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cosmicjoke · 2 years ago

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The Psychological and Emotional Impact of Levi’s Early Childhood:

I don’t think Levi’s early childhood really gets discussed enough in the fandom, or the ways in which those experiences in his formative years had to have impacted him. This could be because we don’t really get many panels depicting his childhood. Just a few. But those few panels show us enough for us to extrapolate plenty and form a pretty clear picture of what he went through.

First of all, it’s almost a certainty that Levi was born as the result of rape.

That’s something that I think everyone should let sink in.

He was born in the brothel that his mother, Kuchel, worked in. And “worked” is a relative term here. Kuchel was driven into the Underground as a result of persecution by the royal family. She was undoubtedly very young, she was alone, with no real resources or support or guarantee of safety or protection from anyone, in an environment of criminality and violence. There were likely very few, if any options available to her in terms of her own survival. Her becoming a prostitute wouldn’t have been any kind of a choice then, but rather a move made in desperation. And so I think we can also safely assume that Kuchel’s experiences working as a prostitute were tantamount to forced labor. In other words, a kind of slavery. She was almost certainly paid a paltry sum by the brothels owner, evidenced by the sorry, squalid and destitute state we see her and Levi living in when Kenny comes. She was likely afforded very few, if any rights or defenses against whatever her clients chose to do to her, as also evidenced by the fact that no one seemed to really know or care enough about her or Levi to even realize when she had died.

It’s impossible for me to define any of what Kuchel went through working in such a place as anything less than rape, then.

So, Levi’s very existence is one that is a literal product of violence. I’m absolutely sure that Levi himself is painfully aware of this, knowing that he was born out of his own mother’s pain and suffering. Going into the implications of this on Levi’s psychological health, I think you can safely assume this realization had a very negative impact on his own sense of self-worth. His mother was the only person in his childhood who we ever saw treat him with any kind of actual love or kindness. The only person who ever, actually wanted him. And yet, Levi would have seen demonstrated to him, every day, how his existence in his mothers life placed an increased burden on her, forcing her into increasingly more desperate circumstances, now having to feed two mouths instead of only one, and as a result, likely having to engage in increased, unwanted sexual activity with her clients. So Levi would be aware that not only was his mother, (again, the only person who loved and treated him with tenderness) being hurt on his behalf, but he also would have been aware, after witnessing the particular ways in which she was being hurt, that he himself was the result of that violence. Levi would have been shown that his very existence, then, was something which caused immense suffering and pain to the only person in his life who loved him. I honestly can’t even imagine the negative implications of something like this on a young mind. Only to say, it must have been horrific and resulted in lifelong trauma. Trauma which, due to the desperation of Levi’s life afterward, he likely never had any opportunity or chance to even address.

Now, moving on to something else. There’s a tendency by many to paint Kuchel as this sort of perfect mother figure. Someone who, through the power of her love for Levi alone, was able to overcome the trauma of their general circumstances, to negate the negative experiences he would have been exposed to, resulting in Levi becoming the kind and compassionate person he would be as an adult. But I think this assumption about Kuchel and their situation is not only unrealistic and idealized in the extreme, but also in its way, undermines the actual bleakness of their circumstances.

Again, we have to remember that Kuchel was driven into the Underground, and essentially forced, through lack of any other options, to become a prostitute. Calling her a prostitute is a nice way of saying she had to sell herself into sexual slavery. Kuchel’s own psychological and emotional trauma doesn’t often get touched upon or acknowledged when people talk about her and her relationship with her son, nor does the desperate poverty of their living situation. Kuchel died right in front of Levi, and we can assume with pretty good accuracy that she either died from a sexually transmitted disease, or that she died from malnutrition and starvation. These weren’t two people, then, who were living a comfortable or secure life. In fact, the very opposite. Levi was starving to death when Kenny found him. It’s easy enough to assume from his state of general neglect and starvation that Kuchel, at the very least, was struggling to provide for him. Not just food, but any kind of comfort or care. Clothing, warmth, protection, cleanliness, and very likely even, affection. This isn’t a knock on Kuchel’s worth as a mother, or her parenting. She was, undoubtedly, doing the best she could given the circumstances. But, again, this particular aspect of their lives isn’t touched on nearly enough. Kuchel died out of neglect, impoverishment, desperation and abuse. Given what we can assume her day to day life was like, having to let men come and sexually assault her just to keep herself and her son alive, one has to also consider the emotional and mental toll this sort of existence would eventually have on her. She had to have been exhausted, both mentally and physically. You add to this the always uncertain and present reality of whether either her or Levi would even be able to eat on any, given day, whether she would be able to keep her son from starving to death, and you can start to form a clear idea of how things like “playtime” or “fun”, or freely given and enthusiastic love and affection, would be, tragically, low on the list of priorities. Their situation was absolutely a situation of survival, first and foremost. Luxuries weren’t a part of their lives. Anyone who’s ever experienced extreme deprivation, poverty and desperation on the level in which Kuchel and Levi were living would know that those material realities absolutely have a negative impact on one’s ability to simply live. To be happy. To indulge in fantasy. To indulge in luxury. To indulge in any kind of relaxation or ease of living. It’s nice to imagine that Kuchel was always able to show Levi love and affection. To always be a kind, caring and generous mother to him. But that perception of their lives together ignores the bleak and harsh reality of what was really going on. More likely than not, Kuchel was often too exhausted and in bad, physical shape herself to play with Levi, to pay attention to Levi, to indulge in Levi. It was everything she could do, after all, to simply keep Levi alive, let alone healthy and happy. Kenny described Levi, when he first took him in, as the most unfriendly kid he’d ever met. We rarely see Levi speak at all in those early days with Kenny. That doesn’t speak to someone who is well adjusted socially. That doesn’t speak to someone who received a lot of open love and affection in the formative years of his childhood. Again, this isn’t to criticize or undermine Kuchel’s abilities as a mother. It’s simply acknowledging the tragic reality, that someone in Kuchel’s position, living the kind of life she was living, wouldn’t have had the luxury of being for Levi everything he needed her to be.

This also leads me into another point I don’t think I’ve ever seen discussed, and that has to do with Kuchel’s decision to have Levi at all, and how that choice is, simultaneously, both entirely selfless, and entirely selfish.

Kenny tells his grandfather that he tried to talk Kuchel out of having her baby, trying to explain to her how bringing a baby into the kind of situation she was living in wasn’t viable. It was only going to make, not only her own life worse, but in turn, the baby’s life was going to be awful too. We later see, in Kenny’s memories, a scene in which Kuchel is holding Levi as a newborn against her chest and crying tears of happiness. Kenny recalls this as part of his monologue about dreams, and the desperation of dreams, and the ability of dreams to corrupt us. This is important to acknowledge. Because again, while Kuchel’s intentions in giving birth to Levi were pure, and her love for him was absolutely pure and genuine, still, she DID bring him into a situation of extreme poverty, desperation and violence. In a way, Kuchel prioritized her dream of motherhood not only over her own well being (this being the selfless aspect of her decision), but also over Levi’s well being (this being the selfish aspect). She knew her own living situation was terrible, filled with suffering, cruelty and pain. She knew this, and she was aware, from Kenny’s own words, that bringing a child into that situation was only going to make things worse, for both of them. But she chose to do it anyway. She chose to give birth to Levi, and to keep him, knowing the sort of deprivation and desperation he would be exposed to. Knowing the kind of violence and cruelty and ugliness he would be exposed to, being born and raised in a brothel, in which she was working as a prostitute, relegated to a single room with him in it.

Chances are high, extremely high, that Levi saw his mother raped. Maybe she sent him out of the room when she was with clients. But maybe she wasn’t able to. We never see any evidence of Levi having ever left their single room as a child, and even if he had, the building they were in was a brothel, catering to men seeking and paying for the sexual services of women. It isn’t an environment that is, in any way, suited to a child, friendly to a child, or even tolerant of a child. It’s almost 100% certain that Levi was, at one time or another, exposed to sexual violence against women, whether it was his own mother, or someone else. He would have been exposed to violence in general too, because men who sexually assault women are also very likely to physically assault them. I don’t think it’s any kind of a stretch, even, to assume that Levi himself might have been on the receiving end of physical violence, at the least, in a place like that. Men who wouldn’t want some little kid around while they force themselves on the women there probably would have little qualm with hitting Levi to make him go away.

Again, going back to Levi’s “unfriendliness” when Kenny first takes him in, I think we can extrapolate that a lot of what Kenny was perceiving as unfriendly behavior was in fact just Levi being withdrawn. He seemed sullen and mute to Kenny. We see this in children who have been abused. They tend to go within themselves and make themselves as unobtrusive as possible, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, because whenever they have, it’s always resulted in them somehow being hurt. Levi’s body language when Kenny first meets him speaks to this as well. He’s curled against the wall opposite his mother’s bed, literally making himself as small as possible, his knees hugged to his chest, his head bowed close to them, etc... Like he’s trying to hide. Again, it doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to assume that Levi fell victim to the violence of the men who frequented that place. The Underground in general was filled with violent and cruel men who made a living out of criminality, who in fact wouldn’t think twice about committing murder, etc...

This is the world Kuchel brought Levi into. A world of physical and sexual violence, a world of depravity and illness, a world of poverty and starvation. Kuchel loved Levi with all her heart. That isn’t for a moment in doubt. But by choosing to have him and keep him, she also trapped him into a life of pain and suffering of his own.

Kuchel had to know, if anything were to happen to her, that Levi’s chances of survival were next to none. He was helpless without her, and that too is evidenced by the fact that, when Kenny finds them, Levi is literally starving to death. He’s just sitting there, resigned to his fate. There’s no indication whatsoever that Levi ever even left their room to seek food, or help of any kind. He just sat there, trapped with his mother’s rotting corpse, waiting to die. And nobody there cared enough to even check on him or his mother in the span of time between when she fell ill and when she died. Nobody there cared enough about either of their lives to see if they were okay, and we can assume, because Levi didn’t seek anyone’s help, that he didn’t think anyone would help him, which tells us all we need to know about how he and his mother were generally treated in that place. Kuchel must have known, as she was dying, that without her, Levi was going to die too. She had no way and no cause to know or think that Kenny would come by to rescue him. And, indeed, if Kenny hadn’t shown up right when he did, Levi almost certainly would have died in that room with her. I can’t even imagine the pain this must have caused her, knowing she was dying, and knowing as a result, that her son was going to die too. It would have been unbearable. But again, this is also the risk Kuchel took when she chose to give birth to and keep Levi. She knew this was a possibility. That her child would die a slow and painful death without her there to protect and take care of him.

So this sort of sunny, idealistic picture that tends to get painted of Levi’s life with his mother seems both unrealistic and unfair to them in terms of understanding their actual situation. This wasn’t a happy or good life they were living together. It was a life full of misery and pain. Levi’s monologue later on to the 104th recruits, about not knowing if you’ll wake up and get to eat that day, or if your friends will still be alive, wasn’t just a reflection on their lives living with the threat of titans. It was a reflection of his own life living in the Underground, living a life surrounded by poverty and violence and uncertainty. That was Levi’s existence for the first 25 years of his life. That was Levi’s childhood. Violence and starvation, cruelty and deprivation. Kuchel’s love, as pure and as genuine as it was, wasn’t enough on it’s own to overcome the scars of all that.

One last note to end this on.

There’s also a tendency to paint Kenny’s rescue of Levi as this very heroic and selfless act on Kenny’s part. A moment in which Levi was pulled from the jaws of certain death and given a chance to live by his uncle. And while, yes, Kenny certainly did save Levi’s life and give him that chance, I think it’s also important to acknowledge that Kenny’s treatment of Levi was abusive, and ultimately caused him more harm than good. Kenny, we have to remember, went down to the Underground to rescue Kuchel. He went to that brothel with the intention of pulling her out and bringing her to live back up on the surface, able to do so now that he had ended the persecution of their family through his connection with Uri Reiss. But by the time he got there, Kuchel was dead, and she’d left behind her only child in Levi. Kenny could have so easily brought Levi up to the surface with him, the way he’d been planning on doing with Kuchel, and given him a good and happy life. He could have saved him from the hell of living in the Underground City. A world of perpetual darkness, a world of constant danger and desperation and illness. People talk about how Kenny gave Levi the tools to survive in such a harsh environment, and treat this as if it’s something to somehow be applauded and praised. But Kenny shouldn’t have had to teach Levi to survive in a cut-throat environment at all. He’d made it possible for those with the Ackerman name to live free of persecution up above. He could have easily taken Levi with him and given him a good, traditional education, fed and clothed him, given him shelter, given him the chance to grow up in fresh air and sunlight, given him a chance to make friends with other children, to learn social skills and just live a normal existence with the opportunity to actually be happy. But instead Kenny chose to keep Levi in the Underground, to teach him how to kill, to teach him to be violent, and not much else, before simply abandoning him there and never going back, forcing Levi to survive on his own in the most dangerous place inside the walls. What Kenny did to Levi wasn’t a kindness. A kindness would have been rescuing Levi from the Underground entirely and giving him a real life above. A kindness would have been Kenny giving to Levi what he’d planned on giving to his sister. But Kenny was too selfish to do that, and that’s the bottom line. He didn’t want to have to take care of and raise a child. He didn’t want the responsibility. Whether that’s tied to Kenny’s own, negative perception of himself or not doesn’t matter. He still chose not to take Levi with him and give him a real life because actually caring for and raising a child would have been too hard, too much work, too much responsibility. By leaving Levi there in the Underground, he sent Levi the message, clear as day, that he wasn’t wanted. And so Levi spent the entirety of his childhood, and a good portion of his adulthood, believing that, and living in the Underground, living a life of violence and desperation and suffering.

I don’t think the suffering Levi went through as a child gets discussed or acknowledged enough, or examined enough. I don’t think people often look at it with enough objective realism to realize the extreme harm and trauma Levi experienced and was left with. It’s genuinely a miracle that Levi turned out the way he did. That Levi is as good a man as he is. Nothing in his life growing up can really account for that. Everything in his life growing up would evince that he should have become the sort of man Kenny was, selfish and cruel. It’s truly against all odds that Levi became the exact opposite. Selfless in the extreme, kind, caring and compassionate above and beyond anyone else in the series. Someone who fights for and gives his life in dedication to the dreams and lives of others.

In many ways, Levi is, himself, the greatest miracle of all.

#Levi Ackerman #Kuchel Ackerman #Kenny Ackerman #meta #analysis #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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khattikeri · 7 months ago

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maybe a controversial opinion but while i really love jiang cheng as a character he is deeply self-centered as a person. and seeing people fight tooth and nail claiming he isn't, or is just misunderstood, or that he has genuine valid reasons to be selfish when plenty of other characters make the difficult choice to forego status and opportunities for what they believe is genuinely right to do (read: wei wuxian, wen ning, wen qing, lan wangji, jiang yanli, mianmian, etc.)

it's just odd to me. especially if they're talking about the novels.

mxtx didn't give jiang cheng the name "sandu shengshou" as a quirky coincidence. there's a REASON she named him & his sword after the 3 poisons of Buddhism (specifically ignorance, greed, and hatred). it's crucial to the story that jiang cheng is NOT selfless and that wei wuxian IS.

it's important to accept that wei wuxian is, by their society's standards, not morally gray; he represents several Buddhist ideals in direct contrast of jiang cheng and multiple people attest to wei wuxian's strong moral character, which is a lot of why jiang cheng even feels bitter about him to begin with.

it's crucial, because by the end of the novel jiang cheng realizes the extent of this and begins to let go!

the twin prides thing wasn't jiang cheng wanting them to 100% mirror the twin jades. he does care about wei wuxian, but he wanted wei wuxian to stay his right hand man, in part the way wei changze was for jiang fengmian.

and if there's one thing you can notice about wei changze in the novels, it's that literally nobody talks about him. he is only ever mentioned when his cool mysterious mountain sect wife cangse-sanren is mentioned, or (even more rarely) when they discuss him as a servant to jiang fengmian. regardless of jiang fengmian's own feelings, wei changze was considered lesser to him and didn't seem to outdo him, since nobody's out there years later still waxing poetry about wei changze's skills.

it may not be the only thing jiang cheng wants out of a twin pride dynamic, but it is a big part of it. regardless of his parents' intentions in taking wei wuxian in and treating him certain ways, this twin pride right-hand man thing is what jiang cheng has felt owed since childhood. he gave up his dogs for wei wuxian, people gossip about his sect heir position with wei wuxian there... jiang cheng wants the reciprocation of what he views as personal sacrifices.

he is ignorant to the depth of what wei wuxian must've suffered for over 6 years as a malnourished orphan child on the streets. he hates how wei wuxian's intelligence, witty charm, and cultivation abilities are naturally stronger than his own. he does care about wei wuxian a lot and want them to be together as sort of-brothers, sort of-friends, sort of-young master and sect servant...

...but if it's between that unclear (yet still caring) relationship and being able to save himself just a little bit more, jiang cheng nearly always manages to clam up in the face of danger and choose the latter, which ultimately benefits himself most. maybe it's a stretch to call that sort of thing greed, but it certainly isn't selfless.

there are of course plenty of justifications for this. it's his duty as sect heir. his home and sect was severely damaged by the wen attack and subsequent war; he had to protect himself, etc.

but doesn't that prove the point?

wei wuxian may be charming, but in terms of pure social standing, he is lower and far more susceptible to being punished or placed in harm's way by people who have more power and money. to protect wei wuxian, yunmeng jiang's long-term head disciple and semi-family member, even in the face of backlash and public scrutiny would've been the selfless thing to do. this is what wei wuxian does for the wen remnants in the burial mounds.

jiang cheng does not choose this. it's not even an unreasonable choice for him to make! nobody else in the great clans is doing such a thing, stepping out of line to take on a burden that could weaken them in the long-run. wei wuxian himself doesn't hate jiang cheng for it; he lets go of these things and focuses on what good he can do in the present.

jiang cheng thinks further into the future - what would happen to him if he continued vouching for wei wuxian and taking his side? what about jiang cheng's face, his sect's face? would wei wuxian even care to reciprocate somehow? everyone expects him to cut off wei wuxian for being dangerous, for threatening his position, for...

do you see what i mean? to call jiang cheng selfless for falling in line with exactly what people expected him to do after the war is not only wrong, it's foolish.

"but they faked their falling-out!" okay. why fake it to begin with, except to protect jiang cheng and the jiang sect's own face? is that selfless? who does it ultimately serve to protect? wei wuxian canonically internalizes the idea that he stains all that he touches, including lan wangji, and agrees to the fake fight because he doesn't want to cause the jiang sect harm. regardless, it eventually slides into a true falling-out, and in the end jiang cheng is more or less unscathed reputation-wise while wei wuxian falls.

that isn't selfless. it's many things! it's respecting his clan and his ancestors, it's making a good plan for the future of his sect and cultivation... but it isn't a truly selfless in the interest of what's right rather than in the interest of duty and what's good for him and his family lineage.

that brings me to my next point: even though wei wuxian hid the truth of the golden core transfer, jiang cheng spent nearly 20 years believing that the golden core "renewal" he was given was a birthright gift of wei wuxian's from baoshan-sanren, an immortal sect teacher of wei wuxian's mother's and a martial elder to wei wuxian.

of course we all know that's a big fat lie, but jiang cheng believed that wei wuxian gave up a critical emergency use gift to him for decades! he was lied to, yes, but jiang cheng immediately agreed without even needing to be convinced. the light in his dead eyes came back with hope the moment wei wuxian even said baoshan-sanren's name. he accepted wei wuxian's offer to give that up to him and take it via identity theft without missing a beat.

with how mysterious and revered baoshan-sanren is, that's obviously not a light sacrifice to just give up to anyone, no matter how close they might be to you. pretending to be wei wuxian to take the gift could even be considered dangerous. what if she found out and got offended? could wei wuxian be hurt by that?

jiang cheng doesn't even hesitate. wei wuxian is the one who mentions that if jiang cheng doesn't pretend to be him, the immortal master could get angry and they'd both be goners. and funnily enough, the day they do go to "the mountain", jiang cheng is the one worried and suspiciously wondering if wei wuxian was lying to him or had misremembered.

of course they've both been traumatized like hell prior to this point. but still: it speaks to how broken he was at the moment as well as to his character overall.

i digress: jiang cheng "gets his golden core back" via what he believed was a gift that should've been wei wuxian's to use in serious emergencies. rather than use it for himself, wei wuxian risked his own safety and gave it to jiang cheng... and jiang cheng still ends up embittered and angry, believing that wei wuxian is arrogant and selfish.

if he truly views them as 100% brothers and equals with no caveats, why would he think that way? it's not like he needs to grovel before wei wuxian for doing that, or to reciprocate... but this is what i mean when i say jiang cheng feels he is owed things by wei wuxian. wei wuxian's actions hold a very different weight in jiang cheng's mind, and jiang cheng himself doesn't ever act the same way, except once.

is it wrong for him to feel like he is owed something? it depends. many asian cultures, including my own, feel that a person owes their family in ways that may not make sense to westerners. for example, it's considered normal for a child to owe their parents for giving birth to them, or to other caretakers for feeding, clothing, sheltering, educating them, etc.

however, something like verbally saying "thank you" or "i'm sorry" to family is considered crazy- why would you owe that? you're supposed to inconvenience your family; saying thank you or sorry is the sort of thing you say to a stranger or acquaintance. i get half-seriously lectured by my elders on this a lot even now, even though they know such phrases are just considered good manners in the US.

this muddies up the idea of wei wuxian being jiang cheng's family vs his family's charge or servant even more. jiang cheng wants wei wuxian to be close... but ultimately doesn't really choose to use what power he DOES have to protect wei wuxian. he considers himself still owed something that in his mind wei wuxian flagrantly never repays.

this isn't even getting into how despite spending a majority of his time with the yiling patriarch he never once noticed that wei wuxian stopped using any spiritual power-based cultivation. even lan wangji, who met them far more rarely, realized that something was wrong and that wei wuxian had taken some sort of spiritual damage, hence the "come with me to gusu".

of course manpain is fun and i'm not immune to the juicy idea of them reconciling and talking things out... but jiang cheng is deeply mired in his own desire to be "above" wei wuxian in multiple ways, and doesn't realize the extent of wei wuxian's actions, the intentions behind them, and the consequences wei wuxian knowingly faced for them.

to not recognize this about jiang cheng, especially in the novels, is really revisionist if you ask me. i reiterate that i really do like him a lot. he's flawed, angry, traumatized and has poor coping mechanisms, an overall fascinating character... but he is not selfless nor ideal, and i seriously draw the line at people saying he is.

wen ning shoves this all into his face at lotus pier to disastrous results. it is the reason why jiang cheng's a total mess at guanyin temple, and the reason jiang cheng ultimately doesn't tell wei wuxian about the fact that he ran towards the wens on purpose.

for that one last act of his to have really been selfless, he needs to not seek anything in return. he did it purely because it was right to do to protect someone else. if that means wei wuxian never finds out about it, so be it.

that moment that ended up causing jiang cheng irreversible harm is not a debt that wei wuxian owes him. it hurts, but no matter how bitter it is, that realization is so important to him changing in the future.

#keri chats #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jiang cheng #long post #this is NOT anti/crit for him btw i like him a lot i just feel like nobody interprets him the way i perceive him #which even then my interpretation is p nebulous... worth saying i also heavily disagree w ppl who think of him as an evil shithead #he's upper class & steeped in jianghu politics/self preservation. flawed as hell human being but they're all war criminals lbr it's #Magical Genocide and War Crimes: The Novel #anyway this post is messy as fuck but if u read all of it: thank u. if u agree with me: ilu. i wish more ppl understood revenge ethics #as they stand in asian cultures and history vs in western (almost always culturally christian) cultures #it's unclear how far in the future the extras are but at one pt he's ''the same as ever'' which at best indicates slow emotional growth #and like. ykw? i don't think he'll be repressed bitter angry thinking abt his losses n pain forever. i think he can grow i believe in him #i have so many thoughts on this i could've made this post go on forever augh

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dee-writes-smut · 3 months ago

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THE SPRING COURT (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Lucien Vanserra x Reader

SUMMARY A conversation with the High Lady leaves you with a lot to think about, especially the odd tug you feel toward Lucien. It certainly doesn't help when you both set off on your journey and in between the rustle of the changing trees and the calls of the birds around you, you discover a soft side to Lucien that makes you feel warm in a terrifying way.

CONTENT WARNINGS Tamlin, mentions of newborn/baby, talk of fulfilling dreams, themes of deep sadness/loneliness, TAMLIN, arguments/fighting, angst, closed off Lucien, Elain getting shit on by tam tam, Lucien being worried about tam tam, and themes of friendships falling out

AUTHORS NOTE yes, I do recall promising you all an update on the save a hero series, and yes, I am posting a FAT chapter to courts instead :) <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

After leaving the study, the High Lady led you through a labyrinth of grand hallways and winding corridors, each more elegant than the last. The air smelled faintly of oak and candle wax, carrying the gentle hum of servants and maids going about their nightly duties. She greeted them with warm, familiar smiles, a stark contrast to the authority she commanded during the coronation. You found it fascinating how easily she seemed to balance both roles—the ruler and the caretaker.

As you continued down the hall, you noticed a shift in the surroundings. Stacks of wooden crates lined the walls, filled with what looked like old nursery furniture—small beds, rocking chairs, faded toys. There was a faint scent of dust, like the memory of long-untouched rooms now being awakened.

“This used to be the nursery wing,” the High Lady explained, catching your gaze as you took in the scattered pieces of history. “Where all of Eris’s brothers once lived.”

There was something sharp in her tone, a bitterness that cut through her usual grace. The mention of Beron’s children seemed to summon a shadow across her face. “Beron liked to keep his children at a distance,” she continued, her voice low, though there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. “He believed in separation, even among family.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, a harshness settling in her eyes that told you more than her words ever could.

Eris, with his new reign, clearly did not share his father’s cold ideals. “Eris and I don’t agree with those values. We’ve decided to move the children’s rooms next to our wing, closer to us, where they belong.” She glanced around the hallway with an air of finality. “This is becoming a guest wing. Unfortunately, it’s still being renovated, and the only room that hasn’t been touched yet is Lucien’s childhood bedroom. That’s where you’ll stay tonight.”

Her hand rested briefly on a door with a simple gold handle. The frame was worn, showing its age, with faint markings of painted foxes still visible along the chipped wood. Despite the years of wear, you could imagine how bright and full of life those foxes had once been, just as the room behind the door must have been when Lucien called it home.

With a gentle push, the High Lady opened the door, and you stepped inside.

The room you stepped into was a masterpiece of elegance and warmth, a sanctuary carved from the very soul of the Autumn Court. It stretched out before you like a quiet dream, far more expansive than any space you had ever known. The high, vaulted ceilings soared above, giving the room a sense of grandeur, as if it had been crafted to mimic the boundless canopy of the forest outside.

Rich, chocolate-colored wainscoting lined the walls, gleaming softly in the amber light that spilled from the ornate chandelier overhead. The wood was polished to a mirror-like sheen, its surface catching and reflecting the glow in a way that seemed to invite you deeper into its embrace. Above the wainscoting, the walls were painted in a deep, velvety forest green, the color so lush it seemed to pulse with life. It was the kind of green that spoke of old growth and whispered secrets, a color that held the wild, untamed beauty of the forest at its heart.

And then, there were the foxes.

Along the upper edge of the walls, just beneath the ceiling’s crown molding, a series of exquisitely painted foxes danced and played, as though the very essence of the forest had been brought to life within these walls. Their russet fur gleamed with vibrant reds and golds, their bodies caught mid-motion, forever racing through painted fields and under the shelter of painted trees. Some foxes curled in peaceful repose among the foliage, while others leapt with wild joy, their eyes sparkling with untold mischief. The artwork was so vivid, so full of life, that you half-expected one of them to break free from the walls and dart across the floor, disappearing into the shadowed corners of the room.

At the heart of the room stood a grand four-poster bed, carved from dark mahogany that gleamed with the same deep richness as the wainscoting. The posts were thick and sturdy, their surfaces adorned with intricate vines and delicate leaves that wound their way up to the canopy. The bed itself was a haven of luxury, draped in sumptuous layers of crimson and gold, the colors of autumn leaves set aflame. The blankets were plush, the pillows impossibly soft, and it beckoned you with the promise of rest—a retreat from the whirlwind of change swirling around you.

To one side, a large stone fireplace sat nestled into the wall, its hearth cold for the moment, but the scent of kindling and wood hung in the air, ready to be lit. The mantle above the fireplace held a painting, a stunning landscape of the Autumn Court’s forest at twilight, the trees ablaze with the fiery hues of fall. The light in the painting seemed to shimmer and shift as you moved, as if the leaves were swaying gently in the breeze. It was a perfect mirror of the world beyond the walls—a world both familiar and distant.

Your gaze shifted to the tall, arched window on the opposite side of the room. Heavy velvet curtains, the same deep green as the walls, were drawn back to reveal the moonlit forest outside. Silvery light filtered through the glass, casting a soft glow over the room and illuminating the vast expanse of trees beyond. The forest stretched endlessly, its leaves shimmering under the light of the moon, and you could almost hear the soft rustle of the branches, as if the forest itself was whispering to you. It was a view that reminded you how small you were in the grand scheme of things, and yet, how vast the world was—waiting, calling.

Every detail in the room had been chosen with care. From the rich textures and colors that enveloped the space to the faint scent of cedar and pine that clung to the air, it was clear this room had been designed to offer both comfort and reflection. It was as if the room wanted to remind you of the beauty of the Autumn Court, even as it offered a glimpse of something more—something beyond.

Yet, as your eyes drifted over the space, there was a sense of dissonance. For all its beauty, this room was not yours, not truly. It belonged to the world you were about to leave behind, a world you could never fully claim as your own.

“Eris told me the foxes were added by their mother when she was pregnant with Lucien,” the High Lady’s voice drifted softly from behind you, breaking the silence as she noted how your gaze lingered on the intricate artwork. There was a tender note in her tone, one that softened even further at the mention of Lucien. “Lucien apparently spent hours watching them, imagining they were real—so real, in fact, that he believed they might leap off the walls and disappear into the forest beyond.”

You could almost picture it: a small boy, wild with imagination, his copper hair catching the sunlight as he watched the foxes with wide, wondering eyes, convinced that the painted creatures might slip through some hidden doorway into the woods.

“Eris said they had to keep a close eye on him when they played in the courtyard, or else Lucien would wander off into the trees, searching for the animals that lived both on his walls and in his dreams,” the High Lady continued, her lips curving slightly at the memory. “My husband finds it odd that Lucien connects so deeply with the foxes. But I—” she paused, as if tasting the words on her tongue, considering them carefully before continuing, “I can see why. Even knowing him as little as I do, I understand why he feels that call. He moves like them, don’t you think? Sly, quick, with that mask always in place... hiding the suffering underneath.”

Her eyes followed the painted foxes along the walls, her expression distant, as though she was sifting through memories from long ago. There was a glimmer of something—perhaps regret, or nostalgia—that flickered across her face, a sheen of remembrance in her gaze as she tracked the foxes, each one captured mid-dash, as if frozen in the moment before they might spring to life.

“He was a good friend to me once,” she murmured, her voice soft and thoughtful, almost as if she were speaking more to herself than to you. “But even then, when we were closest, I never really knew much about him. That’s how Lucien is... funny, in a way. He has this gift for making people feel at ease, like you’ve known him all your life. You fall into this sense of comfort, trusting him as if he’s an old friend, and before you know it, you’ve told him everything about yourself.” She chuckled lightly, but there was a hint of sadness beneath it. “And only after you’ve left do you realize—you never learned a thing about him in return.”

She turned her gaze back to you, the warmth in her eyes shadowed by something deeper, a quiet understanding of Lucien’s guarded nature. You could hear it in the way she spoke of him—like someone who had tried to reach him, had once thought they were close, only to find that Lucien had always kept himself just out of reach.

As you stood there, the weight of her words settled over you. The painted foxes seemed more than just childhood decorations now—they were symbols of something elusive, something that danced just beyond your grasp, much like Lucien himself.

"I apologize for my nonsensical rambling," she chuckled softly, shaking herself from her reverie, as ifam the memories had momentarily swept her away. There was a faint blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, though her smile remained warm. "It seems, with the coronation and everything, I've fallen prey to nostalgia."

Her laughter was light, but you could sense the weight of the evening on her shoulders—the emotions of the past and present all tangled up in the swirl of change. As she composed herself, the air shifted, and for a brief moment, you saw her not just as a ruler, but as someone who had lived through her own struggles, her own losses, much like the man she’d just described.

"I'll let you get some rest," the High Lady said warmly, her smile soft as she made her way back to the door. She hesitated for a moment, her hand resting lightly on the gold handle before turning to face you once more. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you said yes to joining Lucien. I know you haven’t had much time to get to know me, and that all of this—" she gestured vaguely to the room and the whirlwind of events surrounding you, "—might feel overwhelming, maybe even a bit random. But when we spoke earlier, and you shared your dream of traveling, I saw something in your eyes.”

Her gaze softened further, as if recalling that moment between you in the ballroom. “There was a fire in you, a passion so strong it almost sparked something in me. Call me crazy, but I’ve never trusted someone so completely at a first meeting. It was bizarre, how quickly you enraptured me, how I was drawn into your dream as if it were my own.”

Her voice lowered, more intimate now, as if revealing something she had not shared with many. “I’m lucky to be able to provide you the means to chase that dream. And I hope that if��when—you return, you’ll come find me, so that we might become true friends.”

The words felt genuine, but there was something else in her eyes—something left unspoken. As if, beneath her gratitude and warmth, there was another hope. A hope that the fire she had seen dancing in your eyes might somehow reignite another’s—a fire that she had once thought to be unquenchable. Her expression flickered with the briefest shadow of regret, a reminder of someone she had once considered a close friend, only to discover that his struggles had been kept hidden behind his ever-present mask. Lucien.

She didn’t say it aloud, but it hung in the air between you, unspoken but palpable. The High Lady, it seemed, wasn’t just offering you an opportunity for your sake. She was hoping, perhaps, that through your own passion, you might help rekindle a spark in someone who had all but let his light go out. A friend she had tried to reach, but had never truly been able to know.

Her eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer, before she gave a final, quiet smile. Then, with a gentle click of the door, she left you alone with your thoughts.

Sunlight filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. You stirred beneath the layers of plush blankets, the softness cradling you in a warmth that felt almost foreign. For a moment, you lay there, caught between the remnants of sleep and the encroaching reality of the day ahead. The events of the previous evening replayed in your mind—the High Lady’s words, the room’s quiet grandeur, the lingering presence of Lucien, even in his absence.

As your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, where the painted foxes still danced and played, their russet fur gleaming in the morning light. The sight filled you with a strange mix of emotions—comfort, curiosity, and an unsettling sense of displacement. This room, so full of history and warmth, was not yours. It was a space imbued with the life of someone else, someone you barely knew but felt inexplicably drawn to.

What is it about this place? you wondered, your thoughts trailing off as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows. The bed was large enough that you felt small within it, almost as though it was swallowing you whole. The High Lady’s voice echoed in your mind, her words about Lucien replaying like a haunting melody. He moves like them… sly, quick, with that mask always in place. The comparison resonated deeply, pulling at something inside you—a desire to uncover what lay behind that mask, to understand the man who had lived his childhood surrounded by these painted foxes.

As you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet sinking into the thick, plush rug below, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety. Today, you would be stepping into the unknown, into a life that was not yet fully yours. The High Lady had been kind, her words full of warmth and hope, but there was an unspoken weight to her expectations. You had agreed to join Lucien, to help him in some capacity you still didn’t fully understand, and that decision now loomed over you, its consequences unfurling like the morning light creeping across the floor.

What have I gotten myself into? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You had always longed for adventure, for a life beyond the confines of your previous existence, but now that it was within your grasp, doubt began to creep in. The room, with its rich textures and warm colors, suddenly felt like a gilded cage—beautiful, yes, but confining in its own way. The painted forest, the foxes, the lavish bed—it all seemed to be watching you, waiting for you to make your move.

You rose slowly, your body still heavy with sleep, and made your way to the window. The curtains were partially drawn, allowing a sliver of sunlight to illuminate the room. As you pulled them back, the full splendor of the Autumn Court’s forest came into view. The trees, bathed in the early morning light, shimmered with the fiery hues of fall, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The sight was breathtaking, and for a moment, you forgot your worries, lost in the beauty of the world beyond the glass.

This is what I wanted, you reminded yourself, inhaling deeply as the scent of cedar and pine wafted in from the forest. A chance to see the world, to live a life of meaning. But even as you tried to reassure yourself, the unease remained. There was so much you didn’t know, so much left to discover—not just about this place, but about Lucien, and perhaps even yourself.

Your thoughts drifted back to the High Lady’s words, her unspoken hope that you might rekindle something in Lucien that had been lost. It felt like an impossible task, one you weren’t sure you were ready for. And yet, there was a part of you that was drawn to the challenge, that wanted to prove—to yourself, to the High Lady, maybe even to Lucien—that you were capable of more than you had ever imagined.

Today is the beginning, you thought, your resolve hardening as you turned away from the window. The doubts and fears would not vanish easily, but you couldn’t afford to let them hold you back. There was a world out there, waiting to be explored, and a journey you had only just begun. And as you dressed, each movement deliberate and purposeful, you made a silent promise to yourself—to see this through, to face whatever lay ahead, no matter how uncertain or difficult it might be.

With a final glance at the room, you stepped toward the door, ready to meet whatever awaited you on the other side.

After what felt like an eternity of winding corridors and endless hallways, you finally arrived at the entry room, but not without some help. The morning had begun with a sense of purpose, but that quickly dissolved into confusion as you attempted to navigate the sprawling estate. You had passed the same set of ornate vases twice before you finally conceded defeat and stopped one of the maids, asking for directions to the entry room. Her polite smile, laced with amusement, did little to ease your embarrassment, but she kindly guided you to your destination, chatting about the daily bustle of the household along the way.

Now, as you stood in the entry room, your breath caught at the sight before you. The space was grand, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of autumn leaves and forest animals. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling, giving the room a cozy yet regal feel. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over everything.

And there, waiting with a bright smile and a baby perched on her hip, was the High Lady. She looked every bit the ruler and mother, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she spotted you. The little one on her hip babbled happily, clutching at her mother’s dress with tiny, chubby fingers, clearly enjoying the morning excitement.

“Good morning!” the High Lady greeted you, her voice full of genuine warmth. She adjusted the baby on her hip, pressing a kiss to the top of the little one’s head before looking back at you. “I hope you found your way here without too much trouble?”

You chuckled softly, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders. “Not without a few wrong turns,” you admitted, glancing around the room. “But your staff is very helpful.”

She laughed, a sound like soft bells. “This house is like a maze, isn’t it? Even I still get turned around sometimes, and I’ve lived here for a few years now.” The baby cooed in response, as if adding her agreement, and the High Lady smiled down at her daughter before turning her attention back to you. “I’m so glad you’re here, though. Lucien will be joining us shortly.”

As if on cue, Lucien appeared from an adjacent hallway, his presence as commanding as ever. He was dressed simply, in riding gear that emphasized his lithe, athletic frame. His auburn hair caught the light, giving him an almost otherworldly glow, and his russet eye met yours with a brief flicker of warmth before his gaze shifted to the High Lady and her child.

“Good morning,” Lucien greeted, his tone polite but reserved. He offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, though there was no mistaking the genuine affection when he looked at the High Lady and the baby. “Ready for the journey?”

“Almost,” the High Lady replied, shifting the baby to her other hip. “I wanted to see you both off, but I’m afraid Eris won’t be able to join us. He’s been caught up in a meeting with his advisors, going over some new community improvement plans. He sends his apologies.”

You nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment, though you quickly pushed it aside. The High Lord’s absence was understandable, and the High Lady’s presence was more than enough to set you at ease. The baby, who had been contentedly babbling, suddenly reached out toward Lucien, her tiny hands grasping at the air.

Lucien’s expression softened, though his eyes held a unique sort of pain as he stepped closer, allowing the little girl to grab onto his fingers. “Someone’s in a good mood this morning,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. The baby giggled, her eyes sparkling with joy as she tugged on his fingers, clearly delighted by the attention.

The sight of Lucien with the baby on his arm was endearing in a way that caught you off guard. For a moment, the reserved, guarded man you’d met seemed to melt away, replaced by someone far more gentle, someone who might have been a doting father in another life.

The High Lady watched the interaction with a soft smile, then turned back to you. “Shall we head outside? Your horses are ready, and I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer.”

With a final kiss to her daughter’s head, she led the way outside, Lucien falling into step beside you. As you walked through the grand double doors and onto the cobblestone path that led to the courtyard, the crisp morning air greeted you, carrying the scent of pine and earth. The courtyard was a picturesque scene, with leaves fluttering down from the trees and the sunlight filtering through the branches. Two horses stood saddled and waiting, their coats sleek and shining in the morning light.

The High Lady turned to you with a smile, her daughter now babbling happily on her hip. “I hope you’re as excited as I am for this journey,” she said warmly, her eyes twinkling with the same energy you’d seen the night before. “It’s a wonderful opportunity, and I’m sure you and Lucien will make a great team.”

You smiled back, though your excitement was tempered by a small knot of anxiety that tightened in your stomach as you eyed the horses. You had never ridden a horse before, and the thought of it now, with all eyes on you, made your heart race. You swallowed nervously, trying to steady your breathing.

The High Lady must have noticed your hesitation, because she tilted her head slightly, a gentle, knowing look in her eyes. “Are you all right?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve… never ridden a horse before,” you confessed, your voice quieter than you intended. It felt almost foolish to admit, especially in front of Lucien, who seemed so at ease in every situation.

Lucien turned to you, his expression softening with understanding. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said gently. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll help you.”

The High Lady smiled reassuringly. “Lucien is an excellent rider. You’ll be in good hands.” She shifted the baby on her hip, the little girl squealing happily as if in agreement. “You’ve got this,” she added with an encouraging nod.

With that, she handed her daughter off to a waiting maid, then turned back to you. “Thank you again for joining us,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth and sincerity. “Take care of each other out there and know that our doors will always be open to you.” She reached out to give you a quick, friendly hug, her embrace brief but comforting.

You returned the hug, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. “Thank you for everything,” you replied, your voice steady as you pulled back and offered her a small smile.

Lucien stepped forward then, taking the reins of your horse. “Come on,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I’ll help you up.”

You approached the horse, trying to mask your nervousness as you looked up at the imposing creature. Lucien’s strong hands were there almost immediately, steady and sure, as he placed them on your hips. His touch was warm and surprisingly reassuring, and as he guided you onto the saddle, you found yourself relaxing, if only slightly.

“Just keep your legs steady and hold onto the reins,” Lucien instructed, his voice calm and encouraging. “I’ll lead you until you’re comfortable.”

You nodded, gripping the reins tightly, your heart pounding in your chest as you settled into the saddle. Lucien gave you a final, reassuring smile before he moved to mount his own horse with practiced ease. Once he was settled, he took your reins in hand, his touch steady as he turned to the High Lady.

“Take care, both of you,” she called out, her voice bright with affection as she waved to you. “We’ll be waiting for your return.”

With a nod, Lucien urged his horse forward, and you felt your own mount move beneath you, following his lead. The sensation was strange at first, the rhythmic sway of the horse’s gait unfamiliar, but Lucien’s calm presence kept you grounded. You clutched the reins tightly, your knuckles white, but with each step, the initial terror began to ebb away, replaced by a tentative sense of trust—in Lucien, in the horse, and in yourself.

As the two of you rode out of the courtyard and into the forest, the High Lady’s figure grew smaller in the distance, her baby’s babbling fading into the morning air. You took a deep breath, the fresh scent of pine filling your lungs, and as the trees closed in around you, you felt the weight of your journey ahead—both the excitement and the unknown.

Lucien glanced back at you, his eyes catching yours for a brief moment. “You’re doing great,” he said, a note of approval in his voice. And somehow, despite everything, you believed him.

The path through the forest was peaceful, the silence broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the steady clop of hooves against the earth. You kept your eyes on the path ahead, trying to focus on the rhythm of your horse’s movements rather than the lingering nervousness in your chest. But as the initial trepidation began to fade, it was slowly replaced by a sense of awe.

The Autumn Court’s forests were breathtaking, especially in the morning light. The trees towered above you, their leaves a tapestry of red, gold, and orange, some drifting lazily to the ground in a gentle dance. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the earthy scent of fallen leaves and moss. You had always admired the beauty of your homeland, but there was something different about experiencing it from the back of a horse, the world passing by at a pace that allowed you to truly take it all in.

Every so often, Lucien would glance back at you, his russet eye assessing, as if ensuring you were still comfortable. Each time, you managed a smile, the excitement bubbling up within you outweighing any lingering nerves.

“How are you holding up?” he asked after a while, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“I’m… doing okay,” you replied, a hint of surprise in your own voice. It was true—once you adjusted to the sway of the horse and the rhythm of the journey, it wasn’t as frightening as you’d first imagined. In fact, it was almost exhilarating. “This is all so new to me.”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I remember my first time leaving the Autumn Court,” he said, his tone a touch nostalgic. “The world seemed so much larger, more vibrant. Every new sight and sound was an adventure.”

You felt a spark of connection at his words, your own excitement mirrored in his memory. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing more of the world,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “There’s so much out there, so much to explore… But now that I’m actually doing it, I’m realizing how little I know.”

Lucien’s smile grew, this time more genuine, and he slowed his horse slightly so that you could ride side by side. “That’s part of the adventure,” he said, his voice carrying a note of encouragement. “Not knowing what’s around the next corner, but finding the courage to face it anyway. You’re doing that now, aren’t you?”

His words settled something within you, a reassurance that you hadn’t realized you needed. You nodded, a small but determined smile on your lips. “I suppose I am.”

The journey continued, the forest gradually thinning as the path wound its way out of the heart of the Autumn Court. The scenery began to change subtly, the rich hues of autumn slowly giving way to the softer, more muted colors of the borderlands. The trees here were less dense, their leaves a mix of green and yellow, with patches of wildflowers dotting the underbrush.

You marveled at the shift, your eyes wide as you took in every detail. “It’s amazing how quickly everything changes,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Lucien.

He heard you anyway and nodded. “The courts are like that. Each one has its own character, its own rhythm. You’ll notice it even more as we get closer to the Spring Court.”

Your heart quickened at the thought, a mixture of excitement and nervousness flooding your chest. You had heard stories of the Spring Court, of its rolling hills and blooming meadows, but to see it for yourself—well, that was a different matter entirely.

As you rode, Lucien began to share stories of his travels, tales of the courts he had visited, the lands he had seen. His voice was steady, calm, with just a hint of fondness for the memories he recounted. He spoke of the Night Court’s starry skies, the Summer Court’s golden beaches, and even the Winter Court’s icy beauty. You listened intently, hanging on to every word, your imagination painting vivid pictures of places you had only ever dreamed of.

“What about the Spring Court?” you asked eagerly, your curiosity piqued as the landscape continued to shift around you. “What’s it like there?”

Lucien’s expression softened, a hint of something almost wistful in his gaze. “The Spring Court is… alive,” he said after a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s all about renewal, growth. Everywhere you look, there’s something blooming, something green and vibrant. It’s a place where everything feels fresh, like the world is waking up after a long sleep.”

The way he described it made your heart ache with anticipation. The idea of such a place—a world so full of life and color—was almost too much to believe. You found yourself leaning forward slightly in the saddle, eager to catch the first glimpse of this new land.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the borderlands gave way to rolling hills, and the forest thinned even more. The ground beneath the horses’ hooves grew softer, the earth rich and loamy, and the air took on a fresh, sweet scent. You could sense the change coming, your excitement mounting with every step.

And then, finally, you crossed the border into the Spring Court.

The transition was almost imperceptible at first, just a gradual softening of the landscape. But then the world seemed to explode with color. The trees here were different, their leaves a lush, vibrant green, with blossoms of every hue peeking out from between the branches. Wildflowers carpeted the ground, their petals a riot of pinks, purples, and yellows, and the air was filled with the gentle hum of bees and the sweet trill of birdsong.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh blooms and damp earth filling your lungs. It was as if the entire world had come alive, every sense tingling with the sheer abundance of life around you.

“This is incredible,” you breathed, unable to keep the awe from your voice. You turned to Lucien, your eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Lucien’s gaze softened as he watched you, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s something, isn’t it?” he agreed, his voice warm. “The Spring Court is unique in that way. It’s… comforting, in its own way.”

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from the landscape as you continued to ride. Everywhere you looked, there was something new to marvel at—a babbling brook winding its way through a field of wildflowers, a pair of deer grazing in the distance, their coats dappled with sunlight. It was almost too much to take in all at once, but you didn’t mind. This was what you had always dreamed of—discovering new places, seeing the world beyond the Autumn Court.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the vibrant landscape of the Spring Court, the mood between you and Lucien began to shift. The closer you got to Tamlin’s manor, the more the warmth that had marked your earlier journey seemed to drain from Lucien. His previously relaxed posture stiffened, and his jaw set in a hard line, the cheerful tone of his earlier stories giving way to terse, monosyllabic responses.

You couldn’t help but notice the change. Where before he had been engaging, almost amiable, now he was quiet, brooding. It was as if the very air around him had grown colder, darker, as if the beautiful scenery you were passing through no longer held any joy for him. The Spring Court’s rolling hills and lush greenery, which had filled you with wonder, seemed to be nothing more than a reminder of something painful to him.

Your earlier excitement began to dim, replaced by a creeping sense of unease. You had caught glimpses of this side of Lucien before—the guarded, distant mask he wore when he spoke of certain topics—but never had it been so pronounced. It was as if the closer you got to Tamlin’s manor, the more he retreated into himself, shutting you out completely.

The manor came into view just as the sun touched the horizon, its golden light casting the grand building in a warm, almost ethereal glow. Tamlin’s manor was a masterpiece of architecture, with ivy-clad walls, towering spires, and large, arched windows that reflected the fading light like molten gold. Yet, despite its beauty, the sight of it only seemed to deepen the shadows in Lucien’s eyes.

He dismounted his horse with a swiftness that startled you, his movements sharp and almost mechanical. When he turned to help you down, his touch was no longer gentle, but brisk and impersonal, his gaze avoiding yours. The connection you had begun to feel with him on the journey seemed to evaporate, replaced by a wall of cold indifference that left you feeling more alone than ever.

A maid was already waiting for you at the entrance of the manor, her apron pristine, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. She was a slender woman with a kind face, her eyes sharp and discerning as she took in the sight of you and Lucien.

“Welcome,” she said warmly, her voice a stark contrast to the chill that had settled over your companion. “I’m Alice, the head maid here. I’ll be taking care of you during your stay.”

You forced a smile, grateful for her kindness even as you struggled with the tension that had descended on your little party. “Thank you, Alice. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Alice’s gaze flicked to Lucien, her smile fading slightly as she took in his dark expression. “Tamlin is unlikely to show while you’re here,” she informed him, her tone gentler now, almost apologetic. “He’s… otherwise occupied.”

Lucien’s only response was a curt nod, his face a mask of indifference. The warmth you had glimpsed in him during your journey was completely gone, replaced by something cold and unyielding. It was as if the man who had shared stories with you, who had encouraged you and made you feel safe, had vanished entirely, leaving behind only a hollow shell.

As Alice led you both inside, Lucien’s familiarity with the manor became immediately apparent. His steps were sure, unhesitating, as if he knew every twist and turn of the grand corridors. He moved through the manor with a practiced ease, his eyes never lingering on the ornate decorations or the large portraits that lined the walls—things that might have captured your attention, but which seemed to hold no interest for him.

He guided you down a series of hallways with the confidence of someone who had once called this place home. The silence between you only heightened the sense of tension, each step echoing in the vast, empty space. You could sense the memories that clung to the walls of this manor for him, and while he didn’t speak of them, you could see them in the way his shoulders tensed, in the tightness of his jaw.

Finally, Alice stopped in front of a set of large, intricately carved doors. “These will be your rooms,” she said, turning to you with a kind smile. “Dinner will be served in an hour, but if you prefer, I can have something brought to your room.”

You thanked her, but your attention was still on Lucien, who had retreated so far into himself that he seemed like a different person entirely. There was a fleeting moment where he glanced at the door to your room, recognition flickering in his eyes, as if the memories of the time he had spent here threatened to overwhelm him. But just as quickly as the emotion appeared, it vanished, his face hardening into the mask you had come to dread.

“Lucien…” you began, unsure of what to say, but desperate to reach him somehow.

He didn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the door in front of him. “Rest,” he said curtly. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his steps just as sure as before, taking him deeper into the manor that had once been his home. You watched him go, a heavy feeling settling in your chest. The man who had guided you here with such care and patience was gone, replaced by someone cold and distant. You could only hope that, in time, he would come back to you, and that you could find a way to break through the darkness that had settled over him.

As you entered your room and closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of what lay ahead. This journey, which had started with such promise, was beginning to reveal the shadows that lurked just beneath the surface. And you knew that if you were to succeed, you would need to find a way to navigate not just the courts, but the complex emotions that came with them.

With a sigh, you settled into the plush bed, the softness of the linens a stark contrast to the tension that had wrapped itself around your heart.

The manor was quiet, the kind of deep silence that only comes in the dead of night, when even the wind seems to hold its breath. You had been sleeping fitfully, your mind still lingering on the events of the day, but something stirred you from your uneasy rest. It was faint at first, just the muffled sound of voices carrying through the thick walls of the manor.

You sat up, your heart thudding in your chest as you strained to listen. The voices were coming from somewhere close, just beyond your room. One of them was unmistakably Lucien’s, the low timbre of his voice rising and falling with emotion. The other voice, sharp and biting, belonged to someone you hadn’t met but could easily identify—Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court.

Curiosity and concern gnawed at you, pulling you from the comfort of the bed. You slipped quietly out of the sheets, your bare feet padding softly across the cold floor as you moved closer to the door. Pressing your ear to the wooden surface, you caught the tail end of their conversation.

“…can’t keep doing this, Tamlin,” Lucien was saying, his voice tight with frustration. “You need to let go—holding onto this anger, this guilt, it’s tearing you apart.”

A pause, then Tamlin’s voice, laced with bitterness. “What do you know of guilt, Lucien? You who left this court without a second thought, who turned your back on your home, on your people. Don’t lecture me on how to live with the choices I’ve made.”

Lucien’s response was firm, but there was an edge of hurt in it. “I never wanted to leave, and you know that. But I couldn’t stay—not after everything that happened. And it’s not just about me anymore, Tamlin. I have responsibilities, people who need me.”

Tamlin’s laugh was a harsh, mirthless sound. “Responsibilities? You mean your precious Night Court and your… mate? Is that what this is about? You running off to play hero for a court that isn’t yours, all because a pretty girl asked you to? Pathetic.”

The mention of Lucien’s mate sent a jolt through you. Elain. You knew enough of her to understand the weight that name carried for him, but hearing Tamlin speak of her so callously made your blood boil. You could almost feel Lucien’s tension from where you stood, the barely restrained anger in his silence.

When Lucien finally spoke, his voice was low, controlled, but there was an unmistakable danger in it. “Don’t speak of her. You have no right.”

“Why? Because she’s your mate?” Tamlin’s voice dripped with derision. “Tell me, Lucien, how does it feel to be bound to someone who doesn’t want you? Someone who didn’t ask for this—just like she didn’t ask for anything that happened to her. You think following her around like a lost puppy is going to win her over? She’ll never love you, Lucien. Not like that.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could almost hear Lucien’s heart breaking, the words cutting deeper than any blade could.

Then, with a coldness that sent shivers down your spine, Lucien spoke again. “I’m done here, Tamlin. If you want to wallow in your misery, fine. But I won’t be part of it anymore.”

You heard footsteps, heavy and determined, heading in your direction. Panic seized you, and you scrambled back to bed, throwing yourself under the covers and squeezing your eyes shut just as the door to your room creaked open.

You kept your breathing steady, feigning sleep, but you could feel Lucien’s presence in the room, his gaze lingering on you. There was a long pause, as if he was debating whether to wake you or let you rest. Finally, he crossed the room, his footsteps soft but deliberate.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. “We need to leave. Now.”

You didn’t move, keeping your breathing slow and even, hoping he would believe you were still asleep. Another pause, then a soft sigh.

“Sorry about this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “I’ll explain later.”

You felt his hand on your shoulder, a gentle shake that roused you—or at least, made it seem like you were just waking up. You blinked groggily, playing the part as best as you could, though your mind was racing with everything you had overheard.

“Lucien?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep. “What’s happening?”

“We’re leaving,” he said simply, his tone brisk but not unkind. “Something’s come up, and we need to head to the Summer Court right away.”

You didn’t protest, though your thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and concern. You let him help you out of bed, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, as if he was grounding himself in the simple act of guiding you. There was a tension in his posture, a weariness that hadn’t been there before, and it made your heart ache for him.

He was quiet as you both gathered your things, his movements efficient and practiced, as though he had done this a hundred times before. You wondered how many nights he had spent like this—leaving in the dead of night, running from something or someone, never staying long enough to feel safe.

You followed him out of the room, down the silent hallways of the manor that had once been his home. He moved with a familiarity that only deepened your sadness for him, every turn and every step a reminder of the life he had left behind. But there was no nostalgia in his movements now, only a grim determination to put as much distance between him and this place as possible.

Outside, the night was cool and still, the stars a faint glimmer against the dark sky. The horses were waiting, saddled and ready, as if Lucien had anticipated this departure. He helped you mount, his hands firm but gentle on your hips, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers lingered, as if seeking reassurance in the contact.

He mounted his own horse with a practiced ease, taking the reins of your horse once more, just as he had when you first set out from the Autumn Court. But this time, there was no light banter, no stories to pass the time. The night was heavy with unspoken words, the silence between you filled with all the things you both were too afraid to say.

As the manor faded into the distance behind you, you couldn’t help but glance back one last time. You didn’t know what lay ahead in the Summer Court, but you knew that whatever it was, it would be easier to face than the ghosts that haunted Lucien in the place he once called home.

And as you rode through the night, the only sounds were the rhythmic thud of hooves against the earth and the whisper of the wind through the trees, you silently vowed to find a way to help him, to reach past the walls he had built and find the man who had once let you see the warmth beneath.

For now, though, all you could do was follow him into the darkness, hoping that the light you had seen in him earlier was not lost forever.

TAGLIATELLE

@littlest-w01f @rcarbo1 @mirandasidefics @thelov3lybookworm @lilah-asteria @megscabinetofcurios

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tranquilstudy · 23 days ago

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October 19 /24

So, here we are. A couple of you have been dreading me talking about anything Neil Gaiman, apparently, but I did manage to finish “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” yesterday. And… I know some of yall don’t want to hear it… but it was fantastic. The messages, the magical realism tone, the characters, all of it was seamless and reminded me once again of why I love his art. The themes of childhood ending in abrupt and terrible ways, the way we as people hold on to fantasy and reality, how we curl into the comfort of fantasy and use it to brace ourselves for reality. The way we sometimes are our truest selves when we’re wrapped in the comfort blankets of fiction. All of it hit me so much harder than I anticipated.

But now, this raises a question I dread, a question I know will cause controversy: can you love an artist’s work while also acknowledging that the artists themselves has done… to put it bluntly, shitty things? Shitty, unforgivable things?

My answer is yes, it always has been (to a degree — there are some cases where the art proves to also be a representation of someone’s poor ideals, such as Harry Potter, where I have really hard time getting behind the art as well). That is to say, I didn’t give him a dime out of my pocket: this was bought at a local bookstore. I do believe those two stances can exist at the same time, though: someone has done horrible things. Their creations move me. Those multitudes can both be true. I’m sorry if you think otherwise.

Anyways, I think it raises an interesting question. I know a lot of people from the Good Omens fandom have struggled with that same question, and I hope yall know it’s okay to like a piece of art but dislike the artist, or acknowledge the artist’s shortcomings. This whole “it’s okay to like good omens because it was Terry’s work at the end of the day” doesn’t fool anyone, haha. Anyways, the book is a 5/5. Neil Gaiman’s actions are a… well, certainly not that.

QOTD: what is something about yourself that you’ve grown to love and appreciate?

🎧 : old friends — pinegrove

📖 : our share of night — mariana enriquez

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eroguron0nsense · 10 months ago

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"The Marines Are Garp's Found Family"

I am something of a certified Garp hater but one of the things I see floating around a lot of comments sections regarding Garp's behaviour at Marineford (i.e. his conflict of love and duty re: failing to do the right thing and help save Ace/leave the Marines for any number of reasons) is the notion that Garp is choosing between two found families: his grandchildren, and the marines that he's come to see as a second/found family in the vein of every other One Piece child looking for a place to belong and this is, as far as I can tell, pulled out of someone's ass. We truly don't know enough about Garp or what he thinks of the Marines to conclude that they are, in any way, shape, or form for him, a family that effectively filled a need for him that wasn't already met. He's mentored some kids, certainly, and he's close to Sengoku, but Garp is a massive mystery and the only feelings we see him display toward the Marines are a) absolute, flawed loyalty and b) a desire to see them change with a subsequent generation, hence his willingness to defend Coby til the bitter end. Garp's dedication to the Marines reads more like steadfast dedication to the platonic ideals of their propaganda –in spite of him knowing full well how fundamentally corrupt and oppressive they are– than anything related to seeing them as his kin or family; you know, the thing he decided was less important than his duty to The Evil Empire. If we're talking about Found Family though, there's a marine with a way stronger perception of that, who we know for a fact was raised by Sengoku and dedicated his life to serving the people who took him in after he lost everything. Corazon more than anyone sees Sengoku as his adoptive father, and the feeling's returned; after his expulsion from Mariejois and the incredible traumas of his childhood, they're the only people who gave him safety, stability, and affection. He has more motivation than virtually anyone to be unflinchingly, painfully loyal to the Navy, but when he's confronted with Law–a sole survivor of Flevance and living incarnation of the WG's cruelty–he's horrified, guilt-stricken, and eventually risks everything for a child he's only really known for a short time, betraying the Navy and his mission to steal the Ope Ope no Mi, because he knows in his heart that it's the right thing to do as a parent. He dies for love, but also to a lesser extent for justice– to give a child who's lost everything to the oppressive system he was part of, a child everyone else has failed and abused, who was condemned to death by the World Government, a second chance at life. Cora had a found family in the Marines and he left/betrayed them anyway because he knew, when confronted with a living example of their atrocities, where his real duty and morals lay. That their hypothetical interests didn't supersede the life of a little boy that their higher ups stole everything from and ruined. Garp could never.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #donquixote rosinante #marineford #monkey d garp #corazon one piece #corazon #sengoku the buddha #ope ope no mi #coby #portgas d ace #monkey d luffy #dressrossa

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animeomegas · 8 months ago

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do you have any thoughts on what L and Light's 'type' for an alpha might be? sort of like their ideal partner (or if they'd even have one). they're both incredibly stubborn omega's who prefer to operate outside of traditional roles so i imagine an alpha who is similar that way would be most appealing

- 🖤

This is a very interesting thought exercise, because you're right, both Light and L are very... ah... unique? Lol. I'm just going to do Light, because I'm blanking on L right now... Okay, here are my thoughts:

Light:

Light does not have an 'ideal alpha', not really. He certainly pretends to have one. If someone asks, he'll say something about having an alpha that works hard and takes care of their family, but that is only part of his 'perfect omega' façade.

I think for him to get with an alpha, he'd need someone that he'd known since childhood. Someone who had seen him before he'd been able to keep his perfect image up. Someone who had seen the real him and then been able and willing to love him anyway.

Light wants someone that he can trust 100%. He wants to be able to tell them he's Kira, and have them help him.

He wants someone that is decently intelligent, so that others can't easily take advantage of them, but they don't have to be as smart as he is. Average to above average intelligence is fine by him.

I think he wants an alpha that swings non-traditional in their opinions and views, but is still capable of holding up the traditional alpha façade to match his. He would want them to have a good job that pays well, ideally in a respectable industry. He would want them to dress well in socially acceptable fashion. He would want them to be comfortable doing 'alpha' things like ordering for him in restaurants, even pulling out his chair for him. Anything that helps Light's image in the early game.

If Light ever gets to legendary ruler status, then the perfect alpha thing can slip. Light would probably prefer for his alpha to raise his two children at home. (I think Light would want two because of the whole heir and spare thing, yikes.)

Light also probably wants an alpha that's a good speaker. Not necessarily giving speeches or anything, but with the people in their lives. A good actor wouldn't go amiss either.

Light's ideal type would also be obsessed with him. He definitely reciprocates though. He thrives in a weird, toxic co-dependency.

#light #death note #omega light #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha!reader #headcanons

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lineffability · 9 months ago

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style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?!

oneshot. 5k. human au. the story of how crowley becomes a nanny. no, not that one. the other one. the fine type. this fic was inspired by @densewentz and this stunning piece of The Nanny/Crowley art that blew my socks clean off. i had to write it.

She is entirely perfect and utterly boring.

Aziraphale Edenson, ever the picture of perfect pleasantry, has recited three consecutive poems in his mind while she's been speaking, and he could almost swear one of them had been the entirety of Ginsburg's Howl. He can't be certain, as he's drifted. In front of him, the Mary Poppins palimpsest is finishing her impassioned speech that had begun somewhere in her childhood only to end, in a satisfying narrative conclusion, he is sure, in the childhood of Warlock, his unexpected teenage protegé, and somehow between those two childhoods she had also wedged in his, Aziraphale's, childhood too, though he isn't sure quite how that is possible. It seems she has done her research rather thoroughly.

It is not polite to interrupt people, so Aziraphale does not. He smiles, he nods at the right moments, and he offers more tea, and then he ushers her to the front door with perfect manners only to say, in one last moment of mental impasse, "Well, thank you so very much, Mrs Poppins, I will be sure to contact you by the end of the week. It has been so very lovely to meet you."

It only occurs to him half an hour later why her smile had faltered, and he smacks his hand to his forehead, producing a noise that sounds very much like oh, bugger.

A string of interviews follow this initial one, and after a fortnight, Aziraphale gives up. It’s not that the applicants are unsuited: rather the opposite, their credentials battle each other for excellence: if one has twenty years of experience in royal nanny service, the next will present a doctoral degree in Nannyology straight from Harvard. After all, Villa Eden is not only a beautiful and prestigious estate in the nicest part of London, but he offers a pay check that the best paid nanny in the world might have envied, promptly losing her her title. An honest wage for honest work, he thinks, and he certainly does not know what to do with a twelve year old boy. So if someone does, money shall not be the issue.

The thing is: hiring a nanny is… it’s like selling books. Aziraphale is selfish. Aziraphale does not want to hire a nanny. He does not want to share his space, his routines, his library, his home. He can do it for Warlock, for a few months, because it is the right thing to do. He does not love it. But he likes the kid enough. Especially because his parents… well, they don’t. Not properly, not like they should, and that is enough for Aziraphale to feel a bristling sense of injustice, and a burning desire to bestow the boy with a love that might not live up to the parental ideal, but make him feel safe and liked and cared for, at least.

So maybe he has to hire the Mary Poppins nanny, after all, to help him realize his wish, to support him in his quest, to breach the friendly but unbreachable rift between the old, reclusive neighbor and the bright, young boy that has been parked here by his parents, like a pet, while they are away for travel for half a year. Aziraphale huffs.

He stares out the window of his conservatory, but can’t make out the expanse of his glorious estate. That’s because it is cloudy and gray and rainy and grim, and also winter, which might have something to do with it. Darkness has settled over the hill and his mansion like a heavy blanket. His clock chimed five not a minute ago, and yet it is already pitch-dark. Aziraphale likes winter. It grants you more alone time that needs not be justified as much as during other seasons. The weather today suits his mood. With a grim face, he makes up his mind to hire the nanny.

In a dramatic last minute coincidence not at all necessitated by the narrative, the doorbell rings precisely in the moment Aziraphale starts to dial the number on the resumé.

Aziraphale puts the receiver back down. He walks to the main entrance.

(He does not believe in servants: for the same reason that he does not believe in nannies.)

When he opens the door, it takes him a moment to make sense of the picture of personified misery he is presented with.

“Cosmetics,” the picture of misery says.

“Excuse me?”

[continue reading]

#good omens #my writing #ineffable husbands #azcrow #good omens fanfiction #inefficable #the nanny au

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ultimate-shipper-trash-blog · 3 months ago

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Part 5:

She never let go of his hand. She has that determined look on her face like she's going for world domination.

(He doesn't know this, but she never thought she'd get the chance to hold his hand again. She's gonna take it.)

"Hey. Woah." Steve pulls her arm to a stop. "What's going on?" He thinks he can see smoke coming out of her nose.

"Nothing." She trudges ahead.

"Lydia. Tell me the truth."

"Why?" She states. "Why you?" Her inquisitive gaze makes a shiver go down his spine. He fights back.

"Yes! Exactly! Why me?! You came to me. You asked. For me. So tell me. Why?" They're in an aggressive staring contest. Both glaring at the other.

She backs away and sighs. Looking defeated.

"Look...uh Steve. When I was growing up all I heard were good things about you. How you protected my family. How you would do anything for them. All your heroic tales. So when I heard I was in 1987 my first thought was to go where I would be safe." She only slightly lying through her teeth. "I wanted to be with you. And here I am."

He stares at her, eyes wide. Tears shining through. "Me?"

She shoves him away a playful smile across her face. "Yes you dingus. Why wouldn't I?"

He thinks of the embarrassing photo of him in his scoops ahoy uniform Robin has on her desk. He remembers a lot of 'ahoy ladies!'...right...who wouldn't want to be with that.

"Well I'm glad you found me. What was all the" he makes a wide swirling motion with his hand "back there."

Her face darkens significantly.

"Eddie." She mutters. "I told him something I shouldn't have and his reaction wasn't ideal. I don't know what I expected but I shouldn't have told him anything. I knew what I was risking and I still let it slip."

He puts a hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault. It can't be easy to be away from what you know. And the questions probably aren't helping it probably seems like we're attacking you."

She starts walking again. "Well it certainly isn't helping. If I wanted to be yelled at by teenagers I'd just go to work." He gives her a questioning look. "I'm a guidance counselor at a high school."

Pride fills his chest. "That's awesome Lydia. Those kids are lucky to have you." She softens, voice quiet.

"You really think so?"

"I do. Come on. I'll tell you some embarrassing things that happened right down this path."

The rest of the walk was spent telling childhood stories and small tidbits she never heard. About his parents, who she never met, who she didn't even know were alive. About his high school days. About Eddie tripping while milk shot out his nose. She couldn't even hear the nature the laughter was too loud. She's never felt happier.

------

When they enter the house again El runs up to Lydia and grabs her hand, dragging her into a separate room muttering about something.

Steve takes it upon himself to find Eddie, he isn't sure exactly what Lydia told him but it's not good if he's upset.

He knocks on the door.

"Lydia?" He hears Eddie ask quietly.

"Not quite." Steve pushes his way inside and sits on the bed next to Eddie. "Are you ok?" He asks.

"I asked her if it was me. You know, who dies."

Steve's heart hammers in his chest. He can't live with that. The first round almost took him from Steve permanently. Days poured loitering next to his hospital bed, now days pretending he doesn't notice how close he wants to be to Eddie.

So maybe he's having a crisis...sue him.

"What did she say?" Each word is laced in fear.

"I- I can't tell you."

"Please Eddie let me help," he grabs his hand trying not to notice the sudden blush that's appeared on his cheeks.

"I shouldn't. She didn't even want to tell me that's why she's mad. She thinks she's doomed us all by putting some faith in me."

He looks dejected.

"You need to talk to her. She didn't seem mad on our walk, just frustrated. She's away from everything she knows."

"Steve," his wide brown eyes are piercing into him. This is the most intense eye contact he's had in months (not the point. focus.) "If I tell you you can't tell anyone else. I just don't know how to process this. I think if I don't tell someone I'll explode." He grips his hands so tight they've turned white.

"Whatever it is we'll get through this together." Steve's eyes are set. Determined. Serious.

"I'm her dad."

Oh! Oh.

He feels his heart crumble into a million pieces.

"Oh! That's great man. I'm sure you're making a great girl really lucky in the future." His smile is so fake it leaves a sick taste in his mouth.

Eddie looks upset.

"Are you not happy about this? I know you have a weird relationship with your family but that doesn't mean-"

"Steve I'm gay."

Oh!

"Oh!" SHIT "UM I MEAN thank you for trusting me."

Eddie sends a smirk his way. "Yeah no worries. I just don't understand how Lydia even exists."

Steve can't wipe the smile off his face. He has a chance!

"Whatever way it happened it happened." He shakes their clasped hands. "You have a kid!"

"I have a kid!" His smile is so bright. It suddenly turns to panic. "Oh god I have a kid." He puts his head in his hands and groans.

"Hey it'll be fine. She's a great person. Raising a good kid is way more impressive than having one. And...you...you're great." His face is tomato red. "I have no doubts you'll be capable."

They're gazing into each other's eyes at this point. Faces so close if he could just turn his head an inch-

Eddie clears his throat.

"Thank- thanks Stevie. That means a lot coming from a single mother of six such as yourself."

"Single!? You're not gonna take responsibility for your half?"

They both erupt into hysterics.

--------

"It will not matter." Is the first thing El says when they sit down.

"What won't?" Lydia asks, her hair fluttering into her eyes.

"Anything you say about the future won't change the past. You just can't tell us things like lottery numbers or wars. Stick to the small things." She pinches her fingers together. "Small." She restates.

"I told Eddie the truth."

El takes a sharp breath. "What did he say?"

"Nothing yet I ran away."

"Does Steve know?"

"What! No! I can't tell both of them!!! They'll freak out and then what if they never get together! Then I won't exist!" She pulls on her hair, frustration seeping in.

"It will be fine," El says. "I thought they were already dating." She shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe do the same thing with them." She pinches her fingers. "Start small."

----

Lydia finds Steve holding Eddie's hands. They're both sitting on the bed whispering between them. She wants to cry. She wants to take a picture and remember this forever. Eddie's eyes find hers first. He jumps apart from Steve looking embarrassed.

"H-hey," Lydia stutters. "Sorry to interrupt, are you busy?"

"Not for you." Eddie sounds serious. "Never for you."

Steve takes that as his cue to leave, he puts a hand on Eddie's shoulder whispering a quick "you got this." Passing Lydia and ruffling her hair. "Later kid, you'll be fine." She pushes his hand away silently basking in his touch.

"I'm older than you."

"Sure kid."

Lydia sits down as Steve leaves, not wanting to look Eddie in the eyes just yet. She doesn't know if she can take his disappointment.

"Lydia..."

"Don't-" she cuts off sharply. "If you're gonna sit here and say you never wanted me I don't want to hear it. I can just tell you how I was born so you can avoid it all together."

"Lydia!" She looks at him. He has tears in his eyes. "I have always wanted you. Maybe I didn't know it yet but I did. I just...look my dad-"

"I know about your dad. I know you are not like him I know you had good people to raise you-"

"Wayne-"

"What does grandpa have to do with this?"

"Grandpa? Oh jesus fuck ok. He's gonna love that."

She rolls her eyes.

"I was being sincere! He would you know...love you."

Her eyes soften at that. "I know." The smile on her face is contagious. "If you wanted me then why do you look so constipated? What's wrong?"

Eddie looks at her like he's guilty. "You probably don't know this...but I'm gay"

She can't stop laughing.

"This is not a laughing matter!" He tries to sound serious. "This is a big deal!" Sweat is forming on his brow, "how did I knock someone up? Not that you're not great of course-"

She cuts his rambling off by pressing her hand to his mouth.

"I know you're gay...I have two dads."

Eddie's mouth drops open.

"Ivf? Adoption? All things that exist Pa." She slaps his arm. "Or the turkey baster." She gives him a wink.

His eyes widen. "Oh god. Who goes along with that?"

She knows she can tell him but she remembers her talk with El. She holds her hand close to his eyes and pinches her fingers. "Small."

"What?"

"El said I can tell you things in small doses so you don't go insane. So 'small'."

"Right. Well...ok damn." He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. "Me and you we'll be ok munchkin."

She chokes on a sob. "It's been awhile since you've called me that."

"Ready to go out there again? Time to get serious."

"Yeah." She wipes her eyes. "It's getting serious. I'm ready to help."

-----

When they head back out to the group she's pulled aside by Robin. This is not good. She's never been good at lying to her.

She's trying to focus on anything but the piercing stare of eyes that match her own. Focusing on her dad's talking in the corner.

"Hey!" Robin snaps her fingers in front of Lydia's face trying to get her attention. "I know the truth." Her gaze is serious.

"Oh god!" Lydia mumbles into her hands "how could you possibly know the truth?! I haven't even said anything!" She's freaking out.

"I heard you talking to El. I was listening through the door."

"You know I'm Steve's kid?!" She almost shouts.

Robin looks pale. Uh oh.

"No...no I did not. I knew you were Eddie's kid. Oh my god oh my god-"

"Shit shit shit-"

"Wait! Did you lie? What else are you lying about?"

"No Aunt Robin I just...there's some things I can't talk about..."

Robin's eyes flicker over to the two in the corner. "Holy shit those two idiots figured it out." A smug smirk takes place on her face.

"What?"

"I thought I'd have to lock them in a closet- ha! Oh man this is great. Have you told him yet?"

"Who?"

"Steve of course! He needs to know, he never thought he's get a happy ending. He deserves to know. To be able to look forward to something."

"Maybe...I- I don't know."

---

"I don't know how we're gonna get through this," Eddie murmers.

"We'll be fine. You know how your future ends." Steve points to Lydia. "She's standing right there. You know it's funny, I would've thought she was my kid. Lydia is my grandmother's name. Ha...funny."

Eddie whips his head around to Lydia his mouth has dropped open and she has a manic grin on her face. She cackles loudly earning her a few confused stares.

----

The end! Of this part.

So about that happy ending...I've been thinking...

I mean why is she there so many years in the future? There has to be a reason she's there way before the Vecna attack? 😈

The way I already have the ending written mwahaha.

But remember guys...small🤏

The hardest part of this chapter was writing the steve and Lydia bonding walk.

Please interact with this! I want to know what you guys want to happen or just tell me you liked it :)

Tag list: @tinyplanet95

#steddie #strangerthings #eddie munson #kid fic #kinda #steve harrington #time travel #ficlet #robin buckley #oc #ronance #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #the party #el hopper #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler

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meear · 1 year ago

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The state of siblings in HP&the Deathly Hallows

Deathly Hallows is the book that shines a (new) light on every sibling in the story.

This is where we see Lily and Petunia's childhood, we learn about Aberforth and Albus' story, we read about Regulus' death, Percy's return (and even, to some extent, Harry and Dudley's goodbye, though of course they were never raised as siblings nor did they ever consider each other as such, but they did grow up under the same roof). This is the book where Ron finally confronts his insecurities, by destroying the locket who was throwing all of his family issues back into his face.

We finally meet Andromeda, the last Black sister, and we have Bellatrix mention her ("We—Narcissa and I—have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood"). In HP7, Molly even tells Harry that Fabian was her brother, which is something the reader never knew

I often see people drawing parallels between Sirius&Regulus and Lily&Petunia, both of these pairs being estranged siblings, but... They really don't have that much in common.

I've never seen anyone commenting on the Blacks' similarities to the Weasleys (by which I mean Percy) and the Dumbledores, when these three families have SO much more to offer. I think about them so often you do not understand. I don't even know where to begin. I've ended up putting a bunch of dialogue from the book, so it's a bit lengthy, but long story short:

Albus, Aberforth, Sirius, Regulus and Percy make me feel insane

Percy and Albus, two brillant, ambitious and arrogant young men, who felt trapped, who thought they were destined for more than the condition their family had condemned them to, who were desperate to leave their home and get their chance to shine despite their father's awful reputation, even by supporting corrupt ideals. Read what Dumbledore tells Harry at the end of HP7, and tell me it couldn't have come out straight of Percy's mouth:

"I resented it, Harry. I was gifted, I was brilliant. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted glory [...] So that, when my mother died, and I was left the responsibility of a damaged sister and a wayward brother, I returned to my village in anger and bitterness. Trapped and wasted, I thought!"

"[Percy] said he’s been having to struggle against Dad’s lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad’s got no ambition and that’s why we’ve always been — you know — not had a lot of money"

Mind you, there's a bit of Sirius in it too, Sirius who also left. We learn about Percy and Sirius at around the same time (the beginning of Ootp, chapters 4 and 6) and I don't think it's a coincidence (edit: forgot to mention it but there's even a chapter named "Percy and Padfoot" in that book). Here's what Ron says:

"And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry [Percy] was going to make sure everyone knew he didn’t belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left."

" 'You ran away from home?' 'When I was about sixteen,' said Sirius. 'I’d had enough.' "

"As far as I’m concerned, they’re not my family. She’s certainly not my family. [...] D’you think I’m proud of having relatives like her?”

Fred and George were angry at their older brother for putting his ambitions above his family and morals (I'm Percy's #1 fan and defender btw), and Aberforth was furious with Albus for the same reason. Again, this reads like something that Ron could've said about Percy, the pompous little snob (i love him):

Sirius and Percy are also not present on the family pictures:

"A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Harry noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it."

" “I used to be there,” said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn."

"Not Albus, he was always up in his bedroom when he was home, reading his books and counting his prizes, keeping up with his correspondence with ‘the most notable magical names of the day’ "

It's just that Percy and Albus betrayed their family by supporting wrong causes and Sirius betrayed his family by supporting the right one. but Regulus' support was an act of loyalty to his family. Aberforth and Kreacher tell Harry about Albus and Regulus' former goals:

"Didn’t I understand, my poor sister wouldn’t have to be hidden once they’d changed the world, and led the wizards out of hiding, and taught the Muggles their place?"

"For years [Master Regulus] talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns...."

I know I've been comparing Albus to Sirius, both of them being the oldest brother, but really Albus' ideological progression and death most resemble Regulus'. (both Black brothers share traits with both Dumbledores really). though of course, Harry didn't let Ron and Hermione make excuses for Dumbledore just because he was young:

" 'it’s an awful thought that Dumbledore’s ideas helped Grindelwald rise to power. But on the other hand, even Rita can’t pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and— '

'I thought you’d say that,' said Harry."

" 'Dumbledore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it’s just something to laugh about for people who didn’t like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who though he was such a good bloke. I don’t know that it’s such a big deal, though. He was really young when they— '

'Our age,' said Harry"

" 'He was a Death Eater,' said Harry. 'Sirius told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave' "

(i would like it on record that the exact expression "really young" is found thrice in HP7, two of them being about Albus, the last one about Regulus. i'm so incredibly normal about this)

"and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord"

"[Dumbledore] changed, Harry, he changed! It’s as simple as that! Maybe he did believe those things when he was seventeen"

"I know what you’re going to say, she went on as Harry began to protest, that Regulus changed his mind . . ."

Albus and Regulus were two misguided brothers who both drank the drink of despair in the Inferi cave before dying, the only two wizards to have done so. Not only that, both of them had actually planned their own death; though it was a secret only known by the one who had assisted them (the chapters revealing the truth about Regulus and Albus are literally called "Kreacher's tale" and "the Prince's tale", like they're referencing each other, I'm in my incredibly delusional era right now). They started something (the same thing, in fact) they could not see through to the end, and "faced death in the hope" someone else would finish it:

"We want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to—er—ensure that he didn’t die in vain"

"he left me a job [...] Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who and he passed the knowledge on to me"

Both Sirius and Aberforth hated their brother's choices, but actually (as Harry told Aberforth) neither of them fully understood their brother's last moments. and because they didn't have that knowledge, neither of them ever gained a complete understanding of their brother:

"And Albus was free, wasn’t he? Free of the burden of his sister, free to become the greatest wizard of the— '

'He was never free,' said Harry."

"From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out."

"And he drank— all the potion— and Kreacher swapped the lockets"

"The night that your brother died, he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind."

"He thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana... It was torture to him, if you’d seen him then, you wouldn’t say he was free."

"Kreacher and Regulus’s family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all."

You know who ELSE "was never free" though??

I ask, but you already know.

" 'I don’t like being back here,” [Sirius] said, staring across the drawing room. 'I never thought I’d be stuck in this house again.' "

"I returned to my village in anger and bitterness. Trapped and wasted, I thought!"

Albus was never free. Sirius was never free either.

But wait! there's more!

"But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house— '

'Alone? He wasn’t alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up— ' "

Of course, knowing this about Albus Dumbledore, this scene at the end of OotP might hit a bit different:

“ 'I was trying to keep Sirius alive,' said Dumbledore quietly.

'People don’t like being locked up!' Harry said furiously, rounding on him. 'You did it to me all last summer —'

Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. "

Now do I think there's a link between Albus&Sirius being stuck in the house and Dumbledore keeping his sister locked up to protect her life and keeping Sirius locked up to protect his life... maybe it wasn't intentional, or maybe it was; either way, it's very juicy to think about, and Dumbledore's reaction after what Harry says? if there's even the slightest possibility he might have been thinking about Ariana...I'm EATING this up.

Let us not forget about Percy Weasley though. In the end, both Percy and Albus came to their senses, though not without losing a younger sibling, Fred and Ariana. Is it possible that Albus saw a bit of himself in Percy at the time? Maybe, maybe not, but he did try to comfort Molly about Percy:

" 'Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right,' said Hermione. 'I heard him telling your mum, Ron.' "

"Reality returned in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me."

So yeah, they made wrong choices, but again, that doesn't mean they can't change:

" 'I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a— a— '

'Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron, said Fred. "

"Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters."

" 'Don’t worry about Percy,' said Sirius abruptly. 'He’ll come round.' "

Remember the previous comparison between Albus and Percy, about both of them being the stuck-up pretentious brother?

"It was a porapous little sign, neatly lettered by hand - the sort of thing that Percy Weasley might have stuck on his bedroom door: Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black"

I think about this description a normal amount, the exact amount of thought warranted for such a short, inconsequential description, in fact

Another thing Deathly Hallows did was challenging our perception of Sirius and Albus (granted, mostly Albus) by developing a younger brother who, against all odds, might have been more admirable than them in certain aspects. when Regulus and Aberforth are first mentioned, one is a cowardly Death Eater and the other is implied to be a goat-fucker. alright. and yet, if you only read the last book, you end up having a more positive impression of Aberforth and Regulus than of their older brothers, to the point where Albus and Sirius even get compared to Voldemort. Interestingly, I feel like Albus makes an indirect reference to Kreacher here:

"That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children’s tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing."

of course Regulus was not brought up in his last conversation with Harry, but there really isn't anyone else this comment could refer to, and it does echo "Kreacher's tale" nicely:

"Of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice . . . It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn’t."

"I’ve said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did . . . and so did Sirius."

"Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it’s no good looking like that, you know it’s true"

"He’s loyal to people who are kind to him, and Mrs. Black must have been, and Regulus certainly was"

"my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother"

"Was I better, ultimately, than Voldemort?"

"Master Regulus always liked Kreacher."

"The barman face was impassive. After a few moments he said,

'I’m sorry to hear it, I liked that elf.' "

Sirius and Albus really wanted to distance themselves from the reminders of their home, and as a result, they weren't always decent people. Of course I don't believe for a second Sirius and Albus were actually as bad as Riddle. they both did fucked up things, so did Regulus who joined the Death Eaters and Aberforth who suggested using Slytherin students as hostages (tf), so I'm not saying one amongst these four is obviously better than the others, but. this reversal is still really interesting.

The fact that Aberforth was helping Harry through Sirius' mirror. The fact that one of Albus' names is Percival. Hell, let's reach even further, Albus meaning "white" and Sirius&Regulus' last name being "black".

Like I'm sorry, but to me this is cinema.

#harry potter #albus dumbledore #aberforth dumbledore #deathly hallows #regulus black #sirius black #percy weasley #the weasleys #hp #hp meta #black brothers

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