were making it challenging to choke down any more of the food he’d wanted so badly a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, they’re never very good.”

“And yet you eat there frequently?”

Patrick shrugged. “It’s next to the store.” He pushed away from the table. “I think I’m too nervous to eat.”

Clint put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, son.”

“For what, going through with getting married this time?” Patrick joked, uncomfortable with his father getting emotional right now. He felt like his own emotions were way too close to the surface as it was.

“For realizing that things in your life weren’t right, and for having the courage to go out and find what you needed to be happy.”

“It didn’t feel like courage. It felt like running away.”

Clint threaded his fingers together and fidgeted with his thumbs, a nervous tic that Patrick had picked up from his father when he was a kid. “Your mother and I probably didn’t make it any easier on you those first few months, pressuring you to come home.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” Patrick said quickly. Maybe there were other things they needed to apologize for, but wanting him to come home when he couldn’t articulate why he’d left, that wasn’t something he could lay at their feet. “I wish I’d been brave enough to tell you about David from the start. You could have gotten to know him a lot better by now if I’d just—”

“Patrick, no.”

“It’s true.”

“We’ll have years to get to know him. Thanksgivings and Christmases and maybe some summer trips to the lake house, okay?”

Patrick let out a slow breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Clint pushed himself up from his chair, pulling the napkin from his collar. “Then let’s get you ready to get married, shall we?”

~~~

2021

“So are you ready for the official tour?” Patrick asked his parents after setting their luggage in the front room of the house.

“We saw the house when we were here for the wedding, remember?” Clint said with an indulgent smile.

“That doesn’t count; they hadn’t moved in yet,” Marcy said. “Now they’re settled in and we get to see it as Patrick and David’s house.” She looked around. “Is David not here?”

“He’s at the store, but he should be home in a half hour,” Patrick said. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He took them through the living room — where David had recently hung a piece of Japanese art above the fireplace, the mantle already crowded with pictures from their wedding; where a cozy sofa was angled toward the television Patrick had spent a frustrating Sunday mounting on the wall — to the kitchen. In the morning, the kitchen was Patrick’s favorite part of the house, sunlight streaming in through the south-facing windows as he boiled water for tea and ground coffee beans for David’s French press. One end of the counter tended to collect the detritus of their lives — junk mail, loose pens, change from their pockets, and David’s keys when he forgot to put them in the bowl by the front door. The cabinets were gradually filling up as they acquired more small appliances and salad bowls, crystal wine glasses and those proper pint glasses Patrick had always wanted.

“We’re going to paint in here next year,” Patrick explained. “I’d like to teach myself to tile so that I can replace the backsplash at the same time.”

“I could come out and help, if you want,” his dad offered.

“Sure, that would be great.”

He pointed out the dining room and then led them to the one downstairs bedroom, which was doubling as an office and guest room. “You’ll be in here,” Patrick said. “I promise the sofa bed is comfortable. Or Stevie says it is, anyway. She sleeps in here when she’s had too much to drink to drive home.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, sweetie,” his mom said. “The walls are an interesting color,” she commented, pointing out the deep plum walls.

“Oh yeah, David painted this room. I didn’t think I’d like it, but it kind of works.” He led them out and up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor of the house where the other two bedrooms were. Stopping in the doorway of the master bedroom, Patrick said, “This is our bedroom, obviously.” He moved on quickly. Even now that he was married to David, he still felt weird about his parents seeing the bed they shared. The couple of times they visited him in his apartment, he’d felt the presence of his bed in the space like it was looming over them, daring his parents to picture him in it with David.

“The bathroom up here is nicer than the one downstairs, so you’re welcome to come up and use this one,” he said, indicating the room in question. “I’d like to redo the tile in here too at some point, if I can find the time.”

He started toward the stairs, but his mother hung back. “Are those both closets?” she said, pointing to the other closed doors.

Patrick chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. One is the linen closet, one is the third bedroom that David uses as a closet. I don’t think he’d forgive me if I showed you that.”

His parents laughed and shook their heads and followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he poured them wine and set the oven to preheat so that he could bake the lasagna he and David had put together the night before. Then he pulled out ingredients for a salad.

“The house is lovely,” his mom said. “You’ve made a real home here, and it’s wonderful to see.”

“Have you decided what to do with that big yard yet?” Clint asked.

Patrick shook his head. “I’d like to try my hand at gardening, but I’m worried I won’t have the time to keep it up.”

David arrived home then in a flurry of hugs for his in-laws and a kiss on the cheek for Patrick, and in less than ten minutes he and Marcy were deep in conversation over the latest true crime documentary on Netflix. His father pulled a second knife from the block and went to work on the cucumbers while Patrick peeled carrots.

“This is what I always wanted for you, you know,” Clint said softly as they worked on the salad.

Patrick looked over at David. His excitement in making whatever point he was making to a giggling Marcy showed in his high-pitched voice and his broad hand gestures. Turning back to his father, Patrick raised a skeptical eyebrow. He was pretty sure this wasn’t at all what his father had pictured for him when he was young, and Patrick couldn’t help a tiny nugget of resentment from surfacing in his stomach for his father trying to rewrite their history.

“Okay, I didn’t know I wanted this, specifically,” Clint acknowledged. “I just… I wanted you to have a home of your own, is all. A place to settle down and be happy. That’s what I mean. And that’s what you have.”

Patrick smiled. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I have.”

~~~

5:41 p.m.

“Wow.” Stevie said when he emerged from the bathroom of the motel room.

David dismissed her reaction with a flutter of his hand. “You were with me at the fitting.”

“Yeah, but it hadn’t been fit yet so I didn’t get the full effect.” She eyeballed him up and down. “It’s really sexy, actually. Patrick’s gonna flip.”

David looked down at himself in his wedding clothes. He’d had them shorten the skirt so that the front panel hit him right at the knees, and then he’d been nervous that he’d made a terrible mistake. “Are you sure? It’s not too funky?” he joked, harkening back to the opinion about his clothes that Stevie had expressed years ago.

“No, I actually love it.” She took a sip of her champagne. “And you know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”

Going over to the mirror, David began fussing with his hair, making sure every strand was in place. The rest of his wedding might have been ruined, but at the very least he could look perfect.

“Are you nervous?”

He thought about it, probing his feelings. He was excited about saying his vows to Patrick and slipping a wedding ring onto his finger. He was feeling queasy that his vision for the outdoor wedding of his dreams had to be tossed aside because of the weather. But was he nervous? “Not at the moment, but ask me again right before I walk down the aisle.” He huffed. “If they even manage to have an aisle in that place. As I walk between Bob and Ronnie’s desks, I guess.”

Stevie grinned at him. “I went over and took a look at Town Hall while you were getting dressed. You might be surprised when you see it.”

He rolled his eyes, trying not to get his hopes up. “Whatever.”

The door between the motel rooms opened then and Johnny strode in, his bow tie dangling from his collar but otherwise he was dressed and ready to go. “Oh, Stevie, don’t you look lovely!” he said with a big smile before turning to take David in. “And David—”

“Yes, this is what I’m wearing, so don’t start,” David snapped, trying to head off any comments his father might make about the style of his wedding attire. Johnny Rose tolerated, even liked, all manner of fashion from his wife, but that tolerance hadn’t always extended to his son’s sartorial choices. Johnny might have accepted his sexual orientation a long time ago, but he occasionally had some old-fashioned ideas when it came to gender expression.

Johnny blinked, a spark of hurt in his eyes. “David, I think you look wonderful.”

David’s teeth clicked together in surprise. “Thanks.”

“And when I think about..” Johnny paused, and swallowed, and David could see the glassiness of unshed tears in his eyes. “When I think about how much you went through, and that now you’ve found someone to love you and share your life with…”

“Dad, you can’t do this right now; if you start crying, then I’m going to start crying, and then my eyes will be puffy in the wedding pictures and I’ll blame you for it.”

“Mr. Rose, maybe you could go check and see if Mrs. Rose is ready to drive over to Town Hall?” Stevie said gently, putting an arm around him and ushering him back to the door.

“That’s a good idea, Stevie — thank you.” He gave David one more watery smile before he closed the door behind him.

“Thanks,” David breathed. “I’m touched by how much he cares, but I can’t handle that level of emotion right now.”

Stevie nodded. “Then it’s a good thing you’ve got me, because I’m not capable of that level of emotion.”

David smirked at her. “Right.”

“Although for the record, I do love you a lot, and I’m really happy and honoured that I get to stand beside you while you marry the love of your life today.”

His eyes filled up with tears that immediately spilled over onto his cheeks. “Oh, fuck you.” He wiped under his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”

Stevie grinned. “Yes, I did. But also, it’s the truth.”

“I know.” David sniffled. “I love you, too.”

~~~

2029

When Stevie finally showed up on his doorstep the week before Christmas, David pulled her into a hug and almost started crying.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” he scolded her, his eyes squeezing shut as he rocked them back and forth.

“I know, I know, I didn’t know I’d have to be at corporate so much this year.” She slapped his arm. “Are you going to let me in anytime soon? I’m freezing.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, stepping back and letting her into the house. Stevie pulled her boots off and left them by the door, hanging her coat and scarf up before following David into the kitchen where he put a glass of wine into her hand.

“So, Dad being a hundred percent retired has been tough, huh?”

“I really didn’t realize how much work he did,” Stevie said, flopping into a chair. “So many meetings. Resolving conflicts between people with enormous egos. Making a thousand decisions every day, all the while convinced someone is going to point out what a huge fraud I am.”

“Oh my god, don’t talk about my best friend like that. You aren’t a fraud.”

“So what’s going on with the move to Elmdale, is that still happening?”

David felt his familiar anxiety arising at the mention of that topic. “We’ve looked at, like, a hundred houses. Some of them are very nice and two were within walking distance of my favorite pizza place and that new wine bar that opened up last year.”

Stevie squinted at him. “And therefore within walking distance of your Rose Apothecary location in Elmdale.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, and that. Our biggest location, and the one that arguably requires most of our attention these days.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“There is every logical reason to move.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I love this house!” He said, gesturing around at his warm kitchen. “I love it. We’ve done so much work on it over the years, and I just… I hate the idea of some other family buying it and moving in and living inside these walls that are ours.”

“You’ve always complained that it’s too small,” Stevie pointed out.

“I know. It is.”

“What does Patrick think?”

“He thinks I’m being overly sentimental, but he’s willing to stay in this house if that’s what I want. Of course. Because that’s what my husband does.”

“Maybe you haven’t found a house you like enough to replace this one, but that doesn’t mean that house doesn’t exist,” Stevie said. “Maybe you should keep looking.”

“Maybe.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss that topic of conversation into the ether. “Anyway, I read that profile of you in Entrepreneur Magazine.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “Would you believe that stupid magazine profile got me laid, like, multiple times?”

“I used to live in New York. Of course I believe that.”

“Like, so much dick, David.”

“Okay, I get it.” He sipped his wine and debated whether to ask the question that was plaguing him. “Any, um, special dicks in the bunch?”

Stevie narrowed her eyes. “Is that your way of asking if there’s anyone special in my life?”

“Maybe.”

“There isn’t. I mean, there’s guys that I’ve seen more than once, but if you’re asking if I’ve caught feelings for anyone, the answer is no.”

“Hmm.” He heaved a sigh and decided to bite the bullet. “So are you gonna… stay in New York?”

Smiling like she could see right through him, Stevie said, “Actually, one of the things I’ve been doing this week is sitting in on interviews for a new Chief Operating Officer. Because I want to come home.”

David’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he schooled his expression to one of skepticism. “You’re a high-powered business woman and you’ve spent the last few months in one of the most exciting cities in the world, getting wined and dined and eaten out by a parade of randoms, and you want to come back to Schitt’s Creek.”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“Why?”

“I miss the futility of Bumpkin.”

“Stevie, why?”

“Because I missed my friends, you dumb ass.” She swirled her wine. “You in particular.”

David suppressed a smile. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Dumb ass.”

~~~

9:42 p.m.

He dodged Alexis’ wobbly nose boop. His nose had been booped by her enough for one day.

“Daaavid. You’re married,” she said, swaying in front of him, a champagne flute clutched in her hand.

“I know, I haven’t forgotten the ceremony. And if I had, you’ve told me that four times already tonight.”

“Yeah, but I just keep thinking about how lonely you were before. Not just when we first got here, but also in New York.”

“Mm hmm, thanks, I appreciate you bringing that up,” he said with an eye roll.

Alexis ignored him. “I mean, there were always people around you, but you were really lonely. And now look.” She gestured around the room. Ronnie and some of the Jazzagals were in a loose circle on the dance floor, dancing and singing along too loudly to Crazy in Love. His father and Patrick’s father were talking at one of the tables, laughing about something. Stevie and his mother (having made a complete costume change after the ceremony) were doing shots at the bar while his new husband and mother-in-law were watching with amusement. “You have all of these people in your life who love you.”

David nodded, too overcome for the moment to speak. They both watched the reception in silence for a minute.

“Do you think Mom and Dad are going to be okay without us?” Alexis asked.

“They have each other, and they’ve always been the most important person in each other’s lives. They’ll be fine.”

“Do you think we’re going to be okay without Mom and Dad?”

“Yes, I do. Well, you will be, because you’re you. And I have Patrick, so…”

Alexis nodded. “Do you think we’re going to be okay without each other?”

“I think you better call me all the fucking time,” David said, putting his arm around her. Alexis wrapped both of her arms around his waist and squeezed.

~~~

2025

“I still can’t get used to you cooking,” Alexis commented from the tablet screen that David had propped up on the kitchen counter so that he could use both of his hands to finely chop the cilantro that had come out of their garden.

“You literally saw me cooking when you were here last Thanksgiving,” he said, the chef’s knife in his hand making a dangerous arc through the air as he made his point.

“I know, and I still can’t get used to it.”

“Patrick and I wouldn’t still be married if I hadn’t taken on a larger share of the housework, and it turns out, despite all past evidence to the contrary, that I’m good at this. Okay?”

“Okay, David, god. Lighten up.”

“So anyway, you were telling me about Mom and Dad,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, she says she’s really done with Los Angeles for good this time, and that they’re staying here in New York for the foreseeable future.” Alexis was fiddling with her hair. “We’ll see.”

“That’s a relief, honestly. I feel better knowing you’re close by to check in on them more frequently. They aren’t getting any younger.”

“When are you guys visiting New York again?”

David scraped the cilantro into his bowl of chopped tomatoes and grabbed a lime, slicing it in half. “August, I hope. What’s going on with that guy you were seeing? What was his name? Larry?”

“Ew, David. Can you see me dating a guy named Larry? It’s Leonard.”

“Uh huh, that’s much cooler,” he smirked. “Are you still seeing him?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s serious. I don’t know if I have time for something serious.”

“You work too hard.”

“So do you.”

David sighed, debating internally whether to tell her the news.

“What?” Alexis asked, her eyes narrowed. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Setting his knife down, David looked into the camera. “Ted’s back in town.”

She started fidgeting with her hair again. “Oh yeah? What brings Ted to town?”

“His mother is sick and he’s here to help her get to and from her chemotherapy appointments. At least that’s what Jocelyn said. She said he might even reopen his vet practice, but that might just be the Schitt’s Creek rumour mill on overdrive.”

“I should maybe send Mrs. Mullens a card, right? Should I send her a card?” Alexis asked in a small voice.

“I’m sure she would appreciate a card.” He cleared his throat. “If I see Ted, do you want me to—”

“No. I don’t know. Just… tell him I said ‘hey.’ And that I hope his mom is okay.”

“I’ll do that.” David felt a swell of affection for his little sister. “You know, the guest room here is yours anytime you want to visit.”

Alexis nodded up and down several times. “Yeah. I’ll… yeah. Let me check my calendar and I’ll get back to you. I mean, I know you miss me, so…”

He smiled. “I do miss you, Alexis.”

~~~

12:29 a.m.

“Do you want to dance some more?” Patrick asked, nuzzling against the side of David’s neck as they sat at one of the reception tables.

“We can if you want,” David said. Stevie, Alexis, and Twyla all seemed to just be getting their second wind, gyrating together on the dance floor to “Umbrella.”

“My feet are kind of killing me, actually,” Patrick admitted. “And as you once told me, sock feet in a public place is incorrect.”

David looked down at the boots he had paired with his Thom Browne tuxedo, which were still really comfortable after several hours on his feet. “Then we don’t need to dance. We did plenty of dancing tonight.”

“Do you want more cake?” Patrick asked.

“I might explode if I eat more cake.”

“A tragic and disgusting end to a very short marriage,” Patrick said seriously, his lips quirking up on one side in a tiny smile.

“Ha ha.”

Patrick sat up a little straighter then and waggled his faint eyebrows in a spoof of lasciviousness. “Do you wanna come back to my place?”

“Mm, I would, but I’m married,” David said, trying to suppress a grin.

Laughing, Patrick leaned closer. “Oh, but I’ve heard your husband is pretty liberated about stuff like that.”

David bit his lip. “Only in special cases, like when he hires a sex worker for me. Also, he has a weakness for attractive carpenters who are up for a threesome.”

Patrick looked around, a smirk still firmly planted on his face. “Are there any attractive carpenters here?”

“You know, I would’ve invited Jake? But I didn’t want to find my maid of honour hooking up with him in a closet before we managed to pose for pictures.”

Patrick’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked back and forth between David’s eyes and his mouth. “Seriously, though. We outlasted all of our parents at this party, and the newly married couple does traditionally leave first. We can go whenever you’re ready.”

“I think my parents are out back sharing a joint with Roland and Jocelyn, frighteningly enough, but I take your point. Let’s go home.” Home right now was still the apartment, but next month it would be the new house, which David was almost as excited about as he had been about the wedding.

A swish of white in David’s peripheral vision caught his eye, and he looked up to see Alexis, Twyla, and Stevie. Twyla had an entire bottle of champagne in one fist. “We’re taking this party back to the motel. Wanna come?”

He looked at Patrick, torn between his precious remaining time with his sister before she left for New York, and being alone with his husband. Patrick, as he often could, read David’s mind. “Yeah, let’s go party at the motel.”

Anyone awake and paying attention would have seen the five of them stumbling down the road at a quarter to one in the morning in formalwear, David unable to stop himself from laughing loudly at the ridiculous rendition of “Shallow” that Patrick and Twyla were singing while they walked. As they approached the motel, Patrick took a moment to whisper something in Stevie’s ear. David watched with curiosity as Stevie ducked into the office when they arrived, emerging after a few seconds and pressing something into Patrick’s hand. Before David could follow Alexis into their room, Patrick grabbed his hand and dragged him down the walkway to the room at the end of the row.

“What are we doing?”

“Just taking a tiny detour before we go party with your sister,” Patrick said, unlocking the love room.

“This is a nightmare room, though. Also I fucked Stevie in here.”

“Yeah, like three years ago. I think I can handle it,” Patrick deadpanned as he closed the door and pushed David up against it.

“They’re going to know what we’re doing.”

“Oh, no. What will I do if your sister and our friends know that you and I are having sex?” He kissed David, his mouth open and searching. “I just need a few minutes alone with my husband.”

David groaned, his head tilting back to thunk against the shade drawn over the door’s window panel. “Say that again.”

Patrick took David’s jacket from his hand, tossing it onto the dresser to his right. David’s tie was already untied, but Patrick unbuttoned another shirt button before he leaned in close, inhaling against David’s neck. “My husband.”

“Mm, fuck, okay. I’m on board now.”

“Good.” Patrick sank to his knees. “Because ever since I saw you walking down the aisle, some percentage of my brain was occupied with the thought of doing this.” He reached up under the skirt of David’s tuxedo, pulling his underwear down to his knees.

David pulled the front of the skirt up, wary of soiling it — it was the most expensive clothing purchase he’d made in years — but also just wanting to watch.

Patrick just nuzzled against him at first, and it made David wish there had been time for a shower because he’d definitely sweated a lot over the course of the day, but then Patrick had taken his cock into his mouth and David forgot to worry about it.

“Oh my god, you’re so good at that,” David gasped, his hand coming down to cup the back of Patrick’s head. Patrick worked him expertly, and the sight of him filling Patrick’s mouth while Patrick was still wearing his wedding clothes did something intense for David. He let his hips flex, his cock pushing forward into Patrick’s mouth. Into his husband’s mouth. Fuck.

Then without warning, Patrick’s mouth disappeared.

“Patrick, I’m close, come on,” he whined.

Patrick was looking up at him with those doe-eyes of his. “I don’t know, David. You did already come once today. Maybe I’d like some parity.”

“Oh my god.”

Patrick grinned, standing up. “Can I fuck my husband in this skirt?”

They didn’t manage to get any more clothes off, but they at least managed to make it over to the bed, where thanks to some conveniently placed lube in the bedside table, a few minutes later David found himself on his elbows and knees on those horrible red sheets. Patrick prepped him efficiently, his fingers teasing David’s prostate until he had to bite his hand to keep them from hearing him several doors down. Finally, Patrick pushed inside him with a groan, setting a hard and unrelenting pace from the outset. With a noise that was more sob than anything, David worked his hand down to his cock and stroked himself in time to Patrick’s thrusts. They finished simultaneously, in sync with each other even at this frantic pace.

“Let me clean you up so we don’t mess up your clothes,” David heard Patrick say from somewhere far away.

“Uh huh,” he murmured into the mattress.

“You still want to go party with the girls?” Patrick asked as he returned from the bathroom with a couple of washcloths.

“As soon as I can feel my arms and legs, sure,” David said.

Once they were cleaned up, they flopped down on their backs side by side and looked up at the mirror on the ceiling.

“Thanks for marrying me today,” David whispered.

“Same.”

~~~

2031

David huffed and flipped over onto his other side in the bed, sticking one leg out from under the covers to try to regulate his temperature. He punched his pillow and readjusted it under his head.

Patrick’s voice pierced the near-darkness of the bedroom. “Can’t sleep?”

“I’m fine.” He shifted again, curving his spine in yet another attempt to find a position that didn’t make his back hurt.

“Really? Because you’ve been fidgeting for an hour.”

David turned over, wincing. “Sorry, I can go downstairs. I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

Patrick gestured with his tablet. “You’re not; I was reading.”

“Still, I can go downstairs.”

Setting his tablet reader aside, Patrick rolled toward David. “Do you want to have sex?”

David thought about it, shifting onto his back. “I’m not horny.”

“Me either, but I could probably get there if you wanted to. Either way, I could give you a handjob.”

“It’s the way you’ve never let the romance die that makes this such a successful marriage,” David said, reaching over and patting Patrick’s cheek.

“Yeah, I realize it’s not terribly romantic, but it might help you sleep.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can jerk off if I really want to,” David said.

“Yes, I’m aware you’re capable of jerking off.” Patrick started to turn and reach for his book again. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“No, wait. I mean, I do sleep better after we’ve fucked than I do after masturbating.”

“You should write for Hallmark,” Patrick said.

“Hey, you’re the one who suggested a utilitarian handjob as a sleep aid.”

“I never said it would be utilitarian.” Patrick scooted closer to David under the thick duvet. “Let’s make sweet, tender love, David.”

“Shut up.”

“Let’s celebrate the beauty of our multi-decade relationship with some lube and—”

“I hate you,” David said, closing the distance between them and kissing him. His hand settled into the familiar spot on Patrick’s neck, long fingers cupped around to stroke through the short hairs on the back of Patrick’s head. He tasted like toothpaste, and even though they’d kissed thousands of times, David still felt a zing of arousal, enveloped in the sensations and warmth of his husband.

Patrick’s hand stole around David’s hip and under the waistband of his sleep pants, fingers digging into his ass cheek and pulling their pelvises flush against each other. A minute of grinding coupled with more deep, wet kisses was all David needed to go from vaguely interested to fully on board.

“Okay, I changed my mind,” David whispered against Patrick’s lips. “I am horny.”

“Mm hmm.”

“As are you,” David said, punctuating that sentence with another grind of his hips.

“Yeah, there’s just something about being kissed by my husband. I don’t know what it is.” Patrick said in that way he had that was simultaneously sarcastic and sweet.

David fumbled in his bedside drawer for lube, then pushed Patrick over onto his back, shoving his underwear down.

“Wait,” Patrick muttered when David squeezed some lube into his palm. “This is backwards, I was gonna do you.”

“After.” David flung the covers aside and wasted no time in closing his fist around his husband’s cock, setting up the rhythm Patrick liked, alternating long strokes with focused attention on the head while Patrick groaned and clutched at David’s arm. “Want anything else? I can finger you open, or get the vibrator—”

“Next time,” Patrick said, his hips thrusting against David’s fist. “Just this is gonna make me come pretty easily.”

“Yeah?” David kissed him and it was sloppy and kind of desperate, and he wondered not for the first time how they still managed to do this, go from lazy banter to being so hungry for each other they could hardly stand not to be touching.

“Yeah. Fuck, do it harder,” Patrick gasped and David did, squeezing and pumping his fist until Patrick came with a pained moan through his clenched teeth, his hips jerking and then slowing to a stop.

“God, you’re so easy,” David said, grinning smugly as he wiped his hand off on Patrick’s t-shirt. Patrick regained his breath, and then sat up in a crunch and pulled his t-shirt off, wiping his stomach clean and tossing it aside. They switched positions, but Patrick paused before he took David’s cock in his hand. “Would you rather have a blowjob?”

“No, this is good. Although can you…” He trailed off in a moan as Patrick stroked him. “Can you put your fingers inside me?”

“Yeah.” Patrick kissed him on the cheek.

David kicked his sleep pants the rest of the way off while Patrick sat up and helped himself to more lube. Then his hands were everywhere, stroking David’s cock and fingering him open, and David threw his head back and let himself feel all of it. When Patrick crooked his fingers and rubbed against his prostate at the same pace that he was stroking David’s cock with the other hand, David was a goner. He came in such record time that it should have been embarrassing.

“Fuck, you’re too good at that,” David gasped as he reached out a grabbed a fresh clean-up rag from his bedside table.

“I memorized the cheat codes to a David Rose orgasm more than ten years ago,” Patrick called as he was walking to the bathroom to clean up his hands.

“Mm hmm. Well done.” He was barely aware of Patrick getting back into bed and settling the duvet over him, and with his last shred of consciousness, he reached out and touched his husband’s hand.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight, David.”

“Night.”

[vertanimeni]

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (2/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy/Grounder OC

Word Count: 4,027

TW: None I believe~

A/N: Hi hi! After some convincing from my friends, I decided to post this series here :D I’ve already finished with season 1 and half of season 2, I’m just in the middle of re-writing and editing. If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. I’ll be updating every other day at 12pm EST. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

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ii. invaders.

As it turned out, sending word to Chief on the scavenger group was the right call. The group had almost triggered Mount Weather’s fog territory when one of them, a young boy, had used a vine to leap across the river. With little time to think or make a plan, a scout had speared the boy in the chest from afar and dragged his body away.

Well. The entire situation could have ended up worse, especially since the hunters of surrounding villages were out at that time. If they had been caught in the fog, there was no chance of survival for them or the food they might have been hunting.

Unfortunately, this also meant the scout had accidentally alerted the sky people of Trikru’s presence. Kova and Lincoln had been surprised to find the once peaceful camp suddenly in disarray when the scavenger group returned with news that they weren’t the only ones on Earth.

As for TonDC’s training camp? Needless to say, word of the sky people spread across the grounds shamelessly.

“It seems like the Descendants didn’t know there were still living humans here!”

“Hah! The Betrayers were full of rich, wealthy, and influential pigs who stepped on others to survive! I wouldn’t be surprised if they taught their children, including these so-called Descendants that they were the last humans!”

“How self-centered!”

“Do you all have nothing else to do but gossip?” Kova’s sharp voice came from the table behind the gossiping warriors. “Go train like proper students. I’m tired of hearing your voices.”

The warriors turned their heads so viciously towards them that Kova felt second-hand whiplash. The group of warriors faced Kova, faces red in anger, affronted, ready to give Kova a piece of their mind, most likely something along the lines of “How dare you speak to your elders/higher ranks like that!”

That was, until, they realized who had admonished them with little care for respect. Embarrassed at being called out by the great Elephant of Caocin, they shamefully grabbed their things and left. Kova had no doubt that the group was cursing them out as they made their way to the training ground.

Kova took another sip of tea from the cup they made when they returned from scouting. After 12 hours of traveling by tree, running around thick and sturdy branches, noting down important aspects of the camp and the Descendants, they had finally been relieved and were ordered to report to the Chief about their findings.

The most important note of their scouting session was that, yes, one of the Descendants had a gun, just as the scout who had speared the sky boy mentioned in their report. Why? Nobody knew. Not even Chief Indra of the Unforgiving generation, the oldest living generation on Earth, had seen a gun in her lifetime.

Thankfully, as far as they were aware of, there was only one gun. But the idea of the Descendants owning a weapon like that, a weapon practically extinct yet still taboo throughout the twelve clans, didn’t sit well with the Chief. The Chief immediately sent word to Lieutenant Anya, General Tristan, and the Commander herself, just in case.

Two taps on the calf of their legs, resting comfortably on the chair opposite of theirs, brought them back to the present. Without thinking, they held their legs in the air for a moment to let Lincoln sit across from them before placing their legs back down on his lap, careful to not let the outsole of their shoes brush against his pants.

They gave him a questioning look. He wordlessly handed over an envelope, closed by a wax seal with a familiar intricate design. Kova couldn’t help but look away and shut their eyes, taking the envelope and dropping it carelessly, seal facing the table. “That seal,” they took in a deep breath, eyes tightening shut, “that damned seal haunts my dreams.” They muttered under their breath and opened their eyes. “What mission did you get?”

Lincoln shook his head. “Not sure yet. I wanted to open it with you. But Kova—” they raised their eyebrows slightly at the usage of their real name. “—the Commander and Lieutenant Anya gave you 3 years of medical leave.”

A bitter laugh tumbled out of Kova’s mouth. “Medical leave? Is that what they’re calling it now, Lincoln?”

“You don’t have to return to Trikru’s militia yet, not if you don’t feel ready.”

“I’m never going to be ready.” Their gaze finally met his, yet Lincoln couldn’t feel relief, not when he could see the dark circles under their eyes, and the even darker look on their face. “I had seven years left of training before I can finally opt out of of the militia in good graces. I’ve spent two of those years in seclusion, I cannot spend one more minute in that damn residence. Especially now.”

For the first time in all his life, Lincoln realized, he wanted to plead — no, beg — for Kova to return to the residence. At least then he would know that they weren’t wearing themselves thin for a clan who forced their hand all those years ago. But their words stunned him, and while he stared at them wordlessly, mouth slightly agape, they took their envelope and pulled out the letter.

After a moment, he raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what they had gotten. “Lead protector of Fort Nauk.” They answered his unasked question and folded the letter back up neatly into the envelope. “You?”

He opened his and sighed before handing them the letter. They couldn’t help but snort. “Lead facilitator of the scouting group, huh? Looks like we won’t be able to see one another for a while.”

“A-Ko—”

“It says here you’ll be leaving tonight.” They handed the letter back. “Congrats, you get the job closest to all the action.”

“Will you be okay without me?”

“Shit, I better be okay, I have an entire fort to protect, apparently.” They meant to joke around, but their words came out with a tang of bitterness.

“Kova.” Ah shit. They knew that tone of his. “Be serious. Will you be alright? I don’t mind taking another mission to be closer to you.”

“You do that and I’ll never forgive you.” They snapped as they stood up. “I don’t need a baby sitter, I’ll be just fine on my own. It’s not my first time leading, nor is it my first mission.”

“Kova—”

“I better report to the Chief to let her know.”

“Kova, wait—”

“I’ll see you tonight.” And with that, they left Lincoln alone at the table.

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They hadn’t meant for their conversation to end on such a bad note, but the idea of Lincoln sacrificing his own duties just to take care of them left a sour taste in their mouth. Truthfully, Kova had only taken a few steps away from Lincoln when they realized how childish they were acting, but whether it was out of pride or stubbornness, they refused to turn back. Instead, they found their feet taking them to the Chief, true to their previous words—

“Why do I feel like you would rather be anywhere else but this camp? The very same camp you begged to be part of all those years ago?”

—only to find themselves in the middle of another lecture.

Chief Indra stood behind her desk, facing the window of her tent, hands clasped behind her back. She tilted her head slightly towards Kova, who remained frozen in their spot, eyes glued to the floor.

“Why do I feel like you are still not happy?”

“Would you like for me to fake my happiness for your pleasure?” While their voice had softened considerably compared to their usual clear tone, their sharp words could not be dulled down.

“Kova!” The Chief whipped around, eyes flashing in anger, eyebrows furrowing together.

“My apologies, Chief, that was out of line.”

“That’s another thing. Since when did you start calling me Chief?” The Chief stepped towards them, and they ducked their head further, away from her gaze. She must have decided not to push on that topic, whether because she was afraid of the answer, or didn’t care as much as Kova thought. “A-Ko. You were once considered as Trikru’s pride and joy.” Her voice came out in a murmur, hinted with disbelief. “Yet here you are. What happened to you?”

Kova knew Chief Indra’s words delve far deeper than their conversation. Her words held two years of resentment of Kova’s voluntary seclusion, held the pain of not just losing her best warrior and student, but someone she had once considered family.

Despite knowing this, they couldn’t prevent their thoughts from growing bitter. ‘What happened to me? How could you possibly ask me that, knowing damn well what happened to me. Were you not there when the higher ups forced my hand at that mountain? Were you not there the second I became the feared mass murderer I am today? Were you not there when my family and I were praised and despised for my actions? What happened to me wasn’t my choice, I never asked for this, I never asked to be the Elephant of Caocin.’

The room had gone silent. It felt as if even the world outside the tent had fallen into hushed whispers. Confused, Kova looked up, only to find the Chief practically shaking in anger, fists trembling against her desk, her face adorning a scowl Kova hadn’t seen since their own breakdown two years ago. It was only then did Kova realize two things.

One, they had said their thoughts out loud.

And two, at some point, they had also started crying.

Fresh tears streaked down their cheeks, but they made no movement to wipe their face, terrified of catching the Chief’s attention.

“Elephant of Caocin,” the Chief started, her voice straining to contain her anger, preventing her from yelling, “is an honorary title, given by the Commander herself. How could you possibly—”

“While I didn’t mean to speak my mind, Chief,” They practically spat the word, their anger flaring, “I cannot believe that you chose to focus on that out of what I said.”

If this was a few years ago, when Kova still had respect for the militia and the clan, when their hands weren’t tainted by the bitter tang taste of chokeberries, blood and dirt, they would have respectfully asked for permission to leave Chief Indra’s presence. But this was no longer a few years ago. Kova no longer held any respect towards the Chief, towards the militia, or towards Trikru. Kova was no longer Kova. They were the Elephant of Caocin.

Thus, with a subtle bow of their head, one fist across their heart and the other behind their back, as customary, they left the tent, ignoring the calls of what had once been their name.

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Kova had secluded themselves once more in their private tent after their talk with Indra. They had fallen into a mental black hole, one that took a few hours to climb out of. By the time they had left their tent, stomach grumbling in contempt, the sun was beginning to fall past the mountains surrounding the camp, ready to leave the warriors to defend themselves against the growing cold. ‘Winter must be coming sooner than we thought.’ The thought briefly passed their mind in a panic. They mentally noted that they would have to prepare their residence back at TonDC against the cold.

They had been on their way to the main campfire, where everyone would group to see of the scouts, only to be told by Zoya they had missed the scouts departures. Including Lincoln’s.

Frustration coiled in their chest like a familiar snake, and while Zoya had once known Kova like the back of her hand, and would never be afraid of them, she also knew the Elephant of Caocin had a short temper when it came to Lincoln or those close to them.

“They left recently,” She pointed Northeast with her thumb, forcing her hand not to tremble. “Since they’ll be setting up camp eventually, I think you can catch up with them.”

Without another word, Kova made their way out of camp and through the woods. Usually, a scouting mission like this wouldn’t bother Kova (unless it involved Azgeda). After all, they and Lincoln had gone weeks, months on end without seeing or hearing from one another, but this time was different. Maybe it was because they had ended on a bad note earlier that day. Maybe it was because of their talk with the Chief. Regardless of what it was, they had to at least say good bye, even if it meant they had to run to him this time, instead of away.

‘By the Gods,’ Kova thought as they ran through the woods, hopping over uprooted trees and roots alike, ‘Radios would sure come in handy right now.’

The elders, who were now mostly ancestors, had salvaged radios a few decades ago, and they worked perfectly fine until suddenly every single one of them had a strange frequency interference. The radio workers at the time said it was just lingering radiation.

‘Lingering radiation. Just wait until I can get my hands on one, let’s see if lingering radiation will stop me from reaching A-Lin.’ Kova mentally scoffed, their eyes focused on the task of finding their brother.

Poor Lincoln. They couldn’t help but wince at how he would react when (not if, when) he found out about their conversation with the Chief. They knew he wasn’t necessarily fond towards the Chief, but regardless, she was still their superior, their elder, one that had taken care of them not too long ago.

Their train of thoughts were pushed to the side when their eyes found a source of light from a campfire, and eventually stumbled upon the scouts themselves.

Before any scout could pull their swords out, they raised their hands and announced, “It’s me.”

Soft murmurs of ‘oh’ came from the scouts before they all decided to sit back down into their relaxing positions, placing their weapons to the side. Most were eating or talking, but there were a few scattered around who were simply sleeping. The ones who were awake greeted them with a simple nod.

“We were wondering when you would pop up.” One scout greeted Kova with a firm grip to their forearm, which Kova reciprocated. “Looking for Lincoln?”

They gave a subtle nod of their head, a soft “Mn.” following.

“He said his seclusion hut is nearby and went to pick up something he forgot.” The scout jutted their head towards their left. “He went that way.”

Kova raised an eyebrow ever so slightly in confusion, but if the scout had noticed the change in expression, they didn’t mention it. “Thank you. Good luck on the mission.” They turned around to leave—

“Wait, Elephant of Caocin!”

The name felt as if the young scout had poured cold water down their spine. Kova turned back, slowly, hesitantly, as if ready for another lecture, but to the scouts, it looked like they had just stopped and waited to listen.

“It’s already dark out,” The scout spoke, and Kova realized their words were true — the sun was gone, replaced by a bright moon, as if mocking their predicament. “Why don’t you stay until Lincoln returns? We have extra food if you’d like to eat. He should be back soon.”

They clenched their jaw. All they wanted to do was find Lincoln. But they also knew the scout’s words were, once again, true. There would be no point running around the forest blind. They’ve visited Lincoln’s hut before, but not to the extent where they knew where to go based on their position in the forest.

Letting out a small huff of visible breath, they gave the scout a curt nod. After having a quiet dinner alone, they settled on what would have been Lincoln’s mat, knowing that when he returned, the two could have a serious talk, and, hopefully, Kova could apologize.

As they settled on their side underneath their fleeced-jacket-turned-blanket, Kova briefly wondered if they would even be able to sleep tonight. Their thoughts derailed to their time in seclusion, how they tried so desperately to sleep, even when their residence would become so dark at night, they couldn’t be sure they still had their eyes. But now, with the light of the stars above them, they could see their hand in front of them, fingers relaxed. They could see the tall grass surrounding the mat, some facing away under the crushing pressure of Lincoln’s bed. And they can see the tree line, where even more darkness, and maybe Lincoln, were.

During those two dark years in seclusion, there had been a few times where Kova would lie in bed for what felt like hours, and they would stare at what should have been the ceiling (if the hut wasn’t so damn dark at night) until their eyes burned and teared up from exhaustion, their muscles aching to relax for even one moment. Only then could they “sleep,” when in reality they would blink and find the ceiling streaked with sunlight and the roosters beginning to crow.

(The point of sleeping was to restore and energize their body, so why did they feel even more exhausted when they woke up?)

This is what happened on Lincoln’s mat, except when Kova blinked, instead of waking up to the sun rising as usual, they woke up in the midst of blue hour, just before the sun could shyly touch its rays upon the Earth.

They had hoped it was Lincoln who had woken them up, but when they sat up on their elbows, the entire camp was asleep, the campfire was merely ashes, and Lincoln was not there.

They shot upright. The scout that had been on watch startled, as if they had been falling asleep. If this was another time, Kova would have teased them with some light scolding, an amused look on their face.

But this was not another time, and Lincoln was not here.

They stood up, swinging their fleeced jacket over their shoulders smoothly.

“Elephant of Caocin, where are you going?” The scout stood up with them, but all it took was one strong, sleep deprived glare from Kova for the scout to slowly sit back down, a shocked look on their face. Kova softened their look, a hint of an apology behind their dark eyes before they turned back to the forest line.

“I’m going to find Lincoln. Don’t follow me.”

And with that, they walked out of the camp quietly.

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The moment Kova knew they weren’t being followed by the scouts, their walk became a light jog, then a run, then a full on sprint. If the sounds of leaves crunching under their shoes or their heavy footfalls didn’t alert the animals nearby, then surely the sound of their pounding heart would, each beat hitting their eardrums.

At night, Kova wouldn’t have been able to tell where Lincoln’s home was, but in the day, there were little signs of where it could be. There were a few areas where mushrooms that had been growing on trees were picked, where herbal plants had been cleanly cut off, and where opened seeds without their pits were lying around. Once they reached a familiar bush of little berries, one that Lincoln was fond of because it reminded him of the berry tarts his mother used to make for him when he was young, Kova knew they were almost there.

So one could only imagine their crestfallen shock when they finally reached the cave (that Lincoln turned into a home during his own seclusion), only to find it completely ravaged. The door of Lincoln’s home had been ripped off its hinges and thrown into the bushes nearby, and the once well cared for welcome mat inside the house had been stampeded over, with boot marks made of dirt trailing from the mat and down the stairs.

Kova stumbled forward once, twice, his name quietly tumbling out of their mouth until one of their knees gave out underneath them. The dirt and dust underneath their knee would surely stain their clothes, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care.

Before they could even think about what could have done this (or who, a small voice whispered in the back of their mind), they heard grunts and the sound of objects being thrown around in the house. At first instinct, Kova had thought he was in the midst of being ambushed and needed help, but it didn’t add up. He had been gone for the entire night, unless he chose to sleep there instead of the scout camp, but even then, if he was being ambushed, there would be the sounds of punches and kicks hitting their marks, not the sounds of paper shifting and metal mugs clattering across the floor. There was a heavy weight in their gut, as if to say wait it out. They knew better than to ignore their gut instinct, so they did.

Although they had been trained for situations such as this, Kova couldn’t push down the panic that rose in their throat when they heard not one, but two pairs of feet heading up the stairs, a thudding noise following with every step as if they were dragging something heavy. They ran and hid behind the bushes, peeking through them by spreading the leaves apart with one hand, while the other went straight down to the weapon holster on their thigh. Their fingers curled around the handle of their knife, but kept it sheathed.

They saw movement from deep within the house until two boys stepped out of the entrance, dragging a man between them. One boy carried the man by his legs and the other by his arms, but they must have been weak, seeing as the two dropped the body as soon as they passed the entrance, hunching over in exhaustion.

“Why is he so damn heavy?” One of them wiped the sweat off with the back of his hand.

It didn’t take much for Kova to recognize who the man was. Their eyes widened and they sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Lincoln, you damn fool.’ Kova had never seen the two boys before, but their clothing style was an obvious indicator they weren't part of the 12 clans, nor part of the mountain men. They must be the invaders from the dropship. Kova could only wonder how they found Lincoln, but didn’t have time to ponder over it, seeing as the two boys picked Lincoln up again.

The skin of their knuckles turned stark white as their fingers curled tightly around the hilt of their knife, ready to rip it out of its sheath. Yet they hesitated in killing the two boys.

They were reminded of the scouts’ reports when they first checked out the drop ship. When the invaders first landed, the scouts' reports contrasted with others, so it was unclear on their abilities. Kova never saw these kids fight, but one scout did and said they were out for blood and revenge. Another scout said they fought like how young children do over a toy. The invaders were unpredictable. The other reason they hesitated was the gun. Based on reports there was only one gun in that group, but who knew how many guns the invaders could have? As much as Kova would hate to admit it, they had no chance if the two boys had a gun on them. It would kill them quicker than they could even touch them. And they would rather die by Trikru’s hands than some invaders.

Kova knew better than anyone else when to choose their battles, despite wanting to choose them all. But for their safety, for Lincoln’s safety, the best plan they could think of was to request a rescue mission. Thus, they loosened their hold on their knife, hung their head, and let Lincoln go.

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[darkestwolfx]

Numbers

I had a few ideas when I first read this one, but I thought I wanted to go with something I don't usually write – not for want of inspiration, but more logistics from the show side of things.

You can play around with the ages in your head as I haven't specified, but we're talking school ages, kind of before International Rescue. I'm thinking of using this in my Young Tracy's series too, so hair colours etc at in TOS form for this one.  Longest one yet I think too.

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18: Numbers

Summary: Gordon had a passionate hatred for numbers and figures.

Words: 2199

Spoilers: None.

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There were people in the world who could achieve great things with numbers. Mathematicians who came up with great problems and solutions and played around with numbers like a baby did toys and a rattle.

There were also people in the world who could achieve great things without numbers. Like artists and athletes and circus performers and… heck, what did it matter? You didn't often hear about people like that, people who struggled with numbers like a baby did walking.

Being a child was hard enough without being a brother.

Being a brother was hard enough without being one of the younger ones.

Being a younger brother was hard enough without having older brothers who could do what you could not.

Gordon was slightly glad to no longer be the youngest, yes. But it still remained that he had three older brothers and those brothers were far more academic than he.

Virgil – lucky bug – could maintain a good average and be artistic, the perfect combination of both who was strong and yet delicate, smart and yet creative. Had the middle child just been creative, his teachers wouldn't have been half as kind, but because he was both it was like summer come early, all bright smiles and praise.

Scott – for all he was the eldest – was not the smartest, though he didn't like to hear it. But the point remained that he was capable of trudging on through, enough that he would be able to join the Air Force just like their Father had. The eldest wasn't the best with numbers on paper, but he was good at crunching any needed for flight. Pilot mode, as Gordon referred to it.

John – for all Gordon loved him, really loved him – was a pain in the ass. He didn't try to be, he never asked to be, but the blonde was inexplicably gifted. And really that should be plural, but Gordon was sure gifted didn't have one of those. No, John was good with words, he was excellent at science (all of them, but physics especially) and he was an absolute wizard with numbers. The red head envied the speed with which his big brother could do his maths homework like it was merely colour by numbers.

It was unfair that all of his brothers were academics, and had set a pretty good record for it at school, raising the bar high, high, high into the sky for him, but it was another thing for John to be a genius.

Virgil had been lucky to be a culmination of smart and creative coming after John, because it made him look somewhat extremely talented too – which Gordon would agree, his direct elder was a master with any medium of art, including the musical kind.

He on the other hand, was not so lucky. He was c**p with words, f***ed with science, and s**t with manipulating numbers. And it was good that he said none of that rant aloud for Dad would absolutely rip in apart for the language, and Scott might have a go to is he was hovering around. It wasn't language Gordon would normally use either even though everyone at school, especially in his year, were at the point where bad language like that was cool. No, Alan wasn't even the reason why he wouldn't use it. They'd always been a family with little need for it, but right now… right now whilst he was pulling his hair out (which, he'd have anyone know was one of his best features) over the bloody, damn nonsensical numbers before him, knowing he couldn't do anything else until his homework – which why did it have to include math! – was done, he didn't care. It was acceptable to use whatever language he so pleased. He'd been here, elbows on his desk and hands in his hair for hours, gritting his teeth and stabbing his pencil into the paper, but the answers were always wrong or the method never came to him- and long story short, he just couldn't do it.

He was so tempted to chuck his pencil across the room, but he'd already snapped one with his anger.

There was a knock at the door. Oh damn! He was tempted to just send whoever it was away.

"What?" He'd hoped his tone would be deterrent enough.

"Not a good time?"

"No."

Of all the brothers it could have been.

"Scott's watching the football. Virgil too."

"Goody for them."

"They wanted to know if you want to join. We're having ice cream."

"Lovely. Off you go."

John was silent for a moment.

"So, I'll take it that's a no then."

"Yes. Go."

But by the sound of it, John didn't 'go' in the direction Gordon had intended, for within moments of careful, quiet footsteps, his brother was stood beside him.

"Oh, you're multiplying polynominals."

"So that's what they're called."

He'd honestly forgotten.

John seemed to be looking between him and the paper, full of erased scribbles and large indents from his eventual anger.

"I thought you only had a couple bits of homework to do?"

"And I'm doing it."

"No, I just meant… well, usually you'd be done by now and joining us for ice cream."

"Well I'm not done so even if I want to I can't. House rule. You know that."

"I do." Gordon felt a little bad. He was being snappy and he knew it. And John didn't deserve that just because he was a genius and the younger wasn't. He decided he should probably keep his mouth shut so as not to do any more unnecessary snapping. "Right. I'll just uh, leave you to finish it then…"

"Yeah, off you go and have some ice cream on me."

He thought John might have actually gone. Scott didn't have the same level of stealth as the second son, so it would have been far easier to tell. But no, the elder's quiet nature had done Gordon no favours.

"Gordon, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something is because you're snapping. And being sarcastic – you don't really want me to eat ice cream for you."

"No, I don't! I want to watch the football – not because I like football, but because you're all down there and you're eating ice cream and I'm stuck up here with poly what's it called."

"Polynominals."

"Yeah, yeah those."

John walked back over, standing beside him with no awareness to how annoyed his very presence was currently making the copper haired boy. It's not his fault, he reminded himself. He never asked to be born a genius.

"The answer to question one is 8x2-50x+63."

"How?" He finally, finally snapped, throwing his pencil – unintentionally – onto the floor – he'd been aiming for the desk. Damn. "How do you do that, in your head as well! That's not fair."

"Gordon, I learnt these years ago, y-"

"It's still not fair! I've been looking at these for an hour!"

"You should have as-"

"I hate numbers! Why can't we have mandatory swimming."

John… chuckled. And the first thing which came to mind was why? Honestly, Gordon was baffled.

I've just shouted at him, and he's laughing?

He knew John was good at staying calm, but this was almost crazy.

"If they did that, I really wouldn't be any good. You'd have the best grades."

"Yeah. I would."

"Here."

John held out his pencil to him, Gordon never having seen him moved to retrieve it. He took it with a quiet 'thanks'. He still wasn't quite sure how he should feel. His brother was jesting with him like the whole shouting match - or rather, at, since John's voice never rose, not even once – never happened.

"You need to multiply each number by the other numbers in the brackets and then you add and subtract accordingly."

"What?"

"The polynominals you- Sorry. I'll leave you to it."

"No, no, no!" John halted almost abruptly. Gordon realised he'd been shouting, again, and made a deliberate effort to lower his voice. "Can you… can you say again?"

The blonde nodded and made his way back over.

"Do four times two and four times nine, then do seven times two and seven times nine." He made an effort to scribble whilst the elder spoke, his hand moving faster than it did usually, even in class. "Remember if there's x's to times, you have to include them in the answer. So if you times two x's together you get x squared, like if you four times four."

"Ok, ok. Then?"

"Add or subtract it all, and rewrite it in it's final form without the brackets."

"Right, ok. Um… like that?"

John glanced over his shoulder once more, green eyes studying his messy scrawl, made harder to read by the past attempts strewn like ghosts over the paper.

"Yes, but it's plus sixty-three." He frowned, returning his gaze to the paper to look for the reason why. "You times two negatives."

"Oh yeah!" He quickly made the correction, rubbing furiously to get rid of the blasted additional line, hovering even still from al his previous endeavours. "Like that."

"Mmm hmm."

"Ok… oh, did you want to be watching the football."

John all but frowned at him. "I hate football. You know I only watch if Scott's playing. I've got a book waiting for me."

"Sorry to keep you."

"I like math, so it's ok."

He nodded, not really sure what else he should do. He never meant to (inadvertently) ask for John's help, although he couldn't deny he was glad to have it, but now his problem lay in how to keep it. Part of him knew asking would be ok and the other was still torn about whether he even wanted to. He was prideful, for all that he wasn't good at math. He didn't want to appear stupid, least of all to his genius brother. But then again, he didn't want to appear stupid to his class either. He'd unluckily ended up with the same maths teacher all his older brothers had had, so there was no luck there, but he intended to keep the rest fooled.

"Do you want to do the rest?"

"Rest..?"

"Of the questions. I can't do them all for you."

"No. Mrs R would probably know." He jested, trying to lighten the mood which seemed to have descended, and he was overly aware that such was his fault for having shouted.

"Probably." John agreed. "I think the handwriting would give it away."

Yes, because John was even gifted with being able to write nice and neatly, just like Virgil. At least Scott's writing was also abysmal, although maybe not quite so much as his.

"I was thinking more about the math."

"But you can do it."

"You told me what to do."

"So just repeat exactly that."

"But I can't even remember what I did, you- you were talking me through it."

"Gordon, does someone talk you through how to do… butterfly stroke?"

"Uh, no!"

"Exactly. And you do it fine."

"I'll have you know I do better than fine. But that's something I'm good at. I've done it for ages."

"But that's the point. Someone talked you through that when you first learnt, but you don't need that anymore. Same thing with math." He let his eyebrows raise of their own accord. John took an answer from that, as expected. "You'll get there."

"Yeah… No. Well, maybe, but not tonight I don't think, and I'd really like some ice cream."

"Me too." John smiled, and that was kind of infectious because Gordon found himself smiling too. "So, question two?"

The blonde reached out and pulled over Gordon's old bean bag. He preferred to sit on that than a chair after swimming. His brother dropped down beside him and reclined quite happily from what Gordon could see.

"I'll just sit here and wait until you need me."

And he did smile this time, of his own free will.

"Ok."

Part of him was very pleased that he hadn't had to ask: the other part was very aware that John had probably gathered he wanted-but-didn't-want to ask for help and thus had offered.

He had some very good brother's looking out for him, indeed. It just helped when they were a genius.

"Right, question two has stuff outside the brackets, what do I..?"

"Same thing, but only times everything in the brackets by the number outside."

"So, I'm doing five sevens, five fours, and five twos?"

"Yeah. And add in the x's."

"But that one's going to give four x's… Is that right, is that possible?"

"Yeah, just put a little four instead of a two."

"So… like that."

"Yeah."

"Ok, ok, I've got this."

"You do."

"Ice cream here we come!"

John chuckled again and Gordon felt a little better as he powered onto question three. There were fifteen of them, but with his genius brother at his side, he was sure he'd be ok getting through them.

He wasn't the best with numbers, but if the world flooded tomorrow, he'd be ok to stay afloat; and until such a time he could best the numerals, he had John to act as his raft.

[fandom-scribe]

Whumptober: Day 1 - Shaking Hands

Title: Living Empty

Word Count: 1,597

Author’s Note: Oh shit. I’m back and I actually wrote instead of just saying I’m gonna write. Sorry to say I’ve returned with this utter crap. It’s bad. Really. I’m just gonna apologize for the bad quality, especially the first two paragraphs. I’m really bad at beginnings so this rambling shit is just me getting into the groove.

On AO3

—

Alfred knew how a butler was meant to behave. Straight back, pressed suit, polished shoes, no emotion. He was supposed to be a statue, a wooden Pinocchio, only becoming a real boy when the Master calls. That’s what his father taught him, what the sharks of high society Gotham expected. How funny it was, the looks on their faces when he proved himself to be a human being. The way a started hand rushed to press against a sharply risen bosom, the way thick brows knotted together in an offended embrace, accompanied by the twitching of a mustache. Alfred didn’t get that in the Manor. Master Bruce and his young charges were far too used to his snark and sarcasm and passive-aggressive demeanor. Alfred only got the good reactions during a Wayne hosted gala.

Alfred knew how a butler was meant to behave, but he wasn’t perfect at it. He had the posture, the suit, the shoes. He also had emotions. So maybe he wasn’t a typical butler, but that was fine: he didn’t live a typical life, didn’t serve a typical family, didn’t have a typical Master. He also wasn’t just a butler. He was the family chef, the chauffeur, the medic, and the supporter of an entire family of vigilantes. He juggled all of these positions almost flawlessly, placing on the butler mask and never letting his family see him falter. He didn’t stumble in front of them, didn’t hesitate, his hands never shook.

His hands never shook.

Why were his hands shaking?

“Alfie, you gotta take care of yourself,” Master Richard chided, voice light despite the heavy concern in his eyes. Alfred shot him a withering glare that said back off and a raised brow that asked are you seriously telling me to take care of myself? Master Richard smiled in return, having the decency to look sheepish. “Ok, ok, point taken. I’m just worried.”

“You have no reason to be,” Alfred replied, turning half his attention back to the tea cup in his hands. He bit back a grunt of effort as he attempted once more to lift the cup to his lips. His hands shook in protest, and tea that had turned cold ages ago sloshed over the rim, splashing onto his hands and pants. “Alfie, stop. Please.” Richard’s hands cupped his, stabling the tea cup. His hands were warm with life, the contrast nearly shocking against Alfred’s freezing skin.

“I am fine, Master Richard.” And in that moment he believed it, even if Richard so clearly didn’t. How could he not be fine with his grandson - yes, his grandson - was in front of him, skin warm, eyes alive, chest rising and falling steadily to the rhythm of an undoubtedly beating heart. So many tried to take Richard away from them, from him, but Richard always returned. Always.

Always.

“Is everything alright?” a deep voice asked and Alfred went from fine to better than fine. Good. Great, even, as Master Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. His son’s - his son! Oh how he wished he could see the look on his father’s face if the older man knew how he thought of his Master - hand was larger than Richard’s but just as warm. His blue eyes held the same glint of life, his chest moving to the same rhythm.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Alfred felt as if he could watch the simple movement for hours.

“Alfred’s sick and won’t admit it,” Richard said, bringing him back to the present. Alfred blinked a few times, turning his eyes away from his son’s chest and up towards his face which now wore the same concerned expression. Maybe he was sick, Alfred mused. He never spaced out, always found pride in his ability to focus and multitask. Alfred was grateful every time his family survived another day, came home another night, woke up another morning, but it was never a distraction. If anything, it’s the thing that kept him focus.

“Doesn’t feel feverish,” Bruce said as the back of his hand - Warm. Alive. - pressed against Alfred’s forehead.

“His hands are shaking.” Richard removed his hands from Alfred’s. They began to shake once more, fingers nearly numb with cold. It was as if he was dead and the physical warmth of his family was the only thing animating his frozen corpse.

Alfred set his tea cup down. There was no point in holding it anymore: it was empty, it’s previous contents cold and sticky as it soaked through his trousers.

“Don’t,” Alfred said, after Bruce’s mouth had opened but before any sounds could escape. “Please, don’t.” His hands weren’t shaking anymore, or maybe he simply didn’t notice them shaking anymore as his whole body began to quiver. “I am fine, Master Bruce, I promise. Please do not ruin this nice afternoon with your needless worrying.”

Master Bruce blinked. Then he blinked again. His mouth open, closed, open, closed. No words came out. Then he looked around, taking in the lovely afternoon that Alfred had decided to fully embrace by having his tea outside. He looked down, eyes searching Alfred before moving onto his eldest son, who had joined Alfred without invitation but with much welcome. Looked at the large blanket they sat on in the middle of the great lawn. He shrugged and joined them on it.

“Okay,” was all he said but Alfred could tell that he wasn’t going to let it go. It wouldn’t be Master Bruce - his son, his son! - if he did. Bruce sat closer than necessary, shoulder-to-shoulder with his elder, no doubt to catch him if he were to faint or something. On any other day Alfred would chide him for it, just a simple look that demanded his space. Bruce would receive the look loud and clear and Alfred would truly know how bad he looked depending on Bruce’s reaction. Today, though, Alfred simply let the man fret, welcoming any warmth his family could provide his old bones.

Time ticked by. Master Bruce and Master Richard shared the rest of the tea, Alfred accepting that he could not partake. He closed his eyes and listened to the amiable chatter. It was suggested that Alfred moved inside for his own sake, but Alfred refused. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, not when they wouldn’t move with him. Going inside meant ending the moment. With his eyes closed, Alfred could make this moment last forever, even if that meant worrying his family with his stillness. So instead of moving, he sat there and listened to the chaos that was his family as their group got bigger.

“Father, I demand you eject Drake from the family!”

“I’m not going anywhere! Tell him, Bruce!”

“Yeah, tell him Bruce!”

Alfred sighed, but he couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed as the rest of his grandsons did what they all did best and destroyed the peace. Master Damian first, still struggling with his insecurities and not quite able to grasp the idea that he could have his own place in the family without someone else losing theirs. Then Master Tim, feigning confidence but requesting validation all the same. And finally Master Jason, instigating as always and still unsure of how to interact with the family in any other way. It was all apart of his facade, Alfred knew. He instigated and laughed at the chaos he caused, pretending he only stuck around for a laugh when they all knew otherwise.

Facades. Everyone in this family had one, and that wasn’t including their vigilante masks.

The fight continued. Bruce and Richard broke it up. The three young masters joined them on the blanket. More tea was brought out. The air turned crisp as the sun set. And through it all Alfred kept his eyes closed, too focused on those around him for it to be considered meditating. His hands still shook and every now and then Master Bruce would give them a comforting squeeze. Alfred would squeeze back. It was the least he could do to calm his son’s worries. For once, Alfred couldn’t even call it paranoia. Bruce had every right to be worried: Alfred was acting strangely and the older gent knew it. He was becoming all to aware of it, of the situation around him and the actuality of it. 

The actuality of it was what made Alfred refuse to open his eyes.

“Alfred. Time to go inside,” Master Bruce eventually said, when the sun had gone down and the cold breeze made Alfred’s shaking even worse. The elder knew there would be no delaying it anymore. Bruce’s voice had become fainter, a whisper against his ears. His grandsons had gone silent. How Alfred hated the silence.

Alfred opened his eyes and glared at the ground. He ignored the burning behind his eyes as he got up and packed his tea kit into the picnic basket. No one offered to help, not like they used to. They couldn’t help anymore. A ghost of a touch landed on his shoulder and Bruce spoke again, voice even fainter as Alfred greeted reality.

“Same time and place tomorrow?”

“Of course.” It was not as if Alfred had responsibilities anymore. Not as if they could meet anywhere else.

Alfred shouldered the basket and brushed off his suit, nearly seething at how his hands still shook. His suit was stiff where the tea had dried. The elderly man straightened his spine and turned to bid his family farewell. No one was there.

With a bitter chuckle, Alfred readjusted his grip on the basket and left the graveyard.

—

Author’s Note: I don’t want to be patronizing or whatever by explaining the story but I also know I didn’t convey it will. So here’s what I’ll say: as time went on, Alfred became more aware of reality and thus the boys did too and became more aware that they didn’t actually exist.

[toongrrl-blog]

Part One of Barb Series: Why Barb Died (Character Device Talk)

*Please watch the Betty Draper Francis video first, for extra credit, check out the channel’s vid on Jack Dawson and come with knowledge of Beth March*

Happy end of the 2010s! Before I discuss what Barb could have brought to the Party in Stranger Things I need to discuss how as a character she needed to die.

1. Beth March

In one scene in Little Women, the girls and Laurie discuss their ambitions for adult life. Oldest sister Meg wants to marry and have kids, oldest middle sis Jo wants to become a known and successful writer, youngest sister Amy wants to become rich and famous as an artist and maybe a socialite, and middle child Beth wants things to stay the way they are for her, with her loving family at her side. What’s wrong with this? What the other three sisters have in common is that they are hoping for adult lives which include a lot of change, responsibility, independence (either as a career woman or running a household with little kids underfoot), new experiences, and even new people in their lives (Meg would need to meet a guy to marry and have kids with him, Jo would need to meet people in her professional life, Amy would entertain guests and appeal to patrons). Shy Beth is a talented pianist, vet, and doll collector and is very charitable but she doesn’t seem to want to take the risks it would take to grow as a person and thrive and mature or be noticed for her own merits aside from “Angel of the House” and the future looks pretty hostile; so by the end of the novel, Beth has died in her early 20s while sisters lives have changed (Meg married and had children in a cottage while gaining confidence as a homemaker, wife, and mom; Jo sells her writing and meets a professor who wants to start a school where she becomes headmistress after they marry; Amy goes on a Grand Tour of Europe and marries wealthy and happy).

The series Stranger Things, on a whole, is a coming-of-age series that borrows from the John Hughes and Steven Spielberg films of that era that captured the joys and pains of growing up, while Joyce’s and Hop’s storylines borrow from conspiracy thrillers around that era and somewhat from Hitchcock films. All these films captured ordinary people undergoing extraordinary (E.T., North By Northwest, The Goonies, The Stepford Wives) and life altering events (Jaws, The Breakfast Club, Silkwood) that force them to encounter challenges and make decisions they wouldn’t normally make in their mundane lives. Joyce ends up facing a monster with an axe and even makes demands of people who could wipe her off the Earth, the boys have to ride their bikes to evade murderous men in vans and hide a young traumatized girl, Nancy has to learn to create and use deadly weapons and use her skills of sneaking out for something besides sex, Jonathon has to cut his and another girl’s hand to lure a monster to their trap, Hop sneaks into a morgue just to slit a dead boy’s corpse and find cotton stuffing, Will has to use what knowledge and skills he has to survive another world filled with creatures out to kill him, most of the kids throughout the series have to lie and break laws to save their town. 

While the official guide does list Barb as being a varsity softball player and a mathlete and Shannon Purser concurs that Barb would have been the Velma of the group if she lived, there is one big thing that separates the Velmas from the Barbs and Beth’s of the world: Velma takes risks, she would trespass private looking property and dilapidated buildings to solve a mystery. Barb is a loyal friend and honest and studious and smart, but she’s ultimately the good girl archetype: cautious, obedient to her elders, predictable, conservatively and femininely dressed, chaste. An archetype that Nancy is trying to flee (not that the alternative of being a girl who sneaks out with her boyfriend to makeout is going to help Nancy at all) to avoid ending up like her mother. Barb has the fangs (talent and means) to be a Party member, she just lacks the nerve to jump and sink those fangs.

2. Commentary on the Patriarchy and the Tyranny of Beauty Standards

Most of the female characters in the series don’t fit the strict criteria of their Reagan era Indiana small town regarding what makes a good woman. Joyce is a single mother who doesn’t come with well-coiffed hair and she appears to be hysterical and is a working mother in a time and place where all these factors would label her a “bad mother”, Nancy is a frank young woman who takes risks and even asserts her sexuality and herself when plenty of people (like the shitheads at Hawkins Post) would prefer her to be a delicate virgin in pastels, El is physically stronger than the boys with her powers and she is very direct in her manner despite her soft-spoken demeanor, Max is a girl who is interested in arcade video games and skateboarding and brightly colored summer clothing and reads her Mom’s Cosmo cover to cover and is assertive, Erica is an assertive young girl who can talk truth (and shade) to adults and has a knowledge of My Little Pony and Cold War Politics, Robin is snarky and has a style that makes her stand out from most girls in Hawkins and is a teen genius, Kali’s rage and Joan Jett-esque appearance would make the preppy and pastel and autumnal tone wearing residents of Hawkins in Cardiac Care, Suzie has defied notions about girls in science and math and even the Mormon beliefs of her parents by french kissing and dating a non-Mormon boy like Dustin, and Karen despite her appearance of hot housewife perfection is dissatisfied with her marriage and comes close to cheating on her husband. 

In contrast Barb is pretty much the most conventional character: she dresses conservatively in ruffles and pink, she is seemingly chaste, follows the rules diligently and worries about getting punished by the Holland and Wheeler parents, and has a more common body type found in cis-gender women (correct me if I’m wrong, hopefully I don’t offend trans pear shaped women) and not often found in the older members of the female cast. But despite Barb’s body being common among women in general and specific to her region (the American Midwest is noted for starchy and creamy and fried foods and is historically farming country, where pioneers would find her strong for work in and out of the log cabin and give birth to the necessary amount of children i.e. extra hands for work), the delicate and slender builds of Joyce and Nancy, the classic proportionate and slender grace of Robin, and the leggy and toned image of Karen are closer to the female standard of beauty in the 1980s. In Barb’s lifetime (1967-1983), the image of beauty was dominated by leggy, toned, slim, busty women or lean women with minimal breasts: no room for tall, broad, pear shapes like herself. And in 1983, Molly Ringwald wasn’t yet a household name that freckled redheads with dry wit and atypical images could look on with pride. Hell I remember reading a copy of Color Me Beautiful where they recommend that women with heavy hips and small waists (similar features of Christina Hendricks and Shannon Purser) shouldn’t cinch their waistlines, the celebration of Marilyn Monroe pinups with round hips, pillowy thighs and tummies, rounded tushes were long gone by then. Basically Barb being her natural self, was not seen as “feminine enough” and combined with her glasses and style (any plus sized or early developing gal can tell you that it is hell to find junior styles that suit your body size and shape) have ruled her as “uncool”. 

There is also that Barb does a lot of things that the boys do: being slightly geeky, a loyal friend, has innocent and wholesome interests, chaste, and is quiet (like Will) but she still gets killed. One can sense that #JusticeForBarb came out of an anger with misogyny in media and society that tells women to be a certain way and punishes them whether they fit a mold or not. Women are still underpaid in the workplace, underrepresented in government, still deal with unequal and toxic relationships, are shamed for being virgins or for having sexual experience (Carol pokes fun at the idea of Barb finding the sex sounds too much and yet contributes to the slut shaming graffiti of Nancy), are told on one hand to look a certain way to attract the male gaze and shamed when they indulge in sexual desire (something Nancy can attest to with her glamorous mother who offers to lend her black heels and focuses on Nancy’s beauty before a funeral, the same mom who was angry her daughter had sex), they are either too fat/skinny/busty/flat/frizzy/straight haired/pale/slutty/prudish/dark/feminine/masculine/full-butt-ed/quiet/loud/naive/cynical/smart/dumb/angry/happy, and they deal with a media that sells a very narrow standard of beauty to the point that when they see a drop dead gorgeous actress or model with similar features they feel seen.

Oh Bondage, Up Yours!

*Read this is not a “Barb is a slut shamer!” piece yes that was shitty but she was a teen girl in a small 1980s town and she ISN’T starting a (paraphrasing Kimberly Nicole Foster quote) “no whores allowed campaign” OR trying to pass a law that demands women keep their ectopic pregnancies to full term*

3. End of Innocence

When Barb died, it marked the end of Nancy’s childhood and her needing to grow up. That was the night Nancy went straight from childhood (Barb), teenager (sex with Steve), and then shortly became an adult when she realized that Barb had disappeared. For many women (like myself at ages 9 and 10), the moment they get their period or grow breasts or reach a certain age, marks a dramatic end of their childhood. Suddenly many are told to police their behavior and language around boys, even policing the food they eat or their bodies. There is also extra responsibility and stress, demogorgans being one of them. Nancy is now having to deal with the sorts of issues that adult women dealt with on Mad Men along with scary monsters threatening her town and the fact her parents are not as happy as they look to the world, there is a gap between the experiences of her and Mike, she has a baby sister who probably was conceived to save the marriage, and Nancy can’t confide or trust either of her parents (who are absorbed with their own issues). Now Nancy is making big decisions that Barb, with the sheltering and seemingly close parents, will likely never deal with. Nancy is even taking fashion risks with clothes that are more functional, stylish, show off her figure, and can even withstand flayer blood and exorcising her boyfriend’s little brother.

4. A Huge Threat

Barb was intended to be a character that we connected with, someone to be built up somehow. There was a character like this in a movie: her name was Marion Crane. She was a secretary who has been supporting herself and her little sis since their parents died, patiently waiting for her boyfriend to make more money at his job so they can marry and stop sneaking around sleeping with one another, in desperation she steals a lot of money from her workplace, drives to California where she meets a mild-mannered but strange young man who manages a distant motel in the vicinity of a Victorian house where an older woman is croaking about promiscuity, after talking with him over a dinner of sandwiches in his taxidermy themed office, she goes to take a shower and has decided to return to Phoenix to return the money, then a strange figure comes with a large butcher knife in horribly out of date clothes and starts stabbing her to death.

This was from the Hitchcock film Psycho, the forerunner of the slasher genre that dominated the earlier half of the 1980s, and it premiered to shocked audiences in 1960. The meaning of the grisly murder of Marion, a character the audience was following from the beginning of the film, was that Norman Bates was a huge threat and intensified the need for Marion’s killer to be brought to justice.

The same thing can be said about the deaths of Benny and Barb, to show how much a threat the demogorgan and Hawkins National Lab were to the townspeople of Hawkins (and the world as a whole), basically such big threats that a little boy can be kidnapped from the safety of his home, a young teenage girl could be snatched up and killed from a suburban swimming pool, and a kindly cook and owner of a local diner would be executed for knowing about a runaway child. 

5. The future of Women in Stranger Things

Not all is lost, Barb’s death forced the Duffer Bros to take a look at how women were written and treated in their series, and even helped spurred tv viewers (who ordinarily wouldn’t pay attention to social issues) to take a deeper look and interest in how people especially women are treated. For some reason I like to think: Max, Robin, Erica, and Suzie are a way of recognizing Barb’s potential within the series and even what viewers saw. 

Now stay tuned to where I figure out how Barb could have been beneficial to the party.

[baja-blasph3my]

The Unsung Ninja

Guys! I finally finished it after 10000 years! Here's the product of the beautiful Ninjago Twins AU by @stanrandomthings!

Summery: The ninja are sent on a mission to retrieve ancient artifacts. It goes well and they return to the Bounty. Unfortunately, a mishap caused one of the artifacts, a scroll in cased in glass, to shatter. That wasn't the worst of it, the old paper inside holds a bombshell and Misako has a lot to explain.

Warnings: slight language

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

"ooh man, that was awesome!" Jay cheered as he carried one of the artifacts, a scroll incased in beautifully crafted glass, onto the Bounty. The mission had gone as planned. The night sky was shrouded in clouds, casting a dark shadow over the temple. With this, the roaring of the waterfall, and the humming of the forest, the enemies never heard or saw them coming. Just what ninja need to work their magic.

"Did you see me?!" He continued to bounce around in pride.

"I didn't quite see what you did but it must have been spectacular" Zane assured the blue ninja while placing another artifact on the deck.

"Yeah! I went like this! Then like this! I ran right past this guy and he didn't even see me! Just like a real proper ninj-" Right when he began to finish the exaggerated sentence, he threw his hands up and jumped back. Unfortunately, Nya had been right behind. Anyone could guess what happened next. With a scream, thud, crash, and a few ows, the two fell into a tangled mess on the floor. The scroll went flying out of Jay's hand and crashed on the deck. It’s crystal capsule shattering and the fragile paper roll unfurled.

Recovering from the fall, Jay realized what just happened. In his blind excitement he ran over Nya and destroyed the artifact.

“Sorry Nya…” he shamefully wheezed out. Great job Jay. Act like a kid, trample the love of your life and destroy a priceless piece of history.

As the Master of Lightning scolded himself, the female ninja forgave and walked over to inspect the damage. This was gonna be hell and a half to clean up all this glass. The scrap of yellowed paper layed shriveled upside-down. Out of curiosity, she gently lifted and turned it over. Looking at the exposed side, there was something wrong about it.

"uh guys? You might wanna see this..." Nya waved the others over as she was pouring over the unraveled scroll on the floor. Judging by the confusion and worry on her face, it was serious.

"What is it?" The team said in almost unison as they gathered around the scroll, looking at it's sprawled out interior. It was tattered and faded from age. The yellowed paper was also ingrained with millions of crinkles. Most of the writing in a language ancient and unknown, only a few symbols were recognizable. From just this, someone would have had brushed it off and deemed it just senseless chicken scratch. But the drawings depicted on the bottom were more than that. There, two figures were pictured in failing colors. The one on the right in faded green. The other in dull gold. Their forms were unmistakably ninja, seeming to be channeling energy at one another. Where it met, the colors intertwined to form a dragon. Within the dragons jaw, there was a bleeding black figure.

"Woah..." most of them whispered in awe. The others may have been fascinated, but the ancient scroll deeply unsettled Lloyd. He knew that green figure was supposed to be him, the Green Ninja. The problem lied with the other figure. Who was this? Who is this supposed to be? From the depiction, it seemed these people were connected somehow. Who was Lloyd supposed to be tied to? Was it him and his golden power? Could it be the First Spinjitzu Master? All this was making his head spin. The mangled figure was equally disturbing, that was his father. Just looking at it would make these assumptions worse and worse. The real meaning was hidden in the text.

"Zane, do you think you can translate it?" Lloyd asked the nindroid. It may be a dead language but he was a walking computer. There's countless other artifacts like this, from them Ninjago found it's history. There had to have been a translation.

“I can try, but there’s no guarantee it’ll be accurate or translatable.” The nindroid stated, casting a blue glow upon the paper as he scanned it. After completing, it took a few moments to receive an answer.

“Translation successful, reading it out now….”

"Born of son and woman, two descendants are to be birthed. A son of green, a daughter of gold. Blessed are they by the first, for they are to inherit his power and destined to protect his creation from their dark father."

"Holy sh!t", Most of them breathed.

"It is best that you watch your language." Wu stated from behind them. Twisting around, they saw the old master making his way over the deck.

"Good, maybe he could tell us one of the million things he never did," Kai growled, snatching up the scroll and storming to meet his master halfway.

“Wu!” He shoved the scroll in his face, “Why did you never tell us about a Gold Ninja!?”

"What? I.....I honestly did not know of this," the old master breathed in bafflement, taking and closely examining the scroll to make sure it wasn't mistranslated or forged. "Perhaps it is a false prophecy."

"No. I'm afraid it's true." Misako solemnly stood on the deck. All of them turned to face her sudden presence. "Forgive me what I'm about to tell you. I'm a fool for hiding it too long. Bring the scroll and come inside. It's about time I get this off my chest." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Again, I'm sorry for not saying this earlier. I thought I would never have to."

"Lloyd," Misako said softly, settling her hands on the ones of her son. "You weren't an only child. You were a twin..."

"When they were born. I knew that both of them, Lloyd and his sister, would be destined to fight their father. The boy would become the Green Ninja, Master of Power. The girl would be the Gold Ninja, Master of the Golden Power. I had read it in several scrolls and other ancient writings. I refused the idea of my children being forced to live with all of Ninjago on their shoulders. So I spoke to their grandfather, The First Spinjitzu Master."

"I begged him if I could change the scrolls and never let them become ninja. It took some convincing, but he finally agreed. I could rewrite the legends to only speak of the Green Ninja, the Gold Ninja was erased from existence." Misako glanced at the scroll in front of her with sad and defeated eyes. "Or so I thought."

"I left Lloyd at Darkly's and continued to prevent him from becoming the Green Ninja. While I took his twin far away. Far away from her father, Wu, you guys, and her destiny."

All hell broke loose now. The ninja were uproarious with frustration. Why had she kept this from them for so long. This wasn’t some little secret like taking the last donut. This was world changing truth. A Gold Ninja? The Master of the Golden Power? Lloyd had already became the Gold Ninja but now they were told he was never supposed to and someone else was to naturally hold it? Lloyd had a twin sister literally no one else knew about? A sister? First she totally abandons her son and now she tells him that he had a sister all along? How could she? All these years and now a single peep? They sure could of really used a Gold Ninja all those times they almost got killed.

"ENOUGH!" Wu shouted at the top of his lungs, slamming his staff on the table. All at once the ninja quieted, stopping mid sentence and quickly closed their mouths. Sitting back down in fear of what their Sensei could do next.

"I have had it with your hateful hollerings! If anyone should be screaming, it should be me! Look what you have done to her!" He scolded his students, gesturing over to Misako. At this point, the poor elder woman was barely holding on to herself. The harsh words of the ninja left her a wreck. Covering her head on the table, the muffled weeping shook her old frame.

They begrudgingly apologized, still heated and unfazed at what damage they caused. Then taking a deep breath, he turned to Misako and calmly asked, "Why haven't you said anything all these years?"

“One of my children was already destined to have a dangerous path that could lead him to death! I wasn’t going to curse my other child to the same fate!” She screamed, choking on sobs.

At this moment, Lloyd felt like a mountain had fallen on him. Did his mother just say she threw this all on him to protect his sister so she would have to go through anything? He's being put in the grinder for her? Talk about Mother of the Year. Cursing one kid to save the other. If she know this was going to happen, why did she even have them? Hell, why did she even get with his father in the first place. If Garmadon hadn't faked Wu's letter for his own, none of this would have happened. Sure he wouldn’t exist but after all this he kind of wanted that. To just disappear, so he wouldn't have to deal with this bombshell.

“Go outside and don’t come back in until you realize what you've done.”

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

"You know what? Sensei's right. We shouldn't take this all out on her. She just wanted to protect her kids." Cole decided, kicking a glass shard off the deck.

“yeah,” Jay agreed, “I feel really bad for yelling at her now.”

“yes, we took the situation to an extreme. It was a bombshell for sure but to hurt Misako like that was unnecessary.”

“Agreed, we don’t have the right. If anyone should be angry, it should be Lloyd.”

“I just,” Lloyd started then sighed heavily, “I’m just so tired of not being told things, lied to, and thrown under the bus. My mom just said she left me to be the Green Ninja alone. Just so my sister didn’t have to suffer too.”

“But think about it Lloyd," Kai put his hand on the young man's shoulder, "if you didn't become the Green Ninja, Ninjago would be dead meat. Without you, the Overlord could of took over, or Garmadon, or a million other bad things would of happened.”

Kai was right. Without him as the Green Ninja, everything would have been long gone. Maybe Misako didn’t through this all on him just because she never loved him. She did it to protect Ninjago, because if no one protected it, there would be no safe place for his sister or him.

“well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go find her.”

Lmao I didn't really proof read this so sorry if there's mistakes