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artzychic27 · 4 years ago

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The Artist Family? (new movie)

A month has passed since Marc and Nathaniel met and fell in love at age fourteen, now they’re dating

To celebrate their one month anniversary, they decide to visit one of the most romantic spots ever- The burned-down forest they met in- Only to run into some trouble

The mobs from their previous homes have still been looking for them since the incidents and were finally able to track them down

The couple manage to escape the angry mob with the help of Marc’s spiders and a friendly severed hand who cause a distraction

So they can get away quicker, That drives them in an old hearse he found in a graveyard

Marc: Mi querido, why must hoards of angry villagers follow us everywhere?

Nathaniel: *Kissing Marc’s hand* Meyn ziskeyt, I swear to you, we will find someplace so dark, so sinister, so dastardly that no one in their right mind would be caught dead in!

*They arrive in Paris*

Nathaniel: Huh. I see it’s changed over the last few centuries. And I’m noticing a lack of guillotines.

As they lament about how they can’t keep running for the rest of their lives, That, who was recklessly driving, runs over something in the middle of the road, right near an old funeral home shrouded by fog and cut off from the rest of the city

Marc/Nathaniel: *Excitedly* We hit something!

They rush to see who or what they’ve hit, and see that the figure is a blonde, pale young man who seems to have most of his organs missing

They realize that the person they ran over is Félix Culpa, a young man who died centuries ago, but was never given a funeral because the mortician prepping him got the plague. He regains consciousness and goes to attack the two, but Nathaniel just hands him their bags

Nathaniel: Thanks, man. Hey, you mind showing us around the place?

And that’s how Félix became their butler

When they arrive at the old funeral home, they’re given a very warm welcome.

Spirit of the House: GET OUT!

Marc: ... It’s hideous.

Nathaniel: It’s horrible...

Marc/Nathaniel: It’s home.

Weeks goes by, and more people begin to occupy the home, making amazing first impressions

Marinette and Alix actually snuck in and have been living in the walls for a short period of time until Félix found them

Marc found Rose resting in one of the open graves in the backyard

And Juleka Samara-crawled out of the swamp with her hair covering her face

The six of them share their backgrounds, sympathize with each other about how they were run out of their homes, and make the decision to change their last names to Artist

Now they’re sixteen while Alix is still fifteen

Meanwhile, down in Paris, Gabriel Agreste is taking the fashion world by storm, and his clothing (All basic and dull) is a big hit in Paris (For reasons no one understands but they won’t say anything for fear of not fitting in)

His son, Adrien Agreste goes for a bike ride through the woods with his two friends, Nino and Alya, where they come across the gate that separates outsiders from the Artists’ home

They’re immediately scared away when Marinette opens the creaking gate that sounds like the end of the world when opened

Also, Alix’s sinister sixteen is coming up in a few weeks, and part of the celebration is a swordfight, which she is nowhere near ready for

Nathaniel: Alix, you need to practice. It’s the day your family and friends judge you and pass judgement on your worth as a human being!... It reminds me of Hanukkah.

During one dinner, Marinette asks a question that shocks everyone

Marinette: Do you guys think things beyond the gate have changed?

Juleka: ... What?

Marinette: It’s been years, surely things must be different now. Earlier today, I swore I heard people.

Marc: Outside is forbidden.

Marinette: But-

Marc: Forbidden!

Back in the city, Gabriel is anticipating the arrival of tourists to buy his new line of clothing which he calls, Conformist

While filming a commercial, a red balloon floats astray and makes its way towards the Artists’ home, which Marinette finds as she’s “helping” Alix prepare for the Swordfight

Alix: Why are you helping me?

Marinette: Because. You are like my sister... And... I... Love... You...

Alix: ... You seem trustworthy.

Big mistake

Marinette: *Walks inside with the balloon* Good news, Alix is gone.

Marc: *Holding a sword to Nathaniel’s neck* Mari, go dig up Alix.

Marinette: You and Nathaniel are once again weakening this generation.

Nathaniel: *Points to balloon* Mari, where did you get that?

Marinette: I’m not sure.

Marc: Strange. There’s usually a murderous clown attached to the other end of these.

Juleka: *Gasp!* And what is this?! *Plucks a piece of pink confetti off of Marinette’s shoulder*

Nathaniel: Smells like cotton candy. *Off their confused looks* I was young and stupid, alright?

The Artists go outside where they find rainbow confetti raining down, and the fog that covers their home is lifting up, revealing to them the town

Much to Marc’s protests, Nathaniel suggests they go see the place for themselves

Marinette: This day is becoming most miraculously disruptive.

While filming another commercial, the Artist Family’s house is in the camera’s shot, and Gabriel passes out the second he sees it

*Somewhere else* Nino: ... I feel an overwhelming sense of... Joy.

The Artists arrive in their hearse, and immediately capture the attention of the other Parisians. They’re given strange looks wherever they go, and sometimes people run away screaming

No one has run them out with pitchforks yet. Yay!

Alix: Guys! *Pulls a tire off of a police car* They’re just giving these away!

Juleka: Alix, mind your manners, people might want tires, too.

After getting coffee grounds, the Artists come across Adrien, Alya, Nino, Chloé, and Lila in the park, prancing around in pink and blue outfits and singing about being conformists

Rose: Wow... That is absolutely horrible!

Marinette: ... *Dumps coffee grounds* I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. However, that blonde boy... Intrigues me

And it seems the feeling is mutual when Adrien steals glances at the gothic girl with braids

Rose: ... Yeah, I’m done with this song. *She hikes up the hem of her robe, releasing hundreds of bats that scare off the crowd* Done and done!

Done with these people, Marc wants to leave, Nathaniel insists that things have changed, but his boyfriend is still reluctant... Cue Gabriel

He insists on hiring interior decorators to fix up the Artists home (So tourists aren’t scared off) Marc, with some urging from Nathaniel allows him to do so.

Marinette: That man seems deranged. His face reminds me of a death mask.

*Somewhere else* Nino: In the future... I will have a new friend. Blue hair. Braids.

Back at the Artists Home, Nathaniel, Juleka, and Rose help Alix prepare for her Swordfight

Rose: Of all the Sinister Sixteens I’ve seen, Nathaniel’s was the stuff of legends.

Juleka: So no pressure!

Gabriel, Adrien, the design crew, and the news crew arrive, ready to remove the gloom and macabre form the Artists’ home

Félix: *Answers the door* Youuuuuu raaaaaanng?

Adrien: *Calling Alya and Nino* Hey, so I’m going into the creepy mansion. If I don’t come back, I’m dead... I love you too, Nino... Yes, Alya, I know he’s your boyfriend.

Much to his relief, Adrien is left outside and goes around back to explore

Gabriel: I do hope this isn’t a bad time.

Nathaniel: The worst!... Do come in.

Gabriel spends most of the time making light criticisms and jabs at the decor, the Artists themselves, their clothes, and Marc’s spiders (Which he considers the greatest insult)

Meanwhile in the backyard, Adrien is nearly killed by a crossbow. To his horror and awe, he finds the shooter: Marinette in all of her dark glory

Immediately, he develops a small crush on her. She’s not like the other girls at school who constantly cling to and flirt with him because of his father’s wealth

He tries his hand at impressing her by shooting an arrow, but accidentally shoots Rose, which actually does impress Marinette

Adrien: So, why haven’t I seen you and your siblings at school?

Marinette: We’re coven-schooled. But, blondie, do tell... *Leans in close so she can hear Adrien’s rapid heartbeat* Can anyone attend your school?

Gabriel and his crew leave, having made no renovations to the Artists’ home. And when Nathaniel explains that family and friends will be coming over for Alix’s Sinister Sixteen, that just motivates the designer even more

Down in Gabriel’s secret lair, he spies on the Parisians through a social media app where he fills the comments section with rumors about the Artists, saying they’re anarchists and breed spiders... Okay, so they’re not all rumors

*The Next Day* Nathaniel: Monochrome, I know the man is an eccentric, but- *Marinette appears behind him* Aah!

Marc: Mari, you know Nathaniel scares easily. Practice your lurking on someone else. *Marinette appears behind him* Better. Now what’s on your mind?

Marinette explains that she wants to atener school, much to Marc’s horror and Nathaniel’s excitement. She needs to torment more kids her own age.

Marc doesn’t want her to go, worried she might fall under the influence of the... Conformists, but Nathaniel somehow convinced him

Marinette walking into school: Ah, so these are the gates of hell.

Adrien, while being crowded by girls he doesn’t even like (Especially Lila and Chloé) becomes awestruck when he sees Marinette walking in. She looks like a beautiful demon queen

Lila and Chloé see this and try to intimidate her, but this is what Marinette says,

Marinette: Listen you future plastic surgery disasters, I’m not locked in here with either of you. You and your outdated, distasteful “outfits” are locked in here with me. And don’t you forget it.

Alya just might dump Nino so she can ask this girl out. Polyamory works too. / Adrien: Back of the line.

Mendelive’s biology class: They’re dissecting frogs.

Adrien: Aw, I feel bad for doing this.

Marinette: Relax. Rose showed me how to do this hundreds of times. *Cue Frankenstein equipment* FLIP THE SWITCH! *Adrien flips the switch and electrocutes all of the frogs* LIVE! LIVE MY CREATURE!

The frogs come to life and attack Lila and Chloé. Karma at its finest. Alya and Nino are impressed by her more than ever

Alya: It is an honor and a privilege to watch you work, spooky girl.

Back at the Artists’ Home, it’s game night! They’re playing the game of Death, but Marc isn’t focused. It’s late and he’s wondering where Marinette is

Finally, she arrives, but much to Marc’s horror, she has a Ladybug hair clip! He’s in so much shock that his face flushes red and a bat has to drink his blood

Marc: What. Is. That?

Marinette: Adrien calls it a “Pop of color” says it brings out my... Smile.

Marc: You don’t have a smile.

In order to see what’s going on with his sister/friend, Marc suggests they do ‘Tea & Seance’ like old times... Only she bails to hang out with Adrien, and they give each other makeovers as acts of rebellion

Meanwhile, Alix is upset because she still can’t get the hang of sword fighting and Nathaniel has been working so hard to help her

Marinette returns from her hangout with Adrien, almost making Marc faint when she shows up wearing pink and her hair in pigtails.

Marc: Okay, this is where I sever the line! You are not going back to that school!

Marinette: *Gives him the evil eye before leaving* You can’t tell me what to do.

Juleka: Dear Hades, that is some evil eye.

Horrified by Adrien’s new gothic look and attitude, Gabriel spreads more rumors about the Artists

Frustrated by the lack of support from her family/friends, Marinette runs away and goes to stay with Adrien

Alix: I always knew it would end up like this. Just didn’t know when.

Marinette: Farewell, Alix! I will never forget you, but I’ll try.

The next morning, Marinette, Alya, and Nino are helping Adrien look for his phone, which Gabriel his hidden punishment for his new look

While looking, they stumble across Gabriel’s lair and discover he’s been spying on everyone in Paris. Gabriel discovers them snooping and locks them in Adrien’s room while he goes to greet the tourists... And some unexpected guests

Nathalie: *Dials Gabriel* Gabriel, it’s an emergency. They’re here! The Artist Family!

The Artists more... Eccentric family members (Gina Dupain, Uncle Wang, Master Fu, Luka, Fei, Jagged, Penny, and the art teacher for example) have arrived to attend Alix’s sinister sixteen.

Things are going well so far. Juleka reunites with Luka, Fei battles Gina to the death, but Marinette still hasn’t arrived, so they do the sword fight without her... Which Alix fails.

As Nathaniel consoles her, a cannonball shoots through the wall. Gabriel somehow got a catapult for the mob to use

Marc: It’s Gabriel. He’s turned the town into a mob.

Juleka: I oddly admire his determination.

While the mob fires more cannonballs and destroy the house, Alix tosses her sword and grabs her explosives, successfully protecting her family... Until a cannonball blocks their only exit and she runs out of ammo

Just as the ceiling begins to fall and it seems like the end, Marinette, Adrien, Alya, and Nino come in just in time and save them all thanks to the possessed tree

She and Marc reconcile

Marc: I’m so glad you came back.

Marinette: Of course. There was no way you all could survive without me. You’re like weak kittens.

The Parisians begin having regrets about attacking the Artists (Mainly cuz they almost killed a bunch of kids), but this is interrupted by Gabriel

Gabriel: I will relish hounding you all until that nuclear waste dump you call is house is destroyed with you all in it!

Juleka: Oh, you are just begging to be dragged down to hell, aren’t you, Gabriel?

Marinette: And this family will never run from the likes of you again. *Her death glare stuns Gabriel*

Nino: Damn, I gotta learn how to do that.

Adrien finally stands up to his father and exposes how he’s been spying on everyone in the city while Alya live streams everything. Gabriel is now ruined

Months later, the Artists’ Home has been rebuilt by the guilty Parisians who learn to accept their new, weird neighbors. Also, the Spirit of the House has returned

Adrien and Marinette start dating while Alya and Nino share a mutual pining for the girl

#miraculous ladybug #marc x nathaniel #the addams family #the artist family #marinette dupain cheng #alix kudbel #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine #answered ask #ask me stuff #addams family au #mlb au #mlb crossover

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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a prompt (a/b/o, bc i like how you write it): the sunshot campaign has just ended, and nie huaisang is looking forward to a future in which he can devote himself to wooing lan xichen. the match would be a little scandalous—it’s rare for an alpha to marry in, as nie huaisang intends to—but alpha-beta pairs are perfectly normal, and lan qiren is certainly more accepting of his first nephew’s crush than of lan wangji’s. less than three weeks into peacetime, however, nie huaisang’s plans hit a massive snag: jin zixuan has presented as an omega, removing him from the jin line of succession (and nie huaisang cannot help but be a little offended by that, on da-ge’s behalf—omegas can lead just as well as anyone else! the jin succession tradition is just stupid). but that’s the way things are in the jin sect, and so madame jin is scrambling to put together a marriage to get her son out of lanling before the worst happens... and the top two candidates on her list just so happen to be lan xichen and nie huaisang himself.

hello and welcome to: I like that prompt a little too much and got carried away, so now it’s 8K long. Also on AO3

warning for some mentions of rape toward the end of the story

Nie Huaisang’s plan starts when, at the tender age of eleven, he is introduced to the boy who doesn’t yet go by the name of Lan Xichen and is about to become his brother’s closest friend. Nie Huaisang, young as he is, decides that this is his true love, and of course he must ensure Lan Huan and him have the most perfect future possible together. He learns about Gusu Lan, reads as many books as he can, educates himself in the four arts, and even makes a vague effort to somewhat improve his cultivation, all so he can be the perfect spouse for a future sect leader.

A little after turning fourteen, Lan Xichen presents as a beta. It is a small deviation from Nie Huaisang’s plan, who was firmly expecting his beloved to be an alpha, but that is no big problem. Lan Xichen is Lan Xichen, he is the most perfect person in the world. Details don’t matter too much.

Another deviation from Nie Huaisang’s plan occurs when, a few days short of his own fourteenth birthday, he presents as an alpha. That, of course, is an absolute disaster. Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to be an alpha. Qinghe Nie is full of those, and he isn’t too impressed with them. He is on the brink of a complete meltdown when he figures that if his brother can be an omega who has all the qualities of an alpha, then surely he can be an alpha living the easy going life of an omega, including marrying into another sect.

Of course Nie Mingjue isn’t very happy that Nie Huaisang refuses to behave like a proper alpha, like a proper Nie, but he can hardly make an arguments against that choice without undermining his own position, so it doesn’t matter. Nie Huaisang cheerfully goes back to planning his happy future, researching cases of an alpha marrying into another sect. There are more of those than he would have expected to find, and though it is mostly alpha marrying other alphas, Nie Huaisang now knows he can rest on a precedent to argue his case.

With all this settled, the hardest part of his plan begins: seducing Lan Xichen.

It is easy enough to be sent to the Cloud Recesses to study there. A little too easy, really. Nie Huaisang suspects that his brother wanted him to go there anyway just to have some peace, and in hopes Lan Qiren might straighten him out a bit. Nie Huaisang doesn’t mind though, since it gives him a chance to be close to the love of his life. He also doesn’t mind his dreadful grades which give him a good excuse to spend time with Lan Xichen, begging him to help. Lan Xichen, generous and kind and patient and perfect in nearly every aspect, as well as eager to be a good friend to Nie Mingjue, even by proxy, of course agrees and allows Nie Huaisang to spend far more time in his room than is probably reasonable.

It would be a little scandalous really, but when Lan Qiren once tries to raise the issue in front of his nephew, Lan Xichen just laughs gently.

“Huaisang is nothing more than a little brother to me,” he says. “How could anyone think any different?”

It is a hard blow to Nie Huaisang’s fragile teenage ego, and a new setback to his perfect plan. At the same time, he has been in the Cloud Recesses for almost half a year by now, and has already guessed that this is how Lan Xichen sees him. Two years of difference won’t mean much once they are adults and married, but right now it is a pretty big gap.

Having accepted this, Nie Huaisang changes his plan again, but not his goal. If all Lan Xichen needs from him at the moment is a less stuck up little brother than the real one, Nie Huaisang will be happy to provide. He likes making Lan Xichen laugh anyway, and it’s obvious that Lan Xichen enjoys having someone to guide and teach in a way Lan Wangji won’t allow.

He can be patient, when he needs to be.

He can also be exactly as stupid as the situation calls for. It’s easy as anything to completely fail his exams. Lan Qiren almost has a qi deviation on the spot after reading Nie Huaisang’s final test, and Nie Mingjue is furious, but he can deal with that just fine, as long as he gets to come back another year in the Cloud Recesses and make sure nobody else can seduce the love of his life before puberty fully hits and gives him his fair chance.

That second year in the Cloud Recesses proves to be a test of Nie Huaisang’s determination in ways he hadn’t expected.

In his defence, the world has many more pretty boys than he ever realised.

Lan Wangji, heinous little bitch that he is, got hit hard by puberty in the short time that Nie Huaisang went home. He’s suddenly a head taller than Nie Huaisang, and looking every bit the alpha that he is even though he’s a year younger. Nie Huaisang is devoured with envy because just two months ago, Lan Wangji was just a baby, but suddenly he is very, very handsome.

Then, there’s the other guest disciples as well. Most are pretty decent looking, but some stand out from the crowd. Jiang Cheng has a bone structure to kill for, sharp eyes, and his rare smile is as radiant as sunshine on the lingering snows of spring. And everywhere he goes, Wei Wuxian follows, tall and more graceful than any boy of fifteen has any right to be. They make a stunning pair of alphas, really, to the point that it worries Nie Huaisang when the three of them strike a friendship of sorts. First, because there’s a few times when he finds himself wondering what it’d be like to kiss one of them, which is an awful betrayal of his one true love Lan Xichen. Second, because his looks are already inadequate to begin with, so hanging out with those two only makes him look even plainer by contrast.

What Nie Huaisang needs, he decides after a few weeks, is someone less pretty than him to spend time with, so he’ll look somewhat handsome next to them. And so, after some brief consideration, his great plan changes again to adapt to this new situation.

Nie Huaisang becomes friends with Jin Zixuan.

Well, saying they’re friends might be pushing it. Instead, Nie Huaisang forcibly spends time with Jin Zixuan, when Wei Wuxian is being punished by Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng is studying, and Lan Xichen is too busy as well. It’s rather clear that Jin Zixuan isn’t very enthusiastic to have company. Quite frankly, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have picked him as a companion either, if he’d had a choice. Jin Zixuan is haughty, has no conversation, no humour, a bad personality, and is just all around boring. He is also tragically baby faced, hasn’t even presented yet, and has nothing to recommend him except for the fact that his father is sect leader. It is practically a charity case. Indeed, when Lan Xichen hears that Nie Huaisang has been trying to become friends with Jin Zixuan, he congratulates him on it.

“I think he is a rather lonely person, isn’t he?” Lan Xichen remarks. “I’m glad you’re trying to help him. Hopefully you’ll help him relax a little.”

“Like I do with you, Xichen-gege?” Nie Huaisang boldly asks.

Lan Xichen laughs a little awkwardly, and Nie Huaisang could swear there’s a spot of colour on the older boy’s cheeks.

“I suppose I do relax when I’m with you. Are you thinking of replacing me, now that you’ve found a friend more your age?”

“Of course not,” Nie Huaisang earnestly promises. “Xichen-gege will always be the most important person for me!”

Lan Xichen smiles gently at him. “You are a good boy, and I’m sure your brother will be proud of you. I know I am.”

Hearing this, Nie Huaisang nearly faints from happiness. Just for this, it’s worth it to put up with Jin Zixuan.

But in fairness, as weeks pass, Nie Huaisang finds it a little easier to be around Jin Zixuan. The other boy mellows a bit, like a wild beast being slowly tamed. And once Wei Wuxian leaves, Jin Zixuan suddenly isn’t so prickly anymore, now that nobody is constantly taunting him and picking fights with him. He even has a sense of humour, when you know how to spot it. The first time Nie Huaisang bursts out laughing over a muttered remark Jin Zixuan made, it’s hard to say who is most surprised.

Besides, Jin Zixuan is one of the few people Nie Huaisang has met who doesn’t judge him for not striving to be a perfect alpha. Just like Lan Xichen, Jin Zixuan is surprisingly accepting of Nie Huaisang’s peculiarities.

“I prefer someone like you over some alphas who act right in public, then do everything wrong in private,” Jin Zixuan says with open disdain one day, as they walk in a garden of the Cloud Recesses.

It is a beautiful summer day, and the school year is almost over, which makes Nie Huaisang rather sad. He had planned to stay another year, still to make sure that nobody else makes a move on Lan Xichen, but he’s starting to think it will be lonely without the other friends he’s made.

“Well, I’m hardly much of an alpha in private too,” Nie Huaisang argues.

Jin Zixuan shrugs. “Not in the typical way. But you’re very protective of the people you care about, right? And you like to make people feel included. Like me and Lan gongzi… even Lan er-gongzi, when he lets you. You really don’t like when people seem lonely, do you?”

A little embarrassed to have such kind motives assigned to his actions, Nie Huaisang doesn’t reply right away. He pretends to inspect some gentians near Jin Zixuan’s feet, admiring how the deep blue of the petals contrasts rather beautifully against the gold of Jin robes.

He can’t explain that he’s always around Lan Xichen because he’s madly in love with this perfect boy, or that if he’s nice to Lan Wangji, it’s mostly just because they’re going to be in-laws someday. Above all else, he absolutely can’t tell Jin Zixuan why he decided to start spending time with him, mostly because he’s changed his mind so much since then. Jin Zixuan really isn’t boring after all, and he’s not quite so plain after all. Even if his face is still a little too round and soft for his age, there are signs here and there of what a handsome alpha he will be one day. Out of everyone he's met this year, Jin Zixuan is Nie Huaisang's favourite new friend.

“Jin-gongzi is giving me too much credit,” Nie Huaisang says at last. “I just wanted a friend less annoying than Wei-xiong, and you happened to be there.”

“Is that why you only call me gongzi, when you’re never this formal with others?” Jin Zixuan asks, sounding… not quite hurt, he has too much self control for that, but still…

Well, still a little bit hurt, actually.

“I know how your sect likes formality,” Nie Huaisang explains. “I just don’t want to disrespect you.”

“The Lan too are very formal, but you call Lan Xichen ‘gege’ all the time.”

“Oh that’s different, that’s just because he’s my da-ge’s friend!” Nie Huaisang lies. “We’re close enough the two of us, so it’s fine to call him like that.” An idea hits him, and he leans toward Jin Zixuan with a wicked grin. “If you’re so jealous though, I can call you Jin-didi. Would that work for you?”

In an instant, Jin Zixuan’s face turns a bright red and he splutters in anger. Nie Huaisang can’t help laughing at that cute reaction.

“Who says I’m jealous?” Jin Zixuan explodes. “What’s there to be jealous about?”

Nie Huaisang pokes him in the ribs, still laughing. “Jin-didi, it’s fine to have a crush on an older boy, it’s normal! I understand, I really do! Thank you, Jin-didi, for entrusting your heart to me!”

“Stop calling me that!” Jin Zixuan shouts, so mortified that he’s nearly crying.

“Jin-didi! Don’t worry, this Nie-gege doesn’t mind at all. It happens, it’s because you’re probably going to present as an alpha soon, and so you’re looking for role models around you. I am so flattered, Jin-didi. It will pass though, everyone grows out of it, don’t worry.”

Jin Zixuan’s face is so red that he looks sunburned, and the dot of cinnabar on his forehead looks almost pale compared to his face.

“You’re so stupid,” Jin Zixuan hisses, shoving Nie Huaisang to the side and stomping away. “I don’t know why I even put up with you, you’re even more annoying than Wei Wuxian!”

Nie Huaisang is too breathless from laughter to stop him from leaving. It’s for the best anyway, Jin Zixuan looked like he might pick up a fight with him for offending his dignity like this, and Nie Huaisang doesn’t feel like being punched in the face.

Still, from that day on, he makes sure to call Jin Zixuan ‘didi’ every chance he gets, just because he makes such funny faces.

Nie Huaisang passes his exams at the end of the year, because Lan Xichen told him that Nie Mingjue really doesn’t want him to be away from home this long again, not when the Wens have been acting up lately. For a second, Lan Xichen seems a little sad when Nie Huaisang promises to do his best, but it must just have been a trick of the light. When Nie Huaisang blinks, Lan Xichen’s expression is warm and polite and slightly impersonal, as always.

It’s fine anyway, Nie Huaisang figures. They’re sure to meet again soon. And when they’re married, Nie Huaisang will be able to stay in the Cloud Recesses for good, and they’ll be happy, and Nie Mingjue’s paranoia won’t ruin all his plans anymore.

It turns out that Nie Mingjue’s paranoia was, in fact, justified all along.

That’s not such a big surprise, Nie Huaisang must admit. Others tend to think his brother is stupid, but he knows better. Nie Mingjue might be a big brute, but he’s a clever one who understands politics better than anyone would suspect. He doesn’t care to play the game, but he knows the rules and he watches the moves made by others. For years and years he’s tried to warn others of the troubles he’s guessed were coming, but no one listened.

Well, they’re going to listen now, Nie Huaisang figures as he makes his way to Nightless City to serve as hostage with other disciples of Qinghe Nie. It’s kind of hard to ignore when every young master or mistress from every sect in the country is being held and re-educated by Wen Ruohan’s minions.

The whole time they’re there, Nie Huaisang tries to play it cool, like none of this affects him. He’s somewhat lucky because the Wen don’t seem to realise that he’s an alpha, and so they barely pay attention to him, while they endlessly bother Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and even poor Jin Zixuan who hasn’t even presented yet. These four get harassed daily about this and that. Their attitude is too rebellious, or too tame for proper alphas. They try too hard, or not hard enough. They’re too skilled and clever, or else they’re playing stupid and clearly trying to mock Qishan Wen.

In fairness, all of these accusations are absolutely true when it comes to Wei Wuxian. But even if he were to behave properly, Nie Huaisang suspects the Wen would find some fault with him.

Nie Huaisang watches all that and tries to stay out of it. The most he can do, anyway, is to offer the medicine he secretly brought with him (his brother insisted, and he was right as always) and to share his portion of food with his friends whenever they’re denied a meal. At least, when they accept. Jiang Cheng does sometimes, unless his pride gets in his way. Wei Wuxian usually refuses and boasts that he’s been wanting to practice inedia for a while anyway. Lan Wangji isn’t so loud about it, but does the same. Poor Jin Zixuan, though… even when he’s given his own portion of food he always seems hungry, so the days when he must do without are particularly hard on him. He still tries to refuse when Nie Huaisang wants to share, but in his case, Nie Huaisang doesn’t hesitate to insist.

“You’re going to present soon, aren’t you?” he whispers, pushing his bowl of bland, watery congee toward Jin Zixuan who nods miserably. Nie Huaisang remembers the horrible hunger he felt for a few weeks before presenting, when his body was hard at work preparing for the big changes that were coming. Even with all the food he could ask for he’d been starving, so he can’t imagine how much Jin Zixuan must be suffering. “You have to eat, Jin-didi,” he orders. “Please, eat something, or else your Nie-gege will be sad.”

It says a lot about Jin Zixuan’s state that he doesn’t even object to being called this way. Nie Huaisang lets Jin Zixuan have both of his meals that day, explaining that he actually has snacks hidden along with his medicine.

It’s not his best lie, but it does the trick that time, and the following ones as well.

After a week of this, Nie Huaisang is starting to feel a little unwell. His golden core just isn’t very strong, and cannot sustain him through inedia the way it would for others. He’s always known this, there’s just something not quite right with his meridian which means cultivation doesn’t come easy for him. Usually it doesn’t bother him, but after eating so little for several days, of course there’s side effects… but someone has to take care of Jin Zixuan, right?

It’s almost a relief when they’re told one morning that everyone is going on a Night Hunt. It’s not the first one Wen Chao took them on, and while it’s unpleasant to fight creatures without weapons, at least they’ve always been given better rations.

In the end, good rations feel like a poor trade for what happens on that Night Hunt. Nie Huaisang has never been so terrified in his life, except when he was eleven and his father lost his mind… although this is worse, so much worse. His father wounded some people, but he didn’t kill anyone the way that false Xuanwu does, slaughtering anyone it can grab before they manage a daring escape, thanks to Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang, who is a fairly decent swimmer, ends up helping Jin Zixuan through the underwater passage, since the other boy is starting to look really unwell. He hasn’t been hurt, thankfully, but it’s clear he’s close to presenting. He must have only a few days left at best, or more likely a few hours.

Maybe that’s why even after they’re safely out of the cave, Jin Zixuan won’t let go of Nie Huaisang’s hand, why he leans so heavily against his side. Nie Huaisang allows it all. He probably should hand Jin Zixuan over to the Jin disciples present, but if they were trustworthy, Jin Zixuan would already have gone to them for comfort, wouldn’t he?

“It’s okay, Jin-didi,” Nie Huaisang tells the other boy while putting his free hand on Jin Zixuan’s forehead. He’s burning, and this is really the worst time and the worst place to be presenting, but it’s going to happen anyway. “I’m here with you. We’re going to get you home, and then you’ll be safe, right?”

Jin Zixuan nods weakly. “Thank you, Nie-gege,” he whispers, and Nie Huaisang’s heart does somersaults in his chest at being called that. It makes him want to keep Jin Zixuan close, to really protect him from anyone that might hurt him.

It’s a stupid idea, of course. Jin Zixuan is about to present, and when that’s over, when he’s an alpha, he’s never going to need anyone’s protection again. What’s happening here won’t last very long.

Nie Huaisang figures it’s fine to enjoy this while it’s there. He’s sure Lan Xichen, if he’s still alive, will understand that even an alpha as weak and pathetic as him needs to feel protective here and there.

It takes a long, long while to go home on foot. By the time Nie Huaisang and the other Nie disciples reach Qinghe, a war has been declared against the Wen because they’ve attacked the Lotus Piers and annihilated the entirety of Yunmeng Jiang. Nie Huaisang cries upon hearing this, because Jiang Cheng was fine when he last saw him, because it’s unfair that Wei Wuxian was rescued from that cave only to die like this anyway.

He cries also because Nie Mingjue is going to risk his life, because there’s still no news from Lan Xichen.

He cries because he won’t even be able to help his brother, and is to be sent to the Cloud Recesses where he’s less likely to be captured and used as a hostage again.

He cries because that’s all he’s good for, apparently.

Lan Xichen is alive.

Nie Huaisang cries when Lan Qiren tells him, and then doesn’t shed a single tear again and sets to work to be of some use in this war they’re fighting. The husband of a sect leader must be a useful person after all. Lan Xichen will have to deal with so many responsibilities, much earlier than he ever should have to, so Nie Huaisang needs to step up his game and become someone worthy of his future husband. He might be lazy, and spoiled, and a little useless, but Nie Huaisang is also very stubborn when he wants something, and what he wants is Lan Xichen, the most perfect person in the world.

Lan Xichen who smiles with the warmth of a tender spring afternoon, who is always calm and collected, who smells of gentian and pine trees. Lan Xichen who never has a hair out of place. Lan Xichen who always knows what to do, what to say, no matter the situation.

Lan Xichen who looks utterly broken when he comes to visit the Cloud Recesses, three months into the war.

Perhaps to others he doesn’t look so bad. The Lan disciples who are with Nie Huaisang when Lan Xichen arrives don’t comment on it. But Nie Huaisang has been observing Lan Xichen for years at this point, and he can instantly tell that something is wrong. It shows in the way the beta carries himself, how his eyes glance over things as if he cannot see what’s around him, the slight twitch at the corner of his lips when he smiles. Nie Huaisang’s heart aches to see his beloved in such a state. He hates the Wen more than ever, if such a thing is possible, for having hurt Lan Xichen this way.

Because there is so much to do, because Lan Xichen has so many responsibilities now, it seems at first that Nie Huaisang won’t have a moment alone with him. He tries to be fine with that. A sect leader’s husband must know that sometimes he comes second to the sect in question. But the hollowness in Lan Xichen’s eyes haunts him too much. That night, close to the hour for curfew, Nie Huaisang decides that he must offer some distraction to the love of his life, perhaps even some comfort, should Lan Xichen be inclined to allow it.

It’s risky to be out and about at that hour. Even at such a time, the Lan are strict with their rules, and Nie Huaisang knows he will be scolded, or even punished, if he is caught. To avoid that he doesn’t knock on the front door of Lan Qiren’s house, where he knows Lan Xichen is also living for the time being, and instead comes in through the back. He will be in so much trouble if he’s spotted, but love comes before rules. Soon enough he’s inside a private garden, knocking on the door of the only room where a candle still burns.

To Nie Huaisang’s relief, it is indeed Lan Xichen who opens that door for him.

To his horror, Lan Xichen looks even worse than before, his eyes red from crying.

“Huaisang, what are you doing here?” Lan Xichen asks, trying to quickly regain his composure.

“I thought I’d come see you, Xichen-gege. You looked like you might need a friend.”

Lan Xichen takes in a sharp breath, like he’s trying not to sob. He manages to keep his face impassive, but two tears still drop on his cheeks, leaving a shiny trail behind. If Nie Huaisang didn’t have such excellent manners, he would lunge forward to kiss away those tears.

“I’m not sure I’m fit for company,” Lan Xichen says in a voice that trembles a little. “I find myself in a rather emotional state at the moment.”

“Then you definitely need a friend,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I offer myself, if you’ll have me.”

A few more tears escape Lan Xichen’s reddened eyes, which he tries to wipe away quickly, like a child just starting to learn he’s not supposed to cry in public. Nie Huaisang braces himself for rejection, but Lan Xichen instead pinches the hem of his sleeve and pulls him inside.

“You’ll be in trouble if someone sees you,” he explains. “How unreasonable, Huaisang… didn’t you realise that people might talk, seeing an alpha roaming around at night?”

Of all the things Nie Huaisang has thought about before coming here, that particular detail hasn’t occurred to him. People often forget he’s an alpha, and so does he, most of the time. Outside of his ruts, he might as well be a beta, and he’s convinced people who meet him must think that’s the case. But of course the Lans know better.

“Xichen-gege, I don’t want to cause you trouble or start gossip against you,” Nie Huaisang says. “I wanted to see if I could make you smile, that’s all. If you think I should leave, just say so and I’ll stop bothering you.”

“That might be…” Lan Xichen starts, before choking on his words. “Maybe you should… This is… it is…”

More tears drop on Lan Xichen's cheeks and he gasps in an alarming fashion, trying to stop himself from breaking down into sobs. Nie Huaisang’s heart clenches painfully at the sight. He takes one of Lan Xichen’s hands in his, trying to offer him comfort. Immediately Lan Xichen starts crying in earnest, falling to his knees. Nie Huaisang follows him, sitting on the floor near him, patting his hand, his shoulder even when the sobs get too heavy.

They stay like this a long while, sitting on the floor of that bare room which doesn’t really belong to Lan Xichen and only serves as a reminder of everything that he has lost. Nie Huaisang can’t find any words of comfort to offer, because he knows how empty those would feel. All he has to give is his presence, and his patience.

It is well past curfew when Lan Xichen finally calms down enough to sit a little straighter.

“How disappointed you must be, seeing me so weak,” Lan Xichen says, quickly drying his tears with the fabric of his inner robes. “I’m not the person you think I am, in the end.”

“You are that person and more,” Nie Huaisang sincerely replies. He squeezes Lan Xichen’s hand in his, barely refraining the impulse to kiss it. Seeing Lan Xichen like this, imperfect, angry and hurt, only makes Nie Huaisang love him more. How could he not, when Lan Xichen is giving him this trust? “Xichen-gege, I like everything about you, the good and the bad. I like you when you are calm in front of everything, and I like you when you can’t be strong anymore.”

Lan Xichen sighs and tilts his head, trying to smile but not quite managing it. “Huaisang…”

“I do, I really do!” Nie Huaisang insists. “I just wish I could help you more. I wish I could give you strength when yours runs out. I wish I had the power to protect you against those who would harm you. You make me wish I could be more than I am, so I could stand at your side and be of use to you.”

Lan Xichen smiles, and brings his trembling free hand to touch the alpha’s cheek.

“And I’m glad you are exactly the way you are,” Lan Xichen says with unbearable tenderness. “You are as I want you to be, as I want to see you at my side.”

Nie Huaisang’s heart is racing at those words, and he feels his face flush.

“Xichen-gege, I don’t think you and I mean quite the same thing here.”

“I think we do. I wasn’t sure what to think of this,” Lan Xichen admits, gently cupping the side of Nie Huaisang’s head, who must resist the impulse to close his eyes and lean into that touch. “I thought you only liked the image I try to give, and that you would be disappointed when you’d learn who I really am. But you’re seeing me now, and… you still like me?”

“More than ever,” Nie Huaisang whispers.

Lan Xichen smiles at him, beautiful like dawn after a cold and dark winter night.

“Then when this is over, let’s see how we can deal with this,” Lan Xichen says. “I know there’s precedent for such situations, though it will be unconventional. I fear you’ll have to marry into Gusu Lan, if this is to happen. Could you bear with that?”

Nie Huaisang nods, laughing and crying at once, delighted beyond words to realise that Lan Xichen too has made plans. He knew they were well suited for each other, he knew it all along, and finally he’s proven right.

Finally, he’s going to be happy.

The Sunshot Campaign ends, and sooner than everyone expected. Wei Wuxian’s new techniques are to thank for that… or to blame, depending who’s talking. Not everybody is fond of what Wei Wuxian has done during the war. Still, he’s a hero, one of many. Of the young masters of great sects in their generation, only Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan haven’t gained a title for their glorious deeds.

In fact, when Nie Huaisang asks around, it appears that Jin Zixuan didn’t contribute at all to the war, in any way. He wasn’t among those who fought, which isn’t such a surprise when Jin Guangshan barely wanted his sect involved at all. But Jin Zixuan wasn’t on the back front either, and that’s strange. Nie Huaisang knows his friend isn't a coward like him, and must have wanted to contribute in some fashion. Jin Guanshan will have tried to stop him, but Jin Zixuan is exactly the sort of person who would run away and join another sect's troupes to do his part in fighting the Wen.

Nie Huaisang becomes truly concerned when he learns that while Jin Zixuan has been absent from the war, one of Jin Guangshan's bastards has seen his status elevated and been given a title. Jin Ziyao, Lianfang-zun, is the first out of many bastards that Jin Guangshan has ever seen fit to legitimise.

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang becomes terrified for his friend. Jin Zixuan looked so unwell that day after they escaped the cave. If his group stumbled upon the Wen, if he was wounded or worse…

Jin Zixuan is absent from the banquet held in Jinlin Tai to celebrate the end of the war. It is noticed and gossiped about, especially since Jin Guangshan brought not only Jin Ziyao, but also another of his bastards, a mere child who rumour says he might legitimise as well. Worse still, Madam Jin is somewhat polite to both of her husband's bastards, when she's been known to never even allow anyone to mention his infidelities before her.

Sick with worry, Nie Huaisang cannot eat or drink anything and quickly excuses himself from the celebration. He takes refuge on a platform that overhangs above elegant gardens, leaning over a railing to admire the sight. He hoped that being alone would give him a chance to calm down, but it only makes things worse. Jin Zixuan used to say he'd make Nie Huaisang visit the gardens of Jinlin Tai someday and show the peacocks from up close, but that might never happen now, because he might be…

Nie Huaisang bursts into tears.

He shouldn't have let Jin Zixuan go with the Jin that day, he should have kept him close and protected him, so nothing could happen to him. There is no safer place in the world than with a group of Nie, and Nie Huaisang knows even a pitiful alpha like him would have sprung into action if the situation called for it.

He knows that for Jin Zixuan's sake, he would have easily torn Wen Chao's throat with his bare teeth, if it had come to that.

Nie Huaisang is still crying when Lan Xichen finds him and silently wraps his arms around him. It helps a bit, if only because it reminds Nie Huaisang that things aren't entirely awful, that even if something happened to Jin Zixuan, he won’t have to face his grief alone. They’ve talked to Nie Mingjue who grumbled mightily against his brother leaving Qinghe Nie, but that was never an argument he could have won, not when Nie Huaisang has prepared for it half his life. Once Lan Xichen’s mourning period is over, they will be married, exactly as Nie Huaisang planned.

“What has you so upset?” Lan Xichen asks, pulling his fiancé closer, enveloping him into the long layers of his robes until Nie Huaisang feels like a chick under its brooding mother.

“I’m worried about Zixuan. Nobody has seen him since the start of the war, nobody knows anything, and he isn’t here tonight…”

Lan Xichen stiffens somewhat, and for a brief moment he loses control of himself enough that Nie Huaisang can smell him, the scent of gentians and pine lingering even after Lan Xichen returns to his usual restraint.

“You’ve become very close to him, haven’t you?” Lan Xichen asks. “I don’t think you’ve asked about anyone else as much as him during the whole campaign.”

“I got news from the others all the time,” Nie Huaisang says. “But Zixuan… and he was in a concerning state last I saw him. I just feel like I should have done more for him. What if he’s…”

“He’s not dead. Ziyao would know, and he would have told me. I’ve asked on your behalf.”

Nie Huaisang smiles, and snuggles closer to the beta.

“Thank you. But what’s the matter with him then?”

Lan Xichen shrugs slightly. “Ziyao doesn’t know,” he admits. “Nobody in Jinlin Tai seems to know, except for Jin zongzhu and Jin furen. She’s the only one who gets to see him, along with a handful of servants loyal to her. Ziyao has heard that his brother might have been cursed, or fell sick somehow, but in the end he’s not really sure.”

“Poor Zixuan, he must be so bored,” Nie Huaisang sighs. He knows his friend is used to a certain isolation, but that’s different from being truly alone. He knows also that Jin Zixuan, when given the chance, isn’t someone who enjoys being on his own anyway, and that he’s an active person who likes to practice martial arts, go on Night Hunts, or even just walk around town and check shops. This situation must be a torture for him. “Do you think they’d let me see him if I asked? Or at least write to him maybe? I’m just so worried...”

Lan Xichen tenses, his scent flaring once again. Before Nie Huaisang can ask about that, he hears approaching footsteps. Since it is highly inappropriate for them to be in such an intimate position in public, and when they’re not even formally engaged, they quickly pull apart to look at the newcomer. Nie Huaisang expected his brother, or Lan Wangji perhaps.

Instead, they find themselves in front of Madam Jin. They promptly bow to her, and exchange a worried glance. She isn’t exactly known for looking kindly at couples who misbehave in her home, and her expression can best be described as cold and angry.

“Do you really wish to see my son, Nie gongzi?” she asks, startling Nie Huaisang who can only nod in answer. “Then follow me. He’ll be glad to have a visit. Lan gongzi may come as well. This might concern him as well.”

Again, the two young men trade glances, surprised by that sudden invitation. Neither of them protests, least of all Nie Huaisang who is only too happy to follow her. Lan Xichen, after some hesitation, does the same. All three of them walk in silence in the labyrinth that is Jinlin Tai until they reach a rather isolated house guarded by two fierce looking betas who have their hands on their swords as soon as they see someone approaching, and don’t let go until they recognise Madam Jin.

“Keep an eye out,” she orders the guards as the three of them go inside. “He’s been drinking, and his rut is coming close.”

The guards nod, and firmly close the door behind Madam Jin and her guests. Nie Huaisang, initially delighted to see his friend again, starts getting worried.

“Is there something wrong with Zi… with Jin gongzi?” he asks. “Why are you locking him up this way? Is he dangerous?”

“There is danger in Jinling Tai,” Madam Jin replies, leading them ahead. She knocks on a door, using an odd rhythm. “Until a better solution can be found, this is the only way I can protect my son.”

The door opens, revealing Jin Zixuan, sword in hand. Only, there’s something off about him, something that Nie Huaisang can’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it’s his clothes, which hang a little oddly and aren’t quite the cut and fabric one would expect on an alpha. Or it is the slight fear in his eyes when he opens the door, quickly replaced by defiance when he sees who is there with his mother, as if he expects Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen to say something unpleasant. And then there’s a smell in the air, fear mixed with notes of flowers.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen says, before pinching his lips so he keeps his realisation for himself.

Jin Zixuan glares at him, then at his mother.

“I told you not to do it!” he says.

“What choice do I have?” Madam Jin replies, pushing her way into her son’s room. “This is the only way.”

After some hesitation, Nie Huaisang follows her inside. Lan Xichen does the same with a certain reluctance, and when they all sit, he does so a little closer to Nie Huaisang than is probably proper, but Nie Huaisang is too stunned by the situation to think much of it.

“I have brought you here to make a request,” Madam Jin announces, while her mortified son hides his face in his hands. “I need help in protecting my son, and after long consideration, I have come to the conclusion that the two of you are the best possible choice.”

“Mother, please, don’t!” Jin Zixuan begs, only for his mother to silence him with a gesture.

“At the start of the war, my son presented,” Madam Jin continues, ignoring the interruption. “Sadly for everyone involved, he presented as an omega.”

Nie Huaisang gasps, and stares at Jin Zixuan who looks like he might start crying. It puzzles Nie Huaisang at first, because there’s nothing bad about being an omega… or at least, not when in Qinghe Nie. Other sects have their own opinions on that, of course. He’s heard people here and there say that it is shameful and unnatural that Qinghe Nie’s leader is an omega, even one that looks and acts like an alpha, but that’s just because people are jealous of Nie Mingjue. All those petty, self-satisfied alpha just can’t stand that someone of a gender they think inferior can be so much better than they will ever be.

Of course, there’s also the fact that in most sects, only an alpha can become sect leader. Even Lan Xichen isn’t nearly as respected as he deserves to be after his brave actions during the war, and that’s not just a matter of age. Still, at least he’s a beta, and from a somewhat reasonable sect. Lanling Jin isn’t so open minded. In fact, everyone says that part of the problem between Jin Guangshan and his wife is that she’s also an alpha, when he is of the opinion that same gender couples shouldn’t be allowed to exist. He was forced into that union by his own father, everyone knows it, and only because Madam Jin's parents paid a high dowry to have her married into such a glorious sect.

"As an omega, my son cannot inherit his father's title," Madam Jin confirms. "He also wasn't allowed to take part in the war, since it would have been improper for him to be in mixed company. Alphas cannot be trusted on a battlefield… Or outside of it, as the case might be." She glances at Jin Zixuan, who looks ready to faint from sheer humiliation, then continues. "To be quite blunt, I have come to feel that Jinlin Tai is not a safe place for my son, and now that the war is over, I am seeking a way to protect him from harm."

"You want to marry him off," Lan Xichen says, his voice oddly cold in spite of his polite smile. "And I suppose you already have something in mind?"

"If I could, I would have sent him to Yunmeng Jiang," Madam Jin says. "But he has never gotten along with Jiang Wanyin, and my husband won't allow him to marry another omega as that would be improper, so Jiang Yanli is out of the question. So is Nie Mingjue, for the same reason. My husband doesn't want Zixuan to be sent to a sect too small, as he would find it humiliating. I do not want to send my son to a spouse too much older than him, as I fear for his safety. That leaves me very little choice."

Nie Huaisang frowns. He knows Jin Zixuan is more than capable of gutting even an older cultivator if they try to force him into something he doesn't want. He isn't ranked third on that list of bachelors just for his looks. Being an omega doesn't change how competent Jin Zixuan is, and Nie Huaisang has half a mind to say so.

He doesn't, but only because it suddenly hits him why Lan Xichen and him have been brought here.

"You want one of us to marry him?" he asks, while next to him Lan Xichen stiffens.

"You are the best choices," Madam Jin confirms. "My husband would probably prefer Lan zongzhu, but I personally hope you will consider this, Nie gongzi. After all, my son and you are already friends, so it would make things easier."

"Mother, stop this!" Jin Zixuan hisses between clenched teeth. "This is too… This is unnecessary."

Unsure what to think, Nie Huaisang looks up to Lan Xichen, hoping he will be the one to explain the situation. But Lan Xichen, his face pale and tight, won't look at him, or at the Jin for that matter. It falls to Nie Huaisang to handle this.

"Jin Furen, I am honoured you would think of me, and I am sure Lan zongzhu feels the same," he says. "But the fact is… Well, the truth is…"

"They're in love," Jin Zixuan hisses. "I told you it wouldn't work, mother."

Nie Huaisang looks at his friend in surprise, but Jin Zixuan refuses to look at him. More than ever, he seems ready to cry. Madam Jin, for her part, isn't impressed by this new information.

"Love is nice and well," she says, "but there are other things to consider. Your family would certainly prefer this strong political alliance."

"My brother and his uncle have already given their blessing," Nie Huaisang admits. "It's not a bad match either, politically speaking."

"But you won't have children," Madam Jin points out.

"There is a precedent for this," Lan Xichen coldly says. "Although Gusu Lan favours fidelity to one's spouse, it can be allowed to take a concubine in specific cases, such as the impossibility of having children."

"Then why not take my son as your second spouse? Or as the first one even, and have each other's company on the side? Zixuan will allow it."

Both Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen stare at Madam Jin, shocked that she would say such a thing. Her stance on her husband's affairs is well known, and she is merciless toward adulterous couples. Nie Huaisang wants to ask her why she doesn't ask for her husband's help if she's so desperate to protect her son against threats to his virtue.

He keeps that question to himself, because the answer occurs to him, and he doesn't like it.

It is well known that Jin Guangshan is an alpha of great sexual appetite even in a normal state. It is rumoured, also, that he becomes terrifying when in rut, willing to take any omega or woman who crosses his path, willing or not. People say he might have fathered Jin Zixun with his own cousin, though since the poor omega was recently married, Jin Guangshan never had to recognise the child.

Jinlin Tai is not a good place to raise an omega these days, as Jin Zixuan knows. He told Nie Huaisang as much, back when they were studying in Gusu.

And perhaps there’s more alpha in Nie Huaisang than he realised, because the idea of Jin Zixuan being in such danger, in the place where he should be safest, fills him with a rage like nothing he’s rarely felt before. The only thing that can compare is the burning wrath that overcame him when he first heard that the Cloud Recesses had been burned, that Lan Xichen was missing. If he could, Nie Huaisang would grab Jin Zixuan this instant and fly with him to QInghe, were nobody will care that he’s an omega, where he’ll live free of fear because the rules of Qinghe Nie are very clear on how to deal with a rapist, regardless of sex, gender, and rank. It is tempting to accept Madam Jin’s demand, just to protect her son, except…

Except Lan Xichen is sitting right next to Nie Huaisang, and while his face is showing nothing, the smell of his anger is getting stronger with each passing moment. If the Lan rarely have a second spouse, let alone concubines of any sorts, Lan Xichen once explained, it is because their cultivation method tends to make them more possessive toward their cultivation partner. That’s the reason they are so careful in choosing such a partner, Lan Xichen confided when they started talking about getting married.

At that time, Nie Huaisang had easily promised that he would remain faithful no matter what, happy to finally have the affection of his favourite person in the world, happy to know that his love and patience would be rewarded, confident that there is nobody else in the world he could ever want.

Now though, he isn’t so sure what to do anymore. Marrying Lan Xichen is all he’s wanted for years and years, the culmination of a carefully crafted plan to ensure both of their happiness. But to abandon Jin Zixuan to his fate would be a crime, something against which his very soul rebels.

Between his dearest friend and the love of his life, Nie Huaisang has to choose, and risk losing someone either way.

#nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin zixuan #sangxuan #xisang #mdzs #jau writes #Anonymous

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cheshiresense · 5 years ago

Note

Hadrian/Orion (I just can't let go of them, I love them so much) with an added Soulmate AU to everything else, please ?

Lmao Hadrian/Orion, what a surprise~ Let’s go with a classic ‘the one where you have your soulmate’s name written on your body’ AU.

1. In all 22 years of his first life, Hadrian never finds his soulmate. Plenty of people try of course (tattoos are a thing even in the magical world and people can be seriously weird), and even more of them want, to be the Boy-Who-Lived’s destined soulmate, but none of them were born with Hadrian’s name on their wrist, and Hadrian promised himself a long time ago when he was still a little boy in a cupboard under the stairs with no family and no real home, when he’d seen the name appear at seven years old and then learned that the person whose name was on his wrist belonged to him and no one else, he’d sworn he would never love another, not the way one should love a soulmate. It didn’t matter when Aunt Petunia muttered about freakish names, didn’t matter when Uncle Vernon told him his soulmate would be better off without him - Orion Black was Hadrian’s soulmate, and nobody in the world could ever take this one thing away from him.

It’s considered even worse manners to ask to see someone’s soulmate than it is to ask to see Hadrian’s scar, so nobody asks, not even Ron. There are shops that sell wristbands in all colours and designs, and in the magical world, those designs even move. Hadrian gets a solid black band with the constellation Orion stitched into it, and for years and years to come, when he was scared or hurt or alone, even just seeing the tiny silver stars winking back at him in the dark of night would make him feel safer.

The first time he shows someone the name on his wrist is… well, he doesn’t actually show anyone. But Sirius hugs him, tight and fierce, at the top of a Hogwarts tower after he and Hermione rescue him from Dementors, and when he pulls back, for a moment, his gaze catches on the band around Hadrian’s wrist. His face goes a little funny, recognition coiled with bafflement, but there’s no time for anything else, and sooner rather than later, Sirius is gone with Buckbeak.

(Sirius lives another two years before he dies. Hadrian is fifteen and angry at a world that would rather be led like sheep to a slaughter than face their fears, and his godfather pulls him aside and shows him the Black family tapestry and the only Orion Black on it.

“I recognized the constellation so I thought I’d check, just in case,” Sirius explains, and in this first life, he is the first and only person Hadrian bares his wrist to. The script is still there, solid blue and visible, so they’re definitely still alive, but there are no other Orions on the tapestry aside from Sirius’ dad. Sirius grins anyway, optimistic and encouraging in a way that momentarily wipes Azkaban from his face. “Who knows, maybe there’s a bastard out there who escaped my family’s attention. Or maybe it’s a muggleborn. I hear Black isn’t that uncommon a name in the muggle world.”)

The war begins again when Hadrian is fourteen. It ends when he’s twenty-one. The name on his wrist never fades, and he spends every day hoping his soulmate lives, that they don’t attend Hogwarts, that they’re not even on the Merlin-damned continent.

And then Fate comes calling, and Hadrian thinks maybe his soulmate had been much farther away from him than even he ever guessed.

2. Orion is born with Harry Potter on his wrist. He’d been dumped at a muggle orphanage shortly after his birth, and then that orphanage had been ravaged by a werewolf pack when he was two. Maybe that’s why nobody ever wondered exactly when his name came in. Nobody who might’ve known stuck around long enough to tell the orphanage, and with green script the colour of Harry’s eyes, everyone just made the most logical assumption after Sirius and Remus adopted him. But the truth of it is this - he was born five months earlier than Harry, with a name already etched into his wrist. Harry Potter - this Harry Potter - could not possibly be his soulmate.

But nobody knows that. Instead, their families see the name on Orion’s wrist, and then they see a completely different name on Harry’s wrist, and Orion becomes one of the very few destined for an incomplete soul. It’s just a figure of speech of course, his soul is as whole as anybody’s, but it sets him apart from the very beginning, garners pity as much as being a werewolf garners contempt, and his only saving grace is the fact that not even Harry would stoop to blabbing about Orion’s soul-name in public, even if it does make for very easy ammunition against him. Besides, it’s easy enough to sneer “no one will ever want to be your soulmate” and pretend it’s only because Orion is a werewolf.

So Orion spends the next ten years and change following Harry around like a dog begging for any small scrap of affection. It had been fine at first, for a few years, before Harry found out about the werewolf secret and changed. Even though he didn’t have Orion’s name, Harry had told him it was fine, they were still family no matter what. It was fine, until it wasn’t, and by the age of fourteen, Orion had almost convinced himself that he didn’t care. Didn’t care that his soulmate hated him. Didn’t care that Harry had turned most of their school against him. Didn’t care that most of the world would rather his kind didn’t exist.

But then Hadrian Evans had swept into his life like a natural disaster, changing everything he touched without even trying, pulling everyone into his orbit whether they liked it or not, and refusing to live in a world where Orion was treated as lesser, so he demanded the world change for Orion instead.

And for the first time in his life, Orion looks at his own wrist and wishes it was someone else’s name, because however much Harry had hurt him, broken him, left him feeling something very close to hatred, he’d never quite managed to stop wanting Harry to accept him, to like him, to finally see Orion’s loyalty and bring him back into the fold, not until he’d met Hadrian and realized that yes, he did deserve better.

3. The first time Hadrian lays eyes on Orion and Neville tells him his name, he knows, absolutely knows, straight down to his bones - yes, this is the one, this is my soulmate, this person was who I was waiting for.

He doesn’t march right up and reveal all, obviously. For one, it takes weeks to get past Orion’s icy exterior, with good reason. For another, the whole dimension travel thing is hardly something Hadrian can just go around telling people about. And for a third… well. Orion has given no indication that Hadrian Evans is what’s written on his wrist. He could be hiding it, like Hadrian, but Hadrian likes to think he would’ve noticed. Orion’s not actually that hard to read once you get past his walls. On the other hand, if he has Harry Potter written on his wrist, that’s a bit of a problem too. Which Harry Potter does it mean? Is that why Orion was so loyal to Harry even though the other boy had done nothing to deserve it?

But Fate gave Hadrian Orion Black, printed out in vivid blue the colour of Orion’s eyes, and surely Hadrian wouldn’t have been plucked out of his own world and dropped into this specific universe if the only Orion he’s ever met isn’t his soulmate.

Fate of course is no help at all.

In the end, he decides it doesn’t matter. Orion is fourteen - Hadrian isn’t putting a finger on him until he’s legal, and even then, it has to be Orion’s choice. Just because the universe has matched two people together doesn’t mean it always works out, and Hadrian isn’t going to be one of those arseholes who tries to force their soulmate into a relationship just because of what’s written on their skin. And soulbonds aren’t always romantic. There are plenty of platonic ones in the world as well.

Besides, he knows Orion feels a measure of gratitude to him for befriending him in the first place, which is just wrong, but the point is, Hadrian doesn’t want him latching onto the soulbond out of any kind of obligation. He wants Orion to like him - and possibly even fall in love with him one day - for him. Just because it’s him.

(Just Harry. A sham of a childhood, too much blood on his hands, and a whole war down the road, and in the end, just Harry is still all he can really be.)

As for Hadrian himself, it’s not as if it’s hard to like Orion. He’s standoffish and cold to those who’ve bullied him in the past or those he’s wary of because he doesn’t know them, and that’s his right, borne from years of bearing the weight of Harry’s verbal abuse. But he’s also overwhelmingly, heartbreakingly devoted to Hadrian once Hadrian proves that his kindness is genuine, and isn’t that sad? A little bit of kindness - eating meals together, studying together, decent manners and a smile - and that was all it took because underneath the frigid exterior, there was just a boy desperate for somewhere to belong.

So Hadrian is fine with simply befriending him. Even if Orion never figures out they’re soulmates, even if they aren’t soulmates, Hadrian can be content with what he already has. It’s not like he’s in love with Orion at this point anyway, he’s never been in love with anyone so maybe theirs will be a platonic bond in the end. Orion deserves the world, and that may or may not include Hadrian in the long run, but in the meantime, Hadrian will be damned if he lets anyone continue treating Orion with one iota less of the respect he deserves.

4. Of course, life rarely works out the way anyone plans it, and Hadrian has always, always been Fate’s bitch. In the end, it’s his wristband that gives him away, which Hadrian should’ve predicted, because Orion is Sirius’ son, and just like Hadrian’s Sirius, he recognizes his namesake instantly the moment he spots it one day, when the two of them and the rest of their friends are out by the Lake, enjoying a summer afternoon after their last exams of the year. Even Hermione probably can’t identify constellations at a glance the way the Black house can.

Orion goes preternaturally still, half bent over to spread a towel on the grass. Hadrian is sprawled out on a towel of his own, bisected by the shade of some nearby trees, and he’s down to shorts and a shirt, for once foregoing his robes. The wristband stands out starkly, and nobody else is around, all of them splashing around in the water instead. Orion had just come back up for a break, and it takes even Hadrian - relaxed as he is - a few seconds to realize the air has grown tense around them.

“Orion, what-” He half sits up, ready to hex someone into oblivion, and then he follows Orion’s line of sight, only to freeze as well when he sees his own wristband.

A strained minute of silence follows, like a breath caught and held, waiting for the drop.

Orion is in his sixth year, seventeen already as of February. It’s not like he hasn’t already realized - probably as far back as fourth year if he’s honest - that there’s something really off about Hadrian. Prodigy he might be, but there are some things you can’t learn just by being smart or good with magic. Hadrian duels like he was born for war, as terrible as that sounds, but he’s been tutoring them in Defense for almost two years now, and he has the reflexes and muscle memory of a veteran Auror. Orion would know - he’s seen his dad and Uncle James duel before. And the things he knows - he can brew everything from Anti-Paralysis Potions to Blood-Replenishing Potions to Veritaserum and make it look easy, but he doesn’t know even the most basic of household charms that a magical child would’ve grown up around, had to be assured that faerie lights at Yule didn’t actually hurt the faeries, and just last year when he’d moved into Orion’s house for the summer, he’d spent whole afternoons sitting in the children’s section of their library, looking at Orion’s old picture books - with miniature characters that reenacted the story live like a play when you opened the book - like he’d never seen anything more amazing.

(Remus had just looked sad when Orion had quietly mentioned it out of Hadrian’s earshot. Sirius had disappeared into the duelling chamber and blown things up for a few hours.)

Of course, those were things Orion had observed over time, the details you only knew if you were Hadrian’s friend and took the time to get to know him. But even a stranger on the street could probably tell you something was up if they saw Hadrian and Harry standing side by side and you told them they weren’t related.

Black hair, green eyes, the same nose and jaw and knobbly knees. The only difference between them, physically speaking, were superficial - Harry was a little taller, Hadrian didn’t wear glasses, Harry had messier hair, Hadrian had scars that Orion hadn’t quite plucked up the courage yet to ask about.

Even Hadrian’s surname was suspicious. Evans? What are the odds that his family name would just so happen to be Aunt Lily’s maiden name?

But it was such a far-fetched idea, that they could be related at all, when - personality-wise - they were so wildly different. They were even the same age, so unless the Potters had secretly given away Harry’s twin at birth, there was just no way.

And yet.

Orion slowly sinks to the ground. He drags his eyes away from the wristband to check Hadrian’s expression, only to be met with guarded stone features and eerie Avada Kedavra eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just watches Orion in return, but saying nothing is an answer in itself, isn’t it?

Orion releases a long, careful breath, feeling like a single wrong word now might actually get him obliviated. He knows Hadrian has it in him, has a lot worse than a memory charm in him, but Orion has never worried that it might turn on him one day. That he thinks it now, that he can look at Hadrian and see the warrior staring back - it just means this is important, and Orion cannot mess this up.

It’s not like he’s never thought it before. Common sense and logic usually buried the clues and dismissed his what-ifs, but when he’s alone and awake at night and can’t sleep, and there’s really nothing better to do than think of Hadrian, sometimes, he does wonder.

And it’s starting to look a lot like he might’ve actually been right.

He inhales and exhales again, looks once more at the wristband - silver stars on a black night sky, for Merlin’s sake, it might as well be his name wrapped around Hadrian’s wrist - and then he meets Hadrian’s eyes again without flinching. “I’ve wanted you to be my soulmate since before fourth-year Yule, when we both said we’d go the Ball without a date, so it pretty much felt like we were going together.”

His ears burn red, but he keeps his chin up and his gaze steady, and he gets the pleasure of watching some of the ice recede from Hadrian’s face as his eyes go wide and his lips part with genuine surprise.

And then he blushes, and Orion stares, brain stalling, and all he can think is, oh, he’s pretty, which Sirius must never know.

“Bloody hell-” Hadrian mutters, slapping a hand to his forehead, and then a twitch of his fingers and a mumbled Muffliato fizzles up around them to give them some privacy. And then he drops his hand, looks around, and promptly rolls his eyes before dismissing it again with another wave.

“Come on,” Hadrian says as he rises to his feet, looking simultaneously fatalistically grim and recklessly determined. “I’m not talking about this here. We’re going to the Room of Requirement.”

He pauses though, teetering from the balls of his feet to his heels and back. And then he sticks out a hand towards Orion, and Orion feels almost clumsy as he lurches forward to take it, letting Hadrian haul him to his feet, easy as anything.

“Wait, are you really-” Orion stammers out, because holy fuck is he actually right, and he knows he shouldn’t talk about it here, and he sounds like some half-wit, but-

Hadrian heaves a sigh, and then he lifts their joined hands and uses his free one to peel back the wristband.

Orion stares. Orion Black, stamped out in the looping cursive of his handwriting, as blue as his eyes will ever be, stares boldly back at him.

“Come on,” Hadrian repeats, hiding the name - Orion’s name - away again and tugging at his hand. “I have some things to tell you, about- about who I am, and where I come from, and I’m not doing it here.”

Orion nods faintly, feeling dazed, but he follows when Hadrian moves, close enough to crowd him.

When Hadrian - Hadrian Evans, Harry Potter from another bloody universe - glances at him, as scared as Orion’s ever seen him, like this isn’t literally everything Orion has ever wished for, miraculously come true, and all Orion can do is press closer and clutch tighter at the hand in his.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever let go.

5. It’s a while later before everyone knows. Literally everyone - there’s a dimension-traveller in their midst, blessed by Fate and Magic, and nobody wants to mess with that, although there has been more than a few letters from the Unspeakables since they found out.

But before everyone, their friends and families find out first. Harry looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, but at least he keeps his mouth shut, for the time being, and for weeks, James and Lily go around looking equal parts shocked and awed and a little like they’re not quite sure how to treat Hadrian anymore.

Sirius and Remus don’t give a damn beyond listening closely to everything Hadrian decides to tell them. Orion’s father looks achingly relieved every time he sees Orion and Hadrian together, and his dad beams ecstatically every time he spots them holding hands. Sirius isn’t quite petty enough to flaunt it in front of James, and not quite mean enough to say it in front of Harry, but in the privacy of their home, Sirius calls Hadrian “my godson” a lot, and every single time, Hadrian protests, but his face also scrunches up a bit like he wants to cry. He also melts and pretends he doesn’t whenever Sirius ruffles his hair or pulls him into a hug. That’s probably half the reason why Sirius keeps doing it.

On his part, Orion doesn’t care if only he and Hadrian knows or if the whole world knows. He has Hadrian’s name on his wrist, even if it’s not the name he uses now, the name he’s embraced along with the life he’s made for himself here, and Hadrian has his, jumping an entire universe to meet Orion, but more than that, so much more, Orion has Hadrian, and it wouldn’t have mattered even if their names hadn’t matched, he would’ve loved him regardless.

Because here and now, he has the way Hadrian looks at him in the morning when they wake up, soft and lazily content. He has the way Hadrian trusts him to have his back in battle, and the way Hadrian turns to him first, always, finding him in a crowd or asking for his opinion or just to know he’s there. He has the way Hadrian calms when Orion wraps him in his arms after waking from nightmares, and even when he can’t fall back asleep, he learns he can depend on Orion to stay up with him.

He has the sight of Hadrian wearing the Black family engagement ring, offered the morning after Orion turns eighteen, pressed firmly into Hadrian’s hands because Orion’s feelings won’t ever change no matter how many years Hadrian gives him to reconsider.

“What if you’re not ready though?” Hadrian half-pleas, because this is somehow still something he worries about, that he’s taking advantage, that Orion will want someone less broken, less sad, carrying less baggage.

“I am,” Orion says steadily, because he has never been more sure of anything. “I’m ready. But maybe you aren’t yet, and that’s okay. I’m just making my intentions clear. But however long you need, I can wait. I will wait. I promise.”

Hadrian looks at him after that like he can’t believe Orion is real, and Orion will treasure it forever.

Two years later, he has his own engagement ring on his finger, secretly crafted and given to him when Hadrian - clear-eyed and confident - proposes at their favourite diner in the magical district of Rome. Orion can’t stop grinning all night.

#headcanon meme: answered #hp series #c'est la vie #soulmates au #hadrian evans #orion black #hadrian/orion #headcanon

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arsenicpanda · 4 years ago

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So, I was deleting the many discourse asks, and I accidentally deleted the anon that asked for #3 with Betty, Jughead, Cheryl, Archie, and Veronica for the ask game. But I promise you they existed!

003 | Betty, Jughead, Cheryl, Archie, Veronica

1. Jughead: My boy. I love him. He’s so dramatic and ridiculous and intense and crazy and currently fifteen flavors of disaster. He loves so deeply and yet gets burned so often! Precious boy, deserves only good things despite being very annoying.

2. Betty: A very close second! My girl. I love her. She’s also dramatic in her own way (just not as much, but that’s a high bar to clear) and intense and crazy and goddamn adorable and currently fourteen flavors of disaster. Her entire family is fucking garbage (with the exception of precious big brother Charles, whose only flaw is being a serial killer in a way that doesn’t hurt her) but she loves them anyway and will do so much for them even though they do not deserve it. Also she should quit the FBI, she’s bad at it, I want to enjoy her ignoring laws again.

3. Veronica: An angel who has done nothing wrong in her life outside of season 2, but I ignore that because I love her. She is just so good. Of all the characters on Riverdale, I honestly think she is the best person with the best morals, and, ok, that last one doesn’t say much, but still, she is. Veronica deserves to get everything she wants and be treated like the queen she is by absolutely everyone. Only good things for her from now on, please.

4. Cheryl: Wildly entertaining creature of pure chaos, completely ridiculous drama queen, has done so many things wrong and yet I still enjoy her. Needs to actually treat Toni right though, jfc.

5. Archie: Ultimately means well but constantly tries my patience. Archie is so much fun with Veronica and absolutely precious with her, but he’s a terrible friend to Jughead though and needs to leave my boy alone. He’s often the weak link, plot-wise, but he makes up for it by always have one dude he’s super gay with. RAS must have been forbidden from making him explicitly queer and is instead trying to see just how homoerotic he can make all of his relationships before he gets in trouble.

#asks #anonymous #Riverdale #my thoughts on Riverdale let me show you them

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 2/10 (Multi) - Juno

Chapter summary: It’s cake week, and the bakers have to deal with a fruity signature, a tangy technical, and a showstopper that should be child’s play. Surely nothing can go wrong. Meanwhile, Aurora is looking forward to cake week, and not just to see Tayce again, and Asttina has an admirer of her own.

A/N: Thank you for your support so far on this fic!! I hope you enjoy the second part of this.

WEEK 2: CAKE WEEK

Aurora knew cakes like the back of her hand.

Cake had been her gateway into baking as a teenager. Whenever she’d had a bad day at school, she could spend a couple of quid at the local Aldi on some filling ingredients, bring them home, find her nan’s flour, and bake them into something beautiful, something that everyone would love. Baking a cake would always be available to her to ground her, and to remind her that pouring positivity into things made them seem light as air.

Arriving for filming the second week was nowhere near as daunting as the first. Biscuit week had been a little bit of a concern for Aurora, whose biscuits tended to crumble as soon as she looked at them, but she forced herself not to think about it any more, pushing it to the past where it belonged. She came in now, her cake recipes in her head and on her paper, feeling better than she had all of last week.

I survived biscuit week. But I can really excel in cake week! This is exactly what I know. I can make a Vicky sponge in my sleep with one hand behind my back and a sleep paralysis demon on my chest. It’s mine to win.

As Pip had gone home at the end of the last episode, Aurora’s side of the desks had all been shuffled up by one person to account for that. Her side of the room now had Asttina at the front, then Ginny, Lawrence, Ellie, and finally Aurora on the fifth bench instead of the back.

Instead of being opposite Tayce, she was opposite Cherry this time. Their side was unchanged - Bimini at the front, then Joe, Tia, Veronica, Cherry, and Tayce at the back. Cherry’s pillar-box red KitchenAid gleamed in the sunlight - it was starting to get sunny again - and Aurora saw that her own was in similar condition, the turquoise colour as bright as if it was the first week again. Good as new.

She managed to calm her breathing, but her fingers still drummed on the workbench, and she couldn’t stop them for more than a few seconds.

I can do this. I can do this.

——

Signature: Fruit Cake

“For your Signatures this week,” Matt began, “the judges would like you to bake a fruit cake. Any fruit is allowed - “

“ - but no vegetables. We can’t have vegetables sneaking into the tent disguised as a fruit.”

“Maybe a tomato.”

“Matt, a tomato is technically a fruit, even if no one wants tomato cake.”

Aurora giggled at Matt and Noel’s back-and-forth, but really, she wanted to get on with her bake. All her baking knowledge felt like it had lodged herself at the very front of her mind, and any slight distraction could let it tumble back down again into the abyss, lost forever - or at least until the baking time was over.

When they finally announced “BAKE!” Aurora dove into her bag to grab her ingredients. Flour, butter, sugar, eggs. Flour, butter, sugar, eggs.

“What are you baking?” Ellie didn’t even last a minute this week before she had turned round to talk to Aurora, but she kind of wished she wouldn’t, from the amount she chatted last week after getting over her initial shyness. Aurora was trying to concentrate; she had to pour her whole focus into this, or it just wouldn’t taste good.

“Apple cake,” she said simply, wondering if Ellie would take the hint.

“Oh. I’m making rhubarb and custard!” Evidently Ellie hadn’t, and Aurora bit her tongue behind her forced smile. “That was my favourite when I was a kid, did you have lots of rhubarb and custard as well? This one time me and my brother …”

“Have you got nothing better to do than prattle on to Aurora?” Lawrence’s voice from the bench in front of them was even louder than Ellie’s, her hands on her hips as she swooped in to save the day, an unconventional Wonder Woman. “She’s trying to bake a cake, and so should you!”

“I am baking a cake -“

Ellie spun back to face Lawrence, and Aurora took the opportunity to make a quick getaway to the tea tent for a break. From her experience being behind Ellie last week, the woman could talk all day, and that wasn’t what Aurora needed, much as she had warmed to her.

By the time she’d poured herself a fresh brew, Ellie and Lawrence were both at Lawrence’s desk, apoplectic with laughter, faces and hands covered in flour, while the cameras had sprinted down to record this golden television moment.

Viewers tune in for baking and get a flour fight. And that’s why the nation loves this show.

——

“I’m gonna have to start again!”

That phrase was starting to sound like a broken record from Tia’s desk, on the other side. The woman might not normally be a disaster in the kitchen, but so far they’d done four challenges, and this was the third time she’d announced she was restarting. Her normally orange KitchenAid was splattered deep purple from the blackberries she’d somehow managed to spray all over the side in an effort to make jam. Some of it had even gone into the cake mixture, and she was running her fingers through her curly hair, turning to Veronica on the bench behind her and laughing dryly.

“What have you done?” Veronica’s tone always softened when Tia talked to her. That was something Aurora had already noticed, and it was … interesting, to say the least.

“Messed up my cake mix,” Tia shook her head, still laughing. “How long do we have left?”

Veronica looked at one of the five timers she’d set up. “An hour, twenty three minutes, and fifteen seconds - fourteen - thirteen -“

“Okay, okay!” Tia waved her hand. “Do you - d’you think I have time?”

“If you’re really precise,” Veronica nodded grimly, “then you should just about do it. You’ve done the jam, you’ve done the icing … you just have to bung the cakes into the freezer straight away so they have enough time to cool.”

“Oh, good.” Tia sighed. “Let’s hope I don’t mess it up again! Thanks, Vee.”

Veronica reserved her quota of smiles for Tia alone, so it seemed, because this smile was the first real one any of them had seen from Veronica. Nervous, pinched, but there it was all the same.

“Yeah,” Aurora called over to them, hoping to join in, “thanks Vee, and can you make it for Tia if she messes up the jam again?”

She’d meant it as a joke, good-natured, to try to brighten the anxiety forming a cloud between the two of them. It had the desired effect on Tia, whose expression slackened into an ironic grin; but Veronica’s face immediately became stony, her eyes surprisingly cold as she glared at Aurora, before turning back to her KitchenAid.

“It’s just a joke -”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very funny.” Veronica snapped. “It’s not very nice to comment on things like that. Oh great - now I’ve over-weighed the sugar. Thanks, Aurora.”

Aurora opened her mouth to protest - Veronica’s implication felt unfair - but she was taken aback by the sound of gentle, muffled laughter; Tayce was still behind Cherry, a hand over her mouth, giggling to herself.

——

“I was laughing at Veronica! Blaming you for weighing out her own sugar wrong!” Tayce exclaimed as Aurora chewed her nail during the break before Technical.

“Maybe I went too far … maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“She’s just too sensitive.” Tayce flipped her hair behind her back. “Everyone could see you were just joking! Tia saw the funny side, and I bet Veronica’s probably already forgotten it. Forgive and forget, right? It’s just baking! It’s not all that serious!”

“Yeah but …” Aurora trailed off, looking over at the two of them, by the door to the outside, hovering as if trying to decide to go out.

Tayce chuckled. “And Tia’s got a few disasters under her belt, hasn’t she? The wagon wheels last week where all the chocolate melted? Her Signature this week? It’s only week two!”

Aurora opened her mouth, but closed it again.

This is how it all starts. One misunderstood joke, and suddenly I’m an evil bitch.

Cakes were meant to calm her, but suddenly cakes were linked to this show, and now intertwined with making another contestant upset. A golden opportunity to shed her still-lingering hometown reputation as a Bad Girl; scuppered before the end of the second week.

I may as well just get eliminated now.

Aurora broke away from Tayce to go to the table of cakes, where everyone’s was laid out in a row. Ginny and Bimini were standing there, Ginny piling a slice of Tia’s cake - which she’d called “Bananadrama cake” - on top of Bimini’s vegan orange cake, but both turned when Aurora approached.

“Hey!” Bimini said, grabbing her shoulder. “That apple cake you made, with the toffee apples on the top? That looked amazing. If it was vegan I’m sure I’d love it, but Gin said it was good!”

“It was a treat for the taste buds, Aurora, an absolute treat,” Ginny nodded, their eyes crinkling up kindly.

“Congratulations on getting the first Hollywood handshake, Ginny!” Aurora smiled mechanically, but Ginny’s smile spread from ear to ear. “I bet you’re never gonna wash your right hand ever again!”

“Definitely not,” Ginny nodded, holding up their right hand to their face and wiggling their fingers. “Not after I broke the seal on the Hollywood Handshakes, first one of the season! I hope they’re all talking about it on Twitter by now -“

“Will make a change from them talking about your obsession with lemons,” Bimini nudged them, causing Ginny to glare at them with mock disgust.

“Cheeky. My lemon drizzle Signature is a labour of love. You have no idea how long I spent perfecting that recipe, Bimini Bon Appetit.”

“You know what, Gin? I believe you.”

“Is there any of your lemon drizzle left?” Aurora asked.

“Yes! Fancy a sloooice?” Ginny yelled the last word in the same way she’d yelled it when she’d initially presented it to the judges.

“Erm, yeah I do!” Aurora grabbed the knife to cut herself a piece of Ginny’s handshake-worthy lemon drizzle cake, wondering if there was nothing that Ginny wouldn’t put lemon into if given the chance. Bimini stroked Ginny’s bag, putting their plate down.

“I love your bag, where did you manage to find a bag with the non-binary flag colours on it? I kept meaning to ask you last week, I saw it and I immediately went ‘Yes, another enby, the enby gods have smiled down on me’ and I wanted to know where you got that bag so I could get one of my own -“

“Oh, I didn’t buy it, bab, I crocheted it! I couldn’t find one that I liked so I had to make one, and it’s so good for finding other enbies out in the wild, it’s like a code, isn’t it!”

“Yeah definitely - look, if you crochet a lot, would you fancy making me a scarf with enby flag colours? I can pay you or give you bakes or something -“

“Oh Bimini Bab, don’t worry about that - I can do you one for next weekend if you want -“

Aurora decided to leave them to it, looking around the room for someone to talk to. Tayce was with Cherry and Joe again, and Tia and Veronica had been joined by Asttina, the three of them comparing something on their phones. Ellie was nowhere to be seen, which was a shame as Aurora was starting to feel a bond with her more than anyone else in the room.

But is that even real in itself?

That thought persisted, no matter how hard Aurora tried to quash it.

Everything’s just really distorted right now.

The actual filming of the episodes was being done on Saturdays and Sundays, and would be every weekend from now until the end of June, so it meant that they would all go back to their normal daily lives while the weeks were going on; back to work, back to friends and family, back to their routine.

It was as if they left the real world into a fantasy land for two days a week, a frenetic rollercoaster of baking and emotions, pressure and strangers, before being dropped back into the mundane weekday world, a reality where they were forbidden to disclose how they were all doing, or what they were all doing, every weekend.

There were eleven of them left on the competition, and it was only the second weekend of them filming so far. They’d known each other for just over a week, and spent almost three total days in each others’ pockets, surrounded by cameras and production crew and editors. But it was virtually impossible to get to know everyone here, to really know them, hard to read their intentions while filming was happening, because it was such a short but busy time they all had together. Because no matter how much they all smiled, how much they all laughed together - they were all here for one reason, and that was for themselves, to win.

That made the room feel still lonelier to Aurora, even filled with eleven people.

Take Ellie for instance. Ellie was always making conversation, and Aurora hoped they’d bonded; but then again Ellie was a trainee hairdresser, and it was probably part of her job to be able to chat. Tayce, her charming accent and witty smile aside, gave nothing away, and as much as Aurora’s stomach leapt somersaults when she was around her, Tayce was a complete mystery.

Looking around the room at everyone pairing off, the community here was more important than ever. It was a long filming schedule for just ten episodes, and the NDAs they’d all had to sign bound them together, keeping a juicy secret from the outside world.

At the same time, it was surreal.

Every word was emotive. Every sensation was deeper than normal. Every movement was significant …

But until the series aired on Channel 4, everything here was only as tangible as a dream.

——

Technical: 12 Jaffa Cakes

Jaffa Cakes? Fucking Jaffa Cakes?

Sure, Aurora had eaten them for years, but baking them? As far as Aurora was concerned, Jaffa Cakes were just a thing that came in a box, that probably grew on trees. The concept of baking them felt alien.

Focus. Calm.

But the basic instructions from Prue’s recipe might have been in Latin for all Aurora knew. And Aurora sure as hell didn’t know Latin.

She took less time than last week annotating, instead getting to work setting up the bain marie in a saucepan to melt the chocolate, tossing cake ingredients into the KitchenAid as she went, ignoring the crash as Joe’s baking tray went flying onto the next bench, where Ginny was glaring at her as she dramatically rolled her eyes and went to pick it back up.

She looked at the main timer she used. Twenty minutes had gone, which meant she was slightly ahead of her annotated schedule.

So far, so good.

But the issue came when the cake sponges were cooling.

“Aurora!” Ellie’s whisper was frantic as she turned to her bench, the panic in her voice making it impossible to ignore. “I’ll give you a can of my Monster if you tell me which way up these sponges are meant to be!”

As Aurora met her eyes, all memory of what a Jaffa Cake looked like evaporated, fizzing and floating away like steam.

Shit. She’s got a point. Which way up do they go?

She knew that one side was covered in chocolate and the marmalade jelly circles they’d all made, but which side?

“I don’t know, do I!” Aurora sighed, clutching her hair. “God, you just said that and now I can’t remember what a Jaffa Cake looks like and I’ve been eating them from the packets for years!”

“Same here!” Ellie muttered.

Aurora caught sight of Tayce’s head jerking up out of the corner of her eye, curiously watching them both, but she forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

“If we do it this way,” Ellie turned one of the sponges she’d made upside down, “there’s less room for the jelly, but the discs fit perfectly, and there’s more room for the chocolate, is that right?”

“Uhm,” Aurora murmured, wracking her brains. “I think - maybe, yeah - you’re right I think …”

Across the room, she saw Cherry, who had already turned hers upside down and was already halfway through putting the chocolate and marmalade jelly on them. Joe, a few rows in front of her, was also turning hers over and over, frowning.

But as Ellie turned her cake again, the right way up, Aurora could practically see a lightbulb light in her head; her eyes widening and her mouth dropping in realisation.

“No! It’s the right way up! Because it’s a flat tray! For the jelly! And the chocolate kind of spreads to the edges, doesn’t it? Like, over the sponge too. Right? Please tell me I’m right, Rory,” Ellie pleaded.

Aurora wasn’t sure what to think. “I’m not sure now. Some people are doing them upside down, and they look …”

“No, I’m sure I’m right,” Ellie nodded, grimly determined suddenly. “Trust me on this. They’re meant to be the right way up.” She nodded again, putting the baking tray and the sponge down again. “Here, have a Monster.”

Aurora frowned as she took it. “Mango Loco?”

“Of course! What else?”

The way Ellie was looking at her, she might have sprouted another head. Aurora opened the can and took a swig, praying to the Monster gods that Ellie wasn’t trying to trick her and that the energy drink would give her the final push.

——

“Thank you!”

Aurora had taken half a step into Carr Hall after the Technical challenge winner’s interview was over, only to be engulfed by Hurricane Ellie, all six feet of her, dragged into a very fluffy pink hug against the fake fur of the jacket she wore.

She shook Ellie off, laughing. “Oh, it’s alright love, you’re the one who figured it out without me, don’t worry - “

“I was so nervous for Technical!” Ellie’s voice was so loud that Aurora winced in discomfort. “I came eleventh last week! And now I’m third! I could cry! But you - God, you came top! Oh god I’m sorry! Congratulations on coming top!”

Aurora couldn’t hold back the grin. She had to admit, she felt pretty smug about coming top in the second Technical challenge, especially having been seventh the previous week. It just showed that she had lots to offer to the show and the judges. Her heart was hammering, although whether that was with elation or electrolytes, she was uncertain.

“Well done, Aurora.” She turned to face Asttina’s cool smile and steady gaze, accepting the handshake she offered. “Your Jaffa Cakes looked amazing. Really nice one. I can’t wait to try one.”

Aurora just returned her smile. Something about Asttina made her lose her tongue, maybe the formal, business-like way she went about her bakes, or her polite, reserved manner of speech. Aurora didn’t feel that she knew much about her yet - not enough to fill in the gaps in her head about Asttina.

“Congratulations, bab,” Ginny sidled up to her next, giving her a grin. Bimini followed them, holding the narrow bottle of limoncello that Ginny had been liberally adding to their lemon drizzle cake earlier, both of them swigging from it.

“Thanks Gin!”

“Nice one, Aurora,” Tia was next, her easy smile matching her eyes as she rubbed Aurora’s shoulder. “Your Signature was so good too, you deserved to get top in Technical this week!”

And Aurora immediately felt another twinge of guilt for her words earlier. Tia radiated sincerity, probably the only person in the room whose whole demeanour was relaxed and genuine. A lump rose in her throat and Aurora found her words stuck at it.

She just nodded, smiling, before she took the opportunity to move out the way to the cake table, wondering if she fancied another slooice of Ginny’s handshake-winning lemon drizzle cake before it was all gone, when she felt long cool fingers at her shoulder and turned to meet Tayce’s brown eyes.

“Good job in Technical today,” she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips.

Tayce’s low voice, and that accent, started off the butterflies in Aurora’s stomach once more, along with a tingling dancing up her spine. Last week it had been a pleasant addition to being here, having such a stunning contestant opposite her, but this week, Aurora found that the nearer Tayce was to her, the less Aurora was able to form coherent words.

“Thanks,” she heard herself say after what seemed like an eternity of a pause.

“Did much better than me. Seventh! Like we switched positions, eh?”

“Seems like it!” Aurora’s face was getting warmer and warmer, and she resumed prayer to the Monster gods that she wasn’t blushing -

“Anyway. Congratulations, A’Whora.”

“A’Whora! Bloody cheek!” Aurora slapped her playfully on the arm, and Tayce smiled as she wandered away, leaving Aurora to join Bimini and Ginny, as they curled up on the sofa together.

“You know who I’m enjoying seeing here every week?” Ginny muttered, dropping their voice to ensure no one else overheard.

“Who?”

“Asttina.” Ginny rested their chin in their hands, elbows on their knees as they gazed wistfully around the room.

Aurora followed their gaze to Asttina, who was chatting to Ellie, a hand on her forearm.

“I don’t really know much about Asttina,” Aurora admitted in a soft voice. “She hasn’t really spoken to me much yet, and she just seems kind of … aloof.”

But Ginny shook their head. “I’ve met her before at charity bakes in Birmingham. She does a lot of these kinds of charity bake offs, you have to put on a certain persona for that - and yeah, maybe she’d brought it to the contest here a bit - but honestly, once you get past that, she’s lovely.”

Asttina was pulling Ellie over to Tia and Veronica on the other side of the room, her smile genuine and her eyes crinkling at the corners, as happy as Aurora had seen her yet.

“Charity bakes? For contests and stuff?” Aurora asked.

“Sometimes. Have you seen her Instagram? I was looking at her page before we even all came to the show, for inspiration for something for my birthday - not that I enjoy getting older but we all enjoy cake! And she made one with some weird flavour combo - can’t remember - and I messaged her about it, and she just came back with it fell to bits after this photo, give it a miss - and I couldn’t stop laughing!”

“What kinds of things does she bake?” Bimini asked.

“All sorts, bab - anything you could ask for and more. But the flavours she was using! Oh my days - the things she’s tried and made work - she’s a genius, I’ll tell you that. She’s gonna go to the end.”

“Yeah,” Bimini murmured, their eyes hooked on Asttina as she crossed the room to the table, looking over the Jaffa Cakes for one to try. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Aurora looked from Asttina to Bimini, their chin cupped in their hand, not tearing their eyes away from Asttina, smiling a soft smile.

“Bimini,” Aurora said, but Bimini didn’t look away.

“Bim!” She nudged them, and Bimini blinked, evidently coming back into the room from cloud nine.

“Yeah - yeah, I know.”

Ginny raised their eyebrows, letting out a low whistle. “Are we gonna have our first Bake Off romance on the cards? Sorry, second? Can’t forget Blu and Cheryl last year.”

“Nah, not likely.” Bimini shook their head. “Not on the show anyway. Too much like hard work, innit, trying to balance getting to ask someone out with baking.”

“So, like, how many of us here are queer?” Aurora asked. “Do you know?”

“No,” Ginny shook their head, “but from what I’ve heard so far, a fair few - I’m pan, you’re a lesbian aren’t you Aurora? I’ve seen your pin - and I know Asttina has the bi flag on her instagram page, Tia and Veronica obviously like women as well -“

“What about Tayce, Gin?” Bimini asked slyly. “I think that’s what Aurora wanted to know.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Aurora held her hand up, trying to get them off Tayce. “What do you mean, Tia and Veronica obviously like women as well … what have I missed?”

Ginny pursed their lips, and Bimini chuckled.

“Let’s just say they’re getting pretty close.”

——

Showstopper: A children’s dream birthday cake with at least two different sponge flavours and three layers.

Aurora wasn’t going to let anyone stop her today. The Star Baker title and the cake-shaped badge was hers for the winning. Top in Technical, good critiques in Signature - she knew the judges would be talking about her as one of the top bakers in line for Star Baker this week.

She cast her gaze round the room, wondering who else was in line.

Veronica, for sure. She’d come second in Technical for the second week in a row, and her Signature pineapple and coconut cake had been praised. Much as Aurora hated to admit, Veronica was a great baker.

Ginny too, was probably in line for Star Baker, with their Hollywood Handshake from yesterday. They still looked smug, running a hand through their yellow hair and giggling to themselves.

It was probably between the three of them to win.

But as she carried on around the room Aurora’s eyes narrowed pensively as they fell on Ellie, right in front of her. She’d come third in Technical, and the rhubarb and custard cake had … actually had pretty good feedback as well.

Maybe it’s a four-horse race. Ellie’s a bit of a dark horse though.

“Have fun with the bake today,” Prue told them all, the familiar twinkle in her eye as she spoke. “Give us plenty of flavours and let your imaginations run wild. Remember, the bake has to be worth the calories.”

Veronica’s mouth was set in a thin line as she placed all her cake tins and containers in a line, licking her lips as she concentrated on setting all five stopwatches on her bench. Tia, by contrast in front of her, was piling her ingredients onto the workbench, muttering loudly to herself and causing the cameramen to run to her side and film her as she talked nonsense as usual.

It was an uneventful start. But something was bound to happen, and when Cherry passed Aurora’s workbench, she hovered, motioning pointedly with her gaze outside towards the tea tent outside; and Aurora turned off her KitchenAid for a second to follow Cherry over there and grab a mug as if to make tea.

“Joe’s pre-bought her fondant.”

“What?” Aurora put a hand to her mouth.

“I said to her - I was walking past her to get to Bimini’s workbench - and I saw her unrolling it. And I said, just jokingly, did you get that from Tesco’s, and get this - she leaned towards me,” Cherry mimicked Joe’s lean, putting a hand to the side of her mouth, “and she just whispered, ‘M&S’!”

“No!” Aurora’s eyes widened, her head shaking, but Cherry was nodding, licking her lips.

“I - well, I still am speechless!” Cherry’s eyes were alight, her glee as always seemingly awakened by gossip, but Aurora wasn’t sure what she’d do with this information. Was Cherry about to tell the judges? Should she do it instead? Was it any of their business at all?

Cherry didn’t give any clues away when they went back to the tent either, sipping her tea, greeted by the sound of Tia announcing she had to start again. Veronica was running over to see what she’d done now, probably to try to fix it again.

But Aurora had her own issues. The cake mix, still in the KitchenAid, had flattened decidedly while she had been away.

She turned the whisk on, but she could not persuade the mixture to aerate, no matter how hard she whisked.

“Fuck,” she muttered, angry tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “Am I gonna have to do a Tia?”

One more minute. It may still be salvageable, come on cake, come on -

After three more minutes of whisking, Aurora rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and took the bowl off the stand, emptying the mixture into the bin.

“You starting again?” That was Noel’s voice, and a cameraman beside her, and Aurora was temporarily blinded by Noel’s brightly-painted outfit, obviously his own design, bold patterns and neon colours.

“Yeah, gonna have to aren’t I? It went flat.”

“You’ve got this, alright?”

Noel’s smile and tone were light and airy, not really with any substance.

That was how Aurora wanted her cake, not her support.

She closed her eyes, allowed her breathing to settle, then leaned forwards, a lump forming in her throat as she gathered fresh ingredients and set back to work all over again on the cake mixture.

As the whisk was whirring for her second time, she glanced up in awe at Ellie’s which was just coming out of the oven, smelling divine; and over at Veronica’s, already partly formed out of a green grass stand. Aurora blinked back the tears, seeing her chances of becoming Star Baker this week starting to fade away.

She glanced at Tayce.

And although part of Aurora wanted nothing more than to look at Tayce, watch Tayce bake all day, listen to her speak all day, as the tingling feeling ran down her spine … another part of her was infuriated by how relaxed Tayce was, nonplussed by everything around her.

It was difficult to make head or tail of what Tayce was thinking. Right now, she was holding up a layer of cake, and slicing into it with a palette knife, trying to carve a shape; looking up only to grin at Noel as he approached her for some banter for the television.

Aurora wanted to go over and see what she was making, but she didn’t want to have to restart again, so she turned her eyes to the KitchenAid and tried to tune out everyone else in the room.

——

One thing no one had prepared any of the bakers for was that judging for the Showstoppers was terrifying.

Watching it on the telly made it look like everyone was judged in a single minute, and everything was smooth and light and relaxed. In reality, everyone stood there for a good five minutes each at least, feeling all eyes in the room on them from their fellow contestants as well as the judges, and with lifting and carrying times it meant they were all dead on their feet by the end.

Aurora was right at the end of the pack, being in the position she was in - on the right, at the back.

So she had to wait past everyone getting pulled up in order.

Bimini and Asttina, both on the front two rows, both getting good feedback on flavours but mediocre feedback on the aesthetic of their respective cakes. Joe was next, and Cherry’s news turned out to be true, with Joe openly admitting to the judges that her fondant was pre-bought from M&S.

Ellie gave an audible inhale.

“What’s up?” Aurora whispered as loudly as she could.

“You’re not meant to do that!” Ellie whispered back.

Ginny was told that while their lemon cake was delicious, doing a lime-flavoured layer was probably not a wise choice, and she needed to not do lemon every single time. Veronica and Lawrence were both praised, even though they’d made similar cakes in the shape of train sets, the second time they’d done a similar design to each other.

Ellie’s hand shook where it rested on Aurora’s workbench, as she stared glassy-eyed outside the clear panel of the tent. And even though Aurora tried to remind herself that this show was full of people who just wanted to win a competition, seeing Ellie’s fear made her chest ache. Aurora reached forward to rest a hand atop hers, and Ellie blinked, swallowing, still staring straight ahead.

“You’ll do great,” she whispered, and Ellie nodded stiffly, her hand quivering in Aurora’s.

Tia’s cake was next. The game of Operation which was starting to crumble and fall apart as Matt Lucas helped her to carry it to the table, was called the best lemon and poppy seed cake Prue had ever had.

When Ellie was called after that, and Aurora got a better look at her cake, she didn’t know why Ellie was worrying; she’d made a beautiful and intricate pink castle, complete with towers, detailed brick patterns, and a little portcullis; but when she got it to the judges table, the judges were sniggering quietly behind her.

“Me and my brother, we always had just one plain cake between us on our birthday, nothing to make it that personal for either of us, that way it was fair,” Ellie explained, cupping her elbows in her hands. “But if I’d not been a twin, this would have been my dream cake. A huge pink castle.”

Cherry’s eyes widened from the other side of the room, clapping a hand to her mouth; and Aurora finally spotted it. The pink towers with the purple rooftops, standing out from the rest of the cake …

They look a bit … questionable, Aurora thought.

By now everyone was sniggering to themselves, apart from Lawrence, whose face was in her hands; when she raised her head, Aurora could see she was trying not to laugh too.

Aurora chanced a glance at Tayce, finding that she wasn’t laughing much either, a cool indifference behind her eyes. But she wasn’t looking at Ellie. She was looking straight at Aurora herself, before turning her eyes away back to the front.

Tayce’s turn had come, and Tayce had presented the owl she’d made to be told that her bake was good, but her design wasn’t up to parr. And Aurora’s judging was as expected - she was praised on her buttercream, but she hadn’t left the sponges in long enough, worrying she was running short on time; so she’d removed them early to cool; and they’d come out a bit dense as a result.

That’s probably cost me the Star Baker badge. But I probably won’t be going home at least.

It was disappointing. Cakes were her forte, cakes were what she knew best.

But it doesn’t mean I’m a bad baker, she said firmly to herself. I just had a less-than-perfect bake. I am not my art.

She breathed out her worries, knowing there was nothing more she could do now that judging was over, and left the tent with the others to the outside area, where the chairs had been set up. It was still sunny, although clouds were drifting over and the early evening chill was starting to pinch in the air.

Aurora flopped down on the seat next to Tayce, sighing heavily.

“Mine was alright, I think,” she said, “and Paul loved my Italian meringue buttercream.”

Tayce nodded, but her expression remained the same; staring towards the tent, her eyes distant and pensive.

“I can’t believe that Joe actually told the judges that she’d bought the fondant from M&S! Do you think that’s true? If so - I mean, she won’t be staying until next week if she’s done that, will she?”

Tayce carried on nodding, her face flat, the distance between them growing with every second that passed.

Aurora sighed. “I don’t think I’ll get Star Baker this week though, even though I came top in Technical. They all loved Ellie’s cake, didn’t they?”

That was the first motion Aurora saw; Tayce’s jaw tensed for a split second, her eyes narrowing just a fraction as she continued her slow, rhythmic nodding.

“That cake was something else,” Aurora said dreamily, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“Maybe you should talk to her about it, then.”

With that low, cool sentence, Tayce stood up and made her way towards Carr Hall, not even turning around to see Aurora’s confused expression growing more so with every step she took.

—-

Inside, the tent was still stiflingly hot as Noel announced Ellie as the shock winner. Ellie put her hands to her face, while Asttina, sitting on her right, wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her towards her for a gracious cuddle.

Matt had to announce the person leaving, but no one was surprised that Joe’s name was called, not even Joe herself. She stood from her position between Ginny and Bimini, both of them clutching one of her hands each, and gave her infamous cackle, blowing them all a kiss and leaving the tent behind to go to her exit interview.

“Well done, Els,” Aurora murmured, as Ellie bent down to hug her, wiping tears away from the corners of her eyes with her thumbs.

Over her shoulder, Aurora caught Tayce staring at her for a split second before she turned away, following Joe out of the tent, presumably back to Carr Hall to collect her things for the week ahead.

Those same thoughts from the previous day were running circles in her mind. She only saw Tayce at weekends, in a very enclosed environment, and although last week they’d exchanged some kind words, and Tayce had held her hand, did it mean they were bonding?

Ellie let Aurora go, moving to hug someone else, but Aurora carried on looking at the exit, trying to decipher what had made Tayce turn cool this week.

Her hand in Aurora’s had been more welcome than Aurora had expected last week, a faint thrill up her spine as she remembered it. But this week they’d barely spoken, and Aurora struggled to figure out why; until she heard Ellie’s laughter as she hugged Lawrence, who tilted her chin up to rest on her shoulder, pouring words of affirmation into Ellie’s ear.

Is - is Tayce really that annoyed? Because she didn’t win?

——

TEN BAKERS REMAIN

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hqprotectionsquad · 5 years ago

Text

Life’s Best Part (Daichi x Reader)

Title: Life’s Best Part Ship: Dad!Daichi x Reader Word Count: 1900 Summary: Daichi is trying his best to be the dad you need him to be. tw: hospital, sickness a/n: this has been in my drafts for maybe a month and some now!! happy to finally bring it to the light.

(Y/N) = your name (D/N) = your daughter’s name

"Daddy, where is mommy going?" Daichi's eyes are so tired and broken, but hearing that, he pinches his nose together. He has to be strong for his daughter, there's no doubt about that, but she's so innocent. She doesn't deserve this.

"Ah, sweetheart," Daichi pulls her into his lap. "Mommy is sick so she needs to become better. They're going to fix her the best they can."

Her appearance threatens pinpricks in the corners of his eye. Whenever Daichi and you go to family gatherings, all you guys ever hear is "Wow, she looks just like (Y/N) when she was younger!" And it's absolutely true. Down to the hair and the cheeks and the brightest smile ever to grace the world. She's picked up a lot from you too. Even from her young age, your daughter wants to save the world by being a kind and sweet little lady. Under her care, the lonely animals find solace in her tiny hands.

The pads of her fingers poke Daichi’s cheek as he bounces her on his leg. This waiting room is more than dismal. You’d think that if they want to cheer up families with news that could go either way, they’d brighten up the place. But nope, they’ve got rough chairs and dim lighting that makes Daichi want to leave the building.

“Sweetheart, would you like to get out of here for a bit?” Daichi’s lungs hurt in this space that just guarantees disaster. This was the hospital where one of his teammates revived after a rough collision and their team lied in wait. This was the hospital where his friend arrived with a cold and only returned to be placed in a final resting place. This hospital only knows how to take people away from him, but he’s determined to get you back, no matter the consequence.

"Are you sure, Daddy? Mommy will be scared if we leave!" Oh, the innocence of toddlers perpetuates Daichi's lifespan, but not so much that he’ll willingly stay here.

“Mommy is okay, she’s in the safe hands of some really powerful people. They’re going to make her even better.” Daichi holds himself back from making any promises. Those bonds are too strong to break so if you ended up passing away, he wouldn’t know how to make his daughter feel better, let alone himself.

“Okay, let’s go out!” She swings out her arms and legs like a general. Already at a young age acting up a storm. Daichi didn’t know if this special talent should be cultivated or something to be monitored closely. Being outside is much better for him anyway. The trees sway in the wind and the process of life reminds him that the world goes on whether he likes it or not. He doesn’t want to move on at the moment. The only answer he’ll take is you’re better and back at home with him and your daughter.

Daichi takes solace on a park bench, watching his daughter hang on playground installments. She's just like you. If you were here right now, you would be trying your best to fit in the slide or grip the monkey bars with your feet half a foot close to the ground. His phone is out because pure moments unravel right before his eyes. His heart is happy. He'll be happier when he gets to show this video to you.

After a while, Daichi's eyes open up to his daughter climbing on him. "Daddy, we should go back to Mommy now. I'm done playing."

Turning his fist toward himself, Daichi notes the time. "You're right. Let's go, baby."

Even at this age, she drags you and your husband around. "She's a boss if I've ever seen one," you say to Daichi one day as she places her dolls in a neat line. "Must've gotten it from you." Daichi chuckles as you hip bump him. That was only a few months ago. Life has been changing since then.

Daichi believes that his daughter is starting to pick up on all of the cues. All of the hospital papers are spread on the dining room table, the usual bus trips to and from "mommy's building," and most of all, she loves the lady at the reception desk because she receives lollipops. That's what she looks forward to, but his daughter has a few lessons of sympathy and understanding under her belt when she enters the room where her mother resides, only for the moment, God willing.

They say hello to the woman at the desk. Without a beat, she sticks out a lollipop grasped in her hand. "Thank you!"

Your daughter is more than excited to receive such simple gifts. The process of you becoming sick has been a long time going. "These are to keep her strong," you told Daichi when you went to the supermarket before the first ever checkup you had concerning your illness two years ago. Little toys and sweet squares of chocolate scattered in the basket while you two lined the aisles.

"I think buying these are to keep you strong, love. Our baby is strong, she just needs to see her mom strong too." Daichi squeezed your hand.

“You’re right, but you’ve got to stop talking before you make me cry,” you laughed shakily as the words slipped through your lips. It’s hard to utter such depressing words as a young woman. Your baby was nearing the age of two and it’s not fair for her to live in an egg-shelled world. When she was born, you two could have definitely earned the award for being the world’s proudest parents. “We did that, Daichi. We did that.” The first year went swimmingly — as in you were swimming in baby items and baby responsibilities, but everyday you prayed thanksgiving for the family you’ve created.

Now, your arms and legs ache for the slightest movements in this itchy hospital bed. You always thought that this kind of thing would never happen to you, and look where you are now: bedridden. You're back where you started, from your beginning and your baby's beginning. Somehow, you always land back here. And it's unfair. You've grown up with vegetables on your plate, jogging every other day with your dad, and you knew Daichi was the one when you saw him play in a championship match. You were surrounded by healthy, up until all you were was unhealthy.

“Sweetheart!”

“Hi, mommy!” You’ve never been so grateful for the fact that your daughter isn’t deterred by the tubes running up and down your body, taking the place of your veins. She sees you all the same.

“Hi, honey.” Daichi presses his lips to your forehead and sinks into the chair they provided in the room. He doesn’t look necessarily out of it, but you know the circles under his eyes haven’t been forgiving lately. "Some friends are coming by soon, they'll pick her up and bring her out."

It's hard on your daughter to undertake a portion of a burden that isn't even hers, but is it better that she doesn't fully know the situation? Would it be worse if she was ten or twelve? What about fourteen, fifteen, sixteen? How would she have reacted to her mother not being able to care for her only daughter?

It's easy to drop into pitfalls when you allow your mind to run anywhere. Your inner self isn't looking down at her feet, just lifting each sole when it is ready to move. When you drop, it is difficult to get out because sometimes, there is no outside stimulation. When Daichi leaves for work or after visiting hours are over, you turn to the television for entertainment. You soon learn that the programs are repeated and you'll be watching the same one that was on three hours ago.

"(D/N), uncles Koushi and Asahi are here for you," Daichi says as he gets up to greet his friends at the sliding door. They enter the room and lead themselves toward you. It's no shock by now; they've picked up (D/N) so that she has her cousins to play with every few days. However, the raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips on Asahi's face tell you otherwise.

Suga is the first person to speak up. "How are you feeling right now, (Y/N)?" After the surgery two days ago, your body is running on pure medication. Despite that, you feel like you've gotten hit by a truck.

"Feeling better." You have to feel better soon. When you can return to your home and start heading back to work, that is when you'll feel more at ease. But for now, another second in the hospital is another second wasted.

The skin on your bones looks translucent, and if you shift the hospital gown to one side, you can see the bruising that accompanies the stitches on your oblique. You are a shell of a human with a soul on a loose tether. Daichi can see it too. He is trying to bring you back, but nothing will feel normal until you return to your old routines.

Nothing will be the same after you can sleep in your bed at home. You won't be able to flop onto the mattress, forcing creases into the duvet. Every sleep will need to be on your back because if you roll to your side, you'll be pressing on the stitches. You won't be able to sleep intimately with your husband and this probably means the next generation of your family tree will end with your daughter.

"You okay, (Y/N)? Koushi and Asahi left with (D/N), and she tried saying bye but you seemed a little far." As Daichi pulls on the chair to scoot closer to you, it scratches on the tiles and emits a painful sound. "Sorry about that." He settles into the chair and takes your hand into both of his. His fingers are butterflies across your pierced skin, light and delicate.

"I'm scared, Daichi," you admit for the hundredth time, but each time the words come out of your mouth is a pang to your heart. "I don't know how I'm going to be if I get out of here."

"You're not dying, (Y/N). Don't say those kinds of things." His voice is stern but his eyes swim in pools of water. He hates to hear that you bring yourself down in the fragile mental state you are in.

"Your life is my life's best part," you mumble, hearing fatigue asking you to succumb to it. Nevertheless, you continue to speak to your husband. "You're the reason why I want to get better, even if I don't think I will."

“But you will, and I know you will. I know you, (Y/N). You are the strongest person I know. Your life is my life’s best part, too.” You can see him brushing his hands against his face when he lets go of your fingers. “Rest, (Y/N). You need it to be strong.”

“Yes, I have to be strong for you and our baby.” You murmur before your eyes shut and your head sinks into the pillow. The last thing you feel is your husband’s lips pressed against your forehead and you finally drift off into the first sleep where you feel lighter than your body. Everything will be okay.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuu writing #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu angst #haikyuu one shot #sawamura daichi #daichi #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi x reader #haikyuu daichi #karasuno #karasuno x reader

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doppel-drop-distance · 4 years ago

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Doppel Number Fourteen AND Fifteen: The Disaster Duo’s Double Doppel Post

That alliteration was horrible, but okay.

Anyways, to alleviate the disappointment that I didn’t unlock Sana and Iroha’s Doppels simultaneously, I did the only logical option - unlocking both Touka’s and Nemu’s simultaneously. What do you mean, I have an obsession? This is a perfectly normal and understandable game mechanic!

Let’s go through each one by one:

First we have Pennen Nolde, Touka’s Doppel! I love how it’s wearing her dress. Also, it kinda looks like the matches on its back resemble the wing-shaped symbol of the Wings of the Magius, so that’s pretty cool.

I heard briefly that this Doppel was based on the Little Match Girl (which is something I’d have to research later) and I can certainly see the inspiration here.

I should also note that while I usually go into a separate quest with perhaps a Madoka and Rena in tow to get the screenshots for these Doppels, Touka was very impatient and actually charged hers in the middle of Nemu’s Doppel Quest. The two of them really are inseparable, huh?

Then we have Nemu’s Doppel, Pennen Nenemu! I gotta say, if anything, Pennen Nenemu has to have my favorite name just because of the pun.

I definitely love the style of Pennen Nenemu’s appearance a lot more than Pennen Nolde’s, but in terms of the attack itself, I think I actually prefer Nemu’s Magia. The Doppel attack isn’t bad of course but I feel like an ability to materialize stories with your own lifespan could have more possibilities than just slamming a book on them (though it is a good finisher).

Something I find very interesting is that Iroha, Touka, and Nemu have their Doppels originating from the same place (their hair), but Ui doesn’t. You’d think they’d all have that connection, but nope, I guess not. It’s definitely something I’d look into at a later date, but regardless, it’s a cool detail.

I have absolutely no idea whose Doppel I’ll go for next but honestly all I’ve gained from this experience is wishing that the girls who clearly won’t get Mitama’s Training would get a similar story-based conversation with their Doppels. We need more of those, dang it...They’re so interesting.

#magia record #droppel plays magia record #doppel unlocks #touka satomi #pennen nolde #nemu hiiragi #pennen nenemu

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theteej · 4 years ago

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“You need to take serious time for yourself, do self-care, or something,” my best friend Mark said to me, uncomfortably earnestly.

“I’m serious. You haven’t been letting anything in, and you just have to sit and stop running. Go process, or feel, or just let it sink in that you did things and you surprisingly don’t suck.”

Fuck, he’s right.

And so that’s what I’m doing. Last week I booked an Airbnb in La Jolla, a tony coastal enclave of San Diego near where I went to undergrad. I pretended I was on vacation, but in a pandemic. I booked a small studio near the water, and planned to spend these next few days reading, reflecting, walking along the ocean, and staying otherwise indoors and trying to wrestle with this whole semester. I pulled up to the studio last night, unpacked my bags, and cried. Like cried a lot. I felt lonely and scared, but also so numb. I felt a sea of blankness all around me, and a sense of trepidation.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do about all of my stupid feelings.

Where to start?

I feel like I’ve been anxious nearly my whole life. It’s absolutely something that developed as a kid with a violent, drunken father. You learn to live in between heartbeats like that, always testing what’s about to happen, trying to think of the next thing to plan in order to stay safe. Sure, your brain says tauntingly. Things are OK right now, but what if they’re not in a few minutes? Or even worse: Things ARE terrible—what are you going to do if they stay that way forever? These are the gifts Tyrone Tallie Sr left me, along with an unoriginal legal name and a stubborn widows peak visible whenever I grow my hair out for a few weeks.

Couple that with a natural tendency to think quickly, and you have the birth of a personality that masked my calculating self-security by turning those constant permutations into clever moments for interaction or comment. Like many people, my wit is born of trauma; the ability to process things in quick time is born out of needing to feel safe, and frequently gets deployed to put others at ease. That’s one of the weirder contradictory things about being me. I am simultaneously witty and clever and in control, and I am also always quietly freaking out, or at the very least, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Which is why this has been….a damn semester. Teaching two classes fully remotely with panicked, overwhelmed students in the shadow of an ever-worsening pandemic that stretches on and on without end and feeling daily gaslighted by the endless selfishness of your fellow citizens—what a gift for the anxious. Ironically, anxiety helped to a certain extent because I didn’t have the shock of falling into a new world of uncertainty or fear that so many non-anxious folk did this year. But that’s hardly a gift, is it? Congratulations! You’re already living as if a bomb can go off at any moment, so you’re not struggling to adjust to the new horror show of life!

Teaching this semester has been…just without any context. I’ve taught online, but not in this same planned way and with everyone panicking, and the looming threat of pandemic and election. And yet we did it. We pulled ourselves together, and my students were honest about their needs and their breakdowns and I tried to model humility and grace and confusion and rage as well as they did. We didn’t fuck it up. Or, we all fucked up, and it was okay. We learned things. Students surprised me, and it was glorious. I got to be broken and I didn’t die.

It was an intense semester of overworking as well. I was on a bunch of committees, formal and informal, and we managed to get a new minor—African Studies—passed. I’ll be heading a new program on campus next year, and that’s exciting and terrifying. And on top of all of that, I couldn’t stop volunteering for stuff, or talking about things I cared about. In addition to teaching, I gave fourteen different presentations or talks this semester, an increase in expectations or agreements on my part thanks to the ubiquity of zoom. It grinds on you: the whole, get up, trudge to the back room, power up a personality for the zoom camera, and pour yourself digitally into a screen, only to feel yourself broken into little packets of light and data and scattered across the universe.

The talks went well. The student evaluations went well. Honestly, both were fucking great. And I haven’t let myself feel a goddamn thing. I let it slide off me like rain on a waxed deck, the droplets beading on the slick wood before slipping away into the darkness. I cant let it sink in, because then something good might be happening, and the very skills that have made me capable—the whip-fast reflexes, the self-deprecating humour, the rapid analysis—are also tied to the very deep-seeded anxiety. Everything has to be calculated and understood and prepared for, because at some moment a dark curtain is going to fall over the face of a man with my same name. He will smack me so hard I will go flying out of a chair and hit the wall with a soft, sickly whump, a particularly unpleasant of me at seven that I carry sewn into every cell of my skin and fiber of my being.

I can’t stop and let it sink in because I have internalized the worst calculus of overachiever life—push harder, don’t stop for the good, that’s normal. Stop only for the bad to learn from it, take in its horror, and let it never happen to you again. And so I found myself at the end of the semester holding a bag of relative joy like a party favour, looking around anxiously for bullies to come snatch it out of my hands.

And then Jeopardy fucking happened.

I got to be on television. I got to talk to Alex Trebek, the same man who held my grandmother’s hand on Classic Concentration and saw that her for the beautiful, formidable queen that she was. I got to turn silly trivia knowledge into cash—and I got to do it while being me. And to my confusion—people liked me. It went well, they felt I resonated with something inside of them, and they liked it.

I do not, in my own skill set, have the tools to deal with that. I am supposed to be clever and fast, and witty, and engaging and lovable—but I do not know how to actually think of receiving goodness. I know how to process being witty and clever and delightful—I did what I was supposed to do, good job, next—but I don’t know how to actually take that positivity in.

I keep waiting for all of this to fall apart, for everyone to hate me in the reassuring ways that I distrust or marginalize or disbelieve myself. And yet, I know that’s not helpful. Hence, overachiever’s therapy: forcing oneself to prematurely trade on prize money and spend a three day love/relaxation retreat, less than fifteen miles from my own apartment.

I woke up and cried a little. I then tried to mediate or at least focus on the positives of late. Nope. Nothing came. I decided it was time for coffee. I drank some that I made in the Airbnb, but realized I needed to get outside for a walk. I changed into a bright yellow caftan and an extra-dramatic face mask, and went for a walk on the streets of La Jolla, the bougie and strange bubble by the sea.

La Jolla can double in weird ways like other parts of the world I frequent. It feels sometimes like I’m in Durban (if you’re more partial to Umhlanga Rocks or Durban North) or Wellington (if you love Mount Vic or Oriental Bay), or even Vancouver (if you feel like West Point Grey or the haughtiest parts of Kitsilano are your thing). It’s a rich place, one that I don’t belong in, but one that I can feign a few hours of enjoyment and sun.

Today I walked down palm tree lined streets in the perfect weather, the breeze pushing through my still-short hair with a strange urgency. I picked up a cold brew coffee and a freshly caught and grilled halibut sandwich that my therapist recommended (we decided to briefly be pescatarian for a day and chalked it up to the ‘medical advice.’), then I turned toward the coast. I sat for a long time looking at the waves—unsurprisingly—with a bit of anxiety.

What if I relaxed WRONG? What if I couldn’t let myself feel joy? What if I just wasted the day by…eating this sandwich and not fully appreciating the beautiful ocean waves, golden sun, or nature all around me. After a while I realized that sounded ridiculous, and just forced myself to sit.

And as the old Zulu language dance song “Unamanga” by the late Patricia Majalisa started to filter to my headphones, as I stared out at the sea and the sun, something shifted. I felt something like, I don’t know, a failure in the sealnt around myself, and some drops dripped in, slowly. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to do this in a grand gesture. I could enjoy myself and the small joys I’d found in life so far.

I could be grateful and quietly glad for the little things that happened. It wasn’t about deserving it, or about it being worthy of me. I could imagine for right now, that this was a thing that I could have. I could sit and marvel that some great shit happened to me, and it was OK. Let’s not get it twisted—I didn’t have an epiphany, there were no turnbacks on the road to Emmaus. But I did find a little quietude in my soul for a second and stopped frantically Teflon-ing my heart from joy for a second.

I survived a hell semester, and did well. I got a wonderful opportunity and it went well. I could just let hat happen and also not ignore that it happened, to focus on negatives in an outsized way. I could, in this single afternoon moment, be delighted that things had gone okay. And not worry or strategize about the next disaster, which would happen on its own anyway. And…that’s all I can do right now.

Also, I’m going to work on this more, this whole letting people love me and letting it sink in. I usually avoid it because I feel like it keeps me off my game from the inevitable disaster to follow. But that’s not how I want to live. I’m going to try to think about what it means that some of you all tell me you love me, and then to show it. I need to reconcile the nonstop whirligig of my mind also turns menacingly in on itself so often, and that acknowledging the gift of calculated wit and mirth also means I have to cultivate love and joy.

So tomorrow, I’m going to go for a brief run, I’m going to drink some lovely coffee, and I’m going to walk along the ocean again. (And then I’m going to keep staying in this Airbnb so I don’t catch or spread this plague.)

What a fucking semester, y’all.

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drivingsideways · 4 years ago

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Coda/ missing scene for Algebra: an outline, following from the last paragraph, but before the last line. READ IT FIRST BECAUSE IT’S BRILLIANT AND YOU WILL THANK ME.

Yo, @isaekkiya and @rain-hat come collect your trash

It still takes another year.

It takes another year of Yeong wandering the world, setting things right where he can as the Kingdom of Corea’s man in the UNPKO, or at least trying to stop bad situations from descending into absolute disasters. He learns to love Shahrukh Khan, and cheap Russian vodka. He consumes goraasa be dama by the potful and gets hooked onto cinnamon tea.

He starts sending pictures to Gon: a black cat with a single white patch of fur around its left eye in Istanbul, a sunset in Isfahan, the domes of Samarkand.

At first, they’re just pictures of things and places, he doesn’t add anything to them, no thinking of you or I miss you. He figures it doesn’t need saying; he’s never understood those postcards that said wish you were here. Of course you do, why else would you be sending a fucking postcard.

Gon replies with his own pictures.

Well, the first twenty are just Maximus, but the twenty first is blurry, as though the lens were dipped in water; it comes on New Year’s Day- or New Year’s Eve, in Yeong’s time- a view of the palace from the island, it seemed Busan was having a rainy start.

Gon had kept with the tradition, after all, Yeong thinks, and hesitates only for a moment, before writing back, I miss him too.

So it goes.

The first time he calls Gon, he’s been holed up in a tent in an Amazonian rainforest for twenty straight days because the rain just hasn’t stopped.

It’s April; in Corea, the azaleas must be in riotous bloom. Yeong stares up at the towering canopy of wet dark green through the flaps of his tent and calls Gon.

The crackle and hum on the line doesn’t quite hide the sleepy surprise of the first “Yeong?” and then the panicked, “Yeong? Yeong? Is everything alright? What’s wrong ?Tell me immediately!”

This was what the Titanic felt like when it hit that iceberg, Yeong thinks, as he cracks open, a cleaving that leaves him floundering, unmoored.

“I’m alright” he says, and for the first time since he was four, “Gon hyung”.

There’s an abrupt silence on the other end; all he can hear is the static.

It lasts so long that Yeong thinks he might have lost the connection after all, and he’s just about to hang up, when Gon says, sounding breathless and annoyed, “I don’t think you appreciate the restraint I’m exercising right now not to just fly across the world and drag you home!”

Yeong wipes at his eyes, and huffs, his voice not quite in control, “I appreciate it, pyeha” he says, “I do”.

Gon sighs.

They stay quiet for a while, just the buzz and hum of electrons between them, and Yeong thinks of patterns and fate and destiny, and he says, “It never rains like this back home. I feel like I’m turning into water, just sitting here, doing nothing”.

There’s a delay before Gon’s voice comes over the line, a soft huff, “Be grateful, if it stops raining in the Amazon, we’re all irreparably screwed”.

“I’m aware of that fact” says Yeong, “unbelievable as that may sound to you”.

God, what is he doing here, flirting awkwardly like the fourteen-year old he never was.

“What are you going to do about it anyway?” and that’s enough to set Gon off on a whole different tangent, the sleepiness in his voice gone as he describes the climate change initiatives that Prime Minister Koo and he are working on.

It goes on for twenty minutes, and Jeong mostly just listens and hums at appropriate junctures, letting Gon’s voice wash over him.

And he was wrong, he wasn’t a ship, wrecked on the rock that was Gon, he was an ice-cube slowly melting in the warm cavern of his mouth.

“That woman drives me crazy” Gon is sighing. “It’s too bad I reconstituted the CHRC, that was probably a rash decision on my part”.

And then, as though remembering that he wasn’t supposed to be that person anymore, he adds, guiltily, “Uh, not that I’m undoing that”.

Yeong laughs.

It probably sounds tinny and not like himself at all on the other side.

Gon says, “Yeong”

“Yes” he says, when his heart stops doing crazy things in his chest, “I’m here”.

It escalates after that- as much as possible, given that Yeong is often in places without mobile signals or bandwidth, or whatever communication is available is heavily restricted. There are long periods when they don’t hear from each other, and when Yeong emerges from whatever dark hole he’s been in, it is to at least fifteen videos of Maximus, and like, ten million voice mails, and an inbox that’s two thousand separate single-line notes, because Gon can’t write emails like a normal person.

Gon is not a normal person, he is mortifyingly ridiculous, and Yeong sighs, and gives in and pulls strings to get his hands on a military grade CoreaTech prototype phone that has amazing battery life and a gazillion gigas of storage, because it turns out that he is also just that stupid, and he doesn’t want to delete a single memory of this time.

He calls Gon from the phone, leaning against his hotel window in Lagos.

Below him, the city glitters in neon and gold.

It’s 9 pm on a Thursday in Lagos, and 5 am on Friday in Busan, and Yeong thinks about the unreliability of time, as a concept, and the brief flare in the dark that is one human lifetime and calls his husband.

“Yeong-ah” says Gon, apparently still half asleep. These days, he tends to sleep in more often, instead of waking at 4 am like he used to.

“I was wondering if you’d reached” he’s mumbling. “Did you get my messages?”

“Yes” he says, “all twenty-one million of them”.

“Mrrmmmph” mutters Gon, half into his pillow, and Yeong- Yeong knows what Gon looks like, sleep- mussed and incoherent, and the ache in his chest spreads to other parts.

“Gon hyung” he says, “Will you do something for me?”

“Mmm?”

“Gon hyung”, he whispers, “touch yourself for me”

There’s silence and then a wide-awake, if shaky, “Yeong-ah”.

“Touch yourself like I would” Yeong instructs, and oh, he hadn’t really thought this through, words are not his strong suit, and he has never even sexted once in his life, never mind anything else, but somehow, it works, it works, because Gon moans his name, and sighs in his ear, and the military grade phone with its excellent speakers is worth every single moment of an uneasy conscience, and Yeong comes with a gasped out plea, that is Gon hyung, that is beloved, darling, husband, mine.

Afterward, they float together on a silent cloud of shared breath across the world.

Gon doesn’t say, come home, or let me come to you , and Yeong is grateful for that.

Yeong loves him so fucking much, that he’s going to disintegrate entirely if he doesn’t see Gon in the next twenty-four hours.

He texts Gon from the airport, “See you in twenty hours” and then switches off his phone.

When he lands, he’s not sure what he’s expecting- perhaps Gon waiting on the tarmac for him, like that one time.

But Gon’s not there, just Captain Seok-Pil and he rises from his deep bow, to say, “Welcome home Prince Consort Jo” with a wide grin, and Yeong sighs, and says, “Please tell me he’s not got the entire Royal Navy Band or something waiting for me at the Palace”.

“His Majesty retired to his study earlier today and hasn’t emerged since” Captain Seok-Pil informs him, with a sidelong glance.

“Ah” says Yeong. “Alright, thank you”.

The Royal Navy Band may not be there, but it feels like the entire staff of the palace, is out there to welcome him back, or at least get a glimpse of him, and Yeong performs all the necessary rituals of greeting or ignoring, as required, and tries not to run down the last corridor to the study.

He slips into the study, shutting the heavy wooden door softly behind him.

It looks much the same as he’d last seen it- three years ago, now- the floor to ceiling shelves of books, the glass covered in equations. Gon is sitting at his desk, staring at a book, rubbing a page between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

Yeong knows that Gon knows that he’s in the room- he sees him swallow hard- and the way his shoulders go just a little bit taut.

“Pyeha” he says, softly, as he approaches, and Gon looks up at that.

Yeong goes around the desk and turns the chair toward him, before he sinks to his knees.

“Pyeha” he says again, staring up at that beloved face.

Gon’s hazel eyes are wide and- terrified- Yeong realizes.

He reaches to take the book out from Gon’s trembling hands- it’s Khwarizmi’s Compendium on Calculation and Balancing, the one that he’d sent more than a year ago, after he’d realized that he’d never stood a chance of getting away. He sets the book on the desk.

Gon’s fingers are covered in chalk.

It’s how he soothes himself, Yeong knows, furiously working out hypotheses, the numbers a music that only Gon can hear.

“I’m going to fuck it up again” Gon says, baldly. “Someday”.

Yeong raises Gon’s hands to his lips, kisses the ring on it, and then his knuckles.

“I won’t let you” he promises. “That’s my job”.

He huffs, “Besides, even if I fail, that woman you’ve got running circles around every major world leader won’t let you. You’re covered”.

Gon’s fingers tighten on his.

“Don’t divorce me” he says.

Yeong looks at him.

“Is that an order, pyeha?”

Yeong rather enjoys the way that Gon’s mind scrambles for the answer, his eyes widening.

“Yes..?”

“Right answer” Yeong whispers, and he’s clambering onto Gon’s lap, and tilting his face up, so he can seal their mouths together.

After some time- Yeong has no idea how much- Gon eases away an inch to whisper, “I’m going to be ridiculous now”.

“Mmhmm” says Yeong, nuzzling at his temple.

Gon stands up, lifting Yeong in his arms, with hardly an effort.

Yeong had forgotten this part (not really), how strong Gon is, how he could use that giraffe body of his to short circuit Yeong’s brain within seconds.

“I’m going to carry my husband to my royal bed and ravish him despite his pleas for mercy like the despot I am” Gon whispers, into the corner of his mouth, “I’m not going to let him leave my bed for a week”.

Well, thinks Yeong, between long, lavish kisses, as he wraps his legs tighter around Gon, and lets himself be carried out of the study, past the staff that’s scrambling to get out of sight and way, and into the bedroom and pressed into the silk duvet, it was good to be with a man who kept his promises.

#tkem #jogon #jo yeong x lee gon #THIS IS ENTIRELY @RAINHAT'S FAULT FOR ATTACKING ME AT 6 AM WITH THE WORST FEELINGS #NOW BOTH OF YOU LEAVE ME ALONE SO THAT I CAN GO BACK TO BEING A GON-ANTI

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metamorphicrocky · 5 years ago

Note

For a writing prompt, can we get a what if Gary watches a classic horror/action movie with Little Cato? I adore the way you write their interactions;w;

this prompt? absolutely wonderful. dadspeed was made canon so I immediately had to do this one because ohhh my god this is perfect. and thank you!!!

After a long day of running errands and doing maintenance on the ship, Gary tosses his jacket at the chair in his room haphazardly. He quickly rips his shirt off, hissing at the slight pull on his fresh scars and the tightness in his muscles from pretty intense labor. He kicks off his boots as he undoes his belt, then he slips out of his jeans.

He really needs a shower, but screw it. It can wait until after he wakes up. Gary snatches his pair of pajama pants from the floor because this ship just cannot get warm and puts them on. Oh, the softness of the new pants makes him even sleepier than he was before. His bed sounds so nice right now.

Without hesitation, Gary sluggishly climbs up the ladder to his bed and promptly collapses, his head hitting the pillow with a content sigh. He’s going to be surprised if he wakes up at any time before ten.

The blond slides underneath the sheets and closes his eyes, ready for a much needed—

Quiet footsteps can be heard outside of Gary’s room. It sounds like someone shuffling nervously in front of his door, and Gary really does not want to deal with people right now. Can’t it wait until he’s not dead tired?

So, he ignores it. Tries to forget that it’s even there. His eyes close, the sound being ignored. Gary begins to drift off to sleep, nuzzling his head into his pillow and—

A knock. At the door. Gary’s eyes shoot open as he groans into his pillow. It was quiet though, so maybe whoever it is will go away? Maybe it was an accidental knock? A second knock, louder and more certain than the previous one. Well, crap. Now he can’t ignore it.

Gary sits up, ready to tell the person to go away so that he can sleep when the person at the door whispers, “Gary?”

Oh shit. The man flings himself off of his bed, his tiredness nearly forgotten if it isn’t for the way he sways as he tries to rush to the door. Gary shuffles over to it, slapping the button on the wall, opening the door.

“Hey, buddy. What’s up?” Gary asks with a rough yet inviting voice, looking down at Little Cato.

The kid’s fur is matted down in certain spots, his mohawk an absolute mess in the worst case of bedhead Gary has ever seen. The poor boy is swimming in a pink shirt that he had to borrow from Ash—and he really means swimming, Little Cato’s shorts cannot be seen underneath it—after his clothes got ruined earlier in the day, and Gary doesn’t know why it’s so big on him when Ash isn’t that much taller than the Ventrexian. But Gary has to admit that it’s absolutely adorable, making the kid look much younger than his fourteen years from both that and his tired, messy appearance.

Little Cato rings his hands together, refusing to lift his head from where he’s currently staring at Gary’s stomach. “I’m sorry, you were sleeping so I can just—”

“—go away and be sad by myself?” Gary finishes sarcastically. His kid winces at the callout.

Gary sighs as he kneels down in front of Little Cato. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now tell Gary what’s going on, or I’m carrying you like a sack of potatoes to your bed.”

Gary uses his flesh hand to tilt the boy’s head upwards, finally allowing them to make eye contact. He looks upset, almost on the verge of tears as he nervously bites his bottom lip. Little Cato’s soft hands grab onto Gary’s fingers as he pulls them away from the boy’s chin, and he fiddles with them to avoid answering the question for a moment longer.

“Can’t sleep,” he admits quietly, like it’s some sort of curse that shouldn’t be heard.

Well, Gary might pass out from exhaustion at any moment, so this will be a very quick comfort session. Distraction and making the kid fall asleep it is.

Gary stands back up with a grunt. Geez, he isn’t even that old, shouldn’t this wait another decade? Well, now that he’s thinking about it, being a parent probably is not helping the stress on his still healing body.

“Go get every blanket and pillow you can, we’re making a fort in front of the TV. While you gather the supplies for what is going to be the best pillow fort in all of existence, I am making us hot chocolate. Sound good, Spidercat?” Gary says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

The kid nods and runs off, so Gary heads to the kitchen. This is the moment where Gary is very thankful that he knows the random information of how to make hot chocolate from scratch because otherwise, this would be an absolute disaster. Since hot chocolate is an earth thing, and definitely is not on this ship. As the new father quickly puts together the mix into a kettle, he fondly listens to Little Cato’s bare feet running around the ship back and forth in his quest. And he can’t help but just be glad that the kid is finally approaching him without worry. Well, there’s still some hesitation, but it’ll be better soon.

He hopes.

Gary turns the stove off and fills their ridiculous matching mugs—with the ugliest drawing of a fish Gary has ever seen that just says “habpy to sea u” because yes, the misspelling and terrible fish made them lose it so much in the store that they almost got kicked out—they bought while stopping for supplies the other day. He tops it off with some whipped cream and sprinkles because damn it if he’s going to make comfort hot chocolate, he has to do it right!

He carefully brings the two mugs into the TV room and sets them down on the side table. Gary stands next to his son who is just staring down the blankets with intense focus, his fingers to his chin in thought.

“You didn’t want to at least start setting it up?” Gary asks.

Little Cato rubs the back of his neck, his ears shrinking down onto his head as he laughs nervously. “I, um–I’ve never…done this before?” he trails off uncertainly.

Gary gasps, grabbing at his chest in pain. “What?! Okay, no, I am so glad that I am a genius because I cannot allow my son to continue on without ever making a CASTLE out of pillows and blankets. Buddy, prepare to have your whole world rocked.”

Gary grabs as many chairs as he can carry and gives orders to the kid on where the chairs should go, how to lay out the blankets right, and the optimal pillow positions. After about fifteen minutes of intense pillow forting, their masterpiece is complete.

“There. How’s it look, bud?” Gary asks, surveying the absolutely massive fort before him.

“It looks sick! Can I jump in it?” Little Cato is bouncing up and down in anticipation to get inside.

Gary ruffles his hair and nods. He uses his newly discovered dad reflexes, as Little Cato likes to call them, to whip out his phone and hit record to catch a video of the kid running and jumping straight into the nest of pillows. Little Cato lands with a soft thud and rolls around in it, laughing the whole time. Gary smiles, and he laughs as Little Cato turns himself into a burrito using a blanket.

Gary turns off his phone and slips underneath the small entrance to the fort to join his kid, grabbing their hot chocolates on the way. Little Cato unravels himself to share the blanket, taking his now lukewarm hot chocolate to take a big chunk out of the whipped cream.

“It’s nice in here,” Little Cato says, shifting closer to his dad. “How have I never done this before?”

“I have no idea, but it’s a crime that has now been remedied.” Gary wraps his arm around his kid, bringing him even closer and wrapping the blanket around them both tightly. “Now, what movie do you wanna watch?”

He shrugs, licking at the whipped cream and trying to get every single sprinkle. “You can pick, but it’s gotta have action. A lot. Like explosions and guns and everything!”

Little Cato makes an explosion noise, throwing his arms out and accidentally hitting Gary in the face in the process. They both laugh, but Gary can’t possibly let the kid get away without revenge. So he puts the kid in a headlock and ruffles his hair intensely.

His boy shouts in protest, even though he’s snickering, and he starts wriggling to get out of the hold. “Dad, come on,” Little Cato laughs. “Stop it!”

“Am I ruining your mane, little man? Because it was already a mess, hate to tell you,” Gary teases, but he lets goes of him with one final noogie.

The little rascal doesn’t even try to fix his hair once Gary lets go of him, he just smiles up at Gary as he starts scrolling through the movies available.

“Gimme a joke. The dad ones that Nightfall hates,” Little Cato says.

“Okay, wanna hear a joke about construction?” Little Cato nods excitedly. “Well, I’m still working on it!” Gary delivers enthusiastically.

The kid immediately dissolves into a pile of giggles, hiding his face against Gary’s side which only means that the blond can feel how hard the kid is laughing. Gary smiles fondly as he continues to scroll, his kid failing to calm down next to him. Despite Little Cato saying his first dad joke was lame, the kid has asked him for one at least three times a day.

“Oh hell yeah, you ever seen Iron Man?” Gary asks as he stumbles across the title.

Little Cato is still laughing, but he tries to respond anyways, “Never heard of it.”

Oh, Gary is really gonna have to teach this kid about all the classics soon. He can’t stand to think of his son having lived fourteen years and not knowing about Marvel.

“Oh, you’re gonna love it. It’s a superhero movie with a ton of action, sound good to you?”

The boy nods, so Gary hits play.

The two of them get comfortable as the movie starts, and the moment that Tony’s car gets blown up, Little Cato gets hooked. He’s annoyed that they had to go and show backstory, but he waits patiently.

Until the scene where Tony hooks up with the reporter, and Gary definitely covers the kid’s eyes as Little Cato says, “Ewww.” It makes Gary laugh.

They keep watching, and Gary can see Little Cato begin to doze off during the boring beginning, but the moment it goes back to when Tony got hit with shrapnel, his kid is wide awake and ready to watch.

The poor boy loves Yinsen, and Gary can’t do anything except watch his heart get broken. But it’s okay in the end since he gets really excited when he sees the suit in action. So excited that he leans forward and away from Gary, sitting with his legs crossed, his chin resting on his hands.

The blond stretches out his back and lays down with a content sigh. At this point, he stops watching the movie that he’s seen a bunch of times and instead watches his boy, who he’s also seen a lot, but watching Little Cato is so much better than the movie. The movie never changes no matter how many times he watches it, but Little Cato? The kid is constantly changing and growing as he experiences more things, and Gary loves seeing how he grows every day. The star-struck look in his eyes as he sees Tony build the kickass first suit makes Gary’s heart clench.

So, warm and content, focused on his son’s entertaining commentary about the movie, Gary drifts off to sleep in a pillow fort.

—-

“Gary! He just saved all of these people, and he did the cool walk away from an explosion thing?! This movie is so awe—”

Little Cato turns around, only to cut himself off when he sees the man behind him, laying on his side and absolutely passed out asleep. He smiles, then grabs the remote to pause the movie. They can finish it tomorrow when Gary is awake.

Little Cato drinks the rest of Gary’s hot chocolate, which is not hot anymore, and puts their mugs to the side. He carefully lays down next to him to avoid waking him up, and the kid gently adjusts the blanket so it covers them both. Little Cato cuddles up to Gary ever so quietly, a smile on his face as he closes his eyes.

“Night, Dad,” he whispers. “Love you.”

With that, Little Cato joins his dad in much needed rest.

#I really went ham on this one and I am living #merry your art always kills me so this prompt made me THRIVE #final space #gary goodspeed #little cato #dadspeed #nightfall #fs fics

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backofthebookshelf · 6 years ago

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Book Recs for Magnus Archives Fans

I was just rambling in tags the other day about how my avatarsona was "the Archivist, but a public librarian: Oh, you like dirt?? Let me tell you all the dirt stories I have!!!!" so, uh, here I am I guess.

I'm gonna spare you all the M.R. James and Algernon Blackwood and House of Leaves and Blindsight; you know all that already. These are my horror backlist recs.

The Bone Key by Sarah Monette Y'all. Y'ALL. Kyle Murchison Booth was absolutely the Archivist before Gertrude. He was poached from the Parrington by the Usher Foundation and the Eye glommed onto him at once, because the Eye loves disaster queers who can't people right (and also Gertrude). This I believe to be true, and so will you.

Kyle Murchison Booth is an archivist at the Parrington Museum, which is somewhere in New England, sometime in the early twentieth century. He also has a lifelong entanglement with the supernatural which is almost entirely not his fault, and he would very much like it to stop, but he also feels responsible and he can't just let evil mirrors and cursed necklaces and possessed dressing gowns randomly eat people who have no idea what's happening. Even if it means he's going to suffer for it.

(This collection doesn't contain all of the Booth stories, so here I am going to link to "White Charles", which happens to be my very favorite Booth story.)

For you if your favorite part is: honestly everything about MAG, from the modern sensibilities about early twentieth-century-horror, truly eerie ghost stories, to suffering eldritch librarians (thanks to whoever tagged my most recent fic with that you're so valid), monsterfucking and soft gay pining. No happy endings here, sorry.

Bedfellow by Jeremy C. Shipp You may or may not have heard that Macmillan-Tor is launching a horror imprint, and I don't know how long it's been since a major publishing house has had a horror imprint, but I am EXCITE. This book is part of the trend that's the reason why: Tor.com has been publishing these kickass novellas for a couple years now, and their horror books are top notch.

One night a stranger knocks on a family's living room window and asks to be invited in. They ask him to stay the night. He's an old friend, after all, he needs a place to stay. You can't kick out your twin brother when he's just gotten divorced, no matter how much Gatorade he spills on your two-year-old hardwood floors.

For you if your favorite part is: the Stranger, this is all Stranger, it's terrifying and good.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll A graphic novel, some of these were originally posted as webcomics (have you seen His Face All Red, and if not, why not???) and the only disadvantage to having them in book form is they can't blink at you. Probably. Very folktale-ish, with all the death and violence that implies, and also the slightly eerie feeling that you know this story already, and then it turns around and slaps you.

For you if your favorite part is: looking over your shoulder when the foley gets good; Once Upon a Time in Space (I know that's not technically part of the Magnus Archives but shush)

Universal Harvester by John Darnielle I am not usually a fan of artists who jump media. Just because you can write songs doesn't mean you can write novels. Apparently writing good songs doesn't mean you can't write good novels, though, because John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats (pretty sure that's his full name at this point) wrote Universal Harvester and I love him for it.

Jeremy works at a video rental place in Nevada, Iowa (it's pronounced Nah-vey-da, and yes it’s real, I've been there, and yes, it's probably haunted). It's the 1990s, and someone's been returning their VHS tapes with something on them that isn't just the movie. Footage that includes a barn that he recognizes, just outside of town.

Fair warning: this is not the kind of mystery that gets tied up in a nice bow at the end.

For you if your favorite part is: Jon losing it with paranoia in S2, The People's Church of the Divine Host, the Lonely

The Good House by Tananarive Due If this author's name is unfamiliar to you, RUN, do not walk, to your nearest internet bookseller and purchase every single one of her books immediately, you will not regret it. She also just came out with a documentary on black horror, Horror Noire, on the Shudder streaming service. They've got a free month if you aren't a horror movie person, it'd be worth your while. This book summary sounds like it's full of tropes. It is, but Due has the cred to write them well.

Angela Toussaint hopes to salvage her suffering marriage and her troubled relationship with her teenage son with a trip to her grandmother's house, a home so beloved the locals in small-town Washington state call it "The Good House," but tragedy strikes instead. Two years later she returns and finds that the tragedy isn't over, and it's not going to stop on its own.

For you if your favorite part is: the very practical statement-givers who know what's happening to them and Will Not Put Up With This Shit, the Desolation, the Hill Top Road statements

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins Is this horror disguised as fantasy? Found family disguised as horror? Grown-up Neil Gaiman? Less grimdark George R.R. Martin? Honestly I have no fucking idea, but it's amazing. Fair warning, unlike Magnus Archives, this deserves all kinds of trigger warnings, including but not necessarily limited to: sexual assault, torture, mental manipulation, dysfunctional families, incest(?)

Father is missing, and his twelve children (though extremely talented in their own ways, and not strictly speaking children any more) are at a loss without him. But also, without him, things are starting to seem different. He might be God? They might not be human? (They were probably human once.) He might not be God but maybe one of them might be next? If any of them survive.

For you if your favorite part is: slowly turning into a monster, the relationships between entities and avatars, monsters hot (not kidding about the trigger warnings)

The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley I have to keep reminding myself that Magnus Archives isn't really folk horror, there are two separate (if related) strains of British horror here and folk horror is not the one we're on, but at the same time I really want a good creepy rural pagan cult to show up in the series, you know? Anyway.

When he was a child, our narrator used to go with his family on an Easter pilgrimage to shrine on a bleak stretch of Lancaster coastline locals called The Loney. His Catholic mother was searching for a cure for his older brother, and she was convinced if they kept going long enough she would be granted her wish. The locals, however, are not huge fans of her annual visits, and even less so when the boys become involved with the goings-on of a pair of glamorous tourists.

For you if your favorite part is: the Lukases, I didn't realize until I was writing this up that I'm picturing Moreland House in the exact place described by this book

Eutopia by David Nickle One thing I love about the historical statements in Magnus Archives is just how truly historical they are. There's almost nothing in "The Piper" that isn't historically accurate - yes, Wilfrid Owen spent several days in a trench underneath the shredded bodies of his fellow soldiers. Like. You can't make up horror worse than that. But then you add monsters and it gets good. And I'm a sucker for early-twentieth-century history, it's such a bonkers time.

It's 1911 and the new Eugenics Record Office is sending agents out to catalog the disabled, infirm, and otherwise undesirable members of society so they can figure out what to do about them. In the utopian town of Eliada, Idaho, Dr. Andrew Waggoner runs from the racism of American society and straight into the influence of Mister Juke, the most troubling patient in his new practice. (Trigger warnings for, obviously, a whole lot of ableism. Treated like the monstrousness it is, but there's a lot of it.)

For you if your favorite part is: learning history through horror, the Flesh

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay I hate male writers writing about teenage girls, so you are going to have to trust me when I say that I had to check, several times while reading this book, to make sure that Paul Tremblay is actually a dude. He's very good. This book was kind of his breakout, so if you follow horror you've read it already, but if you don't necessarily then please do not miss it. His newer ones, Disappearance at Devil's Rock (Stranger, Spiral) and The Cabin at the End of the World (Slaughter, Extinction), are also good but not as good as this, I think.

Fourteen-year-old Marjorie is having a rough time - outbursts, hallucinations, paranoia. Treatment is difficult (and expensive) and her family ambivalent; they turn to a local Catholic priest, who recommends an exorcism and, to help manage those medical bills, a production company who's interested in filming a reality TV show about the process. Fifteen years later, Marjorie's sister deconstructs the now-famous show and wrestles with her own memories of childhood. Trigger warnings for ableism on the part of many of the characters, but not the narrative.

For you if your favorite part is: the Spiral, metafictional analysis of horror tropes

#the magnus archives #book recs #there's a lot of other things i could tag this as #but i wrote it for this fandom #is this a transparent excuse to get more people to read booth stories??#it is #it really is

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