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heyiwrotesomethings · 2 years

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She’s The Housekeeper Prt9: Bond

Yor Briar/ Forger x She/ Her Reader

A/N: Prt8 Alright, here is the last part for the foreseeable future. The first chapter of this story is still my most popular post to date, and it’s so cool to see 800+ notes on something I’ve written. If you managed to stick with me for this long, thank you for your time and support💜! Word Count: ~5,800

Anya ate her breakfast with an extra vigor that morning because today would be the day Loid would take her to the pet shop to find a cute little dog to take home! She inhaled her food so fast, she nearly choked.

“Hey, careful!” (Y/n) cautioned as she pushed Anya’s glass of water closer to her for the little girl to gulp down, “I know you’re excited, but let’s try to avoid having to go to the hospital instead.”

“The dogs aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. You can take your time.” Loid reminded.

“I’m just as excited to look around as you are Miss Anya!” Yor beamed as she put down the burnt omurice she had made, “but please do be careful.”

Anya downed the water and though she was still eating rather quickly, she was pacing herself better than she had a few moments ago.

“Anya is ready to go now!” She declared, sliding off of her chair to fetch her coat.

“Anya, we’re still eating.” Loid called after her, but Anya kept moving, pulling her coat from the rack. Loid sat back in his chair, letting Anya wait by the door. “Are you joining us, (Y/n)? It shouldn’t take terribly long.”

“I wouldn’t mind tagging along.” (Y/n) decided. Maybe she could influence the decision made of what dog they got. Something that was already house trained would be ideal. One that rarely shedded would also be preferable.

“This is going to be so much fun.” Yor hummed, between bite of crispy rice and egg. She offered (Y/n) a bite, and of course (Y/n) had to take it.

“Definitely an improvement over the last one, well done my dear.” (Y/n) praised before downing her water in just a few gulps.

The food really was one of Yor’s better attempts. It was still vile, but (Y/n) didn’t feel like she was in danger of throwing up. (Y/n) wasn’t absolutely insane like Yor’s dear brother Yuri, if Yor’s food made her feel ill, she would simply excuse herself to the bathroom to take care of it, not smile and try to clear the plate faster than she could vomit. (Y/n) shuddered at the memory. The Briar siblings were not normal.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Anya chanted from the hallway. She simply couldn’t wait any longer, they were wasting precious daylight!

“Let us do the dishes at least, then we will go, Anya. Be patient.” Loid began gathering plates while (Y/n) and Yor went to the sink to wash and dry.

Anya felt like she could explode from the anticipation, but finally all three adults had put away the dishes and put on their coats and they were heading out the door.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” She barked again, swinging Yor’s hand in hers. “Papa,” she asked, turning back to look at Loid, “Do doggies like peanuts?”

“You probably shouldn’t give them too many. It might not be good for them.” He replied, making Anya pout.

“That leaves more peanuts for you, Miss Anya.” (Y/n) provided helpfully, making her smile again.

“Oh, is this the shop right there?” Yor asked.

“That’s it.” Loid confirmed, going ahead of them to open the door for everyone.

Inside were the most fucked up looking dogs that (Y/n) had ever seen. Anya looked severely unsettled and (Y/n) couldn’t say she blamed her.

“Is… is that one flexing?” She asked Yor in a concerned whisper.

“What do you think, Anya?” Loid smiled, “Do you like any of these dogs?”

“No.” Anya wasted no time saying.

“R-really?” Loid’s eye twitched.

“Are you really surprised, Loid? I mean, look at them.” (Y/n) shuddered.

She did have a point… Guess they would have to go to the shelter event instead. A person caught his eye from the back room, flashing him a signal. Now really wasn’t a good time, but if Handler was calling, it must be important.

“Augh!” Loid cried out, clutching his stomach.

“Loid? What’s wrong?” (Y/n) asked, startled by the outburst.

“I, I need to use the restroom! You all can go, I’ll meet you at the shelter.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? We can wait.” Yor offered.

“Papa takes a long time when he goes to the shitter to shit, so we should probably go.” Anya bluntly explained.

“I see…” Yor blushed.

“Eugh, Miss Anya, we didn’t need to know that.” (Y/n) shivered in disgust, “Also, watch your language.”

“Yes, watch your mouth young lady.” Loid echoed before running off to deal with his… ‘problem’.

“Well, guess we should get going then.” (Y/n) decided.

“Yes!” Anya skipped to the door with (Y/n) and Yor following close behind.

Before long, the sidewalks became more congested and the unmistakable sounds of animals flooded the air.

“So this is the adoption event. Wow, it’s even bigger than I imagined!” Yor gushed.

“Yeah, it seems like Loid should’ve brought us here first.” (Y/n) observed.

Puppies, kittens and bunnies! They seemed to have every furry household pet under the sun! Anya ran haphazardly to look into every crate and enclosure she could find.

“Don’t run around Miss Anya, you’ll get lost!” Yor warned.

“Promise us you won’t leave this area with the dogs, okay?” (Y/n) asked.

“Okay…” Anya deflated a bit, but that was fine, there were so many cute doggies to look at and she would get to take one of them home!

The trio walked up to an enclosure together and Yor squeaked with excitement, grabbing (Y/n) by the arm and shaking her around.

“Look at that dachshund’s cute little legs!” She cooed, making (Y/n) smile.

Anya was overwhelmed by all the cuteness. She couldn’t possibly choose just one. They were all so sweet! Standing by the window, something large and white caught her eye, and she turned to see it more clearly, feeling a possible connection with whatever that may be.

(Y/n) and Yor were going over their top picks when one of the ladies working the event approached them offering assistance. (Y/n) and Yor took up the conversation, distracting them from Anya’s sudden disappearance.

“Are there any breeds that are easier to clean up after?” (Y/n) asked.

“Poodles rarely shed, so cleaning up after them is a breeze.” The friendly lady shared.

“You don’t say.” (Y/n) perked up, making Yor smile.

“Or there are smaller breeds, Shih Tzus are very friendly.”

While (Y/n) and Yor were engrossed with the woman’s abundant information, they failed to notice Anya slink outside to follow the shady man and the big white dog she had seen through the window. By the time they had stopped talking with the woman and thanked her for her suggestions, Anya appeared to be long gone. (Y/n) looked up to find her in the crowd, but could not see her anywhere within the dog section and her heart began to rise to her throat.

“Yor,” (Y/n) alerted, grabbing her partner’s arm, anxiety already slipping into her tone, “Do you know where Anya is?”

Yor snapped to attention, scanning all around, a familiar sense of dread pooling in her stomach. She did not like the trend that seemed to be forming every time she let Anya out of her sight or reach for but a few minutes every time they went out in public.

“I- I don’t—“ Yor swallowed thickly, her feet traveled on autopilot, “Miss Anya? Where did you go?!” She called out, a static buzzing growing steadily between her ears.

“I’ll look for her in the kitten section!” (Y/n) yelled after her before running off in a different direction, but she was not heard.

Between the two of them, they must have asked everyone in the event hall if they had seen the little girl, each growing more and more desperate with every shake of a head they received.

Upon getting her latest negative sighting, Yor felt unshed tears burning the corners of her eyes. This was the aquarium all over again, but worse! She turned, expecting to see (Y/n) there, ready to give her a hug and to let her know everything would be alright, but of course she wasn’t there.

Yor had already been so tense and her brain had been so focused on looking for Anya, she had somehow lost her dear (Y/n) along the way! Now she began to really freak out, completely overwhelmed by the crowded venue and the noise pitching around and within her.

Something in her that was already tense, snapped and she jumped up, kicked off of a nearby pillar, and expertly braced herself on the ceiling so she could search from above. Her breathing uneven, she drowned out the noise of the crowd below. She didn’t see Anya. Anya wasn’t there, not even a trace, and that terrified her.

What if she had been eaten by a dog?! No, Yor managed to stop that train of thought. That was unlikely. Someone would surely have noticed something like that. But what if she had been kidnapped again like when they had gone to the aquarium, or when they had gone grocery shopping! What if (Y/n) had been taken too!

An awful image of her beloved and her adopted daughter being carted away by despicable men to be married off to even more vile and cruel men consumed her vision, but then she found a small light, a familiar splash of color, she saw (Y/n) in one of the far corners of the venue, a strange man looming over her.

Without another second of delay, she skillfully swung from the pipes above and dove between them from the ceiling, startling the man enough to make him yelp. Yor prepared to uppercut him into the sun next, to see what kind of sound that would make, but instead (Y/n)’s hand quickly shot out to grasp her bicep and pull her back. Confused, Yor allowed her.

“Where the hell did you come from lady?” The man blinked, bug-eyed, mouth agape.

“She’s the mother. As you can see, she’s worried sick. If you see her little girl, please do not hesitate to let us know.” (Y/n) beseeched, pulling Yor back a bit more to try to knock her out of whatever murder-y thoughts were fogging up her mind.

“Yeah… of course.” The man gave them a weird look then began walking briskly away.

(Y/n) turned to hold both of Yor’s biceps, pressing her thumbs into the fabric of her coat’s sleeves to try to put pressure on the tense muscles beneath.

“Hey, try to breathe, okay? What’s the matter? Besides the obvious.” She cooed.

Yor sobbed, slamming her head hard against (Y/n)’s chest, making a deep thunk sound that rattled (Y/n)’s insides.

“Oof!” (Y/n) winced, but held Yor all the same, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“I- I can’t find Miss Anya! A-and I thought you had gotten taken too!”

“Honey,” (Y/n) murmured, giving a, ‘mind your own business’ smile to anyone who dared curiously look their way, “I told you I would look for Anya over here. You must not have heard me.”

“I guess not.” She sniffed.

“I’m okay. Now take some deep breaths. It’s clear that Anya isn’t in here, we need to go find her, but we can’t be snapping the neck of anyone whose just going about their day.”

Yor made a pitiful sound, but cut herself off halfway through, almost knocking heads with (Y/n) from how quickly she brought her head up.

“What…!” (Y/n) began to ask, but she heard it then too, that sounded like Anya outside!

And she was outside! They could see her through the window! She was barreling down the street… on top of a big, fluffy white dog.

Yor took (Y/n)’s hand and began sprinting in the direction the dog had ran off in. It was a brutal pace, one that (Y/n) couldn’t keep up with and when she tried to communicate to Yor that she would catch up. Yor was having none of it and scooped (Y/n) up into her arms, making quite the spectacle as they zoomed around the people walking by. It hardly mattered to Yor. She wasn’t going to risk losing (Y/n) for real by leaving her behind.

“Down that alley!” (Y/n) pointed.

“Right!”

(Y/n) braced herself, this was the side of her career that she was not trained for, but when they saw a strange man reaching for Anya in the alley, she still let Yor take her by the arms and spin her at a dizzying pace before finally being launched towards Anya.

(Y/n) sailed over the shocked kidnapper’s head, took hold of Anya’s hands, and catapulted her into the air. While Anya was airborne, (Y/n) sprung off of her hands when she hit the ground and flipped into an upright standing position just in time to catch Anya and see Yor smash her foot into the kidnapper’s face.

Yor fell into place beside (Y/n) so that Anya was between them, protected on either side. Anya couldn’t have looked more relieved to see them, looking between them with visible awe and joy.

“You won’t get away with this, Mr. Perverted Kidnapper,” Yor spoke in a measured tone, glaring at the remaining man who had his jaw hanging open, “It is much too early for Miss Anya to get married!”

“Married?” (Y/n) cocked her head to the side. Just what kind of scenarios was Yor imagining?

The gravity of the situation seemed to catch up to Anya then, because she began to cry, grasping onto the coats of both women she wailed,

“Mama! I was so scared!”

“Don’t worry, you’re all right now.” Yor comforted.

“We’ve got you.” (Y/n) assured, wiping Anya’s tears.

Kieth clenched his teeth. Which one was the mother? Ah, it didn’t matter. They’d all have to die if he was going to succeed in his plans.

“Dog! Rip their throats out!” He commanded.

The German Shepherd beside him began to approach, snarling, but then Yor gave one of her most terrifying expressions to date and growled right back with startling ferocity. The dog whimpered pathetically and turned tail, running out of the alley as fast as he could.

“Coward!” Kieth yelled after him.

“Bwah! Mama, I’m scared!” Anya bawled, hiding her face in (Y/n)’s coat, keeping Yor out of her sight.

“Hm? But you’re safe now?” Yor frowned, perhaps not realizing just how frightening her face had been jus a moment before.

“Don’t worry Anya, if that man thinks he can take you from us he has another thing coming!” (Y/n) promised, her mind filled with thoughts of fire and acid.

Yeah, Anya was glad to have those two on her side because they were honestly terrifying.

Voices began to be heard near the mouth of the alley and Keith cursed. All that noise had alerted people from the street, and now they were coming to investigate!

“Come on, come on you stupid mutt!” He hissed at the remaining dog, the big and fluffy white one. He tugged and tugged at the dog’s leash, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Damn worthless beast!” He kicked the dog in anger and fled the scene empty handed.

“He’s getting away!” Yor groaned, but she stood firmly at (Y/n)’s side. There was already one kidnapper she needed to properly detain and she didn’t want to leave (Y/n) and Anya for even a second.

Just how long is Loid going to stay in the bathroom? She mourned internally. His stomach was probably revolting from the breakfast she had made!

“Mr. Dog are you okay?” Anya asked, running up the the dog once (Y/n) put her down.

“Ah, careful Miss Anya! You shouldn’t run up to dogs you don’t know.” (Y/n) warned, trying to stop Anya from going any further.

“Mr. Doggie is no stranger. He saved Anya.” Anya put her hands over her heart, looking over to the dog with gratitude.

“Where did this dog come from, Miss Anya?” Yor asked.

Anya took a deep breath, that question required a very big answer.

“Terrorist bomb dogs?!” Yor blanched.

(Y/n) got on her knees and thoroughly searched the fluffy dog for bombs. Thankfully, there weren’t any. She sighed in relief and gave Yor a shaky thumbs up.

“Anya is sorry for running off without permission…” Anya mumbled, grabbing the hem of her coat between her fingers while she kept her eyes firmly on the ground.

“We’re just glad that you are safe.” (Y/n) knelt to the ground to hug Anya.

“We were so worried about you.” Yor chimed, following her partner to the ground.

“But expect a stern talking to when we get home.” (Y/n) warned.

Anya pouted, but nodded in acceptance and the three, plus the dog, walked out of the alley, tied up kidnapper dragging behind Yor.

They called the police on a nearby public phone to explain the situation, during which Anya suddenly grew restless, shaking the dog.

“Anya don’t be rough with the doggie.” Yor scolded lightly before her attention was brought back to the receptionist on the phone.

“Mama, Mama, sorry, Anya just remembered something. Papa forgot to take toilet paper with him to the potty!” The little girl yelled out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“What?”

(Y/n) and Yor stared on, frozen, as Anya leapt onto the dog’s back and urged him into a run.

“He might be in trouble so I have to go get some from home!”

“Anya, wait!” Yor called, reaching out the hand that wasn’t currently cradling the receiver.

“She’s running off again!” (Y/n) yelled in disbelief, finally sprinting after the blob of pink and white as they rounded the corner.

“W-wait! What about the police?” Yor called after her.

“We told them all we could! Just hang up and leave that guy there, he won’t wake up anytime soon! Let’s go before we lose Anya again!”

“Ah, okay!” Yor rose the receiver back to her ear, “I’m leaving the kidnapper by this phone booth! I have to go now, bye!” She hung up the phone and caught up with (Y/n) before she rounded the corner.

They searched every block, every street within half a mile. (Y/n) finally came to a stop, resting heavily on the guardrail of the bridge they had been speed-walking across.

“Darling, are you alright?” Yor’s voice was laced with worry. She could tell that (Y/n) was breathing quite hard.

“I’ll be okay, I just need a minute.” She wheezed. God, cardio sucks.

While (Y/n) tried not to keel over on the bridge, Yor paced back and forth. The only trace that she had been running at all was the light layer of sweat on her rosy face.

“What if she gets found by the terrorists again? I can’t let that happen!” Yor fretted.

“Maybe she went back to the pet shelter?” (Y/n) suggested between breaths. “At the very least, maybe Loid is finally there?”

Before Yor could speak, a loud honk of a horn and a sharp squeal of tires interrupted her. The scent of burnt rubber permeated the air. Looking down from the bridge, the women saw a car speeding recklessly down the road.

The light caught the windshield just right, allowing Yor to see an unwelcomingly familiar face. The other man who tried to kidnap Anya!

“Him again? How dare he try to take Miss Anya and run away! You won’t get away this time!” She declared, then jumped off of the bridge.

“Yor!” (Y/n) yelled. She tried to reach out for her, but she was too slow. Her hands snapped right to her eyes. Covering them from whatever was about to happen. “Pleasebeokaypleasebeokaypleasebeokay—“

An awful crashing noise reverberated within (Y/n)’s ears and she cautiously lifted her face from her hands. Below, she could see that Yor looked unscathed, thank the stars, but the car looked as if it had been t-boned before crashing into a lamppost.

(Y/n) hobbled down the hill to meet Yor on the street and flung her arms around her, a gesture that was always eagerly returned.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nope!” Yor smiled, “Kicking the car did make my leg feel a little tingly though.”

“My indestructible tank, I love you.” (Y/n) sighed, looking back at the crushed car. “We’ll have to call the police… again.”

They quickly relayed the location of the car and hung up before the responder could ask any follow-up questions. Then they were off to continue their search for Anya.

It was near sunset when they saw Loid walking down the sidewalk towards them. They opened their mouths in a rush to tell him that Anya had run off on a dog, but said girl and dog appeared from the alley between them and they instead slumped over each other in relief.

“What are you three doing here?” Loid asked, “I’m surprised to find you so far from the shelter.”

“Anya was coming to give papa toilet paper.”

“Ah.”

“She ran off on us. Twice.” (Y/n) informed, resting most of her weight against Yor. Now that Anya was with them once more, the exhaustion of running around all day was really starting to get to her.

“Did she now…” Loid looked down at Anya disapprovingly, finally truly noticing the dog beside her. “And who is the dog?

“That is actually quite the story.” Yor rubbed at her cheek with a sheepish smile and retold the events of the day. (Y/n) would occasionally chime in, but ultimately she was too tired to try to censor anything Yor was saying. Somewhere in her brain she knew they probably shouldn’t talking about taking down terrorists without much trouble, but again she was too tired to care.

“I’m sorry all that happened while I was in the bathroom.” Loid finally said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Yeah, you were gone all day. Have you considered seeing a doctor, because that is not at all normal.” (Y/n) spoke in a teasing tone, but there was a notable hint of concern in the way her eyebrows scrunched together.

“It was probably because of what I made for breakfast.” Yor bemoaned.

“It has to be something else. The rest of us survived.”

Loid, wanting to put his day long trip to the ‘bathroom’ behind him, began to address Anya and her penchant for running off.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not run off on your own. You could have been seriously hurt!” He yelled, making Anya flinch.

“Anya is sorry!” She sniffled, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Loid immediately softened, falling to one knee before her, “I’m sorry for yelling. I was just worried. You aren’t hurt at all though, right?”

Anya shook her head, putting a hand on the fluffy dog beside her. The fur nearly swallowed up her hand.

“Mr. Dog protected me.”

Loid smiled at the dog, petting him gently, “Thank you.”

“Excuse us,”

The family turned to see a woman and a man in suits approaching them from across the street,

“We’re investigating an incident near City Center. We understand that this was one of the dogs involved in the incident.” The woman said. “Please hand him over to us. He’ll be in good hands.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Loid tipped his hat, motioning them towards the dog.

“Now we can go back to looking for a puppy!” Yor beamed excitedly.

“Is the shelter even still open?” (Y/n) almost hoped it wasn’t. She wanted to shower and then spend the next several days in bed. She was already dreading how sore she was going to be tomorrow.

“Come on, Anya. Let’s go take a look.” Loid reached for her hand, but Anya pulled away.

“No! Anya wants Mr. Dog!” She said, stepping between the officers and the dog.

Loid shook his head. “He was owned by bad guys.”

“He saved Anya!” The esper refuted.

“You said you wanted a small dog.” Loid crossed his arms, peering down at his fickle adopted daughter.

“But Anya wants Mr. Dog now, it’s okay that he is big!” Anya continued to argue, hugging the dog close.

“Anya please,” Loid pinched the bridge of his nose, “Stop being so difficult.”

“If papa doesn’t let me have Mr. Dog, Anya will go bad and stop going to school!” Anya’s lip wobbled and then she began to cry.

“Wh— what are you saying?!” Loid sputtered.

“It’s okay, Miss Anya! Please don’t cry!” Yor beseeched.

“There are a lot of nice dogs in the world! I’m sure you’ll find another who is just as sweet…” (Y/n) attempted to console, but she knew that trying to get Anya to change her mind would be impossible at this point. She did just spend the whole day with this dog after all.

“Very well.” The woman conceded, leaving Loid particularly surprised.

“What?!”

The woman chuckled, then couched in front of Anya, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

“The dog itself didn’t cause any harm. If you promise to take good care of him, he’s yours, but we will need to keep him for the night to check his health first.” She explained softly.

“Are you protecting the other doggies too?”

“They are sleeping in the softest of beds and eating warm, yummy food.” She nodded.

“Thank you very much, important lady.”

The woman’s smile tugged a little further, “You’re welcome.” She stood back to her full height, turning to Loid. “We shall make contact with you tomorrow.“

“Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.” Loid bowed his head.

“No trouble at all. Have a good night.”

And so they began their trek home. Anya and Yor were particularly pleased with themselves because of the parts they played in saving the city from terrorists. (Y/n) and Loid on the other hand were exhausted.

“Why do you look like that?” (Y/n) had asked him pointedly. “I know it isn’t easy being… ill, all day, but I’ve been running around the city for hours and I still look better than you.”

“Do you really want to know?” Loid asked with a wry smile, his eye twitching in aggravation. If only they knew what he had really been up to all day!

“No.” (Y/n) shook her head quickly, “No, I really don’t want to know. Forget I said anything.”

After a night of the deepest sleep that any of them had ever experienced, morning soon came, and with it, a large and fluffy white dog.

“So curious!” Yor giggled, watching the dog sniff around the living room.

“Anya wants to stay home to play with Mr. dog today.” Anya said hugging the dog tightly.

“I believe the deal was that you wouldn’t stop going to school if you got this dog.” Loid said after spitting his toothpaste in the sink. “Get ready for school.”

“Does Anya at least get a Stella for helping stop the bad guys?” She asked. That would help put her in a better mood about going to school.

“I’m afraid not, Anya. No one is supposed to know about what was going to happen because it would just cause fear and panic. You have to keep it to yourself or the police might need to come and take you away.”

“Shock!” Anya flinched. She couldn’t let that happen, but it certainly was a disappointment that she couldn’t tell anyone.

“Loid!” (Y/n) gasped from the other room, “Don’t phrase it like that, you’ll scare her!”

Loid rolled his eyes at his reflection in the mirror and Anya began getting ready to go to school, pouting all the while.

“Have a good day at school Miss Anya!” Yor waved. “(Y/n) and I will take good care of Mr. Doggie while you’re away.”

“I’ll do my best.” (Y/n) called from the couch. Even raising her hand to wave goodbye to Anya hurt. Her whole body felt stiff and sore from the whole ordeal yesterday while it appeared to be just another normal day for Yor.

Anya and Loid said their goodbyes and then it was just (Y/n), Yor and the curious new addition to the family.

“Yor, darling, would you make me some ice packs.” (Y/n) groaned while she moved to lay flat on the couch.

“Of course! My poor, sore heart!” Yor cooed. She cupped (Y/n)’s cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead before heading to the kitchen.

While (Y/n) waited for Yor’s return, the dog took notice of her and began to lumber up to her.

“Hello, getting used to your new home?” (Y/n) asked him.

The dog sniffed her hand, then slowly hoisted himself up onto his hind legs by placing his front paws on the edge of the couch.

“Ah, wait. No, don’t come up here— dog! No! Down! Oof!”

(Y/n) couldn’t stop the dog from laying flat across her sore body. It was a warm, and an almost comforting weight, but in the state (Y/n) was in currently, she didn’t find it entirely enjoyable, but it was kind of cute.

“Honey, did you say something…?” Yor walked back into the room, her arms filled with industrial bags of ice that she got from who-knows-where. Her eyes fell on the dog and she pouted, “That was going to be my spot, Mr. Doggie.”

“Yor, help me get him off. He’s too heavy.”

Yor did as she was asked, dragging the dog back to the floor.

“I apologize, Mr. Doggie, but (Y/n) is sore from running around yesterday. Surely you understand.” Yor then promptly dropped the giant bags of ice onto (Y/n)’s body.

“Not quite what I had in mind, but thah, thank you.” (Y/n) shivered.

The dog was undeterred by the upheaval and soon climbed his way back onto the couch, sinking between the bags of ice.

“My, perhaps he is sore too!” Yor observed. “Poor thing.”

(Y/n) sighed. She couldn’t find it within herself to make Yor push the dog away a second time. Perhaps she should feel special because the dog seemed to like her already, but her body was not appreciative of the extra pressure at this time.

“Would it help for me to massage your calves?” Yor asked thoughtfully. “Mr. Dog isn’t covering those up.”

(Y/n) mulled it over. Typically, a massage from Yor would be nice as long as she didn’t push too hard.

“I think that sounds nice, just be gentle please.”

“I will, I promise!”

And she really was. Yor did a great job, so wonderful in fact, that the combination of the frigid melting ice, the warm, weighted blanket of a dog, and the soothing massage knocked (Y/n) right out.

She was rudely awakened hours later when the dog clumsily leapt off of her to jump into Anya’s arms when she got home from school.

“Welcome home!” Yor smiled, clasping her hands to rest them against her cheek, “Oh my, such good friends already! He must have missed you!”

“Save me! He’s eating me!” Anya gasped while the dog slobbered all over her.

“He seems to have a lot of pent up energy. We should take him for a walk.” Loid suggested. He looked over to (Y/n) laid limply across the couch and smirked, “Care to join us, (Y/n)?”

“Not today.” (Y/n) deadpanned, ever so slowly lifting herself into a sitting position. “You all go on ahead. I’ll start getting dinner ready.”

“Are you sure? I could stay an help.” Yor volunteered.

“I’ll be fine,” (Y/n) assured, “Go have fun at the dog park.”

(Y/n) shuffled through the kitchen like an old woman, slowly preparing dinner. Though she could be prideful at times, she was actually surprised that she had dinner mostly completed before the Forger’s returned home.

“I hope they haven’t ran into anymore trouble.” She murmured to herself as she finished setting the table. She walked to the armchair this time around when she finished her self imposed task. She hissed through clenched teeth as she lowered herself into the plush chair.

She then decided she would never run again, maybe never even walk. She didn’t care if it would look strange, she was going to have Yor carry her everywhere from now on and if she knew anything about her love, she would be happy to do it too.

Finally, the front door opened and the Forger’s piled inside.

Anya ran up to (Y/n) all excited, “Mama, I know what to name Mr. Dog!”

“Do you? What is it?” (Y/n) thought Mr. Dog was the name already, but she was curious to hear what else Anya had come up with.

“Wait just a minute!” Anya asked.

She bounced excitedly when Loid came back from the short trip to his room, a black ribbon of fabric in hand. He deftly tied the fabric around the dog’s neck and once he stepped away, (Y/n) saw he had looped it into a bow tie.

“Behold!” Anya flung her arms out in the direction of the dog happily thumping his tail against the floor. “Bond!”

“Oh, like Bondman.” Loid understood. “That should work just fine.”

“Boof!” Bond leapt at Anya, sending her to the floor in a flurry of licks and wiggly wags that made Anya laugh.

“He seems to like it.” (Y/n) smiled fondly.

“They’re so cute!” Yor cooed.

“Come, Bond! Let me show you around the hideout!”

“Anya, it’s dinner time. And don’t forget you need to study. afterwards.” Loid warned.

“Anya will study later, promise.”

Loid’s eye twitched, but he relented.

After dinner, Anya fed Bond. She filled his bowl to the brim and watched him begin to chow down.

“Try not to give him too much.” Loid cautioned as he walked by, a towel under his arm. “I’m going to take my bath now, but I expect you to be studying by the time I’m done.”

Anya pouted and Loid walked to the bathroom. Curious, Anya took a kibble from Bond’s bowl and nearly popped it into her mouth before (Y/n) called out her name.

“Miss Anya, please don’t eat anything meant for a dog.” (Y/n) shivered in disgust as she scrubbed the dishes nearby.

“I know it must look tempting, but take it from me, it is not as good as it looks.” Yor helpfully added.

“I don’t want to know if that is coming from a place of experience or not.” (Y/n) said, but the shy laugh Yor gave was damning.

Soon after he finished his meal, Bond began to wiggle uncomfortably and Anya took notice.

“Need to go potty? Here, I’ll show you where to go.” Anya led him to a wide tub lined with newspaper. “When nobody can take you outside, you go in here. If you go anywhere else, mama will get mad cause she like things tidy.”

After business was taken care of, Anya and Bond played all over the apartment. (Y/n) wanted to remind Anya about her studies, but she couldn’t bear to break up the fun. It was Bond’s first day home, and Anya hardly got to see him before she had to go to school. A little more playtime couldn’t hurt.

(Y/n) and Yor watched them play, losing track of time. And when Loid returned from his bath, they showed him the cute little girl and her dog curled up together and fast asleep.

The studying could wait until tomorrow, Loid supposed.

#spy family x reader #spy x family x reader #yor briar x reader #yor forger x reader #yor x reader

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callibones · 3 days

Note

hello!!! 🩸🟪 again. sorry for asking so early in the morning--i know you said you timed your last poast so i would see it so i feel bad for changing my hours but i had some extra free time. in the future you don't have to time your responses if you dont wanna. i peruse your blog at least once a week or so so ill probably find things ! and i dont wanna bother you first thing, thank you SO MUCH for that injoke guide! i'm like lvl 500 autistic so i had trouble figuring them out naturally. this makes things sm easier.

second thing... you have a bill cipher fictive? that's inch resting. i think i might also be plural too but i'm kinda off and on about it. but when u said that i looked back at the post they made and it was tagged with a #👁️? and then i looked at your other posts and there's a few tagged with a #👑. and your posts are usually tagged with #callie.txt.exe. so i thought hm. so i don't make any mistakes--what's your bill cipher fictive's name? how many people are there? is callie around the majority of the time? this is probably invasive so you don't need to respond to any of this JKHJBGVFCDXRCFGVHBJKNHBGVFCDXCGHBJKNHJBGVFCDGFVHBJ. also ive definitely Won and have obtained zero shelled feelings ever absolutely.

third. I LOVED OIL AND WATER!!! thank you sm. i haven't finished reading through all the other fics you reblogged though so when i do ill send you my thoughts on all of them in a different ask. you are so Based but not in a weird way in like a cool awesome way. fourth. i.. do rlly wanna dm you but my main thing is that i kind of Lost access to my main account a bit ago? idk how i was just stupid and Forgor

so ive been slowly trying to rebuild it on this new one. problem is, it's not Done yet. i'm worried im going to dm you and it will be Incomplete and you will forever perceive me as a Flawed, Unfinished version of myself. it would simply tarnish the wonderful 🩸🟪 brand, you know?

so i think.. if i do dm you, it'll be in a little while. i'll probably create a dedicated sideblog for the occasion when i do, ok? i do wanna hear you yap in a more controlled environment.

last thing i swear. so this actually has NOTHING to do with anything else you said but im like freaking out. so i checked your youtube channel and i noticed your description.

television for a head.

this is cool and all and your sona is SO AWESOME but this also Sucks for me because this ENTIRE TIME i've been drawing you as a computer! i have so much callibones fanart of you as a fucking desktop where it's like nested so your monitor has a little desktop assistant that is also you and it goes on forever and ever and ever with even smaller callies and that idea was WRONG!! i shouldve known from the antennae but i thought that was a bug thing not a tv thing (which, by the way, excellent choice on your part. when i'm not an assembly of shapes, i do enjoy being an insect.) but i was a FOOL!!!

so this makes me realize hey wait what else am i getting wrong? this thing is colored differently in this image than all the other images. what's the correct thing to do? and i came to the conclusion that i need to just ASK YOU! (wow who could've guessed. you're so smart.) yeah! i am! the smartest in the whole world even

if you happen to have any, i need reference sheets of your sona. if you have reference sheets of the alternate variants (or are those headmates? i saw one was called calliope and i think there was a bill cipher one so is that the fictive? i don't know but i want to draw them) those would be appreciated too. i have made a grave error and i must resolve it immediately.

with that. um. thank you for humoring me, id like to thank all our sponsors for getting me to write this ask, i will join the discord servers and message you one day because i am Not Afraid of Anything in the Whole Wide World. toodles

HELLO 🩸🟪! hope i didnt keep you waiting too long.... wanted to finish my ref first! PLUS i got a whoooole buncha busy goin on so im SUPER occupied.... but now i got time just for YOU! i definitely didnt time this one im just postin it now that i Can.... but im sure you can use the tag and your weekly browsing skills to find your way back here. hehehehe.

SECOND: very observant! yes, while we haven't made an official post for it, calliope uses the crown emoji and calcifer uses the eye emoji! that's his name, by the way. in fact, here's the whole gang, labeled with NAMES & PRONOUNS!

("who the fuck" is me, sorry. hehehehe.) (putting the id on this one out here so its easier. from left to right, you got:

the commissariat (she/they) in red, in a fancy longcoat with a jacket makin a serious pose

me, callie (it/fae/she) in green, in my usual "have a rotten day" top that shows my bra a lil and my short skirt

calliope (she/thon) in purple, wearing thons over-the-top storm supervillain dress

calcifer (he/she/it/they and it insisted on including "calcifae/calcifaer" as well) in yellow, with a suit, a shorter skirt than mine, a sword, and the bill cipher triangle-eye pose

and callyris (she/it) in pink, with short-shorts and a crop top fully showin its maintenance panel.

i'm around the majority of the time, but there's five of us includin' me and Calcifer! he's more than just bill cipher, btw. he's he/him lesbian bill cipher! hehehehe. he's also like genuinely growing as a person and i'm REALLY proud of him. also it's okay i have shelled one feelings too. calcifer says you're probably pretty easy to take advantage of and should call her.

THIRD: YAY! cedardivine, who made that peanutiel story, JUST made a separate post the other day with all thons blaseball writing. so GO CHECK THAT OUT! i sure plan to. :-D

FOURTH: cmon you dont gotta brand. EVERYONES flawed and unfinished! including me! im fucked upppp dont put me on a pedestal. im incomplete too!!!!

FIFTH HERES MY REF!!!! i made it just for you (genuinely!) so you GOTTA show me your fanart now because omg? omg???? omg???????? you made fanart of me? sobbing and crying??

also youre KINDA right about the desktop assistant thing! i fuckin love the nestedness so much and theres definitely some stuff where i imply that! but thats because.... so the actual sona is a desktop assistant virus thing. but fae takes on the appearance of a tv-head bot! so when fae's in The Real World fae uses a Made Physical version of that same cartoony self to walk around in. and on that robot's an OS running... the actual desktop assistant! so while it's not infinitely nested, you're right that my reality is Layered. i wonder if it could go deeper than that....

theres not a lotta art of the others YET but heres SOME FUCKIN AWESOME ART MY WONDERFUL FRIEND OF RIGORMARCY DREW OF THON so lookat that.

and here's calcifer's never-before-posted discord pfp, just for you:

calcifer sez: THERE'S MY CARD! GIMME A RING IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR A NEW DEITY TO CHAT UP. THE SHELLED ONE MAY BE DEAD, BUT I'M AROUND FOREVER! FOREVER.

so. do what you will with this information.

IN CONCLUSION please send me your fanart if you wanna and feel like it because thats SO AWESOME that you made some... literally misty eyed.... ill look forward to your next correspondence whether i know you as 🩸🟪 or as whatever your name is on whatever platform you wanna reach me with! feel free to shoot me a friend request on discord if tumblr aint workin for ya. tell em 🩸🟪 sent ya! because that's you. and you can send you. But not in the mail, unfortunately. 1984.

UNTIL NEXT TIME GOOBY!!!!

#🩸🟪

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masked-and-doomed · 11 months

Text

NEW ME NEW INTRO!!

Hello, I'm Kat/Kats (or Yomotsu), welcome!! I am so normal about my boyfriends.

Please feel free to ask me about my OC, UG!! Hell, even cooler if you do it in a roleplay kinda way.

Other places you can find me:

@katsdoodles - art blog/archive.

Discord: thatonekats

👆 just in case. Tumblr explodes. Talk to me if you wanna ig (I am not good at conversing. So. Keep that in mind.)

Ao3: ThatOneKat2

👆 Might as well have it here. I've been more in a writing mood this year.

Twitter: @ThatOneKats

I have a twitter now I fucking guess. A bit of bonus content there (a little bit more of unhinged thoughts) but you're not missing much if you don't go there.

Suspected BPD, have been diagnosed autistic. I will feel things very intensely either forever or feel nothing about it in the next hour max. You may see vent posts. Every now and then. Check the tagging system to block em out.

I am deeply in love and sickly affectionate for my 4 darlings. They're my boyfriends, girlfriends, besties- our relationship? Is uhh whatever man. It's love. It's love. (Also not the best fathers but hey I take what I can get)

First two being Yomotsu Hirasaka (pfp), and Takao Hiyama. They are my most intense hyperfixation of 2 years.! They are from Mirai Nikki/Future Diary. An anime/manga which I don't really like.

The next beloved is Pocketcat! He is from Fear and Hunger. He's. A silly :) There's so much intrigue of him aaaghhh ough he is so sad.

Last one !! Faust. From Guilty Gear. He's a. He's somebody. Got him on Valentine's Day. He makes me a different kind of ill. Alas, this doctor cannot cure me.

They're 💙 just like me fr. I love them. URL is them btw. Masked men, doomed.

(comfortable with sharing and gushing together with everyone. I don't mind if you send or @ me in stuff that has Faust shipped with someone, (I like appreciating art of Faust in any form :] ) just know I'm uncomfy with all (canon x canon) Faust ships except Happy Chaos, meaning that I won't talk about them (eg., fau.slayer) together.)

I am. Also obsessed with my lambs as well. (The Conclave, consisting of Axus, Libraria, Baldias, and Chronus) They mean a lot to me. I wish to give them happiness they didn't have the time nor place for. You will see me reblog lambs and tag it as them. Feel free to send me lamb pictures, effectively beaming Conclave to me.

NOTE! I do sometimes post about needing my darlings to kill themselves, or wish great harm upon them. I will not always have positive things to say about them. I am a hater as much as I am a lover. (Not the "I want him dead" (lovingly) (though I do have sadism and would enjoy killing them for the fun of it), I have genuine hatred towards them all (Libraria the least) and I loathe their existence.

(if I had to guess, this is the bpd doing its thing)

Yayaya tagging system time!

#ah rambling - general yapping tag

#[MN/funger] rambling - ramblings of MN or funger

#[MN/funger] bangers - memes/shitposts of that fandom

#oc time - posts about the little OCs I have (currently empty. DW about it)

#unnamed girlie - posts about my self insert. (UG for short)

#UG spoilers - in case you wanna go through the UG tag but not be spoiled about the endings and such.

#guy in my head - headcanon posts

#doodle tag - stuff not high effort enough to put into my art blog goes here

#reblog moment - reblogs! So you can filter them out

#lovesick - yandere / obsessive behaviour

#gatito - kitty tag.

#belalang beloveds - grasshopper tag. Belalang is grasshopper in Malay :)

#art save - images I wanna draw (typically memes I wanna draw with my guys)

#art reference material - reblogs of posts with helpful art stuff

#general reference material - reblogs of posts with whatever that isn't art. Not really 'general' perse but I don't have another word

#epic meowtual art - art by the meowtuals!

#ask game - reblogs of ask game posts

#ask game answer - answers to asks abt the ask game

#hello asker - ask tag

#tag game - reblog of posts that are meant to have you tag other ppl to continue the chain

#negative. And #/negative are used for vent posts. Make those sometimes.

#hxrny aroace on main - (mind the x) epic posts where I feel feelings for some characters (carnally)

#fanfic shit idfk - posts related to fanfics I'm reading (or something like that)

#girl what you on?? - posts where I'm in some sort of delirium, talking to my beloveds. And being ill about them.

#shit I send to fictional guy - posts I'd send to fictional characters. Will prob have their name tagged too.

#unnamed oc core - wow it's just like him fr. Many things will be tagged this btw. They are not okay. (Same person as UG jsyk)

#pocketkitty - for posts I don't want in the pocket.cat tag or reblogging posts that are like pocket.cat. (only applies to him everyone else gets tagged with their name in posts that are like them)

#robot nephew - similar to pocketkitty just that it's. Mr robo.t K.y

#silly doctor man - I fell into gui.lty g.ear and now I'm in love with this bozo. When I don't want it to be in the main tag. Yes like pocketkitty and robo bo.

#mister omelette - guy that asks which came first the chicken or the egg. Answers himself, it's omelette.

#mask quartet - fucking stupid masked bitches trying to save humanity gone wrong

Liveblog tags:

Guilty gear: #pride in my gears: sign, #pride in my gears: rev, #pride in my gears: overture, #pride in my gears: strive

Tag me in stuff you think I like!! I don't mind! Or like tag games.

There's also a *cough cough* side blog. For degenerate thoughts of mine. If you want it just give a DM ig.

Pictures i want here

(This applies mostly to Faust. Sorry not sorry Faust. I will give you the worst horrors.)

(This is me any time someone mentions Conclave. I wish I could say I was exaggerating. I'll just say that Conclave has spiked my libido and I've been the fastest to draw suggestive art of them and write smut of them than of any other character I've fallen in love with. I need them carnally. And I tell you, it is a need.)

#intro post

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blimbo-buddy · 1 year

Note

i really enjoy the kittypet culture stuff!! i know how awful making a very thought out lore post for a thing/au you love and then it getting like 3 rbs and 10 likes is......... it SUCKS. IT SUCKS ASS. i often see your posts and think 'man! this fucks!!' but then i get anxious and leave it be and thats just something i need to work on i guess- idk where im going w this tbh, i just want you to know that i really do appriciate what you do and ill try to interact w your posts more in the future

also to anyone elso who might see this: reblog stuff! leave your thoughts in the tags! maybe send an ask if youre feeling brave! it truly does mean a lot

Thanks anon, I'm feeling just a tad bit more decent right now but it just bums me out more than anything. Thank you to everybody else too, I appreciate the nice words you guys give me and the support you give towards the twolegplace culture stuff. Any thoughts or questions or anything with those posts are very much appreciated, even if it's just keyboard smashing in the tags. It gets my posts out there more and I appreciate the reblogs a lot

i don't really know how else to end this off so, there ya go

#blimbo rambles #blimmy art #ask

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rosethornewrites · 11 months

Text

Fic: hold the bright moon in my arms, ch. 4

Relationships: Niè Huáisāng & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Niè Huáisāng, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Original Characters, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī

Additional Tags: Pining, Feelings Realization, Illnesses, ennui, Found Family, Porn Reading, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulative Niè Huáisāng, Memories, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Needs a Hug, Post-Canon, Pining Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Friendship, Niè Huáisāng Is A Little Shit, POV Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, POV Third Person, Qi Deviation, Resentful Energy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Triggers, Fainting, Anal Sex, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Grief/Mourning

Summary: Wei Wuxian must face Lan Wangji.

Notes: see end

First fic

1-2 | 3

AO3 link

——————

Wei Wuxian woke slowly to the sound of guqin music, played in that refined way he would always recognize as Lan Zhan’s style, and he let himself drift on the music for a while, a song of clarity powered with Lan Zhan’s qi, gently bolstering his own to promote calm and healing.

It was a strange parallel to how he woke in the Cloud Recesses after his resurrection, his mask removed while he was unconscious, but Lan Zhan’s playing then had been different, more hesitant, and he knew now how their miscommunication had harmed him. He could remember how disheveled Lan Zhan had been then, and knowing the reason now made his heart ache, that he had caused him so much grief.

“I think he’s awake,” came a too-loud whisper, definitely Jingyi, and the teen’s presence would make him smile if not for the worry threaded in the cadence of his voice.

He finally opened his eyes, the lids heavy enough that he knew he must have terrible bags under his eyes, not that he could remember a time without them. Sometimes he wondered if he was resurrected with them still following him from his past life, just as everything else followed him.

Lan Zhan was seated on the floor, looking serene, with no hint that he had just flown from Gusu to Qinghe in barely a day, just as put together and—

Wow, how had he never actually realized how much he admired Lan Zhan and that there might be more behind it? So much for being a genius.

Jingyi abruptly blocked his view, kneeling beside the bed with all his windswept messiness making it clear he just journeyed by sword, and Wei Wuxian almost smiled at the dichotomy.

“Wei-qianbei, when the letter arrived about your qi deviation we flew all the way here right away, with no stops at all! Sizhui is still with the Gho— I mean, with Wen-gongzi in Qishan or I’m sure he’d’ve come, too!”

He sounded so earnest and worried that Wei Wuxian felt a wave of fondness, but for Lan Zhan more than Jingyi.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, how did you raise such empathetic juniors?”

Lan Zhan’s expression was almost the ghost of a smile when he responded, Jingyi having moved to the side so Wei Wuxian could see it, deferential to his seniors.

“I considered what Wei Ying would do.”

The compliment twisted at something inside him uncomfortably, his sincerity almost painful for more reasons than Wei Wuxian cared to explore in mixed company.

“Spare this delicate man, Hanguang-Jun,” he finally managed when he was able to speak again, too overcome for a real response.

A healer came in, likely summoned by Jingyi’s exuberance. Once she assessed his meridians, she cleared him to attend lunch, but added even more restrictions, banning any use of even small amounts of spiritual energy and urging him not to stress his body too much, which basically left him with no distractions for the foreseeable future.

Somehow this was all Nie Huaisang’s fault.

The song ended, leaving a pregnant silence, and Wei Ying felt heavy and discombobulated, but then Jingyi’s stomach rumbled loudly, the poor boy likely starving after his flight, and Wei Ying couldn’t help but laugh.

“I guess we should get lunch before you fall over,” he teased the youth, easing himself into a sitting position.

He caught Lan Zhan’s gaze and the amusement in it, hidden by his normal deadpan face, filled him with unspeakable fondness, and he grinned.

“I’ve practiced inedia,” Jingyi muttered, slightly petulant, but then his stomach gurgled again, and this time he joined in when Wei Ying laughed.

Lan Zhan, still the picture of grace, busied himself stowing his guqin in his qiankun sleeve, then rose in a single smooth movement, striding steadily to the bedside to offer his hand to Wei Wuxian.

He felt frozen for a moment by his zhiji’s steady gaze, and then he took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be helped up, something he normally would eschew, too focused on standing on his own back then to recognize that Lan Zhan was right there.

Though not touching, Lan Zhan was close enough beside him to feel his warmth as they made their way to lunch, distracting enough that he barely noticed Jingyi impatient with their pace behind them. He kept up a safe ramble about what he’d been doing in Qinghe since his arrival, eventually commenting on how ridiculously big his quarters were. Much of his last life he had made do, only having had particularly large quarters during his time in the Burial Mounds, which had been significantly less comfortable with far fewer amenities.

“Honestly, they’re almost too big for one person,” Wei Wuxian said idly, then went quiet as he realized that was on purpose, damn Nie-xiong, and he’d just blurted it out like a fool.

Lan Zhan shifting to glance at him as they walked brought him back to himself, and he forced a smile, but let it drop when he noticed the concern in his eyes.

“I’m just not used to that sort of thing—they’re much bigger than even the ones I had back…”

He tripped over his words, having instinctively almost said ‘home,’ when there was no returning to Lotus Cove, the one that had once been his home no longer in existence, razed with its people slaughtered, a shade of what it had been haunting his memory.

“Well,” he tried to salvage, “back before the war, anyway.”

Back before the world had largely stopped making sense, before indoctrination, before Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen had been killed and Lotus Pier burned, before he’d given his future to Jiang Cheng and fallen into darkness.

The attempt to salvage was, unfortunately, a worse verbal blunder than the one he’d started with, and on more levels than he cared to count. Of all the possible times for his mouth to move ahead of his brain, of course it was this one, when he had very little face left to save but just enough that it made him feel uncomfortably open.

Thankfully, they reached the dining room before he had to find more words, before he had to address the look of steady compassion Lan Zhan was giving him, the one that made his soul itch in this body that was disturbingly not quite like the one he’d worn when he died.

The surprise presences of Nie Hengxiang and Nie Yingwei helped distract him further from the need to find more words for Lan Zhan, as he used the opportunity to introduce them. They greeted him as ‘Wei-qianbei,’ which earned what sounded suspiciously like a hissed ‘yes!’ from Jingyi, and a curious glance from Lan Zhan.

Nie Hengxiang was easier to introduce, in a way, as the capable junior Nie Huaisang sent to protect him, the story of their meeting falling easily from his mouth, how he’d essentially woken up to find he’d been saved from assassination, and then learned it hadn’t been the first, just the first to get close enough for the struggle to wake him.

Lan Wangji only nodded in appreciation, but Lan Jingyi was a bit more exuberant.

“Thanks for protecting Wei-qianbei,” he said, bowing appropriately, but with a grin that was far less decorous. “You’d think people would leave him alone since he was proved innocent.”

He seemed frustrated, his tone almost a scoff, affronted on Wei Wuxian’s behalf, and it warmed him that the boy held him in such regard, more so by Nie Hengxiang’s agreement with the sentiment. He knew well enough that Jin Guangyao’s machinations didn’t fully exonerate him, that the path to his downfall had been cleared by his decisions and actions, as well, but it was nice to be seen in a positive light by the younger generation after being so reviled.

Nie Yingwei was harder to explain because Lan Zhan would no doubt hear the significance of the name. He also didn’t want to blunder ahead and overstep what she might and might not want public. He wound up introducing her as an adopted member of the Nie clan, with her courtesy name and a gesture toward Nie Huaisang to put him back in the hot seat so he could feel less on the spot.

It was his turn, anyway.

If saving someone made one responsible for them for a lifetime, surely bringing a man back to life (in part to do one’s dirty work) made one indebted enough that Nie-xiong could do him this favor.

Of course, Nie Huaisang handled it smoothly, telling him of the crèche, introducing Nie Yingwei as the first ward adopted into the clan through it and the reason for its development, his tone matter of fact, with just enough information that Lan Wangji would be able to come to the conclusion himself the deeper reasons he had been moved to save her to begin with. Wei Wuxian didn’t dare look at either of them, not able to face their shared grief and the implications of conversations had during the years of his death that he couldn’t even begin to guess at.

He didn’t know how to address any of it, now that he was alive again and cognizant of that sixteen-year grief, which understandably wasn’t magically erased just because he was back. Eventually he’d have to deal with it, but until then Wei Wuxian knew the value of a good retreat to conserve and build the energy it would require.

As they were escorted to their seats by the servants, Wei Wuxian was glad to focus solely on his lunch, full of yin foods—a millet congee with pork belly, duck eggs, and a bok choy, clams in black bean sauce, and a plate of fresh fruits, sliced and ready to eat with a drizzle of honey, all of which smelled delicious despite being devoid of peppers. Lan Jingyi joined several other Lan disciples, ones Wei Wuxian recognized from the Yi City incident, the plate on his tray piled with the fried chicken he was so obsessed with, once again showing Nie-xiong’s use of intelligence.

Wei Wuxian was taking a sip of a rather lovely fruit tea to cleanse his palate before the meal when Nie Huaisang finished explaining the crèche, and Nie Yingwei decided to contribute.

“Zongzhu named me after Wei-qianbei,” she said blandly, and Wei Wuxian only barely managed not to choke. “He started the crèche to honor him, so fewer kids would grow up in the streets.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t quite quick enough to hide his blush behind his fan at the point-blank revelation, something Nie Yingwei seemed to take pride in.

Lan Jingyi choked slightly and whispered, “Sizhui!” to himself far too loudly.

Wei Wuxian realized all at once that A-Yuan’s courtesy name was… eerily similar, if much deeper and suggestive of a different sort of grief. He felt raw.

Lan Zhan studied Nie Huaisang for a moment, as though weighing how it altered his opinion of the Nie sect leader, before nodding in approval.

“It is a noble endeavor,” he said simply.

“Cultivation isn’t my strong point,” Nie Huaisang admitted ruefully, “so I had to find another way to protect the weak.”

With exactly no more patience for etiquette, Wei Wuxian decided the best way out of this situation was to simply start eating ahead of Nie Huaisang, who wouldn’t be offended and might even understand his need to not be present for this conversation. Lan Zhan would adhere to his reliable rule of no speech while eating. Hopefully they wouldn’t somehow circle back to it after lunch.

He wasn’t running away from it so much as delaying, but Wei Wuxian would take what he could get.

The faux pas of eating even a piece of fruit before a sect leader led to a pause in conversation, but it was weirdly devoid of judgment.

Nie Huaisang laughed, but thanked him for starting.

“Nie-daifu would have my head if I delayed your meal any further, and of course our visitors have traveled swiftly and need a good meal.”

Wei Wuxian distinctly heard Jingyi mutter “Finally” under his breath, and was glad at least he appreciated it—he’d probably been waiting to eat since Lan Zhan arrived, poor kid.

He knew he’d have to face Lan Zhan later, and do so more clearly after that because apparently coming back to life was complicated, but for now he could just focus on eating and leave that problem for future him to deal with. Wei Wuxian had always done his best thinking while otherwise occupied, so he focused on his meal, starting with the clams, enjoying the flavor the Nie cooks had brought into the bean sauce.

When he glanced at Nie Huaisang he was in the middle of making some sort of expression at Lan Zhan, as though he was trying to have a silent conversation, and he quickly hid his face behind his fan when he saw Wei Wuxian looking; Lan Zhan, on the other hand, gave no indication he noticed Nie-xiong, though Wei Wuxian made sure he kept his eyes on his food when he turned toward him.

Lan Zhan had concerns for his health, and they were probably complicated by his knowledge of Wei Wuxian’s jindan. He’d died without one, after all, and having Mo Xuanyu’s, but in a body apparently his own, was unprecedented. Lan Zhan would of course worry for his health, he was so good.

The truth was, though, that after lunch he would have to face that worry, and the underlying emotions that Wei Wuxian was now aware of, both in himself and Lan Zhan. The cause of his small qi deviations was emotional, not anything else, and he couldn’t allow him to keep worrying about his health when it was as easily resolved as a conversation.

So he made sure to finish the food on his tray, knowing the healers had decided portions and hoping to fortify himself for the inevitable discussion. Normally he’d talk through the meal, but the thought of coming up with the words was daunting, so he kept his attention on his food, eventually picking at the last bits of fruit, not trying to delay further, but not speeding toward it either.

Once, he’d have spent half the meal flicking melon seeds at Lan Jingyi just for his own amusement (and because Jingyi couldn’t complain or retaliate with Lan Zhan right beside Wei Wuxian), something that seemed to be too much trouble right now. Wei Wuxian knew this likely worried Lan Zhan, too, but it was really just that he was tired. As it turned out, qi deviations were exhausting, and he had spent more time asleep than awake since his, so perhaps the worry was unavoidable.

Nie Huaisang eventually ordered the Nie disciples to show the Lan contingent to their quarters and around the Unclean Realm if they so desired, announced that Hanguang-Jun’s quarters would be ready after the evening meal, and then promptly excused himself to “attend to sect business,” using the appearance of servants to clear the trays as a distraction to enable him to disappear through a side door before Wei Wuxian could even react, the little shit.

Lan Zhan stood smoothly, unruffled, and turned to the juniors.

“You have pushed your cores in the trip. Please use the afternoon to rest and meditate,” he told them as he dismissed them.

Lan Jingyi looked relieved enough that he could have fallen over in exhaustion, but he immediately saluted with his peers and let the Nie disciples lead the way out. He made sure to stop by Wei Wuxian and wish him a good rest of his day, punctuated with a yawn.

Lan Zhan’s expression when he turned to Wei Wuxian, holding out a hand to help him up, was almost unbearably soft, full of emotions he wasn’t sure he was ready to face, but he knew it was long overdue. He took the proffered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet, feeling much like a maiden being courted.

Wei Wuxian could feel heat rush to his face, and knew he was blushing like just such a young maiden. He was actually relieved when Lan Zhan took his flushed cheeks as something the healers should check to be certain he was well, pulling him toward the infirmary. Relieved and a strange combination of guilt and happiness, regretful for putting Lan Zhan through more worry, but also seeing the evidence of his care…

The healer, of course, said he was fine and was pleased he had eaten his meal and looked much better than earlier, sending them off with several pouches of tea to enjoy.

With the medicinal tea in hand, Wei Wuxian was only able to delay so much before they inevitably wound up in his quarters for a conversation he didn’t even know how to start, but he valiantly led the way through a garden on the way, using a koi pond as a nice excuse to dally.

He knew full well that Nie Huaisang had manufactured the delay in accommodations for Lan Zhan to meddle, and he wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or grateful.

Irritated, he decided when they arrived at his quarters to find the large stone tub off the main room had been filled with steaming hot water, with flower petals sprinkled atop in a way he could play off as a medicinal bath, but he wasn’t going to insult Lan Zhan’s intelligence by attempting to lie.

Lan Zhan took the bagged tea for him and had him sit at the low table, which was at least stocked with snacks, going to brew it himself, and Wei Wuxian settled in to watch him, not able to do anything else, his eye drawn to his zhiji’s graceful motions. Then Lan Zhan looked up as he set the brewing teapot on the table and sat in a smooth motion, and he was helpless to look away.

“Your qi deviations?” he asked, his soft voice concerned, as usual wasting no words.

“Ah… as it turns out strong emotions can disrupt qi, especially in developing or damaged cores,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to adopt the intonation of a scholar discussing something mundane.

The explanation did not ease the concern that was emanating from Lan Zhan, who reached forward to take his wrist, glancing up at him as though to ask permission, which Wei Wuxian gave with a nod, before sending a small stream of his qi though to check himself. He tried very hard not to shiver at the feel of Lan Zhan’s qi singing though his meridians.

“Which?” he asked, his voice strained, and Wei Wuxian realized with a start that Lan Zhan, though he knew he had died without a core, wouldn’t know if the core Mo Xuanyu left him had been damaged, and so his attempt to explain had only worried him further.

“Mo Xuanyu’s core is weak, but undamaged,” he said, feeling off-balance in the discussion. “It’s barely a foundation, just enough to cause trouble.”

He felt off-balance in the discussion, in the way it felt like it was already going sideways, with him worrying Lan Zhan again by speaking without thinking, and he distracted himself for a minute pouring tea for each of them and taking a sip, breathing in the steam wafting from his cup and hoping it could ease some of the stress he felt.

“You will refine it, as you did before.”

The confidence in his voice helped, his faith in Wei Wuxian’s abilities and determination, the acknowledgement of his capabilities–and he had always had faith, even in the darkest times of the war, when Wei Wuxian was drowning in resentment and Lan Zhan worried for his health.

In some ways that made it worse since, as he had told Nie Huaisang, he’d known from the moment he was dropped into the Burial Mounds that his days were numbered. As terribly as he’d died, it had honestly bee something of a relief to be freed of it all by the time it happened, and he knew full well that, past or not, that would make Lan Zhan worry more about him, and he’d done quite enough of that for two lifetimes.

“It won’t be easy, but I’m used to attempting the impossible,” Wei Wuxian said after a moment, then tried not to wince at using the Yunmeng Jiang motto when he definitely isn’t part of the sect.

He was certain Lan Zhan noticed—he didn’t comment on the matter of the Jiang clan and Jiang Cheng (not that he ever would vocally), but a brief shift in expression reminded Wei Wuxian that there was a lot of unpleasant history between Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng that wasn’t likely to ever change because they both held grudges.

“Treatises exist regarding the link between emotion and qi disruption, particularly in developing cores,” Lan Zhan said instead, his way of asking gently for information.

“It’s troublesome; just things from before, things I never had a chance to think about because things got messy.”

The end of his first life had involved the Siege of the Burial Mounds and being ripped apart by fierce corpses, after all, and there were large holes in his memory, spans of time that were missing, when he knew time was passing and the world kept moving, but he had no recollection of any of it and he didn’t even know how to begin to find the words to discuss it, as much as he talked.

“Water can carry a boat and also overturn it,” Lan Zhan said.

Though Xunzi intended the sentiment to refer to the need for rulers to consider the needs of the people, Wei Wuxian could see how it applied—he couldn’t ignore his own needs anymore without capsizing.

“That’s why I left to travel, kind of, but I can’t do that dodging assassins.”

Nie Hengxiang had been following him for some time, and he had no doubt he’d witnessed Wei Wuxian struggle—he had difficult nights thinking about Shijie and Wen Qing, other ghosts from the past, unable to keep from poring over his own memories of the last few months of his first life, and at least one difficult night he had gotten ahold of some Lotus Breeze and had been lost in grief. It was a minor miracle that the young man hadn’t been scared off, but the Unclean Realm had already had to clean up after him, and he knew at some point he’d feel stifled, and he wouldn’t be able to leave until the assassination issue was dealt with.

Or, more realistically, others would fuss if he even tried, and it was only a matter of time before he wound up blowing up his workroom out of sheer boredom, at least once the Nie puzzle was solved.

“I will speak with Nie-zongzhu,” Lan Zhan promised.

Wei Wuxian was filled with affection. All his life, or lives, he had fallen and, with no one to catch him. He’d lost his fear of falling long ago, but hitting the ground hurt. If someone was there to catch him…

Lan Zhan had made it a point to stay by his side after his return, and had tried to before he’d died, when Wei Wuxian hadn’t let him. In this life, he had quietly offered unwavering support, even carried him. Now Lan Zhan had again flown to his side as though to catch him, offering the sort of soft landing he craved.

Impossible as it seemed, Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to never be apart from him again.

“Nie-xiong has it in hand, I’m sure.”

He knew Nie Huaisang likely would deal with the issue of stopping whoever was sending the assassins in whatever way he saw fit, and he knew better than to request details from him. Wei Wuxian would prefer not to know, and tried not to feel guilt at the same time—Nie Huaisang was capable of much, probably as much as he was toward the end of his first life, but perhaps less foolish about it, and he had enough blood on his own hands. Where ignorance was bliss, it was folly to be wise.

“I’m still trying to make sense of what I do remember, and it turns out my memory is poor.”

Lan Zhan leveled him with a flat look that made him laugh; after all, he had boasted of his memory, and yet it had taken him most of their travels to remember where he had heard the song. He was still owed its title.

“I know. My memory has always been poor, like I have only one hazy memory of my parents and the donkey.”

“Little Apple?”

Wei Wuxian smiled fondly at his zhiji; who else would make that sort of connection?

He’d planned at first to night hunt his way out of jianghu, never to return, and when he saw Little Apple it was such an odd convergence with the beginning of his last life, just seemed right to take her. Clearly her owner, who left her saddled and tethered on the street in the middle of the night, didn’t appreciate her, and he liked to think he’d at least given her a more interesting life.

Though he hadn’t managed to leave the jianghu, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sorry. Lan Zhan leading while he rode Little Apple was a little like that snippet of memory, and many times their quest he was struck by the odd parallels, wondering what they meant, but he’d figured it out finally—for all his loss of family, he had Lan Zhan.

“I have holes in my memories of my last life, it seems, and it got worse especially toward the end—Nightless City but not how I got back to the Burial Mounds, and very little of the months before the Siege.”

Lan Zhan’s focus on him sharpened abruptly, and Wei Wuxian distracted himself from his nerves by pouring them both tea, the medicinal blend bitter but in line with the fare at the Cloud Recesses. He also poured dried seasoned mushrooms from the fresh bag the servants had left on the table for him.

“I returned you to the Burial Mounds,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian nearly dropped the plate, startled by the admission, and he could do little more than stare at him. The memory of the scars on his back, discovered not long after his return, rose unbidden, and he felt ill at the knowledge that this was likely the reason for them. And then he’d gone and died despite Lan Zhan’s efforts, leaving him to heal from what had looked like an obscene number of lashes while grieving.

Likely it was more complicated; surely Lan Qiren wouldn’t have him whipped so viciously for so little. But Wei Wuxian wouldn’t ask, knowing he would share the details if he wished, partly because he was afraid to know. He wanted to say Lan Zhan shouldn’t have, but he knew that would belittle his sacrifice, even if he felt strongly that he hadn’t been worth it.

He’d known he was headed inexorably toward death, and he hadn’t meant to drag someone as bright as Lan Zhan with him into the dark. He’d tried to push him away so he wouldn’t be caught up in the fallout, but he was too good, would never abandon him willingly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” he said finally, tracing the rim of his teacup with one finger.

“No apologies or thank yous between us,” Lan Zhan reminded him.

They had agreed to that before Wei Wuxian knew how much he had hurt Lan Zhan, how much he needed to make up for. He remembered telling Jin Ling that someday he would wind up saying both through tears, then remembering Wen Qing’s final words to him as he lay paralyzed in the Burial Mounds.

“I thought you wanted me to go with you to Gusu for punishment,” he said heavily, an apology. “I wasn’t really thinking rationally.”

A part of him had thought he deserved it, for daring to manipulate resentful energy, for daring to survive the Burial Mounds no matter what the cost. Mostly he had just expected censure from the jianghu, and hadn’t figured on surviving the war; waking up several days after the final battle had been a somewhat unwelcome surprise, and Lan Zhan’s entrance and insistence on trying to help him by playing the guqin, regardless of how fruitless it was, had been a welcome, if bittersweet, distraction.

“I know you wanted to help, now, but while everything was happening…”

Wei Wuxian sighed, not sure how to broach the subject even after time thinking about it, and he delayed further by taking a sip of the ridiculously bitter medicinal tea, unable to keep himself from pulling a face at the taste.

“I couldn’t be your equal anymore, like fate without destiny,” he finally said.

He knew Lan Zhan would understand the romantic undertones of the phrase, though he felt like a coward for confessing in such a roundabout way, and moreso because he didn’t dare to look at him, particularly when Lan Zhan’s breath caught briefly.

“We have the destiny to meet across a thousand miles,” Lan Zhan murmured after a long moment, his voice rough, “and beyond death.”

The rejoinder, using another proverb about love, made Wei Wuxian look up, and the way Lan Zhan looked at him, the obvious love, pulled at his heart and undammed his mouth, bringing everything out in a rush.

“Lan Zhan, I have a poor memory, and I didn’t understand how I felt back then. You’re really great. I like you, or in other words, I fancy you, I love you, I want you, I can’t leave you, I whatever you. I want to night-hunt with you for the rest of my life. I don’t want anyone but you—it can’t be anyone but you—”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t able to let out another sound, as Lan Zhan pushed the table aside and embraced him tightly, pulling him to his feet and silencing him with his lips and tongue. Though he had always been a little weirded out by the idea of another person’s tongue in his mouth, with Lan Zhan he thought perhaps this was what he had craved all his life.

Breathlessly between lingering kisses, Lan Zhan repeated his words, and he could feel the intense beat of his heart, his own throbbing in his chest as well.

“I didn’t know,” Wei Wuxian said, letting a note of apology slip into his voice before he was silenced again by a more insistent kiss, Lan Zhan’s teeth biting his lip, surprising him with how good that felt.

Normally he would have felt trapped, pushed with his back against the wall, the heat of Lan Zhan’s body pressed along the front of him in a delicious counterbalance to the cool stone, but instead he felt almost absurdly safe. Lan Zhan tasted better than the finest wine—even Emperor’s Smile couldn’t hold a candle. He couldn’t wait to taste more of him.

“Ah, you stole my first kiss,” he panted when they broke for breath. “Take accountability.”

“Gladly,” Lan Zhan huffed, claiming his lips again and shifting against him in a way that pushed something hot and unmistakable against his belly, large enough to feel clearly through all the layers of robes, and his own cock jolted in response.

He had thought Nie Huaisang’s porn had been overestimating, but instead Lan Zhan was even more well-endowed than the artist had assumed.

“You’re so big—how is that supposed to fit?” he gasped as Lan Zhan moved to suck on his neck, leaving his mouth free, and the comment was clearly well-received. “Ah, how is it getting bigger?! Lan Zha—”

Lan Zhan swallowed any further words, though Wei Wuxian happily made other use of his tongue and kept up a litany of filthy comments whenever his mouth was free, enjoying the way it made him even harder.

They didn’t make it to the bed, yanking each other’s clothing half off, desperately rutting in the friction of their robes, eventually both of them in Lan Zhan’s hand, making a mess of each other in the best way.

When his knees went weak in the aftermath of his orgasm, Lan Zhan carried him to the bed and worked to rid them of their clothes, his cock already at attention again. He looked like carved jade, his skin smooth and glistening with sweat from their exertions, though Wei Wuxian knew if he turned the whip scars would be visible.

The Wen brand on his chest, in the exact location his had been in his first life, engulfed his attention, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching forward to trace the shape with his finger.

“Is this related to me, too?” he couldn’t help but ask, acutely aware that the other scars Lan Zhan bore were on his behalf.

“Nothing. I was drunk,” Lan Zhan responded after a moment of silence, and then surged forward, pushing him back on the bed and caging his body with his own.

Wei Wuxian was suitably distracted when he learned Lan Zhan didn’t know about the use of oil, and quickly educated him, both verbally and demonstrably, leaving both of them panting with arousal. The stretch hurt enough that he didn’t want to think of how it would have been without the oil.

When Lan Zhan was fully sheathed, pressing him into the bed with his weight, he shook slightly with the effort of staying still to let Wei Wuxian adjust to the pressure and heat, his cock throbbing with his heartbeat, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but laugh.

“Lan Zhan, what would your uncle think, doing this without being married! He’d surely drown you in a pig cage!”

“I have considered us wed since the Cold Spring cave,” Lan Zhan replied.

He didn’t give Wei Wuxian any time to process the statement before he began to thrust, the pace punching his breath from his lungs, a jolt of pleasure rippling across his body and down his spine unexpectedly.

Wei Wuxian’s brain took a moment to catch up, overwhelmed by sensation—Lan Zhan’s big hands gripping his ass as he pulled him into each thrust, his calloused fingers pressed into the flesh so hard they might leave bruises, the loud erotic slap of Lan Zhan’s thighs against his buttocks with each thrust a distraction, the growing heat between them.

The headband… Lan Yi… and the bow.

Of course he’d accidentally eloped with Lan Zhan back then, the most important moment in his life unknown to him. And so when he’d said Lan Zhan looked as though he was mourning a wife… it hadn’t been far off from the truth. Not that they’d ever consummated the marriage back then.

“We could’ve been doing this when we were fifteen?” Wei Wuxian squawked, outraged that so much time was wasted. “Ah, we should do this every day.”

Lan Zhan’s response was to increase the tempo, as though to make up for the lost time, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but tease him about when he first wanted to fuck him, making a game of listing the different times they could have been doing this during the lectures and beyond. He could feel himself spiraling with the waves of pleasure, begged Lan Zhan to slow down, wanting this to last longer.

“Ah, softer, it’s my first time. Be nice.”

Though he eased a bit, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but tease him more, about how Lan Zhan could have Silenced him in the library so he couldn’t protest, and it was clear his words were stoking his lust, as the pace increased again.

By the time he came, Wei Wuxian had resorted to begging, and then Lan Zhan continued, fucking him through his orgasm and into an almost painful overstimulation, his body trying to come again even though his cock was already spent. His body twisted, moving without his will, and eventually a deep wave of undulating pleasure washed across him, leaving his limbs limp. Lan Zhan’s thrusts turned erratic and a hot wet warmth filled him as he came.

Wei Wuxian came back to himself when Lan Zhan lifted him from the bed and the warmth of the bath water enveloped him. He had to thank Nie Huaisang for his forethought, the warmth easing muscles that were unused to exertion but would surely build quickly.

They bathed languidly and then took advantage of the tub to fuck again, neither of them caring about the growing puddle around the tub, the suction of the water with each thrust too delicious to resist.

Lan Zhan, ever the gentleman, dried him with a strange sort of reverence, though perhaps not so strange if Wei Wuxian considered how long it had taken them to get here, two lifetimes, and then settled him at the table with a fresh pot of tea while he stripped the soiled bedding.

He thought it a waste, as they’d just soil them again later, but when Lan Zhan carried him to the bed he was happy they were fresh and soft against his skin. It was an entirely different sort of pleasure to sprawl with him naked across the bed, skin to skin in a different form of intimacy. Lan Zhan let him doze, simply holding him, and his nap was blessedly peaceful, as though his zhiji was a talisman against nightmares.

Later, when they eventually left the room for a much-needed dinner, they found a silencing talisman affixed to the door, a stack of them tucked into a parcel on the floor, a not-so-subtle message that made Lan Zhan’s ears turn red.

Surely a coincidence, none of the juniors, Nie or Lan, could look at them in the dining hall. Poor Lan Jingyi’s face was so flushed he looked like he’d been dunked in rouge, and Wei Wuxian amused himself talking to the teen, finding it fun to fluster him by just reminding him of his presence.

Nie Huaisang, on the other hand, looked ridiculously smug and he didn’t bother to hide it behind a fan.

Wei Wuxian had to concede he was very much entitled.

————

The phrase “fate without destiny” is often used when breaking up or ending a relationship, so Wei Wuxian is confessing he no longer felt he could be beside Lan Wangji. The first part of Lan Wangji’s response is also a proverb, though the last bit is added because he wants to make it clear his feelings have not lessened.

This is the end of this fic, but not the series. I’m not sure when I’ll start the next installment, as I’m participating in the WangXian Winter Solstice Gift Exchange again, and I have all the other in-progress fics to work on as well.

Writing has been slow lately. I’ve been put on a biologic injection for my autoimmune disease, and it’s helping but the help is painful right now. My brain is often really foggy, so I’ve been doing loom knitting when I can’t do anything else. I have a rheumatologist now and am being tested to find out if I have other coexisting autoimmune issues.

Personal life has also been pretty chaotic, which is also slowing my recovery. The sheer amount of drama my family can generate is a little amazing.

So mostly I’ve been writing when participating in Six Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday on Tumblr, slowly and deliberately, then fleshing out that when I’m able.

Thank you for your continued patience, and thank you adrian_kres for the beta!

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ehlnofay · 6 months

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20 Questions for Writers

tagged by @everybodyknows-everybodydies and @wispstalk :) thanks guys! answers under the cut

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

58, in the account connected to this one :)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

152,370... more than I would have thought honestly damn. I knew I had a good few hundred thousand words rattling around in the bowels of my computer but I didn't know I'd posted that many

3. What fandoms do you write for?

primarily elder scrolls (to everyone's surprise, I'm sure) but I've taken up writing for bg3 over on @spellsparkler recently... evidently playing rpgs Does Something to me. the combination of preset narrative and freedom of interpretation of character makes some evil little cog in my brain start spinning and sparking. I have also, on a completely unrelated ao3 account, written exactly two fics for pentiment... might do more of that in future. it's a beautiful game and surprisingly easy to write for. highly recommend

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

All's Fair in a Burning House , Welcome to my Table (Bring Your Hunger), the glarthir fic, Comfort and Etienne Rarnis Goes Home. an interesting batch

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try! sometimes I forget for too long and then I feel guilty for forgetting and I put it off more because I feel guilty. it's a supremely unhelpful thought process. but for the most part I do. I always read them, often multiple times, and they bring me great joy

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmm. to be honest I don't think I've ever thought about this before... I've never set out to write something that ends sadly, just to say whatever they need to say. there's also the issue that the majority of what I post is shortform - they're snapshots of a wider narrative, not a whole cohesive arc in themselves - so much of what I write doesn't HAVE endings. the pieces that do tend more than anything to be bittersweet, I think. I guess I would say A Study in Self-Immolation? I wouldn't call it "angsty" but it definitely has more of a downward trajectory than anything else. it has a catastrophe and everything

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

same problem here! I have plenty of short pieces with more cheerful tones but a lot of my more self-contained stuff tends to have a certain Atmosphere. I think I have to say the glarthir fic... the whole point of writing it was to give him a more realistic and empathetic portrayal and a chance at a happy ending (I am forever hitting whoever writes about mental illness in tes with a big stick. I hate them with all my heart)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

ONCE. when I was 10 or 11 I was called a slur in the comments of a minecraft fic and it has brought me much amusement ever since (they were angry that I kept saying "shone" instead of "shine") (to be fair I for sure overused the word at that age. but it was PAST TENSE. I WAS RIGHT) (and also it was a minecraft fanfiction obviously written by a child. do you really have nothing better to do)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I am. literally only just now beginning to get past my mental block for writing romance let's not get ahead of ourselves here in all earnestness in my efforts to practice writing romantic relationships I have found that I'm fine alluding to or mentioning sex, but the idea of writing a play-by-play sex scene sounds awkward and uninteresting for me, and I highly doubt that I could write it in a way that didn't feel stilted and trite. maybe in the future I will find some purpose for it and will endeavour to figure it out! but for now... absolutely zero appeal. I'm still working on getting confident enough to post the pieces where people kiss on the mouth or whatever

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

never have! never plan to! I get why it would be fun for people but it's just not that interesting an idea to me

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I would be IMMENSELY flattered. but no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I haven't. it's not something I would be opposed to but it does sound difficult... I'm used to hashing things out on my own and working at my own (occasionally very slow) pace, I'm not sure how that would work with someone else

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I am entirely too aromantic for this question. don't get me wrong I love mashing two characters together it's just that whether they kiss about it is not even remotely a concern for me? number one question is it at least a little bit fucked up number two question what is the symbolism and narrative devices about it. no follow up questions. does a ship have to be romantic? or do I have to be specifically invested in the romance part of it for it to count? I have a truly endless list if the answer to either is no

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

all the old things I started when I was a kid and never finished. I'm pretty good about eventually getting things done now that I'm focusing on more short-form stuff... there is the thing that I'm working on (in the loosest sense) that I'm taking a long ass break from but I honestly believe I will get back to it and finish it. eventually

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at building layered and interesting dynamics between characters - I've gotten compliments on that before (blushing curtseying etc) and it's probably one of my favourite things about writing. relatedly I think I'm pretty good at subtext and showing things without stating them outright

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I mentioned earlier that I'm trying to get past my awkwardness when writing anything to do with romance - I don't like that there's something that is a significant part of a lot of peoples' lives that I don't really know how to write. I'm working on it and I think I'm getting better at it already though... I think it's more of a mental block and the worry of getting it wrong than anything else. fingers crossed I'll be confident enough to post some of my attempts soon I think staying committed to writing longer-form pieces is also something I'd like to improve on, in the future. I could also use a lot of improvement in the editing department - in that I barely do it, and I think coming into things with more intention and being better at paring them down and keeping to that goal would be really helpful, especially with more ambitious projects

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think when it's done well (and sparingly) it can really add something to the piece, but my monolingual ass could not do it well. I've tried; it's a difficult thing to implement without it feeling clunky, and it's not something I'm prioritising improving on. I do like to see it when it's done right though

19. First fandom you wrote for?

minecraft when I was like 10 or 11 (it had all this weird mythological worldbuilding and my main character was annoying as hell) (I got called a slur over it, as you may recall)

20. Favorite fic you've written?

man I think I have to say Comfort. it's just over a year old now and it's probably not the most technically skilled thing I've written, but the concept and subject matter is really close to my heart and I'm proud of it. it was born out of a lot of my own experiences with and perspectives on mental illness, as well as an effort to create something with more humanity and understanding than tes shows its disordered caricatures - both to humanise them and to try to write a version of the idea of mental illness (as sheogorath) that doesn't have to be a monster. I'm glad I wrote it

#tag game #these were really fun to think about... though it took agess to write all the answers #fay talks

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unknooooow · 9 months

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BTTF Year-End Tag Game!

@alex-a-fans thanks for tagging me :DD and yes I wanted to wait until very close to new year's eve to post this

This year:

-How many times would you guess you watched the first back to the future movie?

... good question. Idk too :)) maybe 10 or 15 times around

-Did you get any sweet bttf merch? If so, what!

this year I only got one thing: the bttf making of book (I got it for my bday :DD)

-How many cans of Pepsi Free did you chug this year?

well... 1 or 2? pepsi is not something that is easy to find around here ;-;

-What was a favorite bttf fanfic you read this year?

I could name several... but Im gonna name one with several chapters and a oneshot

fic with more than one chapter: Most People Were Silent by @daryfromthefuture. DOC FROM THE 40S :DD this topic is just soo interesting. and Dary worked really well on this topic :))

oneshot: Merry Christmas from the Browns by @alex-a-fans. this was one of the best. Its funny and it caught me by surprise. doc as Santa Claus :))

-A favorite bttf fanart you saw this year? (please give us a link, not a screencap/repost!)

calm down. here I go looking for the fanarts :)

this fanart is so amazing and deep (@autoraton)

I love analyzing Citizen Brown reality. and this here represents my fascination with this :)) (@tobytost)

the Brown family is my fictional family ok? I love them and they look beautiful in this fanart 🥺🥺 (@maxintime)

I LOVE BABY DOC YOUR HONOR!! he looks so cute in this fanart I CANT STAND IT 🥺🥺 (@cheriboms)

-Did you create any bttf fanart or fanfic? If you did, what one(s) are you proudest of?

OOOOOOH GREAT QUESTION :DD

In terms of fic I think the best was the first chapter of June of Doom. At first I thought the idea might backfire but it ended up making a great fic :)) I loved working on the topic

In terms of fanart I choose this beauty here. this was one of the drawings that required the most work but it was worth it :) I ended up liking the result and the text and the other characters I made

-How many times were you late for school this year?

none :) I am a very exemplary student ;))

-Did you watch any other movies/tv shows with BTTF actors in them?

well, I watched My Favorite Martian (courtesy of @alex-a-fans :)) that features Christopher Lloyd. the old Addams movie that also features Christopher Lloyd. and... Who framed Roger Rabbit... that also features... Christopher Lloyd...

-Was there a memorable moment you heard a Huey Lewis song this year?

in the car. started playing The Power of Love on the radio. and my parents started singing along with me. it was really fun :)

-How many times did you fall down this year?

1 or maybe 2 times. I really try not to fall down

-Did you get to see BTTF: The Musical? What was your experience like!

unfortunately not (yet) ;-; but I hope to go next year (if I can convince my parents to buy tickets for me)

-How many times did your mom retell the story of how she and your father met?

she only told me this story 3 times. and I still remember. Its not that big of a story but its interesting. And if I went back in time maybe I could end up interfering with that too :,)

-If you could describe your year in a BTTF quote, which one would it be?

“Why do we have to cut these things so damn close?”

yep. definitely

⚡️LIGHTNING ROUND⚡️ Did you get to: go on any trains, skate on a skateboard, ride a horse, drive a Delorean, run in the rain, go to a dance, hang up a clock, play the guitar, pull an all-nighter, read science fiction, or drive thru Burger King this year?

-Your future is whatever you make it! So what are you going to make of this coming year?

try to be more active. and write more. ill try :)) I dont promise much

but anyway. HAPPY NEW YEAR PEOPLE :DD

Tagging: @autoraton @maxintime @tobytost feel free to do it :))

#back to the future #bttf #bttf tag game #tag game #tag #tag tag #tag tag tag #new year #happy new year #consider this my review for a new year/renewal of the blog for 2024 #no more tags #:)

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the12thnightproject · 1 year

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Chapter 40: The Twelfth Lie. It was Kenshin's idea... but that doesn't make anyone else involved less guilty.

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Mind the tagged TWs on this chapter...

Previous Chapter (posted earlier today): Here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

On a beautiful Autumn day, an unusual caravan set off from Kasugayama toward Kyoto. Sasuke was being escorted to Honno-ji by Kenshin, Yukimura, and Mai, all of whom wanted a few more days with their friend before he blipped off into the future for a few months. Shingen and I travelled with them, because Kyoto was along the way to Ikuno, where Toshiie was, at last report, living as healer.

At least, that is what we claimed our plans were.

Four of us were lying.

The weather was perfect, the kind of day I would normally have loved riding through, but the preemptive guilt about what the four of us were about to do weighed on me. I had told many lies in my life, most justifiable – although others may not agree with my justifications. Even though I knew the lie I was currently living was for a good cause, I was pretty sure the person who would be most affected by it would not agree.

“You’ve been quiet these past couple days.” Shingen drew Good Horse up to Moonlight’s side. Moonlight hadn’t had much exercise of late, and shot a glare at Good Horse, just because she was in a mood. I patted her side, and mentally willed her to behave.

“I’m quiet a lot of days.” Although usually when I was alone. But to forestall additional questions, I added a burst of inane chatter – apparently my “tell” that I was being truthful. “I’m listening to the day. I love the sound the leaves make this time of year. They crunch underfoot. Under hoof. I also love the way they rattle when the wind blows.”

He turned his face into the breeze, and I took a moment to appreciate his profile as his hair ruffled about. “I forget sometimes, what it can be like to taking what amounts to a pleasure ride.” Was he stockpiling experiences? Having decided to risk postponing treatment, was he saving up memories to keep if there came a time when he’d be too ill to go outside?

I forced my attention back to the present - if I kept dwelling on that thought, he was sure to stay suspicious of my behavior. “It’s what I liked the most about being a courier. Getting to spend a lot of time outside.” When the weather was nice, anyway. Or at least, dry. “Especially after… well, I always liked being outside, all my life, but I did appreciate it more after being trapped in that crate.”

Shingen brought Good Horse closer, then reached over and ran the back of his hand across my face – a touch so fleeting, it was almost a whisper. “I imagine so. A close brush with death tends to heighten one’s appreciation of… everything.”

He smiled at me, then turned to face the path again. We rode for a while in companionable silence. I took a few deep breaths and focused on the fact that he was with me now, and not on the separation to come.

“I can’t stand much more of this,” I said to Sasuke the following day. If the weather held, we’d likely arrive in Kyoto the next afternoon, but after three days of trying to pretend that everything was ok, my nerves were on edge.

Sasuke looked ahead, where Shingen was in the middle of an intense debate with Kenshin. He didn’t pretend to misunderstand me. “It’s difficult for me too – modern medical ethics being what they are. Yuki and Kenshin are different – well, Kenshin decides what’s best and kills you if you disagree. Yuki can’t stand the thought of losing Shingen.”

“He might… we might anyway.” I was not used to feeling this conflicted. Normally I figured out what I needed to do and did it, by whatever means necessary. I always told myself that anyone who was hurt by my actions would have been worse off if I had done nothing… but now I was second guessing everything. “It feels like whatever I do, it’s going to be the wrong decision.”

“There is no right decision,” Sasuke said.

“If you are trying to make me feel better, it is not helping.” I don’t know what I was looking for in terms of “help” anyway. Maybe all I wanted was a break from pretending.

“Damn it, Katsu, I’m a physicist, not a philosopher,” Sasuke peered at me hopefully through his glasses. “Normally, you would have laughed at that.”

“Sorry. I know you’re trying.” I summoned up the ghost of a smile. “Why is this suddenly so difficult for me? It’s not like haven’t spent the last few years of my life lying to everyone.”

He was quiet a long moment – knowing him it was because he was examining the data before him, then choosing his words carefully. “Probably because you never cared as much before.”

Ouch. Ok. Not choosing his words all that carefully.

I must have visibly recoiled because Sasuke continued. “Sorry, obviously I’m unlikely to make an adequate psychologist either. I didn’t mean to suggest that I ever considered you to be uncaring. Simply that as someone who’s known you for almost four years, you often seemed somewhat… apart from things. Once you were revealed to as… well… you, you’re having to put all the pieces of yourself back into one person again, and some of the things that didn’t serve you as Katsu, or even as Kaya, are ummm… coming back online.”

“Alright. There were about three different metaphors tangled up in that, but I get your point.” Having my conscience return at this point was rotten timing, but my life was full of rotten timing. “It still leaves me questioning my judgment.”

“What I said earlier – that there’s no right answer – goes the opposite too,” Sasuke said. “It is equally true that there’s no wrong answer either.” He looked up above the trees, where the sun was resting on the one lone cloud visible in the otherwise clear sky. I suppose he was so used to looking for answers in the cosmos that it was his go to. “Perhaps that isn’t much of a comfort, but if you keep telling yourself that, maybe it will be easier to keep up the charade.”

“Maybe…” Our conversation was cut off when Yuki and Mai, who had been having another of their siblingesque spats, got tired of bickering and dropped back to chat with us.

Of necessity, due to her complete inability to carry out a deception of this magnitude, Mai had been kept in the dark as to our plans. So Sasuke immediately changed the subject midstream. “What’s to question? Even if Dr. Strange kills Dr. Who, Dr. Who could simply regenerate into a more powerful being.”

“I’m still going with stalemate.” I picked up the thread of the imaginary conversation. “Sorcerer versus Time Lord might be the first working perpetual motion machine.”

Mai jumped into the debate. “I vote Dr. Strange. In the blink of his eyes, he can figure out the only way in one billion simulations that will kill Dr. Who… so he’ll always be one step ahead.”

Yuki slapped his hand to his forehead and groaned. “Not again. It was bad enough when there were only two of you doing that.”

It’s too bad I didn’t have a Sorcerer like Dr. Strange hand to run simulations until he had the correct answer for the current dilemma.

“Is there room for another up there?” Shingen called softly, looking up into the tree where I was currently perched.

I glanced at the next branch that – after an experimental shake – I judged sturdy enough to hold his weight. “Yes, but, I understand the concept of keeping lookout is that one person looks while everyone else – “

Shingen hauled himself into the tree.

“-sleeps.”

We had made camp just after sunset, and as with the previous nights, I had the first watch. Which generally was the easiest one, but at least they had given me one.

“Agreed, but I’m not yet ready to sleep.” He might also possibly be annoyed at the fact that Kenshin had vetoed even the thought of Shingen taking a watch shift. But by now, Kenshin, as well as everyone else, knew full well how often Shingen succumbed to the coughing fits. There are no secrets in camping.

Shingen rested against the tree trunk, looked around, the pulled a leaf out of my hair. “With the moon shining down on you, you look like a magical woodland creature. An enchantress.”

I conquered the urge to roll my eyes at that, have accepted that his flowery compliments were basically a form of Tourettes. Easier to simply be entertained by whatever he came up with next. “In Greek mythology, woodland enchantresses had a habit of transforming men into trees.”

“Were I transformed into a tree, you would very likely have climbed me… and it would have been the highlight of my days.” His face was shaded from the moon by leaves, but I imagined that if I had been able to make out his expression, I would have seen him wink.

This time the eyeroll won. I had walked into that one. And it did bring to mind the possibility of certain activities… that we’d likely not have time to try in the near future – if at all. My prior gloom returned.

Unlike Shingen’s, my face was apparently not hidden from the moonlight, for Shingen said, “There it is again. You are upset about something.”

Easier to divert to the thing that he already knew I was upset about. “I am, but as it’s something we’ve already discussed without coming to an agreement, it’s not worth ruining a pretty night light this bringing it up again.”

Shingen companionably took my hand. “Fair enough.”

We were quiet for a while, as I really was supposed to be the lookout. But eventually Shingen asked, “You’ve never mentioned any other family except for your brother. What about your parents? Friends? Do you think they are stuck in your time wondering what happened to the two of you?”

What thought had brought him to that line of questioning? “There might have been some fellow classmates who wondered at my disappearance – but as for family – no.” If the wormhole – and I was probably giving it anthropomorphic tendencies that it didn’t truly possess – had looked for two people whose disappearance was the least likely to cause a ripple, it had found them in Toshiie and me. I’d always been a bit of a loner and Toshiie was too busy with his studies (and checking up on me) to have much of a social life beyond an occasional hook-up.

He didn’t press for more details… I was well aware that silence was an interrogation technique, because we’d actually discussed such things. For a few moments I allowed the last of the summer cicadas, the rustle of the wind, and the sound of Yukimura’s snores filled the space between us. I might not have said anything more, but Sasuke’s prior comment about holding myself apart from others had stung. Shingen had told me plenty about his home, family and people, and I had been less reciprocal about my own family. “We never met our father. He left before we were born.” All my mother would say was that she had met him at University, and he’d pulled a disappearing act on her. “I’m honestly not sure if he even knew about us. And our mother…” I paused, not entirely sure how to explain, or even if I even wanted to. Certainly it was something that Toshiie and I never discussed, even though I was aware he believed we should. I’d shut him down every time he brought her up.

Shingen squeezed my hand. Maybe he was encouraging me to continue, or maybe he was telling me it was ok if I did not. But that made me feel ok to tell him the rest of it – at least in words someone of this time would understand. Suicide was not uncommon here at all. Seppuku was a ritual, an honorable death for defeated warriors and their families – and I didn’t know if Shingen would understand that my mother’s act had been something different. She hadn’t been defeated by war, but by her brain chemistry. “She was always very sad. Until she finally decided she could no longer stand to live like that.” She’d hung on until Toshiie and I had started University, so at least one couldn’t claim that she’d abandoned small children. There was that, anyway.

Once again, he squeezed my hand. I appreciated that he hadn’t reflexively said he was sorry. “I imagine it wasn’t easy – for any of you.”

“No. But… it didn’t come as a shock.” I’d always had a checklist in my head to rate my mother’s moods on a daily basis. There had been times when I was afraid to go into her room because I never knew what I would find. Logically, I knew what she had was as much of a disease as if there had been something physical consuming her from within. Logic didn’t always stop me from sometimes being angry or resentful that I hadn’t been enough for her. It only made me feel guilty when the anger and resentment took hold.

As I looked down on the array of tents below, it occurred to me that this group of people was a stronger family unit than the one that had been composed of my mother, Toshiie and I.

At that moment, the gruff patriarch figure called up to us from under the tree. “Shingen, stop distracting the lookout.”

I hadn’t been that distracted, since I still had kept an eye on our surroundings, but I wondered if our low-voiced conversation had woken up Kenshin.

“I’m sorry, I found this tree sprite too tempting to resist,” Shingen called down to him.

“As I am awake now and not likely to sleep as long as the two of you keep babbling away, I may as well take over.” Kenshin grumbled and drew his sword. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will attack us.”

Shingen climbed down from the tree, then glanced up at me before I made my own descent. “Would it do me any good at all to offer to catch you?”

“Nope. Don’t look if it bothers you so much.” I flipped myself down.

Once I was on the ground, Kenshin gave me a long look then… patted me on the head.

“Don’t spend all night talking,” was all he said, before climbing up to take my place.

“He… just… patted me on the head.” Kenshin had patted me on the head like I was his little sister.

“Yes.” Shingen placed his hand on my lower back and steered me toward our tent.

“Why?” Had he overheard our talk? Did he feel sorry for me?

“Perhaps some day he will tell you,” Shingen replied with a finality. “Come on, Devil. Let’s make the most of the night.” He held open the tent flap.

“Did you not just hear Kenshin caution us not to stay up all night?” I ducked inside and Shingen pulled me into his arms.

“He said don’t spend all night talking. I have no intention of talking.” He kissed the side of my throat. “Perhaps I’ll be permitted to whisper.” His voice got lower, not as much as a whisper by a caramel coated come-hither. “I’ll tell you how lovely you looked in the tree, how lovely you look now, wrapped in my arms.”

…Later, as I curled next to him, his arm under my head, I discovered tears leaking from my eyes. This had been my goodbye, though Shingen would not learn that yes. Though I hoped it would not be too long before we could be reunited, there would then be the necessity of earning forgiveness – if indeed that could be earned after this kind of betrayal.

There was a brush of his fingertip against my cheek, as he caught the next tear before it could travel further on its own. To my relief, he didn’t question, saving me the trouble of telling him yet another lie.

We reached Honno-ji just after sunset the next day. Sasuke had calculated that the wormhole would open up later that night and the sound of a distant storm seemed to confirm that. The electricity hovered in the air, a familiar static crackle that felt like there centipedes running along my arms. Yes. It had been almost seven years, but I remembered this.

Citing a concern for Shingen’s health, Yuki shepherded us into the temple as rain began falling. The fire damage from earlier this summer had yet to be repaired and smoke stains were everywhere. Shingen eyed a broken beam. “This building is not particularly stable.”

“It’s also not raining in here,” Yuki said, as he plunked himself down against the wall.

A splatter of water hit me on the nose. I looked up to see a hole in the ceiling. “Yes, it is.”

“How will you know when this wormhole is open?” Kenshin asked Sasuke, who was poking around with interest.

“You’ll know. It’s difficult to miss,” Sasuke said. A flash of lightning turned the room pinkish purple for a moment. “It may be arriving sooner than I anticipated.” He gathered his pack, which aside from containing his modern clothing, also held a letter I had written before leaving Kasugayama. While he did that, Yuki slipped outside for a moment.

In my own things, I had instructions from Sasuke, giving me his best estimate for when the Togakushi “node” would open up – a window of time beginning in about ten weeks. He had handed me the scroll, with a disclaimer. “I can’t be completely certain until I am back at my lab. But this ought to work,” He had said as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “At least theo-“

“If you say ‘theoretically’ one more time, I’m going to borrow Kenshin’s sword and stab you myself,” had been my reply to that.

“Not one of your daggers?”

“The occasion would call for an upgrade.”

Now, as I remembered that rushed private meeting back in Kasugayama, I wondered if Sasuke had been hedging his bets because he truly wasn’t sure what was going on with the timeline, or because he didn’t think this gamble would pay off at all.

I looked back up at the dripping ceiling and sighed. Shingen pulled me away from the leak. “Get out of the rain, Devil.” He brushed raindrops off my hair. “I’m well aware you’ve spent a significant amount of time in my presence while soaked to the skin, but in this case, it is not necessary.” He led me into a drier section of the temple. He kissed the top of my head. “Something seems to be eating at you, and once we are on our way again, I’m going to insist we talk about it.”

“That would be good.” It would be, if it actually were to happen. Odd though, for him to insist on a conversation, when he’d been ducking so many of my own overtures this past month.

“Sasuke.” Mai’s voice sounded loud over a lull in the conversation. “I don’t suppose you could bring back some chocolate? It might be the one thing I miss that you could actually carry back.”

“What is chocolate?” Shingen asked, having caught on to the fact that it was something to be desired.

Mai side eyed him. “Bring a lot.”

While Mai conveniently had Shingen’s attention, Yuki slipped back inside carrying Shingen’s pack, which he’d liberated from Good Horse’s saddlebag. He handed it to Sasuke, who slung it over his shoulder.

“It’s coming,” Sasuke said, prompting last-minute hugs and bro-slaps.

I could still change my mind.

I could grab Shingen’s hand and pull him out of here. Kenshin and Yuki would eventually catch us, but it would be too late by then. I could do that. But… could I keep him alive long enough to get to Togakushi? Could I even get him there at all? I remembered that awful morning when I’d managed to get him out of the cave. I’d barely managed to go five kilometers before Yukimura had taken over. That had been in summer, over relatively flat territory; not in winter, in the mountains.

It wouldn’t be enough.

I wouldn’t be enough.

No – I pushed away my second thoughts (by this time they were more like fifth thoughts). Kenshin’s plan was Shingen’s best chance to live.

In the flurry of activity and the howling of the storm, I moved to distract Shingen from Yukimura and Kenshin, who had drawn their swords. But while throwing my arms around his neck and giving him a kiss may have begun as a distraction, I willed everything I had not and could not say into the kiss, until emboldened by the way his arms tightened around me, I broke away. “Don’t hate me. I’d rather be apart from you and believe you alive and healthy, than watch you painfully slip away.”

“Katsuko… what?” That was all he got out before Yuki and Kenshin advanced on him, swords drawn. Realization dawned, and he reached for me again.

“I love you,” I whispered, but I don’t think he heard me.

He stretched his hand toward me. Our fingers nearly touched, slipping past each other, as Sasuke grabbed him, and pulled him into the wormhole.

Then Kenshin herded us all backward, away from the fog, which disappeared after Sasuke and Shingen in a swirl of wind like a cyclone drawing back into itself.

Only a bit of leftover rain dripping from the ceiling was all that remained of the storm.

“What the hell did you guys just do?” Mai whispered into the sudden silence.

@bestbryn

#TBT12Lies #throwback thursday #twelve lies i told shingen takeda #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen shingen #ikesen sasuke #ikesen kenshin #ikesen yukimura #ikesen mai #tw parent death #tw suicide #tw depression #there is probably actually some angst in this chapter #tw illness

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thethirdromana · 2 years

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I posted 1,433 times in 2022

That's 1,433 more posts than 2021!

148 posts created (10%)

1,285 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@animate-mush

@cattuladaily

@astrangergivingthestrangewelcome

@sapphosewrites

@myenterpriseisparked

I tagged 1,132 of my posts in 2022

Only 21% of my posts had no tags

#dracula daily - 519 posts

#star trek - 235 posts

#star trek fanart - 71 posts

#doctor who - 44 posts

#goncharov - 14 posts

#lotr - 14 posts

#long post - 13 posts

#blake's 7 - 11 posts

#strange new worlds - 11 posts

#lower decks - 10 posts

My Top Posts in 2022:

Dracula characters based on how likely they would be to eat a worm

Jack Seward There’s scarcely anyone in this story more likely to eat a worm than Jack Seward. As an experiment? Yeah, sure. When he was bullied at school? Almost certainly. Because a somewhat overbearing father figure suggested it? Without question. This man has eaten a worm before and he would do so again.

Arthur Holmwood Arthur is the son of a Lord, the Victorian 1%, one of the most wealthy and privileged individuals in one of the most wealthy and privileged countries in the world. Until the events of the novel, do we think Arthur Holmwood, future Lord Godalming, ever had to do anything he didn’t want to? Even in the horrors of the Victorian public school system, rank has its privileges. He would not eat a worm.

Quincey Morris An adventurous type like Quincey? He wouldn’t just eat a worm, he’d fry it in a little butter and cayenne pepper and do his best to enjoy it.

Lucy Westenra as a human I was going to say absolutely not. Surely she would be horrified at the very idea. But equally, Lucy is by far the biggest people-pleaser in the whole novel, even more so than Jonathan ‘What a pretty colour all these red flags are’ Harker. If she thought eating a worm would make someone she loved happy, she’d dig right in.

Lucy Westenra as the Bloofer Lady Small children have been known to eat worms, and Lucy has been known to eat small children. So indirectly, yes, she would eat a worm.

Jonathan Harker It strikes me that we don’t know much about the eating habits of any of the characters in this novel – for instance, we know which pub Jack Seward likes, but not what he eats when he’s there.

But we have a wealth of information about Jonathan, and we know he is the kind of man who will have an unfamiliar paprika dish for dinner, have “queer dreams”, then go down for breakfast and have even more paprika.

Jonathan Harker would eat a worm.

Mina Harker née Murray Mina would do anything for her friends and loved ones, and that includes eating a worm. But come on guys, really? You would force Mina to eat a worm after everything she’s been through? You monsters.

Van Helsing Van Helsing thinks astral projection is real and parrots live forever. He’s the first person to consider the possibility that Lucy is being vampired. This man has the most open mind in the entire novel. He is a deeply weird individual and he would definitely eat a worm.

Mrs Westenra Mrs Westenra is a respectable Victorian lady of the upper-middle or upper-classes, and under no circumstances would she eat a worm.

Unless it was the last-ditch treatment for her ailing daughter, I guess.

Dracula You know the song you might have sung as a kid – “nobody likes me, everybody hates me, think I’ll go and eat worms?”

We know Dracula eats solicitors and Lucys, he doesn’t eat worms. But he should.

Renfield Do I even need to answer this one?

2,735 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

Feeling oddly comforted that everyone did see how brave the captain of the Demeter was, as he'd hoped in his final days that they would.

2,788 notes - Posted August 8, 2022

The greatest sources of horror in Dracula so far

5. Watching a friend fade away from a mysterious illness.

4. Being trapped with a predator who's toying with you like a cat with a mouse.

3. Your colleagues dying around you, one by one.

2. A ship sailing into Whitby harbour, steered only by a corpse.

1. The Victorian psychiatric system.

4,090 notes - Posted August 20, 2022

IIRC, one of the standard academic takes on Dracula is that Mina is rewarded for being a dutiful wife (she learns shorthand, she travels to Budapest) and Lucy suffers for not being that (she has three suitors and wishes she could marry them all, etc).

Today's entry, and the commentary around it, makes me realise how little that holds up, so far at least. Lucy is so painfully dutiful - to her future husband, to her mother, to her friends, to her doctor - and all it's done is made her more vulnerable.

If she eloped with Arthur right now, she might be safe.

If she risked being honest with her mother, she might be safe.

If she put anyone to even slightly more trouble (Arthur, Jack, the servants) and had them stay up with her, she might be safe.

But she behaves like the ideal of a Victorian woman, always deferring to other people and putting their needs first. And that's why she's in so much danger tonight.

6,629 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

7,804 notes - Posted August 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i thought one of the star trek or doctor who posts might sneak into the top 5 #but no it's dracula daily all the way through

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lunarhobbits · 3 years

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ASOUE Netflix but it's in the style of the credits from the original Twilight Zone - The Wide Window (Part 1)

#i shared these on discord and people liked it so i'm posting them here!#at first i was gonna do the whole crew but there were just. so many people.#so i just did the title thru the actors #asoue edit #asoue #twilight zone #the twilight zone #i might make more of these in the future so ill make a tag i guess #asoue/ttz

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arcane-ish · 3 years

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Talking Ships: Silco/Jinx (Jilco)

Okay for the sake of this post, I’m just going to say Jilco to mean the storyline, the father/daughter-ly relationship and the ship, kind of all scrambled into one.

A sidenote on shipping: Am I surprised that there is shipping-shipping? In addition to “just appreciate the storyline as a creepy storyline” and “like them unironically and find them sweet as a platonic storyline”? Not really, it’s the internet, there is Rule 34, there is the fact that tumblr loves their skinny pale murder boyfriends, there has always been at least some unironic Joker/Harley shipping (no matter how clear the creators have made it that he cares nothing for her, that it is an unambigious depiction of a standard abusive relationhip and that Harley is happier with Ivy), and I know endless depth lurk in the “Dead Dove Do Not Eat” tag on A03 (cough, Harry Potter early years).

Joker/Harley type things, various “murder husbands” or Thornbirds in general have never been very high on my personal shipping lists when I look at my personal history, I just accept that it exists and move on.

Other Sidenote. i genuinely wonder if Vander had stuck around for Act 2 whether we would have gotten a lot of Vander shipping with various people, whether it’s Silco because imagined backstory (we know they were only metaphorical brothers, not literal brothers as per Jinx’s dialogue) or various top side characters he hadn’t interacted with in Act 1.

Anyway, I’ve talked quite a bit already on why I think their relationship so subtly disturbing feeling and also why I think those same characteristics might make the relationship feel really confusing so some people (TLDR: Silco and Jinx lack boundaries, whether physical, professional or emotional) and I have speculated what might in character/in universe drive these characters to accept this relationship and stay in it (for example, my head canon/theory is that Jinx felt like Vander preferred Vi)

Meta on:

On Vander’s parenting style versus Siclo’s parenting style

Reasons why people might mistake it for a good parental relationship

Helplessness/wanting to be useful

In my other ship talks I talked a bit about what I perceive to be the writing flaws in the storylines. With Jilco, I feel like the storyline benefits the most from a lot of vagueness. Like, it’s really hard to say that Silco’s actions are out of character or rushed when we don’t really know him well enough to 100% know is intentions.

So most criticisms to me move rather quickly into the philosphical realm. Should you portray a weird and skeepy relationship like this? Is Jinx/Powder a sensitive or insensitive portrayal of mental illness? If it really cheap to once again take the character who is arguing for social chance and revolution and cast him as the skeevy guy?

On a pure story POV, I guess my criticism would be that it feels a bit odd Act 1 it felt like things in the city were at a boiling point, like Silco wanted to strike right then and there, like if nobody turned themselves in, everything would explode. Except Vander gets killed/disappears, Vi does not get put in jail for the robbery, now do Mylo and Clagger on account of being dead and yet we jump 4-6 years into the future and it seems like no major clash happened. And Silco who seemed so eager in Act 1 is still in “slowly building up my strength and army” mode. I guess maybe we are supposed to take it that meeting Jinx and taking her in convinced him to take it a bit slower? Anyway, I thougth that that was a bit of a shift in focus.

And then there is Marcus abduction of Vi, just at the same moment which I felt was underexplained and just like really a bit too convenient.

Let’s Talk Silco

I think the core thing about him is that he sees himself in or projects himself into Jinx, that he tries to make his trauma hers. He has said some intersting things, like how he originally thought Vi was the more valuable daughter, but he came to see Jinx’s potential (again interesting parallel to Mel seeing potential in Jayce). I lean towards thinking that he is truthful about this, that he came to be really impressed with Jinx, whether it is her violence or her tech knowledge.

We know some factor is him seeing himself in her, Vander’s “betrayal” of him, versus Powder’s falling out with Vi. I wonder whether he saw potential in this too, he knows how deep his rage over that betrayal goes, so he thinks or hopes that with Jinx he feel forge somebody who knows the same hate and will hence fight just as fierecely against the topside. Or whether his “abandonment” has made him feel lonely and bonding with Jinx will fix that lonliness?

Another element I wondered about is whether there might also be some element of jealousy or revenge in regards to wander, that he is taking Vander’s daughter and doing a better job than Vander.

I talked about how Silco’s lack of boundaries with Jinx might seem nice or cool, but how they aren’t actually good parenting. But to me the core conflict of the Jilco relationship is clearly Vi. Whether Silco had something to do with it or not, he swooped in when Vi was not available and he is now trying to keep them apart.

Maybe there are Silco fans who have the stance that Vi is a jerk who hurt Powder so it’s a good thing that Silco is trying to keep them apart. But I just don’t think that that is the aim of the story. I think the story is that Vi loves Jinx and Jinx at the very least has powerful comlicated feelings about Vi (I would say she still loves Vi just as much and misses her, but admittedly there is that scene where she shoots the girl who looks like Vi in the back in the beginning of episode 4).

Bascially, my stance on it is, if Powder loves Vi, then Silco’s love for Powder is not credible if he is trying to screw with that relationship and working to keep them apart. At the worst this shows that he is possessive and does not care about Powder’s feelings, in the most charitable interpretation it means that he can’t see past his own hangups with Vander to realize that maybe Vi deserves to have a relationship with Powder.

Like the “nice guy” option would be that even if he dislikes Vi and is skeptical about her to let the sisters talk it out under supervision. You know give them the chance to fix their relationship in a way that hom and Vander were not able to. And of course have his parental love for Powder be tested via his willingness to give her up, should she want that.

Of course that is not where the story is going, and in the end a likely factor is also his plans for the topside, that by now Jinx is important to those plans and that Vi coming back is just messing up his timetable.

Another thing that has been thrown around is that Silco is letting Jinx’s mental health symptoms run wild and encourages her bad behavior. To which I yes, as in that is a factor in why they are an unhealthy relationship, but morally that’s where I’m giving him some minor leeway, because it’s unknown to what extent he understands that, either because the whole topic of mental health isn’t really developed in their fantasy universe, or because he has his own issues, or simply because his world view is so different and at the very least it’s consistent with his world view.

Let’s Talk Jinx

One scene that is really fascinating to me is the scene that birthed them. Powder launching herself at Silco and hugging them. Was it because she was that heart broken she was looking at anything? Did she mean to attack him and just in the middle of it lost her strength because of said heartbreak? Maybe as he was coming at her with a knife, surrounded by his goons, with Vi having abandoned her and not being there to defend her, maybe in a way her hug was her last line of self defense. She knows she can’t beat them phyiscally, so the last weapon her her arsenal is trying to use her cuteness?

Especially since we see her later of being capable of using her hugs as a way to manipulate people (when she hugs the bartender so she can place an explosive prank on his back). (there is this really lowkey disturbing line in Legends of Runeterra where Jinx gives advice to a street urchin in the street and says (as a way of giving advice on how to beg more successfully) "Stick your lip out and give 'em puppy eyes! Trust me.")

I’m generally wondering how exactly Jinx feels about Silco. I have theorized that she likes him because she felt Vander loved Vi more than her and now Silco loves her more than anybody else around.

I also think she is lonely and she seeks him out because he is the only one who gives her the time o’ day.

As I talked in some of the metas, he gives her a lot of responsibility (like injecting him), asks a lot of her (I need yout to finish the hex tech etc), which binds her to him and probably makes her feel indebted and responsible.

At the same time, I think Jinx also keeps part of her to herself. She has her lair with images of her past. We see Silco oversharing with Jinx and see her accepting it, but we don’t really see her sharing much on her side and him listening to and taking it in, beyond the outburst that brougth them together (of course Silco has an interest in talking down her connection with Vi and Vander, but even outside of that, do you think she ever talked him about Mylo and Clagger?). We have that scene in the water where she makes fun of him telling her the Vander story again rather than I don’t know, tearing up because she empathizes so much with him. (also see my comments about Jayce and Mel and how Jayce doesn’t really get emotional with empathy when Mel shares stuff with him about her family situation).

So basically I think Silco is projected himself full force into Jinx, but it’s not completely the same way on her side.

Overall

You know, my questions

1.) Do I think that they do/did they fuck?

2.) Do I think that they could be happy together?

Are actually kind of interesting here. Like with 1... I look at their scenes that I like to think that that’s not what they are indicating, even as they do indicate that they have an inappropriate level of closeness. And then there is the other part of my brain that says, okay, if we were being realistic here, if we just remotely applied real world standards: Jinx is a neurodivergent orphan minor who spends her time seemingly exclusively highly criminal and potentially at least slightly drug addicted adults.

It feels almost like a numbers game that Jinx likely was molested at some point. And if it wasn’t Silco, chances is that it would have been one of this goons (again the optimistic mind wants to pretend that even if something like that happened, well Jinx is a murder girl and would have fought back and even if she didn’t Silco would have gone after them/would never have let that happen/it wouldn’t happen because everybody is afraid either of her or of Silco... but there is a part of my brain that says that that is probably too optimistic).

Not question 2 is even more fascinating to me. First let me say that my answer to this is a firm no. To me the story of Silco and Jinx strikes me as the kind that is heading for Silco to die, likely in a way that might have a strong effect on Jinx, whether she kills himself or has to watch him die. But like with Jayce and Mel, let’s talk hypotheticals here. In a perfect world, whether everything goes well, there are no obstacles, could they have a last happy relationship?

This makes me mull what exactly a perfect world would look like. So what, Silco defeats the topside, becomes king of the city and installs Jinx in a palace as his perfect 100% free roaming princess daughter who can do anything she wants and never get in trouble? Would a happy ending for Silco be to achieve his goals, die in peace and hand his empire over to Jinx, so she can rule the city? Would it be his happy ending to die for her, in her arms as he assures her and she weeps over him?

They just lead such violent lives, I just have a hard time picturing that their story wouldn’t end in violence. Also their co-dependency seems to be kind of centered around struggle, or to be precise, Silco’s struggle versus the top side. It seems kind of questionable whether that struggle can ever be successful and even if it was, I expect that Jinx would be the kind of to run off and have adventures.

Which brings me to... Jinx. I have to say I struggle in general picturing what a happy end would look like for her. Like even if I completely throw out Silco and try to imagine her with various other League characters where you don’t have age difference or you don’t have the traumatic past, whether it’s fellow chaotic murder fans like her or loving idealists, I generally have a hard time picturing Jinx in anything more than having temporary nice romantic adventures (I will get back on that when I talk Jinx x Ekko).

Anyway, getting back to Jilco, let’s say Silco’s struggle gets resolved somehow, Jinx goes on adventures across the continent, an older, more grown up Jinx who had a chance to have her own experiences comes back and meets up with Silco again. Maybe he is in jail, maybe he is running the city, maybe he is still in his mob boss lair, maybe he has a little farm in the countryside somewhere, what would this older Jinx and him even talk about?

As I said in her section, to me I feel some hesitancy on Jinx’s side, like she doesn’t really see things 100% the way he does, but she stays because there is enough overlap, for now, I’m not sure I 100% buy her ever overcoming that. There is also the factor that even though I think Silco sees a lot of himself in her, he isn’t hyper or manic like her. He isn’t the guy who like jumps on a hoverboard and high fives her as they throw bombs together.

In short, even when ignoring all #problematic aspects, I just can’t picture it.

Final Grade: ??? B? (because it’s an interesting relationship to talk about? And it probably achieves what it sets out to do in being creepy and surprising? Or D because it’s not really shippy to me personally? Like I find it intriguing but I don’t get the fuzzy “awww, cute murder dad!” feels personally)

Disclaimer: these are my feelings as of the end of Act 2 of Arcane, my rating might go up or down drastically based on what happens in Act 3.

#arcane #silco #jink #jilco #ship talk #vander

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

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