#i also got reminded that whenever i feel like writing a ficlet i sit down and wrrite until i run out of instant ideas for it

[coolnonsenseworld]

Cause they are wingmen.... get it? Because of wings of Voltron???

Anyway it's what friends are for - when you don't have the guts to explain the idea of engagement and marriage and are too shy about it, your buddy got your back. To completely mortify you before you even have a chance to get drunk.

linktr.ee/Mezzy

[sebthesnipe]

Morality, Magic, and Chocolate Cows

Hi @logicalyfun!!

Storytime! I wasn’t apart of the @sanderssidesgiftxchange at all. So, the fact that you got me as a pinch hitter is kinda a miracle in its own right ;3 But I’m super glad you did! I’m so sorry you didn’t get your gift on time but now you get to chill with me! And I can be pretty awesome sometimes… Occasionally… Rarely but hey! Who keeps track of that kind of stuff anyways? 

So, how did I become your pinch hitter? Well, you see. I’ve got this amazing best friend and beta reader @gilby-the-geek-girl. She actually /did/ participate in the exchange and because she’s just so amazing she offered to be a pinch hitter for it as well. 

Anyways, You’re prompt got sent to her. This one right here:

“Your giftee: Fabi

Tumblr: Logicalyfun

Media to receive: Fan fiction, Fan art

Wish 1: Puppiesss

Wish 2:  Fantasy world

Wish 3:  Starry sky night

Topics to avoid: Remrom, no NSFW”

And it gave her pause. You see, I wrote this awesome fic called My Dearest Procyon (also on AO3) that checks almost all of these boxes (minus the puppiesss, but there is a REALLY awesome cat and dragons too!). So, she thought we’d be perfect for each other! So she sent your prompt to me and here we are!

Now for the bad news… I had every intention of checking off every one of your wishes, but the story got away from me and I’m pretty sure I struck out. However, I really think you’ll like it! Please forgive me for not sticking strictly with the prompts but I do mention each, and I highly recommend MDP if you really like those things.

I’ll also make you a deal! If you don’t like this ficlet, let me know and I’ll write you a new one that adheres to your prompts exactly! ;3

(Also... posting this on Patton’s B-day so it’s like double meant to be!)

So, without further adieu, I present Morality, Magic, and Chocolate Cows:

“Have at you!” Roman cried, his tiny form bounding off the small hill to swing at his brother, his cardboard sword bending at an odd angle.

“Actually,” Logan commented, hurrying along behind him, flowing blue cape flapping in the wind. “It would’ve been ‘ye’.”

Roman  ignored him, adjusting the oversized ‘shining armor’ every time he took a step. The costume was far too large for Roman’s three foot, seven-and-a-half-inch tall body, though it was adorable to watch.

Remus, to his credit, laughed menacingly, the Sharpie mustache on his upper lip thinning from the effort as he parried his brother’s flopping cardboard blade with a small stick. His own costume consisted of a sheet, stained green, with what Patton hoped was paint (though he had never bothered to ask), wrapped around him like a toga.

“That's totally fair! Two against one!” Janus called from the safety of a tree branch; the yellow fabric of his shirt just visible through the leaves.

“I’m not fighting! I’m observing!” Logan called in his high-pitched voice, adjusting his glasses before the pointed wizard’s hat on his brow dipped forward, knocking them astray once more. His adorably pudgy form was wrapped in a shimmer fabric that reminded Patton of the stars Logan always seemed to want to tell him about.

“If you and V would help, your prince wouldn’t need an watcher-outer!” Roman whined, pausing in his attack to peer over at the older child and his companion, sitting in the shade below.

Remus took the opportunity to smack his twin across his butt with his stick, knocking Roman to the ground with a grunt.

A shrill cry filled the air, causing the other children to glance at Patton, who had been sitting on a blanket a few feet away.

Patton pushed to his feet, smiling softly as he approached the three boys, Janus and Virgil hurrying up to the crying child as well.

“It’s broken isn’t it!” Virgil rushed, his own tears threatening to fall. “Remus broke Roman’s leg! We’re all going to the hosp’al! I don’t want to go to the hosp’al! I don’t like doc’ors!” His words turned into a wail as he plopped on the grown next to Roman, waterworks in full force.

Patton examined the small scratch peaking through a tear in Roman’s jeans.

“Hm,” he sighed as if considering whether or not the wound was fatal. “We may have to amputate.”

“What?!” Remus gasped excitedly.

Janus moved over to Logan, attempting to whisper in his ear and failing. “What does ‘amputate’ mean?”

“Ample ate,” Logan attempted to repeat. “It means to eat a lot.”

“We’re going to eat him!” Remus gasped with a grin.

Patton couldn’t help but give a small chuckle at the exchange before sinking down on the lush grass and scooping Roman into his arms.

The pretend prince curled into the embrace, hiding his face in Patton’s chest as his wailing turned to sniffle.

“I don’t wanna be eaten,” he grumbled sullenly.

Patton felt Virgil curling into his side, tears soaking into his shirt. Patton glanced down, offering another small smile as he pulled him close as well.

“No one is getting eaten,” Patton chuckled softly. “Are they Remus?”

“Pft, no fair!” the mustached boy pouted, folding his arms over his chest and glaring down at his mismatched shoes.

“Why don’t we all come up with ways to make Roman’s boo-boo feel better?” Patton offered, motioning for everyone to move closer.

“I rather not,” Janus sighed softly. Still, the young boy scooted closer and sank down on the grass next to them.

Remus gave another ‘hmph’ before doing the same, though he made sure to sit far closer to Janus than anyone else.

“I can help!” Logan chirped excitedly, digging into his pockets with purpose.

Patton couldn’t help but allow his soft smile to turn even more fond. Logan was always the best helper.

Whatever Logan had in mind, it certainly got Roman’s attention. The sandy blond boy turned his head just enough that his cheek rested against Patton’s chest, eyes glued to the wizard.

A moment later, Logan produced a plastic wand. The pink shaft was a little too large for his tiny hands and the star at its end seemed to flash with tiny lights (no doubt running off of a few double A’s).

“I can cast a spell on him!” Logan offered confidently.

“But yes’rday you said magi’ wasn’t real,” Virgil whispered, still clinging to Patton’s shirt.

“Turn him into a frog!” Remus demanded eagerly; his pouting forgotten.

“Yeah, but I read it in one of my books today, so it has to be real! Right, Patton?” Logan asked, looking up at him expectantly, the others following his lead.

“Oh of course!” Patton reassured with a large grin. “Magic is very real.”

“It is?” Janus asked, suddenly invested in the conversation.

Virgil reacted in a very different manner, burying his face deeper into Patton’s side and giving a small cry. “Magi’ is scary! I dun wanna be turned into a frowg!”

“Oh sweetie,” Patton cooed, messing with the youngest child’s hair. “It’s not that type of magic,” he reassured.

“What other type of magic is there?!” Remus demanded, inching closer as he bounced with elation. “The type that can turn him into a giant squid?! Or make toilets talk?!”

“Ew!” Roman whined in response, once again earning a chuckle from Patton.

“I’m afraid not,” Patton admitted with no little amusement. “No, this kind of magic isn’t just reserved for very smart wizards.”

“It’s not?” Logan asked, moving closer and sinking down as well.

“Oh no. We all have magic of our very own that we can use whenever we want.”

“Nuh uh…” Janus breathed though he didn’t sound too convinced.

Patton nodded continuing. “Sure, we do.”

“What’s my power?!” Remus asked impatiently, “Can I make lasers come out my eyes?! Or maybe… maybe… um… summon a giant octopuspus to devour my enemies?!” He bounced to his feet roaring loudly as he stomped about.

“Your magic is something far greater,” Patton laughed.

“No way!” Remus breathed in awe; antics forgotten.

“Him?!” Roman gasped in disbelief.

Patton nodded. “Remus has the ability to see into other worlds!”

“Lame!” The boy in question huffed, falling back onto the grass.

“What do you mean?” Logan asked curiously.

“Well, Remus makes such a great villain because he sees things differently then we do,” Patton explained.

“So, he’s evil! I knew it!” Roman declared, shifting in Patton’s arms to simply sit in his lap, wound forgotten.

“Not at all,” Patton countered, acting as if he didn’t see the way Remus blew a raspberry at his brother. “Just because someone is different doesn’t make them evil.Though it can be scary, differences are what gives us our power. Take Logan for example.”

“Me?” Logan blinked in surprise, clinging to his wand a bit more self-consciously.

“Mm hmm,” Patton nodded. “Logan understands Remus better than anyone. He can understand how Remus sees the world.”

“So, he’s evil too?” Janus asked.

“I am not!” Logan cried.

“No one here is evil,” Patton laughed. “No, Logan’s magic power is that he can understand anything if given enough time.”

“So, you can figure out where chocolate milk comes from?!” Roman asked, pointedly staring at Logan who now sat a bit straighter.

“Well, if regular milk comes from a regular cow… and Patton says cows are just like oversized dogs… and there are a lot of different kinds of dogs… Then chocolate milk has to come from chocolate cows.” Logan explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Whoa! There are chocolate cows?! That’s so cool!” Roman gasped.

Patton was about to speak when his attention was pulled to the small hands tugging on his shirt in a patient persistence.

“Yes, Virgil?” Patton asked softly.

“Wha’s my magi’?” The youngest boy asked in a hushed whisper as the rest talked among themselves.

“You, my dear sweet shadowling,” Patton whispered, booping his nose. “have one of the strongest powers among us.”

“I do?” Virgil’s eyes grew wide, his hand lifting to his mouth to suck on his two fingers. It would be a few more years before Patton could manage to break him of the habit but it was cute nonetheless.

“Oh, yes. You have the power to protect. You tell us when something could hurt us or do damage in a way we haven’t noticed. In a way… You can see the future.” Patton’s allowed his voice to turn a bit wispy as if humbled by Virgil’s power.

“Sounds like a bunch of lies to me,” Janus interrupted, obviously eavesdropping.

“No one asked you!” Roman spat. “You didn’t even help protect your prince and now I’ve got a boo-boo! It’s not like you have any magic! ” He pointed at his knee, lifting it to put the scratch on display.

“Well, neither do you!” Janus argued.

“Oh, I think you both are pretty powerful when it comes to magic,” Patton offered.

“Well of course I am… I’m a prince!” Roman announced.

“Janus does too, Roman.” Patton mitigated.

“Like what?” Remus butted in, more curious that malicious.

“Well, Janus can work magic on people’s feelings,”

“I can?” Janus blinked in surprise.

“Well, of course Kiddo. You’re the best at it! You always know just what to say to make Remus feel better after he loses against the Prince’s armies,” Patton explained, “And you always know how to answer Roman’s questions about his costumes.” Naturally, Patton left out the fact that Janus used little white lies to work his magic and that he didn’t quite agree with the method, but the results were noteworthy.

“Boring!” Roman whined. “What about me?” Roman looked up at Patton expectantly.

“You, dear prince,” Patton replied, nuzzling him affectionately. “have the ability to change the world as we know it. You can push us to follow every passion our heart desires. You give us the very drive that will sustain us throughout our lives. ”

“What? That’s not fair! Why didn’t I get a cool power like that?” Remus huffed, sulking once more.

“’Cause I’m the Prince and I say so!” Roman answered, squirming in Patton’s arms. “Now, be quiet, Patton is talking about me!”

“Mneh!” Remus stuck out his tongue once more, but his brother ignored him.

“Now, now. I think all of your powers are cool,” Patton attempted.

“But Patton…” Logan mumbled, softly, as he stared up at the seemingly grown man. “What’s your power?”

Patton’s chest tightened at the question. Leave it to Logan to pull at the one string Patton wasn’t prepared for. What was Patton’s power? He manifested just as they all did, only he was the first. He grew faster than the rest of them, unable to keep up with Thomas growth, unable to keep up with his insecurity.

He was just Patton…. He had no magic… He wasn’t special. Not like the others.

He forced his smile to remain in place, trying not to let his voice crack as he answered. “Why would I ever need to be more than just happy pappy Patton when I get to spend time with all of you amazing magicians?”

“Patton?” Logan called, his voice distant and far too baritone to be coming from the pudgy boy before him. “Patton are you in here?” Logan called again causing the man to glance over his shoulder.

The memory he had immersed himself in froze, the boys still staring up at him.

He wiped a tear from his eye quickly and waved his hand, the children disappearing, leaving him alone in the small field behind their childhood home.

“I’m over here!” Patton called, standing and dusting off his pants, trying not to feel the loss. They had needed him so thoroughly. Everything was so different now. The boys were all grown. They all faced Thomas’ problems with a maturity Patton never could seem to muster. No doubt they thought him the child now.

 Logan strode up the small hill in his usual dark polo and striped tie adorning his broad shoulders.

“There you are,” Logan greeted with the same half smile he always did.

“Sorry, did you need something?” Patton asked softly, forcing his smile to turn warm.

“Yes, actually,” Logan admitted. “It seems Remus and Roman are fighting again, and Virgil and Janus are placing bets on who can make the most constructs in the imagination. It is truly a disaster. There are puppies and octopoda everywhere. No one will see reason. I could really use your help.”

Patton softened a bit at the words. Maybe they still needed him… just a tiny bit. He supposed he could live with that.

“Puppies?!” Patton squealed in excitement.

Logan’s gaze moved about the scene taking it in, obviously having expected Morality’s reaction. “Isn’t this…” he hesitated, turning on his heel. “Wasn’t this the field behind our home back in Orlando?”

“Oh…” Patton breathed, flushing slightly. “Is it?”

“It is! Thomas used to play out here all the time! We all did!” Logan mused, with a small huff of laughter. “Wow, it has been quite some time.”

Patton offered a melancholy smile as he glanced around. He missed it all. It was nice to have the memories though. At least he could relive it when ever he wanted. Though he doubted Logan would even bother to try to remember-

“You know 7% of Americans really do believe chocolate milk comes from chocolate cows,” Logan informed him, “And Roman is still one of them.” He laughed.

Patton’s heart fluttered at the fact that Logan remembered such a minute detail. He really was magic.

The sound of Logan’s deep chuckle had Patton joining him. “Best not spoil it for him,” Patton teased lightly as Logan offered out an arm for him to take as they headed out of the memory.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Logan reassured.

 La Fin.

[dweetwise]

Jeff ADOPTING THE LEGION! Like the glitch of 4 killers spawning and 1 survivor. The legion gets to have races and be stupid(er) for a match. Frank shows off how to totally do a gen!

[anon gets it. this was super fun to write, hope you enjoy!]

just legion being brats and jeff being a dad. some references to this ask!

Jeff babysits the Legion: ficlet

Jeff is in the middle of rolling up some bandages for his med-kit, waiting for the others to arrive at the pre-trial campfire. When the familiar smoky tendrils start creeping up his legs, he looks around with a frown on his face; nope, still just him. He’s reminded of the last time the Entity decided to start a trial with less than four survivors, and he groans in annoyance, hoping he doesn’t have to put up with three grizzlys this time.

When Jeff opens his eyes, he’s in the middle of Mt. Ormond's snowy grounds and predictably, he’s alone; not the most promising start. He reluctantly makes his way to the lodge, keeping a lookout for angry bears. With no heartbeat in earshot, Jeff crouches by the generator and gets to work, but as soon as the first piston starts moving, he realizes he has company.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here!” one of the Legion, he thinks Julie, sneers at him from the second floor, leaning cockily against the railing. “Man oh man, you came to the wrooong place,” a man in a skull mask comes up beside her, spinning his knife in a threatening manner. That must be Joey. “We’re gonna gut you like a pig,” Julie says, spitting out the word as she starts making her way down the stairs, sliding down the banister like an unruly child.

Jeff sighs and gets up on his feet. One of the Legion brats he can deal with, but two? Better to just get this over with.

“How are you both here?” Jeff asks, undisturbed by Julie getting right up in his face. “Not a very fair match, if you ask me.” “'Both’? You don’t know the half of it,” Joey snickers, probably sharing a knowing look with Julie; it’s hard to tell with the masks. Jeff is about to ask him to elaborate, when a sharp pain flares up his shoulder. “Oops, sorry!” a third member of the Legion--Susie, the one with braces, says from behind him, retracting the knife from his shoulder. “What’s a little stabby-stab between old friends, huh?” “I preferred when you paid me with beer, not stabs,” Jeff grits out through the pain, glancing at the faded mural he made for the group’s hangout what feels like a lifetime ago. “Ooh, he’s funny!” Julie mocks, gripping her knife better. “Don’t worry, you’ll scream soon enough,” she says, raising her hand. “That’s enough,” a familiar voice interrupts them and Julie lowers her hand without hesitation. Jeff sees Frank walk down the stairs with an annoying cocky swagger, Joey not far behind him. “How nice of you to intervene,” Jeff says to the group’s leader, trying to tone down his sarcasm. 

He’s always thought the Legion kids were nice enough on their own, becoming sort of an annoying hive mind when together, but Frank is by far the worst offender, turning into an insufferable asshole when he is with his little gang.

“Fatty,” Frank acknowledges him, making Julie snort. Jeff rolls his eyes at the juvenile humor. “Dude, what are you doing?” Joey questions. “Just kill him.” “One,” Frank begins, lifting his index finger. “This one’s the least dipshit survivor--not that that’s saying much. Two, as long as he’s alive, we can keep hanging out in the trial. And three--” Frank surges towards Joey, slamming him against a pillar and holding his knife against the other’s throat. “Don’t you dare fucking question me again or I’ll throw you on a hook and leave you to rot.”

Joey holds up his arms in surrender and Frank eventually lowers the knife, still leaning over the other teen menacingly. The air is tense with the threat of violence, and even Julie shifts awkwardly on her feet.

“Oooh!” Susie suddenly exclaims. “Was he the one who helped you when you were a baby survivor?” she asks cheerily, pointing at Jeff and innocently cocking her head.

As Frank sputters something unintelligible, clearly embarrassed, and Julie and Joey snicker to themselves, Jeff feels the tension fade and he can’t help but let out an amused huff of his own.

“I saved him! From a--from a fucking bear!” Frank eventually manages to stammer out. Jeff just smiles knowingly, and feels Frank’s stare digging holes into him as if daring him to bring up the events of their last trial together.

As it turns out, the Legion aren’t too bothered by keeping Jeff around so they can stay in the trial to fuck around. At first, they have a race along the long wall of the cabin, with Joey winning each one, until Jeff comes up with an idea.

“Why don’t I throw down some pallets and mark a couple windows, make an obstacle course for you guys?” “That sounds like fun!” Susie beams, bouncing on her feet and clapping her hands in excitement. “Whatever, I’ll still kick all your asses!” Joey boasts.

Jeff throws together a makeshift obstacle track around the shack side of the map, before giving a countdown to the bunch of unusually focused teens standing in a neat row. On his command, they take off in a frenzy, sprinting to the first window. It takes approximately five seconds for the fighting to start.

“You’re blocking me, asshole!” “Frank broke the pallet!” “Cheater!” “JUUDGE!!” Julie’s annoyed whine has Jeff make his way over to the commotion. He sees Frank on the ground, laughing hysterically while Susie is on top of him and is slapping him with his own mask, with Joey standing next to them, sulking. Julie turns to Jeff and angrily points at the remains of a pallet and Frank’s iridescent button on his jacket. “Frank, you’re disqualified,” Jeff says. “It was just a prank, bro!” Frank laughs while shielding himself from Susie’s wrath.

The three remaining Legion members redo the race, with Julie winning by a landslide. She’s in the middle of boasting to an annoyed Joey, when Frank’s face, now maskless, lights up.

“Bet you guys don’t know how to repair a gen!” “Uhh, yeah, ‘cause we’re not a bunch of pussy survivors?” Joey says, not eager at the idea. “I think someone’s scared of losing. Again,” Frank eggs on. “Oh you’re on.”

Jeff ends up teaching the other three how to repair the machine while Frank just shows off and gives obnoxious comments at the others’ failures. Surprisingly, Susie eventually comes out on top, seeming to be the best mechanic out of the four.

“How are you so good at this?” Julie asks, zapping herself on the wires again. “It’s like a puzzle! Super easy!” Susie beams. “Yeah?? Well try to do it when a bear is on its way to eat you!” Frank argues, clearly annoyed at having been bested.

When the group leaves the generator, the four teens stop dead in their tracks and turn to look at something between two rocks. Jeff hears the familiar sound of echoing winds before he sees the hatch. Huh, he hadn’t even considered the fact it would have been open from the very start of the trial, seeing as he’s the only survivor. He could jump in right now and leave, or one of the killers could kick it shut, starting the two-minute endgame timer. Either way, the Legion’s time together (and his time with them, he reluctantly admits) would be cut short.

“You guys want to make a bonfire?” Jeff suggests, pretending not to notice the collective relief in the kids’ postures at his suggestion. “I doubt the hatch is going anywhere for a while.” “I saw some marshmallows in the lodge!” Susie exclaims.

Frank gathers some rubble for the fire, while Joey helps Jeff carry two couches up on a small hill and Susie and Julie find some marshmallows and blankets in the lodge.

“This is nice,” Susie says later, huddled up in a blanket, sitting between Joey and Jeff and looking up dreamily at the starry sky, fire crackling in front of her with four discarded masks next to it. “These taste like shit and the stars are fake as fuck,” Frank says, spitting out the roasted marshmallow and leaning back on the couch in annoyance. “Well, it’s the nicest we’ve had since we got here,” Susie says quietly, nibbling on her own marshmallow and pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Susie’s right, lighten up,” Julie says, seemingly elbowing Frank under their shared blanket. “It’s been a fun day.” “Yeah, uh. Thanks, man,” Joey mumbles, and it takes Jeff a second to realize the man is addressing him. “Yess! Thanks for this awesome day Jeff!” Susie says, smile back on her face and actually leaning over to give Jeff a cute half-hug. “And, uh... sorry for stabbing you.” “Nothing a few bandages couldn’t fix,” Jeff says and gives the girl an encouraging pat on her back. “Feel free to come hang out whenever,” Julie says. “Yeah, Frank was right. You’re pretty cool,” Joey says. “I never said that!” Frank, predictably, denies. “But. You know. What she said. About hanging out,” he mutters, awkwardly looking away and gesturing at Julie. “Sure. This has been a nice change of pace. Maybe next time we can spray paint more of the lodge,” Jeff suggests with a small smile. “That would be so cool!” Susie beams. “You do realize we’re still gonna kill you in trials though?” Joey points out. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

When Jeff finally, and a little reluctantly, makes his way out through the hatch, he finds an obscene amount of bloodpoints waiting for him outside of the trial. There’s also a note, with messy symbols scrawled in an unintelligible language that he can inexplicably read--ah, a note from the Entity. He barks out a hearty laugh as he makes out the contents of the note: “Babysitting bonus: +100 000 BP”.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Not gonna lie but ever since I've read:

'Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato', I've been wanting to try it so bad but I don't have time to go to a cafe and get one. The way that Hermione was her typical know-it-all self and Ron being his laid back and never back down self made it so adorable. Hermione knew what Ron was purposely doing but she still came back for more of the Redhead ( I mean coffee ;) ). The revelation at the end was perfect. I can just imagine Ron's face and Hermione trying to bite back a smirk but failing miserably.

I loved reading that drabble it seems so real, almost as if I was magically transported to that small cafe. You have an amazing talent!!

Hope to read more of your writing, you are my favorite Romione fanfic writer. You always manage to make me laugh with your humor and surprise me time and time again with your scenery. I've read lots of your fics and I cant wait for future fics (that's whenever you want to of course).

Do you have a favorite Romione fic? Also when you write fics, does the scenes and dialogue come naturally or does it take 7-10 business days like it takes me to come up with a new paragraph for a wip? I got about three different romione fics (dabbles and one multi chapter) but its difficult to stay concentrated on one, when I just want to finish all of them.

I've been trying to write and post fics but it's hard to manage the time and hard to quit adding and re-adding different outcomes. Not sure if that happens to you but it happens to me way to much.

So, so very sorry for the long ask. Hope it's not making you uncomfortable.

Thanks again for writing fics and again I hope to read more or if one day I get over my nerves maybe you can give me advice in improving my writing? Unless your busy you can give me a recommendation on someone else, no hard feelings if your not able to.

Thanks for being you!

(P.s I love your sense of humor and the way you bring those two stubborn love birds together in different ways)

Hi. Wow. Okay. Where do I start?

You are my favorite anon ever. Like EVER. Also, little secret, I have never had a Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato before, I completely made that up, but it's totally a thing because someone told me they went and got one and it was pretty good! I'm so glad you liked that ficlet and I'm happy to tell you it's inspired a very weird and meta multi-chap that's holiday themed and tropey as fuck and I think you're gonna like it. It's called Do You Believe In Magic? and it's dropping November 2021 and I'm going to dedicate it to you.

Do I have a favorite Romione fic? UGH. I DON'T KNOW. I LOVE IT ALL. I feel like I can't name just one because I am so amazed by the romione writers and their talent. Every writer is so unique and I love reading because it's like getting a little peek into the inner workings of someone's brain. I'm sorry this is such a cop-out answer.

7-10 business days! YES. That is so accurate. You seem a lot like me, tbh. My brain is all over the place and writing fanfic is where I let my adhd go unchecked and sometimes that means I don't write for weeks and other times I churn out something magical and other times I write a heaping pile of shit. It's all part of the process. I can churn out a 5k chapter in one sitting if I'm totally lost in the story, but that's rare, and there's nothing more grueling that writing something you're not into. That reminds me of school and I hated school haha. Recently I've started a goal of writing 100 words a day, and it's been great because it's enough to know if I'm in the zone, or not feeling it. If I'm in the zone, 100 words turns into 1000, and if I'm not feeling it, there's no pressure to write more. I just want to finish my fics too, but what's the point? I'll know I'll just start another ;). Enjoy the process!

I truly hope you get over your nerves and reach out again! I'd love to help any way I can! I'm also low key DYING to know who you are (other than my new favorite person). Honestly though, my best advice right now is just to write and not worry about if it's "good" and read as much as you possibly can.

Again, you are so awesome. I love you. And no this didn't make me uncomfortable, it made me so happy.

[astrawords]

a symbol to remind you that there’s more to see

Characters: Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian (& Co) Rating: T Warnings/Tags: No Major Warnings, Canon-Compliant(ish), Post-Canon(ish), Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mild/Moderate Angst, Angst With Happy Ending, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Twin Idiots, Reconciliation, Jin Ling has too many uncles, Jin Ling deserves a hug, Jin Ling will save us all, excessive verbosity by yours truly

Summary: For as long as Jin Ling can remember, he has been immune to the majority of supernatural hauntings that plague the cultivation world.

Or: what if Jin Ling had received his first-month birthday gift.

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to MXTX and The Untamed. Set in CQL!verse. Before anyone asks, yes, I have read the novel.

Notes: HELLO! It has been a really long time since I ventured into full-on fic writing. This makes me nervous to post (I am @amedetoiles posting on my writing blog btw), but I was rambling to @winepresswrath​ about this and so of course I wrote it instead of doing productive adult things. Only this really got away from me. It was only supposed to be a short “what if” ficlet about Jin Ling, but Yunmengbros and their loud ass feelings got in the way, and it ended up being almost 10K D: Also, for @goblinish who was sad about jzasshole breaking wwx’s gift.

Basically, everything at Qiongqi Path still happened, but Wei Wuxian got the bracelet back before Jin Zixun crushed it (somehow), and it was delivered to Jiang Yanli shortly after the Wens surrendered (also somehow ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ PLOT? WHAT IS PLOT?). Not beta’d. We gonna die like wwx here.

[Read on AO3]

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1.

For as long as Jin Ling can remember, he has been immune to the majority of supernatural hauntings that plague the cultivation world. Any spirit or ghoul he has ever encountered would promptly redirect itself towards another target as if he were surrounded by an invisible barrier.

The first time it happens, he’s eight-years-old and accompanying his jiujiu to watch the YunmengJiang disciples get rid of a water ghost. In the midst of a coordinated luring, the water ghost had shot up right in front of him. Frantic, his uncle had thrown his arm out to shield him, only for the water ghost to hover above Jin Ling’s head with apparent confusion before diving back underneath the murky waters.

To this day, he still hasn’t forgotten the look on his uncle’s face.

(He tries to bring it up to his jiujiu only once, but Jiang Cheng had stared at him with a terrifying mix of fury and anguish that Jin Ling quickly learns to never mention it again, the same way he stops bringing up his mother.)

After a while, Jin Ling stops questioning it. Even if it’s a little strange, he can’t complain when it makes night hunting significantly more advantageous for him.

Of course, this doesn’t stop Jin Chan and his lackeys from mocking him relentlessly about it like they do with everything else. Their taunting comments that even the lowest of beings don’t want anything to do with him cut deeper than he pretends otherwise, adding to all the other still-healing wounds riddled across his chest. He punches Jin Chan partly in retaliation, but mostly because the throbbing in his hands makes him forget about the ache. At least for a while.

Silently, Jin Ling likes to think that maybe his parents are protecting him from beyond the grave, that perhaps their spirits are shielding him somehow, even if it’s a little farfetched. His memories of them are a gentle blur of gold and violet hues. On lonelier nights, they provide him with warmth when everything else is cold.

He carries his father’s sword with him like an anchor to that brief moment in his life when his family had been whole. The YunmengJiang bells are tied to his waist, marking him uniquely as an heir to two major sects. On his right wrist is his most treasured possession of all (though he will deny it if anybody asks)–the beaded bracelet his mother had left for him.

It was handcrafted. He knows from the hours and hours he’s spent tracing the uneven edges to the miniature nine-petaled lotus that sits at the knot and the intricately carved designs on the other beads. He isn’t sure who made it for him. From the little that he’s heard of her, his mother hadn’t been skilled at craftsmanship, and he has never been able to find anything similar in the markets. It certainly doesn’t match the golden opulence of LanlingJin to think that his parents had had it custom-made from a Lanling artisan.

Jiang Cheng skirts around the question whenever Jin Ling brings it up to him, but ever since that day on the lake, he’s caught his uncle gazing at it with eyes reflecting a confusing storm of unreadable emotions. Jin Ling tries his best to keep the bracelet hidden underneath his sleeve as often as he can, but he never takes it off, cherishing it like a lifeline–a symbol of a time when he’d been adored by the mother and father he never got to meet.

He tells himself it’s enough. (Sometimes he even believes it.)

As Jin Ling grows older and starts participating in more night hunts, he begins to realize that his immunity isn’t absolute. The fiercer the spirit, the more powerful the demon, the less likely his natural defense seems to hold. He still fares far better than the other disciples in his class. Partly because it holds up long enough for him to gather his bearings, and partly because his uncle is never too far behind, looming tall and threatening like the purple thunderstorms that roll through the Yunmeng skies during the summer.

It’s more comforting than he’ll ever admit, even if Jin Ling has a habit of running off without telling him. He wants to prove to his uncle that he’s strong and skilled enough to not need saving (and maybe a little bit to prove everyone else wrong, too).

But sitting in a room now trapped with a lunatic in a mask, even he has to admit that breaking into a haunted shrine was perhaps not the brightest idea he’s ever had. Being saved by Mo Xuanyu (if this man even is Mo Xuanyu–he certainly doesn’t act like the disgraced disciple he remembers) also hadn’t been on the list of things he’s ever wanted to experience.

If Jin Ling dies here, then his uncle is going to bring him back to life for the sole purpose of breaking his legs for not listening. (He might even admit to deserving it this once.)

Shuffling backwards on the bed, Jin Ling sputters angrily to hide the anxiety shooting up his spine as he frantically looks for an escape route. “You–! What were you taking off my clothes for? Where’s my sword? Where’s my dog?”

“Hey,” not-Mo Xuanyu says indignantly with his hands on his hips. “I just spent a lot of effort getting you out of the wall. You don’t know how to say thank you?”

Finding Suihua at his side, Jin Ling grabs it and raises it threateningly. “If it wasn’t for that, you would already be dead!”

“Alright, alright,” the man says, stepping back with a nervous laugh and raising his hands. “Listen. One death is enough for me. Be good. Put the sword down, okay?”

Jin Ling glares at him suspiciously but still lowers Suihua slowly to his lap. His sleeve rides up in the process, and not-Mo Xuanyu’s eyes travel to the bracelet on his wrist. The man freezes with a sharp intake of breath. “Jin Ling,” he whispers. “That bracelet…”

Jin Ling quickly covers it with his hand. “My mother left me this,” he snaps. “Don’t touch it!”

But the man doesn’t move, staring at Jin Ling with wide shocked eyes that he can see even through the mask. “Your… mother…?” he repeats, sounding strangled and winded, like he’s been knocked over.

“What’s it to you? It’s none of your business!” Jin Ling tells him hotly. Not-Mo Xuanyu doesn’t seem to hear him, standing so still that Jin Ling thinks he may as well have been stone if not for the way his hands were gripping at the skirts of his robes. Seeing the opportunity, he quickly puts on his boots and bolts from the room, ignoring the delayed shouts coming from behind him as he speeds away in search of his jiujiu and Fairy.

Predictably, Jiang Cheng scolds him loudly enough to echo through the dark empty streets for running off on his own again once Jin Ling finally makes his way back to the holding spot where the YunmengJiang entourage were waiting. Unpredictably, however, his uncle’s tirade gets interrupted by a now far-too familiar yelping as not-Mo Xuanyu falls out from an alcove with a string of exceedingly embarrassing whimpers, cowering into the ground as Fairy comes trotting along after him.

On the one hand, it all goes about the same as all the other demonic cultivators Jin Ling has watched his uncle hunt down over the years in search of Wei Wuxian’s returning soul, and yet, oddly, on the other hand, it’s not the same at all.

For one, he’s never seen that look cross his uncle’s face before when not-Mo Xuanyu finally removes his mask. For another, he’s never seen a cultivator unlucky enough to catch his uncle’s ire look back with such defiance.

Maybe that’s what pushes Jin Ling to lie to his uncle about seeing the Ghost General outside the village. That, and the man had saved him after all. No one besides his two uncles have ever bothered to do anything for Jin Ling, let alone dig him out of a cursed trap he unwittingly fell into on his own. (No one’s ever apologized to him either, and he’s left stumbling between embarrassment at being caught off guard and his practiced arrogance, completely unsure how to navigate around the strange almost proud smile on the man’s face that reminds him so much of his jiujiu’s rare satisfied grin.)

“That bracelet,” not-Mo Xuanyu says slowly. Jin Ling steps back, his hand automatically coming up to cover his wrist as he stares back with a narrowed look. The man rolls his eyes. “Ai-ya, what’s that look for? I’m not going to steal it, brat. I was just… wondering if you knew who made it.”

Jin Ling frowned. “I already told you, my mother gave it to me,” he says testily, still suspicious. “What’s it to you?”

“Ah, nothing, nothing,” the man says with a light innocent tone. “I just wanted to know where one might be able to find a bracelet like that, is all.”

Jin Ling scoffs, crossing his arms. “It’s an original. You won’t be able to find it anywhere.” Even though he’s never been entirely sure of that fact, there is still an unmistakable pride that colors his words as he says them.

“Hm,” not-Mo Xuanyu nods thoughtfully, lips quirking. After a beat of silence, the man says softly, “She must have loved you very much, Jin Ling. To want to protect you even after she was gone.”

Jin Ling flushes a bright red, taken aback by the bold words. Aside from the stories he’s heard from the nursemaids at Koi Tower who cared for him and what little he could get out of his jiujiu, no one has ever willingly spoken to him about his parents. And certainly no one, not even his uncle, has ever so matter-of-factly stated that his mother had loved him to his face. To think that this not-Mo Xuanyu, of all people, would be the first is ridiculously absurd, to say the least, even as his heart does something funny in his chest.

Belatedly, his mind catches up to the second half of what the man had said, and his head shoots up. “Protect me?” Jin Ling asks quickly.

Not-Mo Xuanyu hums again, turning away from Jin Ling suddenly. His voice sounds strangely thick when he says, “Of course. Why else would she leave you with spirit-repelling beads?”

Jin Ling starts in surprise. “Spirit-repelling?” he whispers as he lifts his wrist in front of him. “How– how do you know?”

The same smile from before was on the man’s face again as he looks at Jin Ling with an expression that feels strikingly familiar. “I can feel the spiritual energy coming off of them,” he says. “You’ll see. As your cultivation gets stronger.”

Jin Ling’s mouth forms a small oh but the sound barely leaves him as he stares intently at his bracelet as if seeing it for the first time. A burst of warmth floods into his chest, spreading all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes. His mother, protecting him from beyond the grave, like he’s always hoped, has always dreamed. His head spins, feeling off balanced with his sixteen years long question suddenly answered by a man who shouldn’t have known anything at all, and yet…

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and he looks up, eyes wide. Not-Mo Xuanyu is smiling gently, his gaze soft. “She would be happy to see you doing so well.”

A lump forms in Jin Ling’s throat as his eyes burn, and he quickly shrugs off the man’s hand before he does something stupid like cry. “Who are you to say that to me?” he demands hotly, the tips of his ears going red from embarrassment. He quickly shoves away the revelation in favor of shouting at the elder for putting his brazenness.

In the days following, he spends an inordinate amount of time fiddling with the bracelet in a way he hasn’t felt the need to since he was thirteen, trying to concentrate on his qi to see if he could visualize the spiritual energy. After far too many hours, he is only able to catch the faintest trace of it, a crimson glow that fades quickly from his focus, but he feels so victorious as if he’s crafted the beads himself with his own bare hands. Perhaps that not-Mo Xuanyu is useful for something after all. He shakes his head, pushing all thoughts of that outrageous man from his mind.

But even as he tries, he can’t quite seem to forget how not-Mo Xuanyu had gazed at him with the same look in his eyes that his jiujiu has carried for all sixteen years of Jin Ling’s life.

2.

Life becomes an unexpected whirlwind of chaos.

Jin Ling decides as he’s sitting tied to a rock on a poisonous mountain, being forced to listen to Jin Chan’s irritating complaining that, like everything else in his life, it is entirely Wei Wuxian’s fault.

Wei Wuxian, who not only murdered his father and got his mother killed, had then showed up at Dafan Mountain pretending to be that crazy Mo Xuanyu, setting his entire life into a downward spiral of unending problems, including but not limited to: his uncle’s ire, getting silenced by Hanguang-jun, creepy dead cats, fierce corpses, almost-poisoning, a sociopath and his murderous rogue cultivator-turned-corpse, and now kidnapping.

(The traitorous part of Jin Ling’s mind, probably responsible for the sharp burn of guilt in his stomach ever since Wei Wuxian had left Koi Tower bleeding from his sword, reminds him that the man has also guided him, protected him, and saved his life again and again. He had squeezed Jin Ling’s shoulders, looked at him with a proud smile, and told him his mother had loved him.)

Jin Ling gets into an argument with Jin Chan just to stop the storm of thoughts threatening to consume him. He isn’t entirely surprised when they’re interrupted by the same man who had set his life aflame, only for him to come save them all yet again.

He watches Wei Wuxian stand in front of a mob of cultivators all clamoring for his death with the same cool defiance Jin Ling has come to recognize, listens to his not-uncle expertly and systematically reveal Sect Leader Su’s secret treachery, and feels a confusing mix of delight and pride. When Wei Wuxian then throws himself into the line of fire as bait, exactly like he had in Yi City when he had protected them all from Xue Yang, it isn’t anger that fills Jin Ling but instead concern, worry–a fear that his… that Wei Wuxian might not make it out alive. He does, and Jin Ling doesn’t know what to do with the relief that floods through him.

The next evening Jin Ling leaves Lotus Pier without permission. Though he hasn’t seen his uncle all day, word of his uncle’s strange behavior has spread like wildfire through the YunmengJiang disciples. He tells himself that he’s sneaking out because he doesn’t want to get caught in his uncle’s temper and not at all because he maybe wants to run into someone who had left without even saying goodbye to him.

With the way everything has been tracking lately, it really shouldn’t have surprised him that he winds up where he is.

But it does, and he’s left trapped in a temple with two of the most powerful cultivators in the world now defenseless, and the man who has saved him time and time again unable to intervene, all while his own uncle orchestrates the whole thing without remorse.

He’s never been very good at following orders, so Jin Ling tries to escape as they’re pushed into the temple (his xiao-shushu can’t possibly be serious about killing Fairy, right?). He’s grabbed almost immediately by Su She. He struggles, yelling, and forcibly yanks his arm out of the other man’s grip, but his bracelet comes off his wrist as he pulls himself away. He watches, eyes going wide with horror as the bracelet soars into the air and lands on the ground, the impact scattering the beads all across the open courtyard, disappearing into the drenching downpour of rain.

It’s like a blade straight through his heart, and he stares, shock still, at his mother’s broken bracelet.

His vision is blurring with tears before he even realizes. “You!” Jin Ling screams angrily. Suihua is unsheathed and in his hands, and he swings it viciously at Su She. He’s deflected easily, and then freezes, feeling the points of several swords now at his throat.

“Su-zongzhu!” Wei Wuxian shouts, darting forward, but is stopped by two Jin disciples who grab ahold of his arms. “Get away from him!”

Su She sneers. “Yiling laozu,” he drawls disdainfully. “You’re not in the position to be giving orders.”

Something extraordinarily murderous flashes through Wei Wuxian’s eyes. For a brief moment, they almost seem to glow red with rage. “Su She, I am warning you, do not go too far,” he growls icily. Jin Ling gulps, shivering despite himself, and knows suddenly why his jiujiu and Wei Wuxian are brothers.

“Minshan,” Jin Guangyao interrupts calmly from the steps. Jin Ling swallows tightly as the swords are lowered, looking up at the man who has helped raise him, now staring at him with none of the warmth or concern he has grown up knowing, and feels hollow.

They’re pushed into the temple, and Jin Ling lowers himself onto the stone floor, Suihua cradled in his lap like a protective blanket. There are grey eyes across from him watching, pinched with worry, but Jin Ling doesn’t notice as he shakes with fury and anguish.

His wrist has never felt so bare.

3.

Jin Ling sits on a pillar and stares morosely at the beads he’s gathered in his hands. Some of them are cracked, and the sight sends more pain lancing through his chest, sharper than any of the barbs anyone has ever thrown at him. The bitter angry tears finally spill down his cheeks.

There are more important things that he should be focusing on, like the millions of earth-shattering truths that have thrusted themselves upon his reality in the past few hours, but all he can see is the broken remains of his mother’s bracelet resting in his trembling hands.

“Jin Ling!”

He looks up and only barely catches sight of the black robes and red hair ribbon before he’s suddenly engulfed into a bone-crushing hug. Wei Wuxian (his uncle?) scolds him for being so reckless, an unbearable thread of frantic concern in his voice, and Jin Ling feels his face heat up. Even Jin Guangyao (resolutely, he doesn’t think past the name), the softer of his two uncles, had never been so casual and open with his care.

Wei Wuxian pulls back but doesn’t release him, holding him by the shoulders and frowning at him with an earnest worry that makes his face color even more. “A-Ling, promise me you won’t ever do something so stupid like that again.”

Jin Ling flounders, struggling to keep himself together in the face of this man’s unending onslaught of affection, but still can’t help but squawk indignantly. “You can’t scold me!” he throws back, a petulant frown forming on his lips. He pushes himself free, holding the beads close to his chest. “Go away. You’re going to break them even more!”

Wei Wuxian blinks down at Jin Ling’s hands, and then back to Jin Ling’s face, at his quivering lips, at the stubborn collection of tears in the corner of his eyes, and he softens.

“Silly boy,” Wei Wuxian admonishes quietly as he kneels down in front of Jin Ling. “What are you crying for?”

“I’m not crying!” Jin Ling retorts even as he wipes furiously at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Give them here,” Wei Wuxian says and takes all the beads into his hands. Jin Ling makes a sharp noise of distress, but Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “I’m not going to break them, A-Ling.” Reaching into his robes, he produces a new cord from his qiankun pouch, and Jin Ling’s eyes widen in surprise.

He watches Wei Wuxian thread each bead through the cord with nimble fingers, repairing the cracked ones with expertly drawn talismans that glow a very familiar crimson, and he knows.

“There,” Wei Wuxian says as he finishes tying the final knot and seals his work with another complicated sigil. With gentle hands, he slips the bracelet back onto Jin Ling’s right wrist and glances up at him with a soft smile. “See? Good as new.”

Jin Ling doesn’t move. There is a mad rushing sound in his ears. His heart is in his mouth. His vision is blurring.

Wei Wuxian reaches up, and he feels a thumb on his cheek, brushing away the stray tears that are falling. His uncle’s smile is immeasurably fond, tender, and also something achingly familiar that wrenches a sixteen-year old memory out of Jin Ling’s howling heart, making him think words like love and warmth and safe.

Across the courtyard, Jiang Cheng is watching them, his face reflecting that unreadable chaos Jin Ling has come to know so well (and has just realized why). Wei Wuxian looks over, too, but no words pass between the two brothers. Maybe there are no more words left to say. Maybe enough words are still lying on the ashy floors of the destroyed temple behind them. (Maybe they are all resting on Jin Ling’s wrist like they have for sixteen years.)

In the span of a few weeks, everything that Jin Ling has grown up knowing and believing has crumbled under his feet. He has come closer to death than he’s ever been before. His neck stings from betrayal. His head throbs from where he hit it falling onto the stone floor. His hands are still trembling.

He’s lost an uncle.

But somehow, kneeling in front of him, he’s gained another, one who’s been with him all along, who’s been protecting him for his entire life.

4.

Seven months into Jin Ling’s term as the new LanlingJin sect leader, more than the sycophantic elders trying to curry his favor where before they had only looked at him with disdain, more than all the smaller clans trying to take advantage of his age and inexperience, and more than the overwhelming task of having to clean up after Jin Guangyao’s political mess (or the frighteningly painful shadows of the man he still sees everywhere at Koi Tower), it’s his two maternal uncles who are driving him slowly toward insanity the most.

“We could lock them up together until they finally talk,” Ouyang Zizhen suggests, after Jin Ling finishes regaling his friends over dinner with a tale of how a perfectly well-planned unassuming meal with both his uncles at Koi Tower had turned into an epic debacle. Even this morning, the servants were still trying to scrub away the damage done to his private dining hall.

“Do you want to die?” Lan Jingyi says through a mouthful of rice, still the most un-Lan disciple he’s ever met wearing the cloud-patterned forehead ribbon. “Because Jiang-zongzhu will definitely kill us.” He then adds, after a beat, “After he kills Wei-qianbei.”

Jin Ling groans and lets his forehead fall onto the table with a thunk. “Not. Helping.”

Lan Sizhui pats him on his arm. “Jin Ling,” he says, “it’s not your responsibility to make sure Wei-qianbei and Jiang-zongzhu get along.”

He’s right. Jin Ling knows he’s right, and not because Sizhui is usually right. Neither Wei Wuxian nor Jiang Cheng has ever asked him to embark on this solely self-decided journey to fix their estranged relationship. Both of them seem frustratingly content with the current status quo, only really maintaining some level of stilted cordiality wherever Jin Ling is concerned.

But he has gotten exceptionally tired of having to juggle around both of them. Neither of his uncles ever visit him at the same time, so he feels annoyingly pulled in two different directions and just ends up feeling guilty whenever he chooses one over the other. Never mind that after all these years, he finally understands a little of his uncle’s complicated feelings for his once sworn brother and the bracelet he had left for Jin Ling. Or the fact that, according to the YunmengJiang disciples, his jiujiu has gone from raging at people who dare speak Wei Wuxian’s name to snapping at anyone who thinks they can speak ill without impunity. And yet, the man still can’t have a civil conversation with Uncle Wei without it resulting in a shouting match.

Looking at them, Jin Ling feels a bone-deep longing to set right to what little family he has left. (He also wants equally as much to throttle both of their heads against the wall.)

“Ugh,” he groans, sitting back up and sliding his bowl of rice towards him. “Fine. But if they do try to kill each other tonight, you all better help me.”

The plan for their night hunt had started out so simple–a brief patrol through the eastern forests of Yunmeng to test out Jin Ling’s bracelet. Wei Wuxian has spent the better part of the past several weeks adding adjustments to it, struck by a burst of creative inspiration and spurred on by the necessity to keep Jin Ling safe as he settles into his role as the face of a sect that’s still awashed with scandal and many people looking at him to fail.

The concern thrums a warmth through Jin Ling’s chest that’s different than what he feels with his jiujiu. He has always been able to count on Jiang Cheng’s thunderous temper to shield him from anyone and anything that might harm him. Wei Wuxian, too, is unquestioningly overprotective and easily as exasperating as Jiang Cheng, but there’s also something sweeter, something softer, in the way he showers Jin Ling with constant teasing affection. He still isn’t used to it, but he can’t say he really minds that this is his family now.

He had briefly entertained the hope that he might be able to enjoy what would be an easy night hunt with his friends without his jiujiu interfering. But for some unknown reason, Jiang Cheng has been attaching himself to every night hunt Jin Ling has gone on where Wei Wuxian was supervising, regardless of how many times Jin Ling has tried to tell him he doesn’t need the extra supervision. This time is no different. (“Just because Wei Wuxian doesn’t have any sense of respect doesn’t mean you can just forget about rules and propriety, brat! Is this how a sect leader acts?!” “Jiujiu.”)

Both Jingyi and Zizhen stare at him with wary looks before going back to scarfing down their meals as if he hadn’t spoken. Sizhui smiles at him reassuringly though, so at least Jin Ling will have him as support tonight even if the other two abandon him like cowards.

Unsurprisingly, it all turns into an absolute disaster.

Jin Ling finds himself saddled with both his uncles right from the start after a suggestion to split the group off with one elder each is viciously slammed down by Jiang Cheng refusing to let Jin Ling go with Wei Wuxian.

“I am not letting you experiment on my nephew alone!” Jiang Cheng had snarled.

An extremely irritated look had flashed across Wei Wuxian’s face, and all the juniors had collectively held their breaths (the cold rage Wei Wuxian had unleashed onto Sect Leader Yao two months ago when the man had willfully omitted several important facts in his report to the Chief Cultivator regarding a haunting along the northern border of Meishan, namely that a collecting mass of resentful energy had risen to such severely threatening levels so as to cause a number of fatalities in the nearby villages, and got Sizhui gravely injured during an initial patrol, was still too fresh on their minds for them to believe that their beloved senior wasn’t just as prone to exploding as Jiang Cheng), but then Wei Wuxian had turned away and nodded with tense acquiescence. By then, Jin Ling already had a headache.

Predictably, Jingyi and Zizhen run away, taking Sizhui with them, who had looked back at him with an apologetic unsurety, leaving Jin Ling woefully resigned to patrolling their designated side alone with his two exasperating uncles.

Thirty minutes later, nobody has said a word, the only thing interrupting the tense silence is the sound of the leaves crunching underneath their feet as they walk. Wei Wuxian twirls his flute. Jiang Cheng glares at the trees. Jin Ling tries not to fling them both off the mountain.

Finally fed up, Jin Ling tries to speed ahead, but before he can even take a few steps, two voices call from behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going, brat?”

“Jin Ling, don’t run off.”

He turns around to see Jiang Cheng scowling at Wei Wuxian, who is suddenly finding the trees exceptionally interesting. “Are you both going to do this all night?” Jin Ling asks with a decidedly unimpressed glare as he crosses his arms. Jiang Cheng turns his scowl onto him, his mouth already opening to shout at him for his tone, but Wei Wuxian interrupts with a bright laugh.

“Hah?” Wei Wuxian says, advancing on him and brandishing his flute. Jin Ling’s lips twitch despite himself. “You’re getting quite mouthy these days, Jin-zongzhu. Just because you’re a sect leader now doesn’t mean I won’t plant you in the ground like a–” He cuts off abruptly, head whipping to his left as the hilarity fades immediately from his face. Jin Ling tenses, already half-unsheathing Suihua, but nothing happens, just the same rustle of trees above their heads as the evening breeze flows through Yunmeng.

“Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asks tightly, almost like an accusation, his face contorting into a mix of irritation and something a lot like worry.

Wei Wuxian startles as if shaken and turns back towards them. His brows furrow. “It’s… nothing. I thought I…” His shakes his head, looking strangely disoriented. It sends an uneasy feeling shooting up Jin Ling’s spine. He’s never seen Wei Wuxian, so normally brimming with bright humor and nonchalance (other than when he’s raining fire down on Sect Leader Yao’s head), look this rattled.

If possible, the tense line to Jiang Cheng’s shoulders stiffens even more. “What’s wrong with you?” he demands sharply.

“Da-jiujiu?” Jin Ling says frowning.

The address seems to pull Wei Wuxian out of his daze, something close to a normal smile spreading across his face. “Ai-ya, why are you both looking like that?” he says as he throws an arm around Jin Ling’s shoulders. “It’s nothing. Come on, let’s keep going.”

They fall back into step again, but the furrow doesn’t quite leave Wei Wuxian’s face. Jiang Cheng is pretending not to notice, but Jin Ling sees his uncle sending narrowed glances out from the corner of his eyes. As usual, Wei Wuxian teases Jin Ling until the tension bleeds right out of him in favor of annoyance over his childish uncle. Rolling his eyes, he huffs and speeds ahead again, keeping his ears trained behind him in case they try to kill each other.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Wei Wuxian is murmuring, exasperated.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “You’re the one who froze like a headless chicken back there,” he snaps back irritably, but Jin Ling hears the gruff undercurrent of concern.

Wei Wuxian seems to hear it, too, because he says, in a tone that sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, “Jiang Cheng, stop worrying. I just thought I felt something.”

“I’m not–”

So engrossed is he in the conversation that if it hadn’t been for the sudden and grotesquely familiar smell, Jin Ling would have missed the loud rustling to his left. As it was, he only very narrowly manages to jump back in time before a fierce corpse leaps through the trees and lands exactly where he had been standing.

“Jin Ling!” shout both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng.

Spinning away, Jin Ling unsheathes Suihua, his heart slamming into his chest as he faces the violent rotting corpse. Only the creature doesn’t move, head cocking in what appears to be confusion, its soulless eyes looking right through Jin Ling, almost as if it can’t see him at all. On his wrist, his bracelet warms.

“It worked,” Wei Wuxian says with a pleased sound as Jiang Cheng rushes forward and tugs Jin Ling behind them. The momentary victory is short-lived, however, as the low growls of an incoming onslaught of fierce corpses reaches all their ears. They flood into the clearing, joining their companion, numbering nearly as many as the wave that had attacked them at Burial Mounds over half a year ago, until they are all at once surrounded.

“You want to try telling me again how I shouldn’t worry?” Jiang Cheng growls through gritted teeth as both Zidian and Sandu flare to life in his hands.

Wei Wuxian somehow still has enough defiance in him to roll his eyes, Chenqing flipping easily in his hands as he raises it to his lips. He turns his head. “Jin Ling, stay back,” he orders.

Jin Ling bristles at the command, but the sharp look Jiang Cheng sends his way makes the retort die quickly in his throat. Scowling, he leaps into a nearby tree, crouching low on a branch and watching as his uncles move to stand back to back. Without Jin Ling’s bracelet as distraction, the fierce corpses seem to refocus on the two cultivators in front of them, snarling in anticipation of satisfying their bloodlust. He has no idea why the hell so many are hanging around what should be a relatively benign forest in Yunmeng. He hopes with an uneasy feeling that his friends are okay.

The first notes of a dizi fill the cold open air, sending an involuntary shiver up Jin Ling’s spine, as Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and pulls a high-pitched luring melody from his blackened bone flute with practiced perfection. A fierce corpse leaps from the crowd. Like a thunderclap, Zidian whips out and smashes it backwards into a tree, scattering loose leaves all around them as the battle begins.

Jin Ling watches with startled amazement.

He has seen Wei Wuxian battle with Hanguang-jun at his side, standing still, completely trusting, while the other man dances, wielding his blade with deadly precision. He has seen Jiang Cheng battle alone, a furious flurry of chaotic movements and the constant manic whip of lightning.

But this– this is different.

Wei Wuxian is a blur of ink, weaving seamlessly around Jiang Cheng’s swift attacks, as the fierce corpses disintegrate under the sharpness of Sandu’s blade, the electricity of Zidian’s purple lightning, and the black blur of spirits being called to battle by the master who commands them. Their movements are graceful and synchronized in a way Jin Ling has never witnessed, as if they are each an arm to one single soul. He’s suddenly and very keenly aware that this must be how they had each learnt to fight. Not alone, but together, standing back to back, as brothers–partners–the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng.

The fierce corpses are rapidly dispersed under their combined efforts, and the surroundings fall again into an eerie silence as both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng survey the area for several more tense minutes.

Jin Ling drops back down to the ground, rushing over to them. His eyes frantically roam over each of them for injuries and frowns unhappily at the gash on Jiang Cheng’s arm. “Jiujiu! You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly, placing a reassuring hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder.

“We should find the other kids,” Wei Wuxian says with a worried set to his lips.

Jiang Cheng jerks his head in agreement as he sheathes Sandu. He lets Jin Ling fret over the gash even as he rests a hand on Jin Ling’s head, repeating, “I’m fine, A-Ling.”

Distracted, neither of them senses the movement on their right until it’s too late. With a sudden furious roar, a lone fierce corpse soars from the shadows straight at them. It’s too close, moving too quickly–Jiang Cheng turns, instinctively shielding Jin Ling before he can even register what’s happening, but someone bodily shoves them both aside, sending Jin Ling crashing into the floor. The impact knocks the breath right out of him, and his head spins from the vertigo that follows. Above him, the familiar static whip of Zidian sounds, making the hair on the back of his neck stand, quickly followed by a sickening crunch some distance away, and then–a sharp, strangled gasp.

Jin Ling looks up and freezes.

There is blood sliding down from Wei Wuxian’s mouth as he sways unsteadily on his feet, blinking slowly. His hand comes up to his abdomen where the outer layer of his robes are rapidly darkening around a gaping wound.

Jin Ling’s heart stutters to a stop.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, completely nonsensically, looking down at the blood on his hand in confusion. “Oh,” he says again, staggering backwards, his legs giving out underneath him. Jiang Cheng barely manages to catch him, sending them both collapsing to the ground.

Scrambling up, Jin Ling half-walks, half-crawls to his uncles, almost falling on top of them in his haste as a sharp unbridled fear spikes through his chest. No, he thinks desperately. You can’t take him, too.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!” Jiang Cheng is shouting repeatedly. He looks more scared than Jin Ling has ever seen him, his eyes wide, all the color drained from his face as shaking hands come up to apply pressure over the wound. “What were you fucking thinking?!”

“Heh,” Wei Wuxian laughs, absurdly, through a mouthful of blood. “I guess I should make you a bracelet, too, eh Jiang Cheng?”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng roars angrily. His hands, still shaking, start to glow with chaotic bursts of purple qi. “What is a bracelet going to do when you’re such a fucking idiot?!”

Wei Wuxian coughs, wincing. “Hey, it protected Jin Ling, didn’t it?” he says, turning his eyes towards Jin Ling’s quickly watering ones. “Don’t cry, A-Ling. Your da-jiujiu is fine.”

Jin Ling glares at him through furious tears. “You’re not! Don’t lie!”

“I’m not lying,” Wei Wuxian says, reaching over and giving Jin Ling’s trembling hand a gentle reassuring squeeze. Jin Ling clutches it, feeling a heavy despair welling up in him as Wei Wuxian continues to pale despite Jiang Cheng flooding the wound with spiritual energy. Short labored breaths are falling from blue lips, and panic seizes Jin Ling’s chest as his uncle’s eyes start to droop.

“Da-jiujiu!” Jin Ling cries, frantically tugging on his arm.

Jiang Cheng grabs Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and shakes him roughly. “Stay awake!”

Jin Ling doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Wei Wuxian blinks his eyes back open, and it flows out of him like choking relief.

“I’m not going to die, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says tiredly. Jiang Cheng flinches violently, and Wei Wuxian frowns. “A-Cheng…”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng snarls, his voice cracking. He’s trembling and glaring at his hands that are covered in Wei Wuxian’s blood. The purple glow of his spiritual energy illuminates his face, looking angrier and more lost than he had seven months ago, screaming at Wei Wuxian about his golden core. “You’re so fucking stupid,” he whispers. “What the fuck were you thinking? Going night hunting when all you ever do is attract trouble wherever you go.”

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian protests. “You’re the one who keeps coming along.”

“Of course I come, you idiot!” Jiang Cheng shouts at him, a sharp hysterical edge cutting through his every word. “When have I ever not come? When have I ever not fucking come?!”

The silence that follows is deafening. Jin Ling stares at them, wide-eyed, as Jiang Cheng heaves harsh broken breaths, and an unreadable expression passes over Wei Wuxian’s pale face. For a long, long moment, the brothers just stare at one another.

“Idiot,” Wei Wuxian finally murmurs. His tone is fond as his lips curve into a soft smile. Jiang Cheng’s face contorts with a miserable frown, and Jin Ling feels suddenly like he’s missed something terribly important.

Confusingly, Wei Wuxian reaches up with an unsteady hand and tugs a strand loose from the top of Jiang Cheng’s ever-present half-bun until it falls over his face, lips quirking at his brother’s wide startled gaze. “Haven’t you figured it out by now, you idiot?” he says, his voice slurring.

He brushes gentle fingers through Jiang Cheng’s hair, and Jiang Cheng’s face visibly crumples.

“You might be the world’s Sandu Shengshou,” Wei Wuxian’s breath rattles as he speaks, growing ragged, “but you’ll always be my didi.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes fall shut, and his hand slides from Jiang Cheng’s hair, landing heavily on the ground. It echoes through Jin Ling’s head, louder than anything he has ever heard. He shakes, cold shock flooding his chest as his once so lively da-jiujiu goes deathly, terrifyingly, still. His uncle lets out a strangled noise, and it feels like a scream.

“Wei Wuxian!”

“Wei Wuxian!”

“Wei Wuxian!”

Jin Ling has only ever seen his uncle cry once, at Guanyin Temple, because of Wei Wuxian.

The second time is still because of Wei Wuxian.

5.

“We’re all going to die,” Lan Jingyi says after four days, and Wei Wuxian still has not woken up.

Jin Ling is inclined to agree with him and would have said so if he doesn’t still feel a little bit like throwing up. They are sitting by the water in the inner pavilions of Lotus Pier, hovering close to Wei Wuxian’s rooms like they’ve been doing ever since that disastrous night hunt.

Sizhui, Jingyi, and Zizhen had arrived not long after Wei Wuxian had passed out. Somehow, they had managed to get him back to Lotus Pier in one piece. Mostly, Jin Ling thinks, because his jiujiu had been as close to hysterical as he had ever seen him, even during the mess with Jin Guangyao, and had singlehandedly carried Wei Wuxian back on Sandu. Sizhui had immediately sent word to Hanguang-jun, who had arrived before dawn broke, looking windswept and so overcome with worry that even Jin Ling could see it plainly displayed on the Chief Cultivator’s normally expressionless face.

Since then, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji have sat by Wei Wuxian’s bedside in complete silence, both refusing to leave. If Jin Ling had thought the relationship between his uncle and Hanguang-jun had been strained before, then it was nothing compared to the tension radiating off both of them now, growing sharper and icier with each day that passes while Wei Wuxian remains unconscious.

Under better circumstances, Jin Ling would have crowed at the opportunity to finally see inside the Forbidden Room of Lotus Pier, his uncle having boarded up Wei Wuxian’s old room for the past sixteen years with strict orders forbidding anyone from entering or face his merciless wrath.

But right now, Jin Ling just feels ill.

“Wei-qianbei will be okay, Jin Ling,” Sizhui tells him, not for the first time, correctly interpreting his silence. Jin Ling nods, plucking miserably at the lotus pod in his hand.

Sizhui has been faring remarkably better than him despite how close he knows Sizhui is to his Xian-gege, spending a lot of time in the kitchens cooking up meals that he and Jin Ling both force Hanguang-jun and Jiang Cheng to eat. The cooking seems to give Sizhui something to do with his hands in the same way Jin Ling has been anxiously plucking lotus pods. At this rate, no lotuses are going to bloom in this portion of the lake come next autumn.

Zizhen throws an arm around Jin Ling’s slumped shoulders then and coaxes him into a game of Go. Halfway through their second game while Jin Ling is bickering with Jingyi over his stone placement, the brisk almost-run of YunmengJiang’s senior physician and her two attendants towards Wei Wuxian’s rooms have them all abandoning the game and sprinting off the pier after them.

Jin Ling bursts through the door, his friends quick on his heels, barely managing to skid to a stop before he crashes into one of the many disciples who are standing in the back. (It has occurred to him over the past few days just how truly well-loved Wei Wuxian still is amongst the survivors from the burning of Lotus Pier who remember their da-shixiong, especially now that catching Jiang Cheng’s displeasure is no longer exactly a consequence.)

“Lan Zhan…”

Wei Wuxian’s voice is clear even from the back of the room, and the sheer relief that floods through Jin Ling at hearing it almost sends him to his knees.

Jin Ling squeezes through the throng of people until he reaches the bed. Wei Wuxian has been shifted and is now lying on Hanguang-jun’s lap, looking pale, his eyes still closed, but awake. Hanguang-jun has his arms around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, murmuring quietly, “Wei Ying, I’m here.” Beside them, Jiang Cheng is hovering, shoulders and back tense, while the sect physician performs a series of checks.

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian says.

Jiang Cheng stiffens, and it visibly takes his uncle several moments to work the words out of his throat. “I’m–right here,” he grits out. “Idiot,” he adds.

There’s a flat line to Lan Wangji’s mouth, but a smile blooms across Wei Wuxian’s lips, and he lets out a short huff of laughter. “The kids?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“We’re fine,” Jin Ling says quickly, a little too loudly, and he flushes lightly in embarrassment when Hanguang-jun glances at him.

“Xian-gege, everyone’s safe. You don’t need to worry,” Sizhui adds, quieter than Jin Ling, but the relief in his voice is palpable. Jingyi’s and Zizhen’s loud clamoring additions behind them widen the smile on Wei Wuxian’s face, and he finally blinks his eyes slowly open to look at them. Jin Ling has never been so glad in his life to see the familiar teasing amusement in those grey eyes.

“Brats,” Wei Wuxian murmurs fondly.

The sect physician finishes and turns to bow to Jiang Cheng and Hanguang-jun. “Your Excellency, zongzhu, Wei-gongzi is recovering adequately, but he won’t be well enough to travel for some time. I recommend he rest for at least a week or more.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head, turning his attention back to Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng exchanges a few quiet words with her that Jin Ling doesn’t catch before she bows and leaves the room. A sweeping look from his uncle scatters the rest of the mingling disciples from the room, leaving only the three adults and the juniors. Wei Wuxian is in the process of pulling himself up into a seated position with Hanguang-jun’s help when Jiang Cheng comes back to stand beside Jin Ling.

“Xian-gege,” Sizhui says with a concerned frown when Wei Wuxian winces even with Hanguang-jun supporting him from behind. “You shouldn’t strain yourself.”

“I’m fine, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian reassures despite sounding winded. He rests his hand on the crown of Sizhui’s head and smiles. “I’ll be up running with you all again in no time, you’ll see.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenches tightly, and Jin Ling glances at him warily–he can practically hear his uncle’s teeth grinding. Being in a coma for four days apparently hasn’t taken away Wei Wuxian’s ability to know when Jiang Cheng is annoyed either because he turns to look at his brother. Jiang Cheng’s face is a stony canvas of too many emotions, wound up tighter now than even these last few days of waiting for Wei Wuxian to wake up. The tension is suddenly so thick it could be cut with a sword.

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling tries weakly.

Several things happen then at once. Swift and sudden as the crack of lightning, Jiang Cheng is swinging his arm forward. Startled, Wei Wuxian moves backwards as Jin Ling gasps and reflexively grabs his uncle’s other arm to try and tug him away. Faster than any of them, Hanguang-jun’s hand shoots out and closes around Jiang Cheng’s fist, stopping the movement instantly.

The ensuing silence reverberates so loudly against the walls that Jin Ling’s ears ring. For a moment, no one dares to breathe.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji says coldly, his voice sending warning bells through everyone’s heads. Jiang Cheng looks at him, and the temperature in the room cools several thousand degrees as the two men glare at each other.

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling protests, tugging at his uncle’s arm. (How is he back this already?) Nobody moves.

Finally, Wei Wuxian reaches up and grabs Jiang Cheng’s wrist. “Lan Zhan, let go,” he says. Hanguang-jun turns to look at him, and even though his expression doesn’t change, his incredulity is clear. Wei Wuxian smiles, and not for the first time, Jin Ling feels like they’ve had a thousand conversations without saying a single word. “Lan Zhan,” he says again.

Slowly, Lan Wangji releases Jiang Cheng’s hand but fixes the man with a frosty stare, looking poised and ready to strike. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, just tugs lightly at his brother’s wrist.

“A-Cheng,” he whines, his face taking on an absurdly deliberate pout even in the face of Jiang Cheng’s temper. Jin Ling would have been impressed if his heart wasn’t trying to slam out of his ribcage. “How can you try to hit me so soon after I wake up?”

“You deserve it,” Jiang Cheng says viciously, but there’s very little heat to his words. He hasn’t even bothered to pull away. His uncle looks angry and lost again, like he had back in the forest with Wei Wuxian bleeding under his hands because he had stepped in front of a fierce corpse to save them both. His uncle had screamed, had cried, had carried Wei Wuxian home and held vigil by his bedside for days.

Maybe that’s why Wei Wuxian waits now, patiently refusing to let his brother go. “I know,” he says softly, his lips curving into a gentle, knowing smile.

All at once, Jiang Cheng deflates, crumbling like a puppet losing its strings. Jin Ling watches with wide eyes as his uncle folds himself onto the bed and wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in a crushing hug, curling himself tightly into his brother’s shoulder. A tender, watery smile blooms over Wei Wuxian’s face as his arms come up around his brother.

“Idiot,” Wei Wuxian says, and it’s fond again. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t going to die?”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng mutters, voice muffled. He’s shaking, just a little. “You’re the idiot.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, soft and warm. “It’s okay, didi,” he murmurs. “I’m here now.”

Jin Ling is rapidly trying to blink away the stinging in his eyes, aware that he looks ridiculous with his mouth threatening to split open with the force of his smile. But his chest feels so warm that he thinks it might burst from the strength of his joy.

6.

Their next meal together is at Lotus Pier. (His drapings have been drenched with enough flung soup, thank you very much.) Wei Wuxian brings Sizhui along, and thankfully, not Hanguang-jun.

His uncles still bicker the entire time, but their traded barbs have become more teasing over the past few months than terse. There’s a relaxed line to Jiang Cheng’s shoulders now, who appears so much less wound up like he could snap at any moment, and his heart throbs with happiness to see his jiujiu so carefree.

Jin Ling asks his uncles cheekily if they’re ever going to shut up and eat and has to hide his smile when they both turn their threats onto him instead. He snickers with a giggling Sizhui as Wei Wuxian dramatically promises to plant them both on the ground like radishes. Beside him, Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

A loose strand of hair frames the right side of his uncle’s face. On his left wrist sits a bracelet.

Fin.

---

Bonus Scene:

It isn’t the first time he’s had his brother’s blood on his hands, and certainly not the first time he’s seen him bleed.

As children, his mother had worked them and the other disciples down to their bones, hours and hours of intense training that left their hands calloused and bleeding. Their friendly competitive sparring matches as they grew older always drew blood from the minor nicks they inflicted on one another (his brother never did injure him for real, until that last time). When the war fell upon their heads, the cuts and gashes turned commonplace, both of them taking turns dressing each other’s wounds after each battle so their sister wouldn’t have to see. Later, after he stabbed his brother on a mountain, he had cleaned the blood off his sword while trying not to vomit.

This shouldn’t have affected him.

But Jiang Cheng wakes up for the sixth night in a row to the darkness of his room, drenched in a cold sweat, an unbearable sensation of slick warm fluid on his hands and the bitter smell of copper in his nose. He swallows and looks down. His hands are clean, dry and still reddened from the number of times he’s scrubbed them raw since carrying his unconscious brother back to Lotus Pier. (Wei Wuxian dying in his arms is not how he had imagined his brother’s next visit to Lotus Pier would go, if Jiang Cheng could ever manage to shove aside his old bitterness to allow it to happen.)

A restless anxiety courses through his entire body, unable to shake off the feeling of stickiness on his hands even when he can see that they’re clean. He throws the covers off himself and puts on his slippers, escaping his room before the haunted shadows swallow him whole. Before Jiang Cheng even realizes which direction his feet are taking him, he’s standing in front of his brother’s room, and some of that old anger flares up into his chest.

He hates that he still loves him, as much as he’s always had. He hates that he still needs him, still yearns for his brother’s companionship, even after everything. He hates that his brother had thrown himself in front of Jiang Cheng for the millionth time, as if he hasn’t already accumulated enough debt between them that he can never hope to pay back, the last sacrifice still burning sharply in his lower abdomen.

He hates, most of all, that having his brother at Lotus Pier for the past week has loosened the tightly wound coil in his chest, blowing open the doors of his heart with bursts of sunlight that warms him all the way to his fingertips, in a way he hasn’t felt since the day he lost him.

It’s okay, didi. I’m here now.

He enters the room quietly, thankful that Hanguang-jun had been pulled away by duties and had to return to Gusu for the next few days while Wei Wuxian continues to convalesce at Lotus Pier. Without that man’s constant aggravating presence, Jiang Cheng feels less like he’s standing on the chopping block in his own damn home.

His brother is fast asleep, curled over on his side. The color has returned to his face, and the healthy flush eases some of the tightness in his chest. Jiang Cheng isn’t sure he will ever forget the way his brother had looked, laying blue and still on the forest ground, nor the cold terror that washed over him at the thought that he had lost his brother again after he had just gotten him back.

(He wonders what he would have done if he had really discovered his brother underneath that fiery mountain all those years ago–if he’d been faced with the indisputable reality that his brother was truly gone, would he have just disintegrated where he stood. Sometimes, he thinks the hope, the certainty of seeing Wei Wuxian again was the only reason why he survived.)

Jiang Cheng stands watching his brother sleep for a long time. He’s seen him now, he tries to tell himself. His brother is fine. He should turn around and go back to his room. He’s not a child anymore, seeking comfort from his siblings after a nightmare. He’s a sect leader. He’s been alone with the world on his shoulders for decades. He really, really shouldn’t need this.

But the thought of returning to his cold room, haunted by the phantom smells of blood and the echoes of his brother’s rattling breaths, keeps his feet stubbornly rooted in place.

He feels like a wound that’s never healed, smarting at every turn, every prod, every instance of his brother’s sunlit grin. He’s angry, exhausted, so weary that he can barely hold himself up from under the weight of all the years of mistakes and regret, but mostly, he misses his brother so much he could choke.

Go on then, A-Cheng.

His sister’s voice is sweet and encouraging, so familiar and clear that it drags a sharp stuttering ache across his heart. She’s always been able to unwind his stubbornness, his inability to just do what he wants without thinking of a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t, and it finally, finally pushes him forward now.

Wei Wuxian wakes as Jiang Cheng crawls underneath the covers. His brother doesn’t speak or ask any questions, shifting aside and letting Jiang Cheng curl himself against his brother like he hasn’t done since they were both twelve and afraid of thunderstorms. He trembles, only a little bit, when his brother’s arms come around and hold him close.

His brother’s heartbeat is a reassuring sound against his ear, a surety that he is wholly and invariably alive, returned to the world, to Jiang Cheng’s life against all possible odds–a second chance that Jiang Cheng probably doesn’t deserve but has been given anyway. It soothes away some of that old anger and settles the last of the anxiety fluttering through his veins. Slowly, he’s lulled into sleep by the steady sound of his brother’s quiet breathing.

Jiang Cheng dreams of lotus blooms and smiles.

 ---

Final Notes:

1. Title is lyrics from Imagine Dragons’ Whatever It Takes.

2. So there's probably like established xianxia/wuxia rules about what magical spirit/demon/ghoul-repelling beads actually do and how they are made, but I couldn't for the life of me find any credible sources, SO I just made it up. Yolo. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

3. I don’t know how well I executed what I wanted to do here, but I love (2) idiots, and I will die on this hill. Did I screw up everyone’s characterizations? Highly probable.

4. I really love Jiang Cheng’s one-sided bang in CQL. (CAN WE JUST BASK IN WZC’S BEAUTIFUL FACE?) It's an immense travesty that he stops wearing it when he decides he needs be an adult™. But Wei Wuxian secretly misses it, and I wanted to play with that symbolism of change a little.

5. Thanks to @winepresswrath for dealing with my incessant rambling and for the genius idea of the “Forbidden Room” of Lotus Pier. Lmao.

6. I know this was meant to be a Jin Ling perspective fic, but I couldn’t help writing the bonus scene and had to stop myself from turning it into a Jiang Cheng version of this, because I already have too many WIPs that I will never finish. (Dammit plot bunnies, leave me alone!)

7. Please feel free to come scream with me about cql/mdzs and yunmeng shuangjie on my personal tumblr. :D

8. Thank you so much for reading!! ♥︎♥︎♥︎ Stay healthy and well!!

[belovedstill]

hi!! i have a question... i saw your reblog about freewriting and i wanted to try it myself cause i have a hard time with writing because of my anxiety but i'm not sure i understood 100%. what do you actually write while you freewrite? is it related to what you're working on at the moment, like do you freewrite a scene (kind of like sprinting in a way) or just random words/thoughts in your head?

hi <3 i understand you 100% because sometimes (most of the time) when i sit down with the intention to write, my brain subconsciously goes "okay, the pressure's ON, everything i write must be useful for the fic" (and then i go "wait, @ brain, what fic? i don't even know what fic i would write, i just want to write" and brain says "it must be useful for the fic" (which btw doesn't help, thanks @ brain but no thanks))

i will start by honestly saying that while I've been doing this for many years, I've never had a word for it. If my memory's right, then I've never heard the term "freewriting" before. I'd either call it stream of consciousness or messaging a friend or word vomit or scribbling

(i'm going to share some photos & screenshots as examples because i personally appreciate examples for things i don't know how to even start doing; i'll include content warnings above the photos wherever applicable. These things were not meant to be seen by other people, obviously, so not all of them are neat, not all of them are in English or spelled correctly, and not all of them make sense, some might not even be Socially Acceptable (i'm very anxious as well, you see, so I ask people to be kind if you do take a look at the examples and decipher what's written), but that's the whole point of these: you let your mind go without worrying about where it's going)

I'm sure every person who does freewriting does it differently but here are several ways i do it (under the cut because it got very long as i pretty much (ayyyy) freewrote it):

test a pen/pencil! you know when you get a new pen and write down the most random thing on a piece of paper to see what the ink looks like and how it feels to write using that pen? for me it's usually a single word or a phrase from a song (my go-tos are hello, wait, Beloved (my MC's name, shhh) and other fictional characters' names or Why you gotta be so mean? from Taylor Swift's song "Mean", don't ask me why because i have no answer)

writing down the lyrics to a song that's currently stuck in your mind and living there rent-free, and if you forget the next line or if something else pops into your head - let it take you over

write on random pieces of paper! the less it reminds you of a notebook/blank page, the better! sometimes that means what's left of printer paper or post-it notes. actually, most of the photos of paper pages in this post are from my poor quality notebooks - the paper is too thin or not smooth or the pages are yellowish, so i don't feel bad """wasting""" the notebook for doodles, random scribbles, etc.

a diary entry? a diary entry, except there doesn't have to be depth to it, no journaling type of reflection on your feelings, on your experiences, on the Daily Journaling Prompt necessary--unless you want to. in my case it's mostly complaining about the pen i decided to use or the quality of the paper but!!! because i let myself write anything and everything on one page, at one point it feels natural to write some random story sentences on the other page

CW: implied past physical abuse

brainstorming! here's where, for me, the "messaging a friend" name came from. i have a very vague idea for what i want to write or a very small detail i want to write about, but nothing else. i set up a timer and write everything down (the screenshot is taken from my very own personal discord server, it's just me and a writing bot. at one point i realised that whenever i was brainstorming or writing cheer up ficlets in my friends' discord DMs, writing went super easy because my brain didn't register it as writing, but as chatting. At first, I formatted a new google doc so it looked exactly like discord's dark theme, but ultimately decided that just creating a new server just for my writing process/practice/etc and stuff is easier)

CW: harmful & discouraging stuff asexual people face

"I don't know what to write, I don't even think I want to write an actual story, it's not going to stop me" kind of writing. Anything goes and I mean anything. The sentences aren't connected. There's no actual idea or story behind the sentences. You're just writing a word after a word after a word. Sometimes a question appears in your mind, so you write it down. The question leads to more questions, or maybe an answer, or maybe you realise you like the feel/sound of one word so you write it again and again. After you wrote the word three times, tiny ideas form in your mind, things you relate to that word. Then you lose track of the thought so you write "I lost track", then a piece of dialogue floats in your mind that's probably inspired or part of a song lyric you wrote earlier

CW: unconventional/controversial lovers

if your writing anxiety is caused by fandom wank regarding some topics, tropes, themes, or even genres, know that if you freestyle about the thing you're worried somebody would judge you for, nobody else will read it. you can delete the doc afterwards. you can password protect it. you can tear the page out of your notebook and shred it to pieces. i won't include a photo example of this one (anxious, remember? also, it's nsfw) but i did this with smut-specific words and phrases. i got a blank piece of paper and wrote--first, just words (nouns for genitalia, verbs for action, etc. let me tell you - i was alone in the room and even trying to write the first word was difficult, in my head i kept thinking back to people's conversations on how "problematic these words are" etc etc etc and that fed my anxiety even further because "oh god what if they knew i was about to write this, what would they think of me"), then the words combined into phrases, then common smexy phrases that characters in smut say, and so on and so on. no punctuation because it's not a story. you know what happened after i put that first word on the page? nothing. i felt silly, sure, but i repeated the word several more times and still no People From the Internet barged into my room to ridicule & judge me. during that session, freestyling for that genre got easier and easier with every word.

Two posts that helped me realise that warming up for writing (and anything creative) is a good idea:

Writers need warm up sketches too (my way of warm up is usually either freewriting or using a typing speed website)

The anatomy of a pen/pencil etc

...and I think that's all from me 💕 apologies for how long this is but I hope it helps you in some way *hugs*

[livlepretre]

6 TVD Prompt Ficlets

Filling a bunch of prompts sent in by @finnismyoriginalsin last August– I didn’t take all of them, so seriously, if any of these tickle anyone, GO WRITE because they are all fantastic!

(Jeremy x Katherine; Tatia, Katherine, Elena x Klaus; Tyler!Klaus x Elena; Klaus x Elena; Alaric!Klaus x Elena; Elijah x Elena) 

Prompts:

Not 12am here yet so lol..I have a few more if you wanna do. 

Prompt: Stefan is Jack the Ripper with the help of Klaus and Rebekah, obv it’s how he earned the nickname.

Prompt: Jeremy finds the old timey photo of Katherine, meets Katherine who he mistakes for his sister at first (may or may not be shippy).

It’s entirely fucked. He knows that. 

The thing is it had all started innocently enough– no one had ever thought to fill him in on the whole evil twin thing, noooo, better to leave him in the dark and let him bleed his broken heart onto his not-sister’s shoulder and start this thing– this thing he thought was Elena letting him in, finally being present, where just about every week she would take him out to this bar outside of town that never cards and buy him drinks and listen. And they would talk. 

They never discussed it, it just seemed to spontaneously happen. Between Jenna always listening in on his conversations and her stalker boyfriends that made sense to Jeremy. 

So by the time he figured out it wasn’t Elena he’d been spending all this time with, his head had got twisted around. He’d been angry and hurt and somehow those nights out with his sister that he adored turned into even longer nights where he would stare into the sultry, sharp features of the vampire like he was looking into a funhouse mirror. That was how he first noticed the shape of her mouth, the sharpness of her pearly white teeth. How he first imagined that mouth on him, those teeth in him. 

The leap from imagination to reality is devastatingly short. 

She likes to ask him questions while she nurses his dick, nurses the bloody bites in his thighs. He tells her everything she asks for. More. He’s always liked talking to her. Likes being inside of her even more, even though it means he has to blush and look away whenever his sister walks into a room. 

Until one day she stops coming by. He waits for her, and waits. 

It takes forever to realize that whatever she had wanted from him, she must have gotten.

It’s soon after that that Damon approaches him with a plan to take the bitch down at the masquerade, and he’s all too eager to participate. 

Prompt: Tatia, Katherine, Elena, Amara x Klaus, he can’t escape her, he’s the one running now.

She’s everywhere. He turns the corner: there she is. Looks in the mirror, and there, standing just behind him again, her, her, her. 

A thousand years have passed, and while the memory of Tatia Petrova has surely haunted him, it had not been until after the sacrifice, when he’d revenged himself on Katerina and drained that last girl wearing a damned face had the haunting become quite so literal. 

Now Tatia follows him for true, her eyes an accusation as she looks and looks and looks at him and refuses to ever look away, her gaze still and fixed as only the dead’s can be. 

Katerina plucks at his sleeves, her hands thin and gray as they never were in all the years he had known her. Where once she had caressed him with those hands, had loved him with those hands, now all she can do is demand from him that he acknowledge her. That he look at her, and see what he has done to her. He never looks, because then he would have to see the gaping wound in her chest where once her heart had been. She had given him her heart once, and he had taken exquisite pleasure in holding that still beating heart in his hand and ripping it from her chest, in watching the gray crawl of extinguishment creep over her skin. He had been a fool. 

The worst is the last one. Elena, he reminds himself. 

Her skin painted with blood from head to toe, flames eternally licking at her hands and her feet. He always knows she’s found him again from the scent of charnel that follows her on a windless breeze. Of all of them, she holds herself farthest back. Never looks at him, never even seems to notice him. It’s unbearable, when he can feel around his wrists and around his ankles and threading through his ribs heavy chains, forging his fate with hers. Her last words had been Go to hell. He had not realized at the time that she intended to drag him there herself. He feels the weight of them, pulling ever tighter. Her silhouette is thinner every time he spies her. He doesn’t want to think what will happen to him when she disappears entirely. 

And so he runs. Leaves America, and then the Western Hemisphere altogether. Abandons civilization and society to plunge into the deepest forests, the darkest seas, daring to outrun the inevitable. 

Everywhere she finds him. She, she, and she. 

His three-faced goddess. His death where he had only ever thought to look for triumph. 

He had thought the chase was over that day he plunged his fangs into Elena Gilbert’s neck, but now he knows: that was the day the true hunt began. 

Prompt: Davina brings back both Kol and Finn accidentally, their ashes were mixed in the urn. And/or Davina brings back Finn who masquerades as Kol for a bit.

Prompt: Klaus x Davina, he also has a thing for witches like Kol. Gold dagger threats.

Prompt: Rebekah x Kol, secret liaisons

Prompt: Tyler!Klaus x Elena, awkward morning after, angst. And/or Tyler!Klaus x Caroline bc that would be super awkward and angsty.

It’s obvious as soon as she wakes up with her head clearer than it’s been since she turned that this is a huge irrevocable mistake. The mistake to end all mistakes. 

Elena creeps out from Tyler’s bed, cringing at the dried blood plastered all over both of their bodies, mapping the wild caresses that had led to the frenzied fucking last night. She trips almost right away– she lands hard on the floor, where she is forced to look into the glassed over eyes of the girl she and Tyler had picked up at the Founder’s party last night and, in a whiskey-drenched, blood-starved haze, seduced and then devoured. 

She groans, hanging her head in her hands, as viscous guilt surges up in her throat like bitter bile. 

Worse. Her gums ache. Even now she’s wondering when her next opportunity to do it again will be. 

“Lovely. You’re awake.” Tyler sits up and stretches. 

Elena narrows her eyes at him. Something about his word choice seems off. She’s known Tyler since they were in diapers, and never once has she heard him use the word lovely. In fact, there’s been something odd about Tyler ever since he mysteriously, miraculously didn’t die when Klaus burned– 

The blanket falls off of him and she is faced with the evidence of everywhere she had touched him with her hands and her mouth last night, all mapped out in vivid crimson like the cheat, the slut, the failure she is.  

“What are we going to do? What are we going to tell Care?” Elena moans, huddling in on herself. She draws her knees to her chest and rests her forehead against them. There’s a dab of blood on her left thigh and she can’t help sticking her tongue out to taste it, to comfort herself with it, even in the pit of all of her anguish. 

She’s gone and slept with her best friend’s boyfriend. Completely lost control of herself and abandoned everything that made her decent and worth loving. And she’s a murderer too, now. A really, really hungry one. 

“We should come clean with her,” Tyler says. “Straight away.” He eyes her naked body. “Well, perhaps after another bout. What do you say?” He crawls onto the floor with her and pins her beneath him. 

Lightning flashes through her brain. She kicks herself for not realizing sooner– but how could she? She’s been a wrecked, starving mess ever since she woke up on that coroner’s table coughing her lungs out. 

“Tell me again what you said after you saved me from Klaus,” she whispers. “In the kitchen.” 

The hybrid on top of her pauses. “I wanted you to drink some orange juice.” 

She shoves him off of her and darts to the other side, looking for her clothes. “First off, as though Tyler Lockwood would ever offer me anything other than a shot,” she says, thrusting her legs into her jeans. “Second off, what the hell, Klaus?” She stares down at her arms. She’s covered in Klaus-marks. Her skin crawls. “What was this? Why are you in Tyler’s body?” 

He stretches and prowls towards her. “I’m on holiday here until your little witch friend can find a way to jump me back into my own without that stake destroying me as soon as she does.” 

“And so you thought you’d just have a go at me?” 

“You handed me the perfect opportunity to separate Miss Forbes from her boyfriend.” He leers at her. “I must say, though, the after dinner show was far beyond my expectations. I do hope I can persuade you for an encore.” 

She slaps him. “You’re vile. I’d rather–”

“You’re already dead, and next to that, whatever else you might say is going to pale in comparison.” He leans in, brushes his mouth against her ear. 

Elena represses the shiver of delight and disgust that rolls through her. 

“And before you go casting stones: you still slept with me when you thought I was your dear friend’s boyfriend. What does that say about you?” 

Prompt: Finn x Rebekah or Freya, first meetings again.

Prompt: Klaus x Elena, hybrid baby somehow, oops can’t kill her now. Or, something pre season 1.

“You’re cheating on me?” he asks, bewildered. 

Elena– sweet, sexy, sixteen year old Elena– swats him, dashing tears away from her eyes in the next motion. “Of course not! God, how can you even think– Of course it’s yours.” 

“I highly doubt that.” Never sleep with a Petrova woman. That has been the rule he has been muttering to himself for 500 years. Why couldn’t he ever listen to himself? No, he just had to seduce the girl while he hunted for the moonstone, he couldn’t just leave her alone once he’d seen her– 

“Well, I regret sleeping with you too,” she sniffles. “But since you’re the only one I’ve ever been with–”

In an instant he’s caught her in his gaze. “Tell me who the true father of your child is,” he compels her. Once he has a name, he can vent his frustration and jealousy out on him. Snapping necks always makes him feel better. 

“You are,” she informs him, bringing the sky to come crashing down on his head without so much as batting a pretty black eyelash. 

He sputters, pushing her away from him. His thoughts spark and short– how– perhaps– 

He studies her wildly. Could her doppelganger nature be responsible? 

He curses, all at once becoming aware of the weight of the moonstone in his pocket. 

How can he sacrifice her now? He’ll have to wait– he pauses, tries to recall how long human pregnancies last– Well. Never mind. He’ll have to wait, at any rate. First for the child to be born, then for it to be weaned. And then? He can already foresee a limitless expanses of reasons to wait longer as this Elena Gilbert raises his child piling up in front of him. 

And as he waits, Elena will only grow ever more beautiful and deadly. And he will have no choice but to fall in love with her. 

Prompt: Alaric!Klaus x Caroline or Elena, meeting after class, creep.

“Elena, stay a minute after class.” 

The girl pauses in the middle of packing up her bag, her large doe eyes curious but trusting. So trusting. Had Katerina ever looked at him like that? Tatia certainly never had. 

As the class shuffles out, he takes the liberty of closing and locking the door, noting how still the girl doesn’t question him. 

Isobel had chosen well when she’d selected the history teacher. 

“What’s this about, Ric? Is it about–” she ducks her chin, very seriously, how sweet– “Klaus?” she half-whispers, half-mouths. 

An absolute thrill rolls up his spine at the shape of his name in her mouth. 

“Is there something you know that I don’t?” he asks carefully, fighting a smirk.

The girl’s face goes smooth as glass. He suddenly has a desire to tear her scalp free, the better for him to look inside her brain at all of those thoughts he can fair see swirling mercilessly behind her dark eyes. 

He hovers over her desk. Cannot resist tucking a long tendril of her silky brown hair behind her ear, to sink into those abyssal eyes like an animal trapped in tar. Those eyes could smother a man. A vampire. 

“Keep your guard up,” he murmurs, chucking her under the chin. “You never know who could lying in wait.” 

Prompt: Elijah x Elena, him and his ties, during first seeing her after smelling her (you know the gif)

The shock of her existence is immense. In a moment, his entire world realigns. Shifts back into an alignment so seamless and perfect he cannot believe that he had gone on for centuries thinking this possibility were gone forever. This girl– this as yet unnamed, unknown, human girl– is a miracle. An opportunity for vengeance and maybe– just maybe– a chance for redemption. 

He straightens his tie. Cannot fight the smile on his face as he greets  her. “Hello.” 

Sorry lol, damn I ship too many things.

[hazelrainartappreciation]

Memories-Fragment 1

~A new writing series I’m starting; a collection of short drabbles and ficlets based on my headcanons for Hazel and Gretchen. Today’s installment is a short story based on how, drawing from the original fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel, their father is a woodcutter (here he works for a lumber company) and how Hazel tries to get a job there too to help his family..

--Hugo didn't bother looking up when he heard the soft knock at his office door, being too focused on his mountain of paperwork and fighting off the remains of a hangover from the night before. Instead he called a short, “Yeah? Come in.”

The door swung open, and it was only when he could sense the figure standing silently for some time he sighed and looked up. His eyebrow raised at the tall, deep brown-haired young man in his office, hands clasped behind his back, looking awkwardly at a withering plant sitting on a cabinet as he awaited acknowledgment.

“Hazel? Did your dad send you for something?” asked Hugo.

The teen turned his attention to him, “No, I came here on my own. I have a question, actually...”

Hugo leaned back in his chair and gestured for Hazel to sit, which he accepted then cleared his throat, “Gretchen and I have been helping here for a long time. We know the job well, and I feel it's time I joined as an official employee. If there's a position open, I'll take it.”

He felt his eye twitch, and it took several moments for Hugo to digest and think of an appropriate response to this. He wasn't sure what his expression revealed, but Hazel stared back at him with an unnerving amount of calm confidence in his green-flecked eyes for someone so young. At length he leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk, lips pursed into a thin line.

“Does your dad know you were planning this?”

“I was going to tell him after.”

“Remind me how old you are.”

“I'm fourteen.”

“I should think that would end this conversation.”

“You've never had an issue with us lending a hand before.”Hazel replied coolly.

“Kid...listen...” Hugo removed his glasses and pinched his brow-ridge, squeezing his eyes shut, “Your dad just kinda dragged you two along one day and well, it's hard to say no to Barrett Rainart when he's insistent. I never made a fuss after we had a chat and I made it clear if anything happened to you two, it was his choice to bring you along and my hands were clean of it. But now,” he glanced back up, “Now you're telling me you want to be an official employee. That's a whole different ballgame. There's rules, and accountability. Logging is a dangerous job, and that's not counting the goddamn Grimm. I cannot hire a fourteen year old, even if you have probably more hours under your belt than some of my guys.”

Hazel clenched his jaw, having had a feeling something like this would happen. His hands balled into fists in his lap before he relaxed them and took a slow, deep breath.

All he wanted was to help the family. Money had been tight, especially after their father had been injured and was at first out of work, then was forced to work reduced shifts. A lot of days they had very little to eat. Gretchen, in her unwavering optimism and tenacity, had taken to gathering as many wild fruits and plants as she could and selling the extras in the nearby town, even teaching herself to make baskets to accompany them and sell separately. She never made much, but oftentimes it was the difference between going to bed hungry or having at least some food in them.

Hazel, having no artistic or creative talents, had tried to gain employment at a bunch of places in town, however he found himself facing the same issue as here; no one wanted to hire someone so young, even if he was already as tall as some adults. In desperation, he opted to try and follow in his father's footsteps, having learned a great deal from the times they had accompanied him over the years. It had been a two-fold plan on Barrett's part; the kids wouldn't be alone all day, and could learn a good work ethic as well as be, essentially, his assistants. It had worked, and the twins had become unofficially 'adopted' by the rest of the employees...including the foreman seated across from him now.

As his thoughts wandered, Hazel had been staring at his lap, but now he looked back up with that stoic determination that ran in his family, “What would I have to do to prove I'm strong enough to do this?”

“Look, it's not a matter of strength, well I mean, yeah okay some of it is-for the brother's sake you're fourteen you're just starting to grow some facial hair!-it's also a lot of red tape nonsense that I'm gonna be honest, I don't feel like dealing with, not to mention I can't in good conscious . So Hazel, I'm sorry, you're a great kid, really you are but I just...I can't.”

Swallowing hard and fighting back the tears of frustration, Hazel slowly repeated, “What must I do?”

Mumbling and swearing under his breath, Hugo rubbed his face and grabbed a bottle of water and a couple stomach-soothing pills, downing them before resting his elbows on his huge desk...and an idea formed. It was stupid, but maybe...

Sitting back up, Hugo smiled slyly, lacing his fingers together and calmly resting his chin on them, “Alright. You want in that bad? I've got a little test for you. See this desk? This thing is solid oak. Whenever I need to rearrange this office it takes two grown men to move it, but, if you can do it yourself, I'll hire you.”

“Do I have your word?” asked Hazel.

Hugo nodded, “Aye kid, you do,” he stood and moved a bunch of items off the top, “Now come on, let's see if you're strong enough.”

Standing himself, Hazel stretched his arms, then his back and rolled his shoulders before moving to grasp the edges of the desk. Hugo stood a short distance away, trying to hide his smug grin; there was no way in hell he'd be able to move it. Bracing and locking his legs, Hazel took several slow breaths then tightened his grip, digging his feet into the floor for leverage as he tried to hoist the furniture piece. For a few moments nothing happened, and Hugo was about to tell him that was that-

And then to his astonishment and dismay, the legs nearest Hazel lifted off the floor, not by much, but enough he was able to pivot the desk around several inches, where he let it fall back to the floor with a deep thud. The teen gave another quick stretch, then turned to face Hugo, one eyebrow raising in expectancy.

“What? You only moved it a little. I meant if you could actually change it's location.” grumbled Hugo, planting his hands on his hips.

“If I remember correctly,” retorted Hazel as he crossed his arms, “All you said was if I moved it, not how far I could. You did give your word.”

At length, lips pursed before shaking his head and walking to his desk's new spot, Hugo slapped the papers he had been holding upon it. Pulling his chair around, he sat and pulled an employment form from a drawer, sliding it and a pen across the surface toward Hazel.

“Your dad is gonna wring my neck...”

Hazel locked the front door behind him as he arrived home later that evening, his copy of the employment agreement in hand. The first thing he saw was Gretchen at the kitchen table with a small pile of reeds and other supplies in front of her as she worked on another basket. Looking up she grinned, though he could see the tiredness in her face.

“Hey you. Was wondering when you'd get back,” her eyes caught the paper, “What's that?”

Hazel carefully unfolded it to show her, “My employment contract.”

“Who the heck hired you?!”

“Father's company.”

Gretchen gaped at him, then clenched the fibers in her hands a little tighter, “He...you did talk to him about it right?”

“About what?” came a deep voice from their living room.

The twins locked eyes, both knowing how this was going to go and having a brief, silent conversation as they often did, their expressions and gestures saying all that was needed; Gretchen's brows knitted as her eyes flicked from the living room back to her brother, 'He's going to be angry.' Hazel's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders sagging, 'I know,' then he gave her a soft, brave smile, 'I'll be okay'. She rested one hand over her heart briefly, then stood and gave him a nod and touched her lips before climbing the ladder to their loft bedroom, 'I love you, good luck, we'll talk later'.

Hazel covered his heart for a moment as well, watching her vanish into the dark of the loft. Hearing their father clear his throat and ask for him to come in, he drew a breath and entered, still holding the paperwork. His father sat in his large armchair, a glass of amber-colored liquid in one hand and a book in the the other, the latter of which he set down to turn his attention to his son, expression coldly stern.

“Now. What's going on?”

[pitviperofdoom]

AA daemon ficlets are just really comforting and fun to write. So here’s another!

Maya’s POV is really weird to write because she’s a 170-year-old witch so like she’s still Maya but she also says dope shit sometimes.

---

The glass between them frustrates her.

It seems to Maya that whenever they talk face to face, there is either glass between them or the threat of glass hanging over their heads. And now she is free but the glass remains, because he has taken her place in that cage.

Because Redd White has put him there.

Aunt Morgan often speaks longingly of the old days, days that Maya is too young to remember well—when a witch could slay a man for an insult and no one batted an eye, much less put her on trial for it. Normally her aunt’s bitter words make her uncomfortable, as they once nettled Mia, but now…

Now part of her wishes she could turn back time two hundred years, just so she could put an arrow in Redd White’s heart herself. For Mother, for Mia, for herself, and now for Phoenix Wright.

He puts on a brave face for her benefit, his smile bright and reassuring even though it has to hurt, with his face bruised and ugly scratches across his nose and one cheek. The smile and the marks are nearly enough to blind her to the darkness beneath his eyes. But even if she couldn’t read his face, his dӕmon is too big to hide.

Mother knew how to read dӕmons, including human ones, because as queen it was a useful skill. She taught Mia before she disappeared. Now she’s gone and Aunt Morgan says humans aren’t worth their time, so it was left to Mia to pass on what she knew to Maya. Dogs are expressive dӕmons, she’s found, and Wright’s Dawn looks like she’s been caged for days, not mere hours. Her head is low, her tail between her legs, and her white fur is ragged and unkempt.

“Please tell me there’s something I can do,” she says. “You need evidence, don’t you? I’m not a lawyer, or a detective, but I am a witch. If there’s somewhere I need to search, or retrieve something, or question people—well, most people don’t say no to witches.”

“No,” he says firmly. “No, don’t do any of that. That’s what got me in here, and it’s what got your sister killed.” Maya swallows her anger and grief at the reminder. “Besides, I know a few things about White that I didn't before, and that’s what tomorrow will be about. He’s going to ‘prove’ me guilty by going up on the witness stand and lying. All I have to do is pick apart his lies until the whole story falls apart. Hopefully, I’ll get him to crack that way.”

Maya nods. She knows about that part of human legal customs, because Mia told her about it. It was one of her sister’s secrets to success. But it doesn’t feel like enough. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Cheer us on tomorrow, I guess,” Dawn replies.

“I can do that!” she says eagerly, almost too eagerly. Aunt Morgan would be appalled at the display. “I can stand beside you in court, can’t I? Now that I’m not a prisoner anymore?”

He blinks at her, surprised. “W-well, I guess? You could act as my co-counsel, but…”

“I’ll do it,” she says fiercely. “You stood with me when no one else would, and you sacrificed your own freedom to give me mine. This is the least I can do for you, short of killing Redd White with my own hands.”

One of the officers shifts uncomfortably, and Wright splutters. “Okay, definitely don’t do that,” he says. “Because then you actually would be guilty of murder, and there’s not much I could do about that.”

“I won’t,” she says, offering a reassuring smile. “I don’t want to make this any harder for you. Even if I do think it would make things easier…” Wright gives her a pained look. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I’ll stand with you in court tomorrow, and maybe I can find a way to support you properly.”

“It’ll be fine.” Phoenix smiles again, wincing when it bothers his bruises. “Trust me.”

She wants to believe him, she really does. But Dawn’s tail is still between her legs, and the fear shines through in their eyes. There is no promise of victory, only tenuous hope.

Maya returns to her sister’s office that day, because there is little else that she can do but wait. As she approaches the building, she comes across a familiar face leaving it. In an instant she is wary, because the first thing he did upon meeting her was arrest her, and now that she’s free, she isn’t sure where that leaves them.

“Um... hello, Detective,” she says, and he startles like a big, ungainly rabbit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, hello, uh, Miss Witch! Detective Dick Gumshoe, at your service!” He stands rigidly before her, wide-eyed. At his feet, his pit bull dӕmon pants nervously and tries in vain to tuck her stubby tail.

“Can I go in?” she asks. “I won’t disturb anything, if you’re still looking…”

“By all means, Miss Witch! Don’t worry about disturbing anything, we’re finished here and the crime scene’s been cleaned up!” He shuffles out of her way, and she realizes that he’s afraid of her. And why wouldn’t he be? He accused her of her sister’s murder. A little over a century ago, that would have earned him an immediate arrow through the heart.

“It’s Maya,” she says, taking pity on him. “Maya Fey. Thank you.”

“No problem, Miss Fey! Sorry for yesterday, just doing my job, very glad to see you’ve been released! Have a nice day, ma’am! C’mon, Bobbie, let’s go.”

He and his dӕmon make a hasty retreat. Maya watches them go, then walks into her sister’s office. She sits down by the window where Mia’s body lay, and doesn’t move until her legs are stiff and achy, and the sunset casts long shadows throughout the room.

There’s a plant in the corner, still green and healthy, but the soil is dry to the touch. While she waters it, Zech flies to the desk to have a look at the computer. The distance tugs at their bond—another reminder of the ritual they haven’t completed, and that Mia won’t be there when they do.

When she’s satisfied with the plant’s condition, Maya goes to her dӕmon’s side to find the computer on and Zech scrolling through it. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to answer an earlier question,” he tells her. “Since Phoenix already knows about Redd White, and we know that White’s dӕmon is—”

“A water moccasin,” Maya says. “Also known as a cottonmouth. I remember what Mia said.” On the screen, an encyclopedia article on the Felidae family slowly loads.

“I figured that was self-explanatory,” Zech says dryly. “So I thought it might be helpful to glean what we could from Mr. Edgeworth’s dӕmon. Starting with what she is. Maybe it'll give Phoenix an edge.”

“Makes sense.” Maya sits down in her sister’s chair, doing her very best not to think of it that way. “Let’s see what we can find.”

And they do. It doesn’t take them nearly as long as Maya feared, and she shares a triumphant look with Zech before sitting back and turning the machine off.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Zech says, feathers ruffling eagerly. “And rare, isn’t it?”

“Among humans, yes,” Maya replies, tickling his ruff feathers. “Almost unheard of, with witches.”

“Obviously.”

She’s not sure if it will help. But Mia says that court is a battle fought with information, and if Maya cannot fight with Phoenix tomorrow, then the least she can do is arm him.

Phoenix looks worse, somehow. He doesn’t look like he’s slept much, and beneath his battered smile, Maya can see that he’s scared. Dawn hardly looks any better. Her fur is still poorly groomed, her tail droops, and she presses close to her human like she’s afraid they’ll be separated.

“I’m fine,” he assures Maya when she asks. “I mean, if you think about it, however this trial ends up, I did what I said I’d do. Win or lose, you’re still innocent.”

She scowls, even though Aunt Morgan has always told her that it makes her look childish. “That’s not good enough,” she argues. “You’re innocent, too.”

“I know. And you know that, too. That’s what matters right now.”

“When this is over, everyone else will know it,” she reminds him.

She’s not sure how to describe the way his face softens at that. For the first time since yesterday, his dӕmon’s tail gives a tentative wag. “Thank you,” Dawn says softly.

“I’ve hardly done anything,” Maya answers, a little flustered.

“No, really,” Phoenix says. “You… it means a lot that you’re standing with me. With us. It really does. It’s just, we know what it’s like to have everyone against you but one person, and—” He hesitates. “I guess… thanks for being that one person, this time.”

“We haven’t done anything you didn’t do for us,” Maya reminds him.

The moment ends when Dawn goes rigid, and Zech lets out a warning croak, and Maya turns to find Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth approaching them, with his long-legged cat dӕmon stalking at his heels. This time, her hunter eyes pass over Maya and Zech to settle upon Dawn instead. Edgeworth’s eyes are likewise on Phoenix. Maya may as well not even be there.

“Wright,” Edgeworth says coolly.

“Edgeworth.”

Are lawyers always like this? If they were witches, the spells would already be flying. Human justice is a strange thing, if those who uphold it are at war with one another.

“I received a call from the Chief Prosecutor today,” Edgeworth says. He is straight-backed and composed as he speaks, his voice calm and conversational. At his feet, his dӕmon’s tail flicks from side to side, and her claws slide from their sheathes. Steady, serene, and ready to pounce.

“Did you?” Phoenix asks. He’s not quite as good at sounding calm.

“Apparently, anything that the witness says on the stand today is to be taken as the absolute truth,” Edgeworth goes on. “And the judge’s verdict will agree with it.”

“The judge, too?” Dawn yelps, pawing at the ground. Phoenix curls his hand into her bristling fur, either a calming gesture or a warning one.

Edgeworth ignores her. “I’ve been assured that any objection I make will be sustained, and any evidence I present will be accepted without question.”

Dawn starts forward, pulling against her human’s grip. “And you’re just fine with that, are you?” she growls.

“Dawn,” Phoenix warns her, tightening his fingers in her fur.

She pulls herself free to round on him, teeth bared. “Phoenix, the entire court is in White’s pocket and he’s telling us to our faces, I can’t just—”

“Save it for the courtroom,” he tells her shortly. His eyes haven’t left Edgeworth.

The prosecutor finally deigns to look at Dawn, if only for a moment. “I suggest you keep better control of your dӕmon, Wright. For an outburst like that, you’d be held in contempt. Though I suppose that would save everyone else a great deal of time.”

Phoenix shifts, in such a way that it’s almost a flinch. “So you’re saying I’m guilty, then,” he says, his voice tight. “End of story?”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to obtain a guilty verdict.”

Maya sees red.

“How dare you.” He may be a head and a half taller than she is, but she is almost one hundred and fifty years older, and still young enough for her grief to boil over into fury. “Just yesterday you were convinced that I was guilty! Have you changed your mind so easily?” She feels Zech’s claws dig into her shoulder. “I’ll bet you don’t even have a shred of evidence that Phoenix is guilty! All you did was listen to that man’s lies and decide that your job was done!” Her eyes blaze. “Do you even care about finding my sister’s murderer, or would you rather cage another innocent and tell yourself it’s victory?”

The cat hisses at their feet, and Zech rasps out an answering challenge.

Edgeworth’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t back away. “Innocent? Can you even say for certain that he is? Or that anyone is?” His eyes return to Phoenix. “Criminals lie to escape justice, and they slip through the cracks thanks to cheap tactics like the ones I’ve seen you employ. All I can hope to do is have every defendant declared guilty.”

Phoenix holds his gaze for a moment longer, while Dawn growls and Maya swallows another furious outburst. But when Phoenix speaks, there is no anger, only sadness. “You’ve really changed, haven’t you, Edgeworth?”

In an instant, Maya’s rage plunges into ice-cold water. She looks to Phoenix in shock, and sees the answer to her question written all over his face.

It’s more than just the animosity between opposite sides of a conflict. There’s history there. As cold and aloof as Edgeworth holds himself, there is something deeply personal in this.

“…Don’t expect any special treatment,” Edgeworth says, and turns to go. His dӕmon glares balefully at them before turning to follow. The time for parley is over, it seems.

Except, it’s not.

Dawn steps forward. Her voice, laced with a growl, echoes in the lobby. “Thea.”

Halfway across the room, the cat dӕmon freezes. Edgeworth pauses as well, turning back to urge his dӕmon onward.

“Dawn,” Phoenix murmurs, but she doesn’t listen to him. She steps forward as far as their bond will allow, standing tall with her tail held high for the first time since Maya saw them in detention yesterday.

“Come on, Thea. This is wrong and you know it.”

“The only thing I know,” the cat replies calmly, “is that you are the defendant, and that makes it our job to find you guilty.”

“You’re being played,” Dawn growls. “I know you’re not in his pocket too, but you have to see that!”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” The cat takes another step toward her human.

“What happened to you and Miles?” Dawn demands. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”

Edgeworth's face turns thunderous. The cat’s tall ears turn back, flat against her head, and she whirls around and storms back to face Dawn with a snarl. “What did you expect, Dawn?” she spits. “That we would throw away everything we’ve worked for, for—what?” Her lip curls back scornfully. “Childish sentiment?”

Dawn’s tail drops, and her white coat bristles with fury. When she finally speaks again, her voice is harsh with disappointment. “It’s not about sentiment, Alethea. I just thought you were smarter than this.”

Maya can almost hear the cat dӕmon’s claws scrape against the tile. Without another word, she whips around and stalks after Edgeworth.

Beside her, Phoenix’s hands shake. They don’t still until his dӕmon is within reach again, offering her fluffy coat to curl his fingers into.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t just—I had to say something—”

“I know.” Phoenix straightens up, his face set. “We’d better go in.”

This is their last chance for a private word. Maya catches him by the sleeve before he makes it to the door. “She’s a hybrid.”

He looks at her, confused. “What?”

“There’s a breed of cat called the Savannah,” she explains. “Though, it’s not really a breed in the truest sense. It’s made by crossing a domestic cat with a serval—that’s a wild cat from Africa.”

Her meaning dawns on him, and his eyes widen.

“I’m not sure if it helps,” she says. “Maybe it doesn’t. But hybrid dӕmons are said to indicate some kind of… split. A contradiction or duality in the soul.” She squeezes his arm in what she hopes is a reassuring way. “So, you could be right about him. He’s a hunter either way, but he may be more conflicted with himself than he lets on.”

The hope in his eyes is nearly enough to make her cry.

[theeternalspace]

walls that we repainted white 1/1

I had been in the Sanders Sides fandom for a little while before I started posting my own work. I read fanfics, I reblogged art. I even worked up the courage to speak to a few of you and made a wonderful friend in the form of @jittery-glittery

Thanks to her encouragement, a year ago today, I posted the first chapter of what would become the ongoing epic The Consequences of Sound. Without Flo, I don't think I would ever have posted a word. (Another chapter is going up later tonight)

I made more friends, I gradually started talking to other fanders and making friends like the awesome @i-will-physically-fight-you (who very kindly stepped in and let me break her heart while she checked my tenses for this ficlet) or the sweet and funny @romanticsanders. To name only a fraction of the lovely people I'm proud to know. I love you all and I wish I could list more but then this would be nothing but a list because I am so blessed. 

I also want to talk to a whole lot more of you and maybe one day I'll work up the courage. Social anxiety is hard as we all know.

Anyway, I wanted to do something special to celebrate my one year anniversary writing as well as still a little stunned that it had been a year already.

So I give you angst! Terrible, terrible angst. This is part of a story I've wanted to write for a very long time now and is in fact from the middle of the plot. It would eventually have a happy ending but there isn't one here. If this gets a good response I will have to write the rest but I just needed to get this part out of my head right now.

You could also call this chapter one of a story with the history planned in flashbacks, should I continue it...

walls that we repainted white

Genre: Angst. Hurt, no comfort. Miscommunication to the max.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Virgil/Roman. Human Au.

Warnings: Past injuries, hospital mentions, miscommunication, possible brain trauma.

Story and tag list below the cut!

walls that we repainted white

The clock on the wall was ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

So loud that for a moment it was all that Virgil could hear, the steady monotonous tone of tick, tick, tick. It was even louder than his own heartbeat and he tried to time his own breathing to the beat, tried to will his racing heart to calm down. He needed to be calm but the only problem was that it felt impossible to be calm right now.

Not with Roman in the room with him, the other man examining the dirty plates in his sink as though they were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen in his whole life. Virgil felt his skin crawl, able to imagine all the thoughts that had to be running through the redhead’s mind as he stared at the evidence of Virgil’s laziness, of his disgusting life habits. Virgil knew he should have cleaned up, housework was a good way of gently exercising without pushing himself too much because there was always a comfortable surface whenever he got tired. It was a good workout for his brain as well, something slightly more mentally taxing than a mere walk, could he remember where everything went, could he put it all away without breaking anything?

Virgil had gone for a walk instead, had ignored all the not so subtle advice of his doctors and wandered out in the middle of the day without his phone.

He could see it sitting on the counter next to the dishes. It lit up as though on command, a text from Patton flashing up on the screen. The brief moment of light was enough to show him that he had multiple texts and missed calls from various friends. There are a few from a number that had no name attached, but Virgil knew the number off by heart.

He might have deleted Roman's contact info from his phone, but he had never gotten around to actually blocking him completely. Perhaps some part of him had wanted to know if Roman would care, if he would try and contact him or if he would let the friendship wither and die now that he revealed himself as the fair weather friend Roman really was.

He should block him completely. If only it was that easy in real life, if only he could press a button and not have to deal with Roman, never have to look at his stupid smug beautiful face ever again. Never have to hear him sing or the musical way in which he said his name. In Roman’s voice, his name became almost magical, imbued with far more power than it really possessed. Virgil often felt as though he could have committed any wondrous feat with the energy of Roman saying his name.

Now Virgil never wanted to hear it again. Not his voice, not his name. He wanted to block and hide Roman from his own memory and never be confronted by the inconvenient truth of Roman ever again.

Snap him out of existence.

No, not that. Virgil didn't want Roman to stop existing. His brush with the blind fury of fate had given him a new appreciation for life in any form. No matter how spiteful he might feel towards other people - and spite still made up about eighty percent of his thoughts - he wouldn't wish even his worst enemy to go through what he had done.

None of that changed the fact that despite deleting his number and ignoring him, Roman hadn't taken the hint. Strange considering Roman had ignored him first.

Apparently Roman not only tried to call but also tracked him down. Question answered. It didn't settle him - in fact it did rather the opposite, it set him on edge, made him stand stiff and to attention, aches and pains creasing deeper into his body and soul. His body was still so broken, held together by tape, determination and spite.

Virgil was so tired. The clock was ticking. They were breathing, both of them rather heavily and Virgil knew why he was so worn out and lost for breath but he couldn't start to guess what Roman had been up to, in order to warrant such heavy breathing. It was almost as though the other man had been running around although there was no reason for him to do such a thing, especially in the middle of the day.

He shifted a little, the crutch handle feeling slick with sweat under his fingers. It had been warm in the sun, so warm and Virgil had perhaps pushed himself further than he should in his impatience to be normal again.

To be whole.

It was as though he had run a mile instead of a small walk around the block. Logan would be terribly disappointed in him, but at the same time Logan should have known better than to expect anything better from the mess of a person that Virgil was stuck being. He hated the weakness that ran through his mind and body. An invisible crack on his soul that was breaking him further and further apart to go with all the physical damage that the... incident had caused him.

All his fault. The incident, the sleep that followed, the damage that he had to carry around on his back for the foreseeable future. Possibly for the rest of his life and Virgil could at least appreciate that the doctor hadn’t beat around the bush, hadn’t tried to sugar coat the pill or wrap the truth up in lies. He had been honest, brutality so, and Virgil hadn’t told Patton about those conversations.

Or Roman, but then he had no intention of ever sharing that information with Roman. He had no intention of ever speaking to Roman again and yet - and yet here they were in his kitchen, staring at the remains of last night's meal on dirty plates that festered in his sink. Virgil wasn’t ready to tell Patton either, but that was because he knew Patton would cry, would hug him and be so supportive. He would break Virgil with his kindness and Virgil would let it happen. Anything to try and make Patton feel better, even if it ripped Virgil’s soul apart in the process.

Logan, he strongly suspected, knew. Logan who was too smart for his own good, who had seen charts and overheard snippets of conversation, who knew all the medical jargon. Logan who would never bring it up first because of all the emotions that swirled around the topic.

At least Virgil could always count on Logan to want to avoid anything with unpleasant feelings because he didn’t know how to properly express them. His friend had emotions, felt more deeply than he would ever willingly admit to, but right now, Virgil couldn’t help but feel selfishly glad that he struggled to share them because it meant he got to avoid talking about it for a little while longer. The diagnoses swam in his mind, the words thick and black behind his eyelids with every slow blink.

Possible brain damage.

Tick. Tick.

“Virgil.”

His name sounded as though it has been spoken underwater, distorted and distant. Some part of Virgil wasn’t even sure if he heard it. Maybe he had just imagined it. He imagined a lot of things lately, his brain slipping like a disconnected call, the handset just gently humming to nothing and nobody.

A low level static where all manner of things could lurk.

His whole body was aching, screaming out as if on fire and begging him to sit down, to take the weight off. Virgil didn’t move though. He couldn't, not while Roman was in the room with him, not while he had to remain strong. As soon as Roman left, Virgil could collapse, could give in to the pain. He was long overdue another dose of medication, something his body was only too keen on reminding him. Virgil didn't know how much longer he could remain on his feet. The blackness of unconsciousness was calling to him.

It wasn't fair. He had spent so much time unconscious, nothing but a body in a bed and now that he was finally awake, he wanted to do nothing but sleep. More time forever lost.

Humpty Dumpty had a big fall.

Virgil didn’t understand why Roman was here at all, why he had belatedly decided to care.

When they had first met, Virgil dismissed him as a vain, shallow excuse of a man, someone who cared only for the illusion of the moment, who was delighted by the splendour, by the fireworks and emotion but not the hard work that came with anything real. At the first sign of trouble, Virgil had expected Roman to fade into the background. To some extent, he had been confounded by his own expectations.

Once, in the early days of knowing Roman, Virgil had been ranting to Patton and described him as nothing more than a vain crack of words with no substance behind them.

Later, Virgil had been ashamed of that first opinion, at being so quick to judge him after so long of being judged himself.

Now it seemed as though he had been right all along. The moment things had gotten hard - really hard, in a way none of them could have predicted - Roman had bailed. As though he had been the one with a parachute and all of Virgil’s other friends had hit the ground in the form of an uncomfortable hospital chair.

Didn't he already know that all the king's horses and all the king's men had failed to slot him back into place? Sending the prince after they already failed seemed like a fools errand because there was nothing else to be done for either of them.

“Well? What do you want?” He snapped, feeling the rage rise so swiftly and Virgil didn't want to do this. He didn't want to stand here in his kitchen, he didn't want to pick a fight with someone he had once thought was his friend, who he had once hoped could be something more.

Then again, he hadn’t wanted to lose seven weeks of his life to a hospital bed so it seemed as if what he might want was nothing more than another dream to go with all the other lost ones.

Tick.

“Virgil,” Roman tried again, his face pinched and sharp. Idly, Virgil wondered if that was the face Roman pulled whenever he tasted citrus fruit. He had always claimed the taste of lemons or limes were too unpleasant for him, that the sharpness cut through any other flavour, overpowering and ruining it.

That should have been Virgil’s first clue that his daydreams were simply not to be.

He was nothing but sour, nothing but tart.

How could he have ever possibly thought he would fit into the sweet honeyed world that Roman inhabited?

They were two different beings and they might as well have belonged to two different races for all that they had in common. It had been a miracle, a wonder, that they had gotten along for as long as they had, that they had been able to be friends for a little while at least before the shards of what they had dared to try to be rained down on them.

Still, he always just assumed that the crash would be his fault. That Virgil would do or say something unforgivable because he was good at that after all.

He hadn't expected to be abandoned by Roman when he was at his weakest, that the moment he had opened up and risked his heart by telling him how he really felt. It hadn't been the way he had wanted to tell him or any of the various ways he had imagined finally working up the courage to confess but that still didn't explain why Roman had been so cruel about it, why he had turned coward and run when Virgil had admitted his feelings.

Maybe if he had done it in a more romantic way, Roman wouldn't have crushed his heart so casually. Virgil had never thought Roman would be the type to take an offered heart and stab it with a needle. He would have thought Roman would let him down gently if he ever told him. He had pictured Roman being sweet and charmed and flattered before regretfully telling Virgil that it was never going to work between them.

Virgil never entertained any real hope that Roman might have liked him back, he knew life was no fairy tale.

Nobody was going to fall in love with the urchin child in the corner, the scowling, angry boy who was lost. Nobody was going to rescue him from his tower, nobody was going to search a whole kingdom looking for him based on one fragment of himself that he had left behind.

And nobody was going to kiss him awake.

He was already awake, in a world he no longer understood. Awake. He needed to stay awake. Just a little longer. Virgil blinked, the world snapping back into focus. The clock on his wall was ticking.

Tick. Tick.

“-ied. I was looking all over for you.”

Roman looked at him after he finishes speaking as though he expects - as though he expects something. Exactly what, Virgil doesn’t know. An explanation? An apology? His words sounded as though he had said a lot, a whole speech and that was what Roman was good at after all. Saying all the right things to get what he wanted without worrying about the damage he left in his wake. He had smiled and said all the right things to Virgil, he had caught him hook, line and sinker.

Until eventually he was done playing with him and had tossed him back into the sea. Now the siren was back, and had Roman changed his mind? Decided he wanted to keep Virgil dancing to his tune for a little longer? Didn't he know that Virgil no longer knew how to dance?

Virgil was just so tired. Too tired to try and soften the blow for Roman, far too tired to come up with a nicer way to say what he was thinking. The words that he had heard slice into his heart and soul, cut open a wound that has never even started to heal. Virgil can't even start to piece together what Roman might have said before because all he can focus on is the hypocrisy of what little he heard.

Roman hadn't cared to find him when Virgil had been still and silent in his hospital bed. He hadn't cared when Virgil had needed him and more importantly when the others had needed him. It was one thing to abandon Virgil - he had been unconscious, blissfully oblivious to the betrayal. It was quite another to do the same to their friends, to leave Logan, Patton and Remy struggling to hold themselves together. If nothing else, Roman should have been there for them.

He lifted his head, mismatched eyes meeting Roman’s gaze, his own for once focused, sharp and boiling. The rage had to be visible because Virgil no longer cared about hiding it. There was a lot he didn't care about anymore, lost under misery and the rising pain of his injuries. Roman needed to leave, because Virgil really didn't know how much longer he could hold on and he was damned if he would pass out in front of him.

Roman flinched before he actually spoke, almost as though he could peer into all the broken pieces that made up Virgil's psyche and see the storm that was brewing there. He still looked worried, almost concerned for Virgil and that makes him want to laugh until he cried. It was far too late for Roman to be playing that role again. The clock on the wall was ticking, his life draining away in relentless little seconds.

Tick. Tick.

Tick.

“I’ve been sitting still for nearly two months Ro... how hard did you look?”

General Tag List;

Send a message if you would like to be added to my general fic tag list however, please, please be aware that I use my general tag list for snippets, abandoned ideas, deleted scenes etc as well as actual complete chapters so make sure that is what you want to see from me.

@jittery-glittery @applecannibal @cookiethedevil @i-will-physically-fight-you@jemthebookworm @4amanxiety @plaid-purple-patches

[skz-thunderous-stays]

Okay so I wrote this last night and was encouraged by the lovely @roger-drummerboy-taylor to post it so here it is! My first proper piece of writing in three years. A Meet the Robinsons ficlet with my OC Bella Framagucci. Enjoy! Xx

Bella sighed as she slammed the door to her bedroom closed, leaning against it as she closed her eyes. All she wanted to do was to spend some time with her family and her dad but she couldn't beceue she was scared of leaving her room and it was all because of her fear of contamination OCD. It hadn't been that bad up until now but now it made her scared to go outside and it made her scared to spend time with her family just incase she ran into her Uncle Cornelius. She loved Uncle Cornelius with all her heart but her OCD made it hard. She was terrified if anything that could harm her such ad chemicals and well with Uncle Cornelius being a scientist and spending a lot of time in his lab, well it sent her fear into overdrive. She would only leave her room and socialise when her uncle was on business trips but now with him being back for a while, she knew she wouldnt be leaving her room for a while and while it wasn't ideal, she could live with it. She had an en suite bathroom (like most of the bedrooms in the house) and she had plenty of things to keep her occupied and she was sure she would be able to get Carl to being her meals up for her.

Bella flicked the lock on her door before she made her way to her bed, grabbing her phone off the bedside table before she flipped down on her bed, unlocking it and immediatley a message popped up from her cousin..well one of her many. The Robinsons were a large family.

[From: Laszlo. {Hey, what's up? Uncle C gets back and you immediately lock yourself in your room until he leaves}]

Bella sighed as she tried to think of a response. She couldn't leave him on read or she would have him at her door before she could even blink.

[From: Bella. {I'm fine, Laz. It's just a bit hard to explain it when I'm trying to find a way to explain it to my dad before I tell anyone else in the family. Once I've told dad then I'll tell everyone else. I promise. I'm fine though x Just let uncle Cornelius know that I love him and it's nothing person x }]

Bella sighed as she put her phone down beside her. She thought it was stupid that Bella Framagucci was scared of chemicals when her Uncle was a well known scientist. It never bothered her when she was little but it had started whe she got into secondary school and gradually got worse from there. Whenever she had science class as soon as she got home she threw her clothes in the trash and had showers that could take up to an hour. It was the only way her mind could calm down but at least she didnt have to worry about science class for 3 months since she was summer break and then she only had two years left when she could finish high school at 18. She just had to survive 2 more years and she was hoping she would be able to drop science when she went back.

"You know you cant hide this forever right?" Carl spoke as he walked into Bella's room with her evening meal.

"Yes. Thank you Carl. I know that. Everyone keeps reminding me about that" Kim groaned as Carl put her meal and her dessert down on her table before he walked over and placed a cold metallic hand on her shoulder which caused the 16 year old girl to look up.

"Everyone is just worried. You lock yourself up for days and then act like nothing is wrong and you wont tell your dad what's wrong and he's extremely worried.." Carl trailed off and Bella nodded. Gaston Framagucci, Bella's dad, was one of the nicest people alive (he entire family were nice), he never lost his temper, was eccentric just like everyone in their family was, competitive bit extremely loving and caring and would do anything to protect those he loved a d he was slightly protective of Bella ever since her mum died when Bella was only 4 years old and as she grew she resembled her dad is some many ways with the same black hair with the family cow lick, brown eyes and slightly pointed nose with her mom's dimples.

"I know Carl..I'm just trying to figure out a way to tell everyone" That was true but she was also putting it off. She knew her family would be understanding, except maybe Aunt Petunia but she was always cranky and temperamental and Bella had grown used to it. She knew her family would make changes to make sure she wasnt triggered but she didn't want to bother them with that.

"Whatever you say, whatever it is, you know they are going to support you"

"I know Carl and thanks for that little talk and for bringing my food up"

"Well I couldn't have you starving now could I?" Carl laughed as he made his way to the door while Bella laughed.

"Wow Carl, you're so kind" Bella chuckled as she waved goodbye to Carl, then she was once again alone in her room. As Bella walked over to her desk , it hit her how badly she missed sitting at the large table, large enough to sit 13, with her family members while hearing Frankie the frog singing and even form her room, she could hear the mumbled conversation from the dining room.

She missed it so much but she just couldn't risk it. She wouldnt even be able to leave the room if she wanted her, her fear just didnt make it possible. She sat down as her desk, eating her dinner alone as she played music to drown out the conversation from downstairs.

"Any word from her?" Franny asked as Carl walked back into the dining room and all eyes turned to look at the robot who just shook his head in response. Gaston's usual goofy smile instantly fell and Franny noticed her brothers expression and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"She'll tell us when she's ready Gaston..its just important that we don't push her" Franny spoke softly in attempts to calm her brother. She hated seeing him in distress. She had only seen him like this once before and that was after his wife died and it crushed her back then.

"Maybe you should go to her and talk to her after dinner?" Billie suggested and Gaston looked up to look at Billie.

"I know Franny said wait but darling, it tears us apart to see you this worried and upset." Lucille spoke up with the motherly smile on her face and Gaston was so thankful for his mother in law at that moment.

"You really think I should?" Gaston asked and a chorus of agreements welcomed him.

"If we wait for her to tell us then she might never tell us" Corenlius sent a quick smile to his brother in law and he was more than happy to see Gastin return the smile. It was strange to see Gaston without a smile, even when he was injured from his stunts, he was always smiling.

Gasto jogged up the stairs to his daughters room, taking them two at a time. He wouldn't force her to tell him anything but he just wanted to let her know that she could tell him anything and he wouldn't be mad but as a Dad he just hoped that it wasn't anything to serious. As a parent, you just wanted to keep children safe and he couldn't keep his wife safe..he had to protect Bella.

Gaston walked up to his daughters door and knocked on the door, hearing the music playing in her room. He heard movement from behind the door, footsteps getting closer to the door. Relief flowing through him when Bella opened the doors even though it was just a crack.

"Dad?" Bella asked softly as she opened the door all the way.

"Hey sweetie, can we talk?" Gaston asked and he didn't miss the way Bella seemed to tense up but she nodded none the less, moving aside so Gaston could walk in. Gaston walked into his daughters room, looking around at how she redecorated it. Light red walls, her double bed pushed up against the wall with black bedding and black pillows, just like her dads outfit, her bookcase overflowing with books, notebooks stacked up on her writing desk, her clothes hung neatly on the clothes racks she had insisted on, pictures of her family in little and large frames all around her room. The photo of the family on Christmas morning from last year in the large frame on her writing desk, positioned so she would be looking at it when she woke up and he smiled as his eyes focused on it. Bella laughing as she was pulled into a hug by Laszlo and Tallulah, Wilbur sat in front of her as Bella pulled him into a hug with the family laughing and smiling but Gaston couldn't miss the two small photo frames on her bedside table. One of them held the picture from the day she wa born, Gaston and his wife, looking st a sleeping Bella who lay in her mom's arms and the other one was from Bella's third birthday with her mom kissing her right cheek while Gaston kissed her left cheek as Bella was clapping over the cake in front of her. Gaston smiled softly at that picture, feeling tears build up in his eyes.

"Dad..you okay?" Bella asked softly, bringing her dad out of his thoughts as he nodded.

"I'm fine, my little cannonball" Gaston smiled as he sat down on her bed and Bella grinned as she sat down next to him, loving his nickname for her. Dad always did love canonballs.

"So what's up?" Bella asked softly.

"Sweetie, I'm not going to push you to say anything and I am going to support you no matter what..I just want to know what's going on in that little head of yours that makes you hide from us"

Bella tried to keep it in but she couldn't as she burst into tears, the stress, the fear and the isolation finally getting to her. She explained it all to her dad as he held her close, wrapped tightly in his arms as she poured her heart out to him. Gaston knew the family were down the hall, listening to every word but he could only focus on his daughter.

"Bella, why didnt you say anything? You know we would of done anything to help you.." Gaston whispered to his daughter as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We love you.."

"I didn't want to bother anyone.." Bella spoke, tears still rolling down her face.

"You could never bother us" Came a voice from the doorway and Bella and Gaston looked over to see Uncle Art (Gaston and Franny's brother) stood in the doorway with the rest of the family, including Cornelius who looked freshly showered and dressed in something that wasnt his work clothes (so Bella would feel comfortable around him).

"We love you" Uncle Fritz spoke up with a smile, Petunia on his hand as always.

"And we would do anything to make you feel comfortable" Grandpa Bud joined in as Grandma Lucille nodded.

"And we'll get through this together" Laszlo smiled at his cousin, an arm slightly around his sister's shoulders as he wasnt hovering for once. Tallulah nodded at what her brother said.

"You aren't alone" She added.

"You got us" Wilbur grinned at his cousin.

Bella got up and walked over to her family who had now migrated into her room. She stood in front of Cornelius and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you.." She spoke, her voice muffled by his sweater, her shoulders shaking as she cried happy tears. Cornelius hugged her tightly, kissing her forehead.

"Anything for you Bella" He whispered into her as he pair fell to their knees, hugging and within a minute, the hug turned into the Robinson family hug.

With this family, Bella knew she would be alright. She was a Robinson and a Robinson just kept moving forward. As she looked at her family, she let herself smile as she closed her eyes, relaxing into the hug. She would be okay.

[amethyst-noir]

(Corner Anon is back, with more angst) Tony has been dodging his feelings towards Stephen since Infinity War. For now, he’s content with not ruining the sweet little thing that is their relationship. Then Stephen gets fatally wounded in battle to protect Tony. And Tony ends up crying and screaming at Stephen to stay with him, confessing his love to Stephen as the sorcerer dies in his arms. (Excuse me while I travel to Stark Industries to apologise to Tony)

💔💔💔💔💔💔

😭😭😭😭

I’ll make sure that SI won’t cover your travel expenses back into your corner, you can be sure of that! Your imagination is really gruesome, has anyone - except me - ever told you that? Poor Stephen, poor Tony. My poor heart. Well, lets try to wring some happy end out of this heartbreaking ask, shall we?

You caught me in the middle of a really angsty phase in my writing and I got inspired. Since you like hardcore angst you should like this one - if you’re also ready for an ficlet/headcanon/storyoutline/thing that’s not quite as tame as most of my answers. (Yes, we will talk about sex here. NSFW warning. (Can’t tag it, otherwise it won’t show up in the Ironstrange tag. Sorry.) Move along if you don’t like.)

“The sweet little thing” - so they’re friends with benefits, right? They meet from time to time for some very nice (and hot) sex, sometimes Stephen even stays the night and in the morning there’s a round two. Their affair is already a couple of months old but they have kept it a secret so far and it’s always Stephen who comes to Tony, never the other way round.

Stephen thinks that this is all he’s ever going to get and he knows that he won’t have it for long so he shoves his feelings, hopes and longings far away and concentrates on the heavenly feeling of Tony’s hands on his body, lets himself be pushed into that direction or this position. Tony is a great lover - attentive and gentle but with a little bite, always caressing him, telling him wordlessly that he is beautiful and worth something. He manages to make Stephen feel as if he is something precious. Sometimes he can even believe it for a moment or two. He loves those days when Tony was not quite gentle enough with him and he can feel the aftereffects all day long.

Tony knows that he’s in love with Stephen. He’s not stupid and the way his heart starts working overtime and those butterflies that appear in his stomach whenever he lays eyes on Stephen’s gorgeous body are only the tip of the iceberg. He loves the whole package - Stephen’s wonderful body, his amazing intellect and the lost and broken soul hidden away behind the most beautiful eyes Tony has ever seen. He’s more in love than he has ever been but he can’t bring himself to tell Stephen that. He sees the vacant look in Stephen’s eyes when Tony makes love to him and doesn’t dare to ask any questions; too afraid that Stephen might now longer seek him out for some fun hours of relief. He loves the way Stephen, despite his hands, manages to hold on to him and keep him down when it’s his turn to get fucked into the mattress. He stares at the bruises for days and smiles everytime a wrong (right?) move reminds him of the strength hidden in that slender body.

Stephen loves Tony but he knows that their days are numbered and that zero is approaching fast, so he stays silent. If he dies Tony will only have lost a friend with some nice benefits, not someone really important he was in a relationship with. He can’t and won’t inflict that kind of heartbreak on the man he loves. And if Tony is the one to die? That’s not going to happen; Stephen will make sure of that, no matter what. So he takes what he can get while he can get it and mourns a future that will never be.

Tony loves Stephen but doesn’t dare to speak of it; too afraid that Stephen might run and never return. Stephen’s too broken and too far gone into the mystical side of life to ever be truly happy with a normal human being who can’t follow him on his adventures and can barely comprehend what goes on out there. So he takes what he can get, all the while trying to find a way to hold Stephen in this plane of existence. By his side. In his life.

Yet another battle happens but it’s nothing special. Just a little incursion by the Kree who haven’t gotten the memo that they’re in another timeline now - one where the Earth still exists and the remnants of humanity are not forced into the lighthouse. Yes, just another alien invasion; they are all pros at that by now.

Iron Man blasts one of the little fighters after the other out of the sky; the Scarlet Witch takes care of the few who managed to land on Earth (she and Tony are always on opposite sides of the battlefield, both unwilling to spent time in close proximity to each other); the other Avengers on call are dealing with this and that.

They haven’t called in the magical cavalry since it’s nothing major.

Suddenly a portal opens and Stephen in all his glory as the Sorcerer Supreme steps through. It gives them all a pause. When Stephen personally joins a fight it means it’s serious business. All of the Avengers are looking around nervously, afraid of what might lurk in the shadows.

Not so Tony. Tony takes one look at Stephen and knows that something bad is about to happen. There isn’t even time to speak to each other - suddenly the sky opens up and something comes through the rip in time and space. It’s worse than the wormhole over New York all those years ago. Because this time there is not an alien army waiting on the other side but something much bigger, much more dangerous. Something magical.

Wanda throws her magic at the thing before they haven even seen what it is while Stephen conjures a barrier to keep ground zero as contained as possible. Tony throws everything in his arsenal at the wormhole and already makes plans to fly through it to whatever lies on the other side. He brutally shoves his panic aside, he doesn’t have time for this right now. He’s just running the last few calculations when…

“Tony, don’t.”

Stephen’s voice is suddenly in his head and before Tony has any chance to comprehend what’s happening Stephen appears in front of him and smiles at him of all the things.

“Sorry but I’m not letting you that.” Stephen whispers inside his mind and the mirage vanishes. Tony looks up just in time to see the real Stephen seal the rip by throwing all of his power at it while Wanda helps.

Stephen is too busy doing that to protect himself and everyone else is far away/not paying attention because there are still Kree running around after all and Tony is too far away.

He can only stare in shock and horror as a stray bullet catches Stephen right in the back. He stands exactly on the spot where Tony would have stood for the most efficient way into the rip. Their height difference is just great enough that the bullet wouldn’t have been caught by Tony’s suit but the currently unprotected back of his neck.

Tony would have died instantly; Stephen stays upright long enough to finally seal the rip with the very last of his strength. Tony arrives at his position just in time to catch him as he collapses.

What follows is lots of incoherent babbling and some slightly more coherent love confession while Tony tries to patch the wound up with nano-tech. There is lots of begging for Stephen to please just hold on, that help is on its way. Stephen slips into unconsciousness with the bitter knowledge that all his efforts were in vain and that he has broken Tony’s heart even more with his denial of their true feelings and his refusal to let their relationship become more than pure sex.

His biggest regret is that he has never allowed Tony to kiss him, despite Tony trying time and time again.

Stephen’s vague visions of his death become true when he dies in Tony’s arms. Resuscitation is a success but he crashes two more times before the doctors in the Avengers compound finally manage to stabilize him.

He wakes up weeks later in the medical wing of the compound and the first thing he  sees is Tony sitting on the adjoining bed which has been pushed directly next to his. Tony is holding on to his left hand as if it is a lifeline and smiles before he bends down to kiss Stephen for the very first time.

“I love you,” he whispers as his tears fall onto Stephen’s face. “You fucking, self-sacrificing idiot.” He kisses him once again.

Stephen tries and manages a weak smile. “Love you more,” he whispers back.

💫

When you need 1.3k words to right the wrongs of this ask… 😉 I hope you enjoyed it. Now back into the corner where I want you to prepare a nice apology not only to Tony but also to Stephen. Okay? Good. Love you, Corner Anon! 💞

(There’ll be real fic today. After I’ve slept. Sorry for the spam but this week I have all the time in the world and use it to type up Ironstrange angst at an alarming rate.)

[faejilly]

so I really really was gonna start this #100 Days of Shadowhunters with a drabble or a quick meta “why I have a Shadowhunters problem” sort of post, but then I started and it turned into a ficlet? Because I also have a Maryse problem, I guess. Anyways. Post 3x10, memory & relief, Magnus POV

Alec is with Jace. Isabelle is in the armory again. Or still, Magnus isn’t quite sure, and it’s not like he’s one to begrudge someone else the need to drown themselves in work for awhile.

Magnus doesn’t have that option. He’ll figure something out eventually he knows, he’s a survivor, he always figures something out, always will, always, he always has always, only now he doesn’t, and he doesn’t have work, he doesn’t have...

He’s alive. 

Lilith is gone, Jace is free, Alec is here, in all the ways that matter even if he’s not literally in the loft at this exact moment. Alec still wants to be here, still want here to be them, which is more than enough for anyone, and yet. Magnus doesn’t know what to do, with himself or his life, in general or specific, in the philosophical or literal, right now or tomorrow or next week.

The door buzzes and he winces. There’s no way to know who it is unless he asks, unless he looks, unless he steps over and makes it explicit that he can’t just wave a hand, that he can’t...

Magnus shakes his head and answers, accepts a package and sits down on his sofa to stare at it.

It’s addressed to both him and Alec, which is a reminder of too many conversations he wishes he could re-do. Some of which they still need to revisit, at some point, but they’ve been healing. Resting.

Avoiding?

The return address isn’t familiar.

The penmanship is lovely. Consistent and easy to read, with just the faintest shift in the thickness of the ink in the curve of the letters. He should probably be suspicious, but it’s been so long since he had mail, and he can’t help the smile, the flicker of curiosity warming the edges of the ever present ache in his chest.  It’s probably odd of him to see care in the curve of the g but that’s what it looks like nonetheless. Besides, he trusts Cat and her wards, even if he can’t do more than see the faint flicker of magic in the corner of his eyes.

He’s not sure if still having the Sight is a gift or a curse, a part of his father’s punishment or hope forgotten at the bottom of Pandora’s Box, but for now he’s glad of it. He can see Cat’s care in the shift of power still guarding his loft, and he knows that’s not just him being fanciful; she’d made that more than clear when she set them up.

He opens his package, ripping inelegantly through the paper as he’d forgotten a knife or scissors and the tape at the corners is too thick and smooth to pull apart with his fingers.

There’s a note on top, and even before he reads it he sees the name at the bottom, Maryse. He allows himself a moment of dizzy disbelief that he’s glad to see her name on a gift, that the world has turned around so completely from where it was just a few short years ago.

Dear Alec & Magnus,

I thought you might need this right now more than I do. Remember why, my boys. Exitus acta probat. I’m proud of you both. Take care of each other.

Maryse 

Magnus blinks, and he’s not sure if he wants to cry or laugh or rip the note in half or save it forever. While it’s usually translated as the end justifies the means, he’s pretty sure that’s not quite what Maryse means, and her awkward Nephilim pride in their sacrifices, her assurance that what they did, what they gave, has meaning, has value, is more comforting than he’d expected.

He sets the note aside and finds himself in possession of a photo-album, one of the most common style from fifteen years or so ago, with the ubiquitous almost-tacky gold border on the cover.

He opens it to the sight of a familiar Maryse and Robert from over twenty years ago, only they’re nothing like he knew them then. They’re wrapped around each other, ignoring the camera completely in favor of smiling down at the baby in Maryse’s arms.

Smiling down at Alexander. 

Magnus is sure the smile growing on his face is at least twice as sappy as theirs were, though there’s no one here to take a picture to prove it.

Next are pictures of Alexander as a baby, wide-eyed and dark-haired with tiny little fingers almost always curled into fists as if he was already preparing to take on the entire world.

Toddler Alec is almost always carrying crayons, and Magnus’ favorite picture is him sitting at a full-sized adult desk writing very carefully with one, the tip of his tongue just sticking out between his lips as he concentrates.

A second baby shows up, and even if he hadn’t known it was Isabelle he would have recognized the look in Alec’s eyes, exactly as fierce and devoted as he is now every time he sees his sister. 

It’s adorable, they’re adorable, and each new picture of them together manages to break Magnus’ heart and heal it at the same time.

When Alec is probably somewhere between eight and ten it starts to change. There are fewer smiles, and the occasional hunched shoulders, as if he’s starting to see too much of his future, as if he’s starting to notice the ways in which he doesn’t fit... but Izzy is still laughing, still clearly delighted by her brother’s company. 

Magnus has to close his eyes, hand pressed flat against the smooth plastic protecting the photos. Even then, Alec was trying to carry the weight of the world so she wouldn’t have to... 

He opens his eyes, and turns the page, and Jace arrives.

There’s a formal portrait of the whole family, and Jace’s eyes won’t meet the camera’s lens, his face ducked just a little. Alec’s shoulders are angled towards him, as if he’d already decided that Jace needed his protection just as much as Izzy.

After that they’re back to candids, baby Shadowhunters training and eating and studying and occasionally still laughing. Alec’s guarded now, in a way he wasn’t when he was younger, but Magnus can see he’s happy, his posture easing whenever Jace and Izzy are smiling.

The last picture is clearly supposed to be an echo of the first. Robert and Maryse  are standing together, but there’s a space between their shoulders, and his face is formal as he stares at the camera. She’s looking at the baby in her arms again, but this time her smile is small, and there’s a shadow in her eyes. Jace and Izzy look bored, fake smiles plastered on their faces even as they’re clearly counting the seconds until they can leave, but Alec. His Alexander is standing on Maryse’s other side, ignoring the camera completely as he smiles down at Max. He’s even got his hand out, Max’s tiny fist wrapped around one finger. 

Magnus sighs, and trails the tip of his finger along the line of Alec’s arm. 

Family means everything. 

Alec still has his family, even after everything.

Maryse is right. The end is worth the cost. Magnus nods, and starts to close the book. The last page shifts, and he blinks as he realizes it’s not actually the end, there’s one more page. He turns it, and his eyes widen as his breath catches in his throat, and he almost drops the album onto his foot.

The actual last page has two pictures are of him and Alec. First a formal hand-shake before a meeting, though there’s a glint of humor in Alec’s eyes, and Magnus recognizes the shift of his own shoulders in response. Second it’s him and Alec at the Hunter’s Moon, leaning on their pool cues and smiling at each other. He remembers that night, that date, the warmth in Alec’s eyes and the way he’d laughed when he’d lost their game. Magnus doesn’t have a clue who took the picture, though it’s obvious why he hadn’t noticed, his focus entirely on Alec. 

Magnus blinks, feels the heat in his eyes barely held in check. 

Maryse put Magnus in her family album, and sent it to them both to show them why, to tell them she’s proud, to remind them to take care of each other...

Magnus smiles again, helplessly, delightedly, and puts the album next to the note on the coffee table. He can’t wait until he can go through it again with Alec.

Family means everything.

[tonicandjins]

hello faye! i hope you are having an amazing life !!! 😄 can i have Healing + Hansol for the ficlet if you are still doing it? thank you, love!!!

hello ajhfdsgfjkasd i cant believe you requested smthng i sCREAMED when i saw this i love you very much 

healing + 1.5k words + fluff + platonic hansol & reader

It took Hansol half an hour to convince you to get out of your room before you reach five-hour mark of sulking on bed.

You hate to be that kind of person but you don’t really feel like seeing anyone today, and unfortunately, that includes your best friend. It’s a known fact that it is difficult to become a celebrity at your age. With eyes watching your every move daily, waiting for you to make a mistake so they could use it against you, it’s exhausting to even get out of your own house.  Although Hansol understands all the ins and outs of being in the limelight because he’s in it himself, he doesn’t let you stay locked inside your house on the first day of your two-day break from the lights and cameras. He made it a mission today to help you get your head out of the mess it’s been drowning in for months and you’re kind of being a pain in the ass because you’ve done nothing but complain since you sat on the passenger’s seat of his car.

The media identifies you as The Duo, and neither of you is sure if it’s a good kind of the or a bad one. You and Hansol, or more commonly known as Vernon, have established a name for yourselves in the music industry. With him being one of the best rappers of his generation and you as an incredible singer-songwriter, you really do make the perfect duo. You could say that the entire population of artists in your generation is jealous of your bond with each other. It’s not only because you’re best friends with Vernon and he’s best friends with you, but also because you two can go our freely, without the media twisting words to make it seem like you’re dating.

Of course, in the beginning, it was inevitable to have those kinds of rumors. It started to spark when an infamous paparazzi team captured you and your best friend skating at two in the morning around Han River. His fangirls were furious, as expected, while you mocked and laughed at Hansol for a week by responding to him only in fangirl language. (e.g., “You’re being so annoying, Y/N.” “How dare you breathe around myVernon?” “Fuck you.”)You could say it worked out in the end because the media eventually gave up on making rumors about you after coming back from Japan when they thought they’d catch you two doing something malicious or couple-y but ended up taking HQ pics of you two geeking out to Star Wars merch. It’s still a funny story to look back to whenever you remember the headlines the next day saying that confirmed: Y/N and Vernon are REALLY just best friends. (“We made it,” Hansol had said as he read it that day. “We’ve become stars!”)

Hansol takes his duty as your best friend too seriously because, like how it is now, he doesn’t let you lose yourself in the midst of reaching your dreams. One time you cried in front of him at four in the morning when he came to pick you up from your schedule because you refused to be driven home by your manager. It was one of those days that you didn’t really want to see anyone and of course, Hansol came to the rescue. You remember how he let you cry on his shoulder while you went on a rant about how Music Shows treat rookie female artists like shit and how much you just wanna give up and go back to your hometown where you can be an ordinary girl. And today is one of those days.

You had just finished your small Asian tour, Seoul being your last stop, and your separation anxiety with your fans and the stage is getting a little too depressing. With the tour being over, it meant that you need to go back to your agency in a couple of days and they’d pressure you to write another hit song again. You also heard the personal assistants whispering about a dating scandal the agency is planning to involve you in to further promote your upcoming music. And it’s all just… too much.

Hansol did not need to hear it from you to figure out you’re unwell at this moment. That’s how amazing he is.

He takes you to a secluded beach and you whine about getting sunburned. He assures you that the cameras won’t be around you for a couple of weeks so you do not need to worry about being seen. While you’re being prissy and whiny, Hansol does all the work for you—setting up the beach blanket, taking out the food, and even carrying you from his car to the sand.

“You’ve become such a diva,” he grunts when he carries you. Your arms are wrapped around his neck. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

“You said you’d carry me around if I go out with you today,” you say, chuckling.

“What were you planning to do today anyway?” he asks and carefully puts you down on the towel. “Watch How To Get Away With Murderas you plan your attack to your management?”

“That,” you laugh. “And learn more Japanese.”

“Why?” Hansol sets the food down. He looks good with the sun beaming on his face.

“I feel bad that I had to get a translator to talk to the audience last week,” you answer, taking a burger from Hansol’s hand. “And now I’m gonna feel even worse for eating this.”

“Shut up, just eat,” he sighs, knowing exactly what you’re worried about again.

“This would cost me a week of extreme diet and four miles of running,” you mumble before devouring the delicious food Hansol got you. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a smile and sits beside you, legs stretched out like you.

You groan. “God, I just remembered I need to call my manager.” Hansol snatches your phone before you could even unlock it.

“Stop,” he says. “Just… stop thinking for a while.”

“How do you do this, Hansol?” you ask with a sigh. “Because I am this close to just leaving this place.”

“Well,” he starts. “I think about the people who support me.”

“I do, too,” you defend. “It works when I do but after that I’m drowning again, Hansol.”

He smiles and looks at you, chewing his food.

“What?” you ask.

“You know how I keep myself afloat?”

You urge him to continue.

“Because you still call me Hansol.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing. “I’m never calling you Vernon in a normal conversation. You’re Hansol to me. You still are even after thirty-two hair dyes and three hit songs.”

He laughs. “This is what exactly keeps me afloat. This is my healing, Y/N. You calling me Hansol and being a pain in the ass.”

“I don’t quite get it,” you mumble.

“What calms your mind?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think for a second, and suddenly you understand what he’s trying to tell you.

Hansol doesn’t treat you like you’re a star now. He is very much proud of you and the person you’ve become but he doesn’t treat you like all your other old friends do now. Like when you were younger, he still sends you random text messages at four in the afternoon that he’s proud of you and reminds you that he’s there if you need anything. You always forget about your stressful situation when Hansol calls you just in time to ask about Star Wars. He takes you to your favorite places at one in the morning, even when he’s tired from his own schedule, and lets you tie his hair just because you feel like it. Hansol… he makes you breathe better.

“Y-you’re,” you start and look at him. “My healing.”

Hansol smiles. “That’s a bit cheesier than I expected but okay, I accept the new job as your healing.”

You laugh.

“Bask in the warmth of the sun,” he says. “You’ve done such an amazing job. I don’t want you sulking alone when you’ve just made everyone proud of you.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” you answer.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he replies. “Just take a break. You deserve it.”

You stay under the sun until it’s setting. You forget about your phone and your schedule when your break is over because Hansol reminds you of what you’re here for. And you know harder days are coming your way, but for as long as you have your healing, you’re sure you’ll be just fine. They say you shouldn’t depend your happiness or whatever to a single person, but Hansol is the only person you know who’s worthy of that title.

Perhaps you two could write a song about it.

[cherryonigiri]

Boyfriend!Ushijima (Part 1)

Hey guys, I’d thought I’d try my hand at concocting some kind of “sample” of my writing. Since I am obsessed with the left-handed ace volleyball dork, thought I’d do some hcs + a short ficlet for reader x ushijima. So this is part one--short fic is coming soon! Also---hi, welcome to my new ask blog, please send me requests!  (I couldn’t upload this until today cause I was hiking/snowshoeing through the Japanese countryside sans laptop and stable internet/wifi connection.)

boyfriend!Ushijima hc’s (holy crap this got really long):

is a cuddlebug. 200%. Loves being able to wrap himself around your smaller frame. 

he is always super warm, so feel free to use his wonderful body (heat) when your hands and feet are a little chilly yeah? 

just loves to hold you ok??? You are literally the most beautiful person to him (inside and out) and he just wants to be close to you all the time 

is very tactile. tries to always have contact with you in some way, shape or form. 

Laces fingers with his as you walk back home, sits close to you so your shoulders brush during lunch. The point is he can’t get enough. 

Super into skinship. Loves running his hands over your skin, memorizing everything there is to know about your body.

Kinaesthetic learner (related to aforementioned tactile nature). Definitely learns by doing...if you catch my drift *smirk smirk*

Will be there for you at any time, will support you through bad times and celebrate with you when things are going well. 

This man will conveniently show up whenever you’re in a sticky situation, it’s like he has a “my s/o is in trouble” radar in his head 

always reminds you to rest/take a break when you’re stressed. Emphasizes the importance of healing and recuperating (he’s injured himself once or twice bc he pushed himself too hard and doesn’t want you to go through the same thing) 

Sometimes hanging out means going over to one of your houses, watching volleyball with you sitting on the couch with his head in your lap 

Wonders how he managed to find someone like you who thinks that just sitting in silence, just being there for each other, qualifies as a good time

but occasionally he’ll make the effort to plan a romantic date night for the two of you 

he’ll take you to some fancy af restaurant. You always try to split the bill 50-50 but he always pays for everything. 

He’s always thought the amount of allowance he gets from his mother’s family is excessive. He never really felt the need to spend it wastefully and had been saving it up. 

He tells you he doesn’t mind paying for your dinner because a) it’s a thank you for enduring dinners (interrogations) with his family and b) he doesn’t mind spending extra cash if it means he gets to “spend the night focusing on only you” (O///O I am dying) 

Your parents love him. Even your older sibling (grudgingly) accepts that he is a down to earth guy who will always have your back. Although he won’t show it--Ushi is ecstatic that your family approves of him 

sad hc: somewhat connected to the disjointed family life he has. honestly your house is like home to him now, it’s so warm/welcoming at he feels like he’s part of your family whenever he’s there.

If you fall asleep on him when you’re cuddling he’ll gently gather you in his arms and carry you to your room. 

Will tuck you in and whisper “I love you,” against your forehead before he leaves for the night. 

bonus: you actually woke up on the way upstairs, but you pretend to be asleep because he is just soooooo cute. 

bonus bonus: You’ll usually whisper “Love you too” before he leaves your side. The exchange leaves both of you feeling warm and fuzzy well into the late hours of the evening.

[justa-mysticmess]

Hi... so since your requests are open and relatively not busy, would it be okay for me to suggest rfa+v reacting to an mc who has been mentally abused? It could be by parents or their s/o or someone they worked with. Anything you feel writing in really :) Your writing is the cutest too !

someone please ! make sure i write hc’s instead of mini ficlets when you asked for hc’s xD i apologize for the lengthiness! though personally i quite enjoy writing these… which is probably why i get carried away so much! also! don’t ever believe anything bad that happened to you or was said to you was your fault or brought upon you because of yourself! the rfa and i love you anon and i really sincerely hope you never suffered such bad treatment! 

Jumin 

it’s honestly the worst way to find out

at least jumin thinks so

after that week where he had been super s u p E R busy and had ended up unintentionally ignoring mc

when he returns though, after week worth of successful deal with that very important client and having taken care of his dad’s side of the business as well as the launching of that new cat clothing line

he expects an armful of mc the moment he steps in and he hasn’t forgotten to praise mc for having endured his extra busy week so well

but mc is distant and much quieter, only responding to  what jumin asks and not keeping up any conversation

he doesn’t understand the flinching, subdued mc that is wrapping themself in a cocoon and jumin panics on the inside when he notices what’s happening

but he deals with it nicely and stays calm on the outside

when he manages to  sit close enough to mc in the same room for them to know of his presence but not be overwhelmed by it, he starts talking

first tells mc all about his day, and what he ate and what he had wanted to have as dinner with them

when mc has calmed down he expertly drives the conversation till he is able to gently but firmly coax mc into talking about what has been bothering them

is shocked and upset to find out that mc had been ignored by their closest of friends and even their family when they most needed it. that it was like they were nothing more than a bother other people couldn’t stand

that they sure used to come to mc when they needed any sort of help, whether it was with chores, or to dump their emotional stress on mc but would always discard them and ignore their attempts to get close

it was mc’s bad luck they had only ever encountered such people before they met rfa, but they were still skeptical and would get worried easily

then he gets so angry and is ready to sue each and every one of them!!

but first he knows he needs to be there for and comfort mc

to let them know he is NOT like that and he will always make time to talk to mc

and he vows to himself to keep that promise always, but also wants to get mc help for all that emotional abuse they had been suffering through

only gets the best help available while always keeping mc’s comfort in mind!

Zen 

it goes somewhat like this

you are at a book store, browsing through your genres, just minding your own business lost in your own thoughts 

when you happen to reach the celebrity magazines and books aisle

you are quickly about to backtrack because there is obviously nothing of your interest here

but then you hear hushed whispers of ‘yeah, it’s them, the person zen’s dating’, ‘ugh so plain, why is he even interested in them?!’ 

they are just mean comments and you are good at avoiding them and staying out of their way

after all, you had much more practice since long before zen started dating you and putting the spotlight on you as well at that memorable first party

what you didn’t expect was being followed back to the fiction aisle and actually being approached by a haughty fan who got all in your face

‘what did you do to get him to date you?’ they glared ‘what game did you play and just what blackmail materials did you use? he obviously needed a way out after that echo girl incident, otherwise he would never date a pathetic nobody like you’

the words hurt but you were frozen in spot because instead of the so-called fan, now you were seeing your parents in their place and the fan’s voice had turned into their hateful, angry voices

it was too much and you broke out of your trance when the shop keeper came to tell the rancid fan off for making a scene. and you f l e d

just like that

you’d say you had never been humiliated like that in your life about the incident, but that just wouldn’t be true now would it?

zen was pleasantly surprised to see you home sooner than he had expected 

that however changed the moment he saw your panicked, tearful eyes and how all color and drained, leaving you looking pale. like a corpse

and that did not sit well with him!

is all over you ‘who hurt you? what did they do mc?? who do i gotta punch?!’ but calms himself down when he notices his loudness only made you worse 

sits you down on the couch and wraps you in a warm blanket

gets you a big mug of your favorite hot drink and then sits next to you

when you tell him what happened, he is l i v id

but when you further explain about how their words had taken you back to a worse time, he feels something in himself b r e a k

hugs you so tight and tells you how you meant the world to him and how amazing you are

he would also tell you how anybody who says otherwise is just a big liar and deserves a nice knuckle sandwich, no matter who they are

let’s you cry all the hurt out and doesn’t leave till you are stable and have managed to fall asleep

as he cleans up the kitchen, zen vows to himself never to let anybody hurt you or your parents to get anywhere near you again

after all, who better to understand the hurt a parents words cause than himself?!

and that fan? 

oh he will make sure they pay for everything they said

calls seven and thanks god you told him the name of your favorite bookstore 

Saeyoung/707

had guessed mc wasn’t close with their family because from what he had seen on their social media till now, they never really talked about or mentioned them at all

when he came over to rika’s apartment to guard mc, he had doubtlessly acted like an asshole

to keep mc away, for their own good

no matter how much it hurt him to say those awful things and to keep pushing their every attempt to even ask him what was wrong and how they could help 

the thing with saeran having suddenly appear did not help things, only making him lash out in a worse way and the anger making it easier to say hurtful things

when mc finally locked themself away in the apartment, he felt guilty and relieved, but the guilt would weigh so much and it just wouldn’t let him work

after much wasting of time trying to concentrate on his task, he told himself he’d just check in and if mc wasn’t crying their eyes out, he would focus on his work till he got everything done

so when he came in to an empty apartment

panicked and searched everywhere! even under the bed and in the shower and in the kitchen cabinets

dear lord, what had he done?!

just as he was about to step into the elevator, he saw mc in there

they looked absolutely horrible with the bags under their eyes so much darker and their eyes swollen red and their damp face

he didn’t notice his strict glare fall off and be replaced by a concerned expression instead

it hurt so much when mc flinched away as he reached an arm out to them

then they ran past him and into the apartment

silently brought all his equipment inside and sat opposite mc after giving them a cool glass of water

‘i’m sorry-’

but he was cut off by mc’s soft voice

saeyoung felt so bad when they told him about how their parents had done the same thing always

that though their verbal abuse was worse and more hurtful, his had been too much too quickly and that he had acted the same detached way 

that the way he had treated mc had intimidated them and reminded so much of when they were stuck with their parents

actually c r i e s because how could he have thought acting that way would be a good idea?!

doesn’t think he deserves to even comfort mc so he just apologizes and tries explaining his actions

because mc deserves answers really wishes mc would say something mean back but the most they say is that he hurt them too much

promises once saeran is found and the issue is resolved he will make up to them and never hurt them like that again. not even by mistake!

also privately promises himself to find and make mc’s parent’s lives hell

V/Jihyun 

this fricken angel!

calls mc his ‘moon’ because of obvious bad memories and times associated with rika and the sun

doesn’t do it too much or too often because it hasn’t been too long since they started going out and he doesn’t want to rush anything on mc

notices mc gets kind of lost in thought and closed off whenever he does call them the nickname

thinks he did something wrong and feels so bad!!

but in reality it’s just the fact that mc feels he calls them his moon because even though it is the opposite of the sun, they are both still related

they feel that it is inevitable that he will start confusing them with rika 

only to leave them when he realizes they are in fact not rika at all

when life is not so hectic, he takes a hold of mc’s hand to get their attention

‘dearest, did i do something wrong?’ feels relieved when mc tells him that no, he didn’t do anything wrong

so he ventures  further and asks  them why they seem to dislike being called his moon

feels the need to apologize immediately as he feels mc stiffen beside him

but they beat him to it with their response, ‘um… it’s because when you call me that, i feel you still wish for rika somewhere in the back of your mind’

he is shook?! is about to launch in and vigorously explain to mc 

but then they continue and tell him about the only time they got into a relationship but that person cheated on them

and when mc had asked them why, they had said that they weren’t good enough and they had been too ‘good’ for their taste

when mc says he can tell them if he is still confused and wants rika so they can break up before either of them gets hurt, 

he is so sad!

hugs mc so tight and tells them 1) it’s good mc left that person because they didn’t deserve mc!

and 2) that mc is his one and only now and that it was due to them that he was able to get out of rika’s clutches and that it was mc who had made him realize what he had been doing was not love, it was something very unhealthy and crippling for himself

he tells them they should never worry because he loves them so much and he cares for their every feeling and emotion and that will never change

mc actually melts against him when he calls them his apple blossom and wants to c r y in relief!

because the knowledge that they are jihyun’s preference means everything to them in that moment!

calls mc many flower names from then on

but mostly mc is his ever loving, ever lasting apple blossom and he makes sure to always let them know that!

Jaehee 

the cafe had been doing rather well recently

which meant increase in customers and increase in work hours

which was just fine because jaehee and mc both liked working and their customers were generally all really sweet people

that meant some of them would stay till closing hours and want to spend time with them both

mc was kind of awkward always and they thought it was just their paranoid self making things up and that they themself were the cause and source of any awkwardness

it all still didn’t feel good though, because they knew all that and they tried changing, to actively engage too, but they always felt so isolated

things got to the point that jaehee noticed, and after they got home that day, she watched mc dejectedly putting away their shoes and coat

she softly asked mc if everything was okay and why they were so awkward whenever they went out with their new friends

mc felt so humiliated because holy hell jaehee noticed!! now she probably thinks i am a big loser! 

as if to prove that point, they saw jaehee’s eyes widen as she rushed to engulf them in a hug

and why was she shushing them? in the tightness of the hug, mc noticed that they were shaking

because they were sobbing uncontrollably 

when jaehee managed to calm them down she pulled them to sit on the couch so they were half in her lap and half on the other side of the couch

she gently ran her fingers though their hair, murmuring gentle nothings to them till they stopped shaking

coaxing the reason for their sudden panic attack was hard work

but she was determined to find out!

baehee is so shocked when mc tells her about the times they had been emotionally isolated by different people in their life and how they thought jaehee would think lesser of them

when mc added that they knew they were probably overreacting and making things up, she firmly told them to stop right there! because

those were just mind games idiots play to make someone they are jealous of feel inferior

she knew all too well of such people because of her aunt and her daughters to see the pattern

and it concerned her greatly to realize that their new ‘friends’ had been doing the same

though they hadn’t been so obvious and didn’t verbally insult mc so it took longer for her to notice their purposeful ignorance and exclusion of mc and now that she remembered, they had always disagreed with and invalidated anything mc had said when they weren’t ignoring mc!

it took her so long because now that she remembered, mc would barely speak after the first week 

she was livid! though she had calmed mc down and sent them off to clean up before a movie marathon that night

she made a mental note to make those people leave after they had taken their orders and to not accept any offers of hanging out

Yoosung 

comes home to find mc’s favorite mug laying shattered against the wall, as if they had hurled it angrily

and mc silently weeping with their back pressed against the opposite wall

lil puppy is so alarmed at first because mc! you didn’t get hurt did you!?

quickly pulls mc off the floor and brushes them down so there’s no glass shards on them and is relieved to see they are not cut anywhere

first of all gets them out of the kitchen and immediate danger zone 

once they are safely deposited on the bed, he hugs them and gently rubs their back, asking what had happened

when they tearfully tell him about the phone call from their aunt and all the mean things she said to them

and how she would always belittle and find ways to humiliate mc every chance she got 

yoosung was so sad

then angry

he doesn’t know which side to listen to! 

asks them if the mug they broke was given to them by that aunt

when mc nods, he asks why they had kept it if their aunt was so mean to them

mc tells him about how she had gotten that for them when she had come to live with them after her divorce

she had sort of been nice before that because mc only met her at family gatherings and her jabs at mc had not been too mean

yoosung wants to call that shitty aunt and give her a piece of his mind!

he wraps mc in a hug and tells them they did the right thing by getting rid of something that would only hurt them

and that they should never care about what their aunt says to or about them again

because mc is awesome and the coolest person he is met

orders lots of different pizza’s and requests a box of hunny buddah chips from seven in return for doing his chores for a week

is honestly such a blessing, this pure thing!

mc never has to worry about their awful aunt again