#i will however consider opening up ff.net but have yet to feel like resorting to it

[gentil-minou]

Even with ao3 down I refuse to open wattpad I'd rather sit with my thoughts then go there

[hatandgoggles-writing]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 3 part 2

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A little voice in his voice in his mind that, had this been a cartoon and not real life, would have manifested as a tiny angel on his right shoulder, shouted as it worked itself into a panic and hid its face into the collar of his shirt, oh, God, Crowley, what were you thinking?! You literally just reconnected with him two days ago, shut uuuuuuup!

Or, Crowley fucks up.

Chapter 5 of 20 Ongoing 1700 words Romance/Humor

It was half an hour past Adam’s bedtime and Crowley had just picked his palette back up when someone knocked on his door again. He sighed and put it back down, stalked to the door, yanked it open and said:

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it.”

“Good evening to you too,” said Ezra who, in his vintage jumper, vintage shirt… vintage everything looked extremely out of place in the sterile white hallway of the modern apartment building.

Crowley bumped his forehead against the doorframe in frustration. Ideally, he would have gone for slamming, but he knew the other wouldn’t approve.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today,” he mumbled. He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but his mind was so overflowing with thoughts that raced too fast for him to grasp them, it might as well have been empty. It had bothered him all day.

Ezra just smiled his usual gentle smile. “It’s okay, we all have off-days sometimes,” he said. “If it’s any consolation to you, I brought you this.” He held up a bottle of wine that had a thin yet persistent layer of dust on it. He must have had it for a while.

Crowley carefully took the bottle and examined the label as he stepped aside to let the other in, only to come to the conclusion he had no idea what the words on the bottle actually meant. “As long as it doesn’t taste like cork or vinegar, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” After all, years old wine wasn’t the worst thing Crowley had drank. “I’ll get some glasses and a corkscrew. You make yourself at home in the meantime.”

Once in the kitchen, Crowley smacked his head against the cabinet a little harder. What on Earth was Ezra doing here? Better yet, why hadn't Crowley just sent him away?

Then again, there was no use dwelling on it now. And who knew, a little alcohol might actually slow his thoughts down enough to firmly grasp one by the balls and demand to know what it wanted from him.

With newfound resolution, he took two wine glasses from the cabinet, produced a corkscrew from the drawer under his pristine cooktop and returned to the living room.

“Sorry I took so long, I usually get the bottles with the screw—”

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks when he found Ezra standing at his drawing board, smoothing down the crumpled and discarded sketches with gentle hands and glancing at the canvas on the easel next to it. He heard the man murmur to himself, but didn't catch a single word of it. What did catch his attention were his eyes. Striking blue, creased with fondness, but still sparkling with youth. He knew Ezra was a little older than him, but it never made him any less charming.

He realized a little too late he was staring. Ezra turned to him and smiled.

“Ah, sorry my dear, I was just admiring your handiwork,” he said, beaming more brightly at Crowley than he had all day. He considered putting his sunglasses back on.

“Oh, that? That's nowhere near where I want it to be,” Crowley scoffed in a weak attempt to play it cool.

“That's okay. There's more than enough time to figure it out.”

“If you say so,” Crowley mumbled, yet he couldn't help the smile creeping to his face. He picked the bottle of wine from the glass salon table, twisted the corkscrew into the cork and pulled. And pulled. And pulled…

Ezra chuckled. “Here, let me help you,” he offered and reached to take the bottle, brushing against his hand.

Crowley dropped it, Ezra caught it.

“See, the trick is that you need to twist the cork while you pull it out,” he said as he did just that, pulling out the cork with a satisfying pop. “There we go. Now, I believe you were holding some glasses?”

“What? Oh, right,” Crowley stammered as he tried to regain his composure. He held out the glasses and Ezra poured. And poured. And poured…

“Are you sure you know how this works?” He dared to venture when the wine was nearing the rim of the glass. Ezra stopped pouring with one millimeter to go.

“I do. I just figured you could use it,” Ezra shrugged as he poured himself the normal amount.

“I was that much of a mess, wasn't I?” Crowley asked before carefully slurping some wine from the top of his glass. It tasted like what he imagined a mouldy gym sock to taste like, but still, he persisted. It wasn’t so bad once you got used to it.

“If I'm completely honest, you still look like a mess.”

“Of course I do.”

“I don't care that you do. And I don't know what all that in the bookshop was about and I can imagine that you absolutely won't feel like it, but if you want, you can always talk to me.”

Crowley groaned. What he had said and done in the bookshop was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. He placed his wine on the table and sat down on his white leather couch, his back hunched slightly.

Ezra followed suit.

“These last few days, I've been thinking a lot. There are things in my life that you've made me reconsider and I just don't know how to cope,” he admitted, masterfully dancing around Ezra’s quest for answers. Crowley gazed up, and Ezra seemed to be taken aback.

“I'm sorry dear, but I'm afraid you're giving me too much credit.”

An exasperated laugh escaped Crowley's throat and he took another swig from his wine. It seemed to taste better this time around, but then again, perhaps that was only because it was starting to work.

“I'm really not. You were right about my job. I'm actually glad to be out of the office for a while. Lucy seems to be the only redeeming factor. My work is boring, and Hastings and Liggett, the head of studios and head creative, they make my life a living Hell at every chance they get. It gives me security, but it drains me. And it certainly doesn't make me happy…”

Ezra reached and took his hand. It was soft and warm. Hot, even. And yet, Crowley didn't recoil. In fact, he squeezed back.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel this way,” he whispered.

“No, it's… It's okay. I needed that wake-up call, I think. I mean, now that I'm drawing and painting and having fun again, I'm actually realizing how shit my job is,” Crowley smiled, but it quickly faltered. “Except if I were to quit I would have to figure out how to make a viable income from my art.”

Ezra raised his hand to make a suggestion.

“Drawing portraits in the park for tourists is an absolute last resort,” Crowley insisted.

And Ezra immediately lowered his hand again.

“I appreciate it, though. And you in general, you know.” He took another swig from his wine for courage. “You,” he started, “are very…”

A little voice in his voice in his mind that, had this been a cartoon and not real life, would have manifested as a tiny angel on his right shoulder, shouted as it worked itself into a panic and hid its face into the collar of his shirt.

Oh, God, Crowley, what were you thinking?! You literally just reconnected with him two days ago, shut uuuuuuup!

Another little voice in his mind that, had this been a cartoon and not real life, would have manifested as a tiny devil on his left shoulder shouted kicking, screaming and pulling at his hair.

Just fucking say it you fucking coward, you started this, now with God as my witness, you’re going to finish it!

"Persuasive?" Crowley tried.

Ezra quirked an eyebrow.

Wrong word. Try again.

"Learned?"

He frowned.

Fuck. Third time's the charm.

"Wise," Crowley finally settled on.

Ezra smiled. "Thanks, but I'm not that much older or smarter than you."

"Since when does that matter?"

Ezra shrugged. "They say wisdom comes with age."

"As do wrinkles, but you still look like one of those, whatchamacallit…" Crowley wracked his mind for his hungover art history lessons. "Cherubs, was it?"

"That's what I get for not smoking," Ezra smirked.

Crowley placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You're too harsh, angel."

"There it is again. Are you planning to keep calling me that?" Ezra asked. Nothing in his tone remotely suggested any objection to this.

"Is that a challenge, angel?" the taller man teased again, leaning closer.

Ezra, on the other hand, leaned backwards. "What are you trying to do here, Crowley?"

There was a pause. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. The realization that he had no idea what he was trying to do hit him like a brick wall.

Well.

Of course he knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to have a nice evening with a good friend whom he also had a crush on. Why was that so hard?

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said as he pulled himself back. “Just, kinda… I don’t know…” He glanced away. He couldn’t bear to look at Ezra any longer. It was like the angel on his shoulder said, they had just started to reconnect, and now Crowley was going too far too fast. “Forget I ever said anything, I guess.”

Ezra laid a sympathetic hand on Crowley’s back and rubbed firmly between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come uninvited. You made it quite clear that you needed space and I didn’t respect that…” he said as he gave Crowley’s back another pat. However, upon likely realizing the irony of the situation, he quickly removed his hand and scooted further away on the sofa. “I should go. You can keep the wine. Consider it a gift.”

Crowley didn’t move an inch as Ezra got up and made his way back to the door. He only buried his face in his hands with a deep sigh.

“Until tomorrow.” he heard Ezra mumble before the door clicked shut.

He’d fucked up.

[lightblue-flower]

Midnight at The Continental Chapter 1: The Deep Bay

Summary: 1950s/1960s AU RoChu

After his father is taken as a prisoner by the government and his mother has fallen ill that would likely lead to her death, 21 year old Yao Wang illegally escapes China to live with his aunt in Hong Kong. When the family decides to immigrate to Toronto, Canada, Yao must take on and live under a false identity, running the risk of being deported back to China and facing the severe consequences that escaping would bring to him.

While living his life as their paper son in Chinatown, Yao encounters a young Russian man at The Continental Hotel, who would change his life, for better and for worse.

Pairings: RoChu (Main), Small pairings (fruk, ameripan/amerinyo!pan, hunkraine)

Also Read Here: AO3 | FF.NET

Next

Part I: Luck

Characters

Yao Wong - China Chun-Yan Lieng - OC Yao’s mom Lei Wong - OC Yao’s dad Dong- OC

Chapter 1: The Deep Bay

��季到来绿满窗， 大姑娘窗下绣鸳鸯。 忽然一阵无情棒， 打得鸳鸯各一旁。

Spring comes and the window fills with green A maiden sits by the window embroidering a pair of mandarin ducks Suddenly, a heartless blow Splits the ducks in two

***

August, 1957

Inhaling the cold salty air sharply, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the times when he was younger, much younger than he is now, and when he would take his rusty bike with his friends down the dirt road from his grade school to the estuary nearby that connected to this very bay he stood in front of, to the wider ocean that was unknown to him.

Hau Hoi Wan was what they called this bay - the Back Bay - and for quite some time, the man had always been envious of the fishermen on there long narrow boats on the sea, steadying themselves as they would toss a long nets made of intricately tied ropes, hauling in fish. He would rather sit on a boat all day than work in the rice fields his family owned in the small village of Jinqiu that was much further away from the coolness of the ocean and consumed by the heat of the sun.

The man was looking at the same body of water that he would stare out at as a young student- however, he stared at the dark waters in front of him with fear and dread rather than with the wonder and anticipation he would have had. He glanced ahead at the darkness that laid before him, no sight of land to be seen. The reflection of the moon could be seen rippled on the water that was far from still, and as he glanced up to the ink black night sky freckled with a few heavy clouds rolling in the distance, he wanted to remain static in this moment.

He wanted to go back home. He wanted to turn around and traverse back to Jinqiu, not caring that it would take him another week by walking to get there. He wanted to see his Mama again, even though at this point, she is nothing more than skins and bones.

Alas, he knew he had nothing left to turn back to. He had no future here, either in Jinqiu or anywhere in the province of Guangdong. His Baba was likely dead at this point, and his Mama- his poor, lovely Mama- was laying on her deathbed at home, painfully dying from pneumonia under the watchful eye of the village women.

He glanced back to the village that was a few meters away from the shore, and saw the flickering flames of the lanterns within the small stick huts die slowly, one by one.

This is the last time he would be in China. The last thing he’ll see is Shenzhen- this poor, tiny village that he watched silently. In the next four hours, he’ll either be a dead floating body in the bay, or he would have made it to the shores of Hong Kong safely.

“Yao,” a low, steady tone, drew the man’s attention away from the lanterns to the side.

He had travelled from their tiny village to the village to Shenzhen with a few other men around his age with the same goal he had- to leave China and make it Hong Kong in one piece.

Had travel not been restricted between Hong Kong and China, they would not have to resort to swimming across the Back Bay in order to get to the old British colony. It was the only way- there was no Hong Kong patrols in the bay, and it was better than attempting to be smuggled through a boat where they would be grave consequences for being caught.

The man who he knew as Dong, a close family friend who was few years older than Yao, and who had promised his mother that he would accompany Yao to Hong Kong. Dong had been planning on doing this since the first wave of soldiers marched through their village, gathering all the men who were considered to be rightist by the government standards.

Yao’s dad, Wong Lei, was one of those men. Along with Dong’s father, they rushed them into a military van, whisking them away after causing further chaos by burning the a few of the crops of land the village owned.

Chun-Yan, Yao’s mother, had begged Dong to take Yao to Hong Kong with him in order to escape the potentially devastating fate that may befell him if he continued to live in Guangdong. She specifically wanted him to go to Un Long Town, a town in the innerland that was a popular place that Chinese mainlanders aim to land according to the bandit Dong had arranged this journey with. This town was where Yao knew his aunt, his mother’s younger sister, Lieng Chun-Yi, lived with her three children, and he knew that they were the only ones he could turn to for solace.

Yao did not trust the bandit in the least, with his unkempt short hair and short beard that was unusual for young men to wear, and the sinister look in his beady eyes as he accepted the payment from Dong. Yao, however, did trust Dong, and as long as he was beside him in this journey, he knew he would be safe.

He hoped he would be safe.

“Come what may, I’ll be by your side,” Dong said, narrow eyes maintaining eye contact with Yao’s, making the latter even more uneasy than he already was. “I promised Auntie Liang to take you to your aunt safely.”

Yao simply nodded, not knowing what to say and took one last look at the village, longingly. He had accepted that there was no home to turn back to. He took a step forward, his bare feet tipping into the cold water, sending goosebumps throughout his body.

His mind blanked, the light splashing of legs running towards the water could be heard as he slowly walked forward, fear leaving his body.

“From the end of the world, to the farthest sea I searched for my heart's partner A young girl sings, while he accompanies her on the instrument Our love through the hard times is deep indeed Oh, our love through the difficult times is deep”

One of Yao’s earliest memory of his younger days was hearing this song playing on the small radio their family owned, on a warm spring day. His mother was making their afternoon meal, sitting on the floor of their kitchen as she washed the rice in a bowl, while Yao was staring out from the open door to their flat yard, his legs swaying idly to the song. He was likely waiting for his father to return from the rice fields, but the details were vague.

He knew he had loved this particular song, with the tune being oh too familiar. His mother always hummed this particular song to herself as she went about her family chores, and when she would try to lull Yao to sleep.

When he first heard the song on the radio, albeit the reception they received from their village was terribly, with the static interfering here and there, he instantly fell in love with the singer, with the way her words flowed out in a high voice, and with the beautiful erhu that accompanied her throughout the song.

“The song is called ‘The Wandering Songstress’,” Chun-Yan said after the song had finished and Yao had questioned her about it. Yao sat in front of her, staring, as she continued to shift the rice through the water. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a bun, a scarf pushing back her stray hairs, and yet, she still looked young for her age. “Zhou Xuan is the singer.”

Chun-Yan continued, her warm brown eyes glazing over as if she were looking into a far distant. “She released this song the year you were born. She was quite a doll in Street Angel! If only I had a photo of her to show you- your father and I used to watch her movies whenever we went to Guangzhi.”

Yao only half cared about the latter information, not caring much for the trivial affairs of his parents, but the name Zhou Xuan was imprinted in his mind, and the song in association. The singer was further imprinted after his mother showed him a torn photograph of the singer that she had kept for quite some time, Yao instantly falling in love with the singer’s entire being.

Even now as an adult, listening to Zhou Xuan’s voice puts his mind at ease, wrapping his body in the warmth and happiness of a lover’s want and affair. Oddily, however, hearing the song filled him with safety as well. It was the safety of his mother that he sensed in the song, who he could still sometimes hear her soft voice singing and humming the song, even though she has stopped doing ever since she fell ill.

But as he swam through the cold waters in front of him, the cold air filling his lungs causing a distinct pain and his body feeling numb, he repeated the song in his head, in his mother’s voice.

“Looking north from my mountain nest My tears fall and wet my blouse Missing him, I will not rest Only love that lasts through hard time is true”

And he kept going. 

And going.

 And going.

Mao Zedong, chairman of the Communist Party of China, formally gained power on October 1st, 1949. Not only did Yao have this memorized in head from the yearly military marches that would be broadcasted in the village leaders television and every villager would clamour around to witness the black and white images play in front of them with wide eyes, but he would constantly be reminded of this fact due to him being born on October 1st as well.

Yao was born in the year 1937, a few months after the first attack by the Japanese in Peking, preluding the Second Sino-Japanese War and allowing Japanese occupation that lasted well until the fall of 1945. These parts of history have always been drilled in Yao’s head, from his lessons at his school to what his father would vividly recount to him, even though they were relatively safe from most of the conflicts that occured. Though, as luck may have it, they were never apart of the conflict zone or targets of incidents with the Japanese army, and Yao’s life during the war was nothing more than a blur of various colourful parts of the village.

Wong Lei had always supported the Communist Party- as a farmer in a village forgotten by the state, they fought for the poor and forgotten of China. Yao remembers hiding behind the wall separating the living room to the kitchen, snippets of fuzzy discussions of support from men during the civil war, drinking from small clay cups while Chun-Yan would bring in a fresh pot of tea. Most had supported Chairman Mao and wanted the KMT gone.

“He is for the people,” the men would say, a slogan that stuck with the CPC in the public’s mind, and would be carried when Chairman Mao proclaimed that their nation was now the People’s Republic of China.

Until after his election, however, they started to have complex feelings about how he handled the situation in China. Closed borders and lack of resources affected the village much more than what they expected to be. Censorship was the main issue with Yao’s father, who was a man of many opinions and have the skills to sway anyone who cared to listen to him talk. And in their village, there were plenty of people willing to listen.

He could have been a scholarly man, Chun-Yan had told Yao. He could have went to university if he wanted to, with a strong personality and the willingness to learn and write of many topics, especially in politics. Yao has seen his collection of books and papers that were tucked away in the corner of the house, layered in dust due to neglect.

Yao admired his father for his opinions. He admired that he stood up for what he believed in.

His opinions caused his own downfall, alas.

It had happened so fast. The day was like any other July day, the sun high and bright, the trees swaying to the light wind as wind chimes could be heard from the distance. Yao was pulling water from the well on the outskirts of the village and was walking up the dirt path towards home when he heard distant yelling and cries.

He walked to his house to find a hanful of men in the green uniforms with guns in their hands, ready to hurt anyone who interfered.

"Wong Lei," a man who stood taller than the rest of the soldiers, with his red sash and medals that signified he was of higher rank, barked out as two soldiers held Yao's father between them, nearly dragging his legs through the dirt. "You are under arrest for cultivating a rightist movement against the government of the People's Republic of China."

Yao couldn't do anything other than sneak into his house to find his mother on the ground, sobbing and alone, but unharmed. The house was a mess, with the table being flipped over, and his father's books ripped up and splayed across the floor.

Within a blink of an eye, they left, with other men who they claimed to be rightists, and thus a threat to the government. Yao never heard from his father again.

From the rumours that surrounded this campaign the government is holding, his father would be in a camp either working as a hard labourer or dead.

For his father’s sake, Yao had hoped that he was executed. His spirit would be liberated from the shackles of this world, and he could live eternally in the peace he could not receive while alive.

NOTES:

Yao Wang -> Yao Wong Due to Yao originating from the southern province of Guangdong in China, where there are alot of native Cantonese speakers, I changed his last name to the Cantonese equivalent

The Anti-Rightist Campaign was a reaction by Mao against the Hundred Flowers Campaign (which was also controlled by Mao's government in order to encourage citizens to openly express their opinions on the government). The campaign was to arrest and persecute "rightists" (vague, but those who may favour capitalism). The first wave was in July 1957.

Jinqiu is a fictional village further from the capital city of Guangzhou, most likely near where modern Duangguan is

The Back Bay is the literal translation for the Shenzhen Bay (or Deep Bay)

Zhou Xuan She was a Chinese singer and actress during the early 1930s till her death in September 1957. Her career was mostly in Shanghai, and gained prominence by the 1940s. The first stanza at the beginning is from her song "Song of the Four Seasons", which appeared in the 1937 movie "Street Angel" where her other song mentionned, "The Wandering Songstress" also makes an appearance. Her songs and her character is a theme in this story because I think Yao in this story would idolize her.

The Continental Hotel mentioned in the summary will make an appearance in Part 2, but it was basically a lounge in Toronto's old Chinatown during the 1950s-1960s where lesbians would hang out. Since Canada had restricted Chinese immigration, Chinese male workers were mostly 'bachelors', and a lot of them would go to The Continental Hotel to basically form relationships with these women (whether sexual or platonic)

A/N: Hey, so this tale was inspired by my in depth research into Toronto’s queer and immigration history, and I’ve always wanted to write a historical piece soo...here it is ^_^ Hope you enjoyed reading this first chapter!

[trylonandperisphere]

Silent Retreat 2: When The World Breaks Through, Ch. 29

So, this is it, the final chapter. This writing of this fic was a long, bumpy road, and I have many people to thank for their help along the way, including my OBFrankenfic buddies who betaed now and then, my patrons who made it possible for me to spend more time writing and imbibe sufficient caffeine and nourishment, and every one of you readers, especially the ones who took the time to send me a kind word or comment. I so wanted to finish this fic and have it over with, and yet I find myself melancholy at the end of it, at the same time - probably because my OB fic writing days seem to be numbered. I have a few small Cophine projects left, but I'm hoping to move on to writing original work, as well as publishing an original adaption of The Swan and The Dove. I thank you all, and hope you will consider reading my other writing as I try to develop it into more than just a hobby. I will post updates on what I'm up here on my tumblr blog.

As always, you can also read this on ff.net or AO3.

Gratitude & XOXO, - trylonandperisphere

Of course there were things we never talked about with our “handlers.”

 We made the decision never to tell them about Sevvy’s special abilities.  He hung out with his cousin Kira, sometimes, who had started communicating with people in what I guess you would call ���intuitive circles.”  Never in a flashy way, but to learn more about the feelings they got, and how to handle them.  We took the track of guiding him not to talk about it too much in public, but letting him know that he could look into it more as he got older, if he wanted to.  Of course it fascinated me, both from a energetic/spiritual point of view and a scientific one.  Had something been triggered in our genes when we were created, something that made our children sensitive?  Yet, the last thing I wanted was for them to ever feel experimented on.  There had been enough of that to go around in our family a long time ago.

But there was an advantage in Sevvy and Kira feeling and knowing things as they did.  As much as I had to work with my judgement and intuition, I felt that I could relax a bit as I moved into my new life, knowing that they would sound an alarm if the government agencies, or anyone else, weren’t to be trusted.  For all the things that had happened to me and my family, in some ways I was incredibly lucky.  I had thought it was my job to protect Sevvy and that I had fucked up.  But it not only turned out okay, it turned out that he helped me love and trust others, again, in a way that all my meditation and yoga never quite reached.

 He helped me trust the love of my life, again.

 Good thing, too, because for all my smarts, some things I was just as stupid about as the next human being.

 I was smart enough to stop running, to take the deal.  To tell the truth, I was excited to get back into science, again.  Sure, I had fears that I had gotten out of touch, forgotten too much, maybe gotten a little long in the tooth or out of the loop to keep up with the the younger minds who hadn’t been away from grad school.  But it actually felt like reuniting with a part of me I’d left behind, too.  I ran out way before classes started and got a bunch of hard-copy books and study aids to go with my digital ones.  I had missed the heft of them, the feel of the paper in my hands and under my highlighter and pen as I wrote comments and absorbed the information.  More than one person told me I looked like a kid in a candy store with my new school stuff spread all around me on the floor.  The meditation actually helped my memory, I found—along with the fact that I had the hottest professor on campus to help me whenever I needed.  Let the other students drool over that.

 And, in our new lab, there was a chance.  A chance that what I had learned and what we continued to learn could further help our sisters.  Maybe even the world.

 There might be problems down the line, we knew, when the administration changed hands, but that was for later.  Right now I got a life.  A life where I could legally go where I wanted to go, live where I wanted to live, see my family when I wanted to.  It almost blew my mind.

 Charlotte and MK both presented problems.  Once the youngest clone was cured, she’d have a lot of therapy and thinking to do to understand and accept what had happened, and even then, how one faux parent after another had lied to and manipulated her.  I wanted to help, somehow, but she was pretty distraught and hostile, which I suppose was fair, considering everything, plus the fact that she was then under government supervision most of the time. I was able to get occasional strained meetings every now and then with her, but mostly she remained stubbornly silent or full of contempt, until one day, out of the blue, she asked me about some of the benefits of meditation I’d mentioned.  Who knows how she opened up to it... maybe one of her therapists.  But I took it as a good sign, both that she was trying to heal herself, and maybe let go of what she had been taught about me.

 MK, of course, didn’t want to be too close to any authority.  She agreed to work with them on a case-by-case basis through us, and help track the kind of lowlifes who conduct unethical biomedical deals, hack to steal and hide large sums of money from the less fortunate, or trade deadly goods and information.  I even got to see her in person at a couple clandestine family get-togethers (sprung on me so I wouldn’t know ahead of time and fumble any lies with my agency contacts.)  She was too crafty even for best spies in the country, however, though.  She managed to disappear whenever she wanted to.

 So, our lives weren’t entirely normal.  They never had been, and they never would be.  But if they were strange, they were also exceptional in beautiful, wonderful ways.

 Like having a group of sisters so bonded, not only by being genetically identical, but by the challenges we had met because of it.

 Like having miracle children we were never supposed to have, and living through the disease that had been built into us to prevent our progeny: a double triumph of life over the attempt of some very smart, yet fundamentally flawed people who had tried to manipulate it, to control both nature and nurture, in ways which the infinite variations of existence would never let happen.

 Like having a full life, and also regaining one I thought I had lost.  

 Like getting back love.

 People complained (well, mostly Sarah,) about the long trip, but it was worth it.  Even she couldn’t stay grumpy-looking when Kira and Sevvy spotted a dolphin from the boat to the resort and started making exaggerated screeching and clicking noises at each other.  That and when Alison took a header into the pool running from a snake that turned out to be a stick on the ground.  That might have gone down as one of the most amusing days in Sarah’s life.  Thank god there wasn’t a silent retreat going on.  Her barking laughter and my semi-guilty giggles filled the air around us, and it was wonderful.  We were meant to be loud, exuberant, on this visit.

 Aurélie was as much of a hoot as when I met her in France.  She and her husband, Jean-Marc, brought their kids, but she didn’t let having a three year old and a baby stop her from going zip lining or staying up to tell silly stories about her big sister Delphine, who apparently went through a very clumsy phase in college. Nope, the younger Cormier daughter (now Carpentier) would pump her breast milk and hand it and her children off to Jean-Marc to do her thing, reminding us “I’m on holiday and we’re celebrating!” in a much more intense accent than her sister.  Honestly, I began to wonder if having that sleeping sickness as a kid had made her super awake for the rest of her life.  

 Besides, at that point, between me, her, my sisters, Shay, Scott and his wife, Bella… well, there were enough kids of various ages that we had them looking after each other like a wolf pack.  Plus, Delphine’s father seemed to be becoming doting in his older years, and we’d find him cradling the teeny one and cooing at his grandkids while his stepkids were off… well, jeez, who knows where all those kids went half the time.  I didn’t worry about it too much, with Helena around.  I figured she’d take care of any jaguar, boar, or fer-de-lance that so much as looked at the younger clan funny.  

 Plus, I had my amazing co-parenting boys to look after Sevvy while Delphine and I took care of other things.  That may not have stopped Teo from flirting shamelessly with Diego, the pilates instructor, but Michael took it in stride.  Teo loved to flirt.  He’d flirt with a rock, if he was in the mood. It was harmless, and was probably just exaggerated because he and Felix seemed to have some kind of competition going on.

 It was nice to be a guest at the resort.  I got massages, and took my family on tours.  I didn’t miss getting up early to teach classes at all, even if I did go to a couple with the kids.

 And in the morning, and at night, I had my love by my side.

 We could have stayed in one of our previous cabins for old time’s sake, but we took the honeymoon suite.  After all, that’s what we were there for.

 On the third afternoon we all snaked our way down the path and stairs, descending by the waterfall to where the river met the sea, and a few rows of chairs had been set up by a wooden arch woven with flowers on the beach.

 Margot did the honours, which were simple.  She even managed the quote in French.  We were too nervous to do our own vows, and too perfectionistic, anyway.  How do you you find the right words for something like that?  As scientists, Delphine and I could have researched what to say forever, and I didn’t want to give a performance.  But earlier in the morning, before we got ready, I whispered some lines from Audre Lorde’s Love Poem, one of our favourites, into her ear as she gasped below me, shimmering in sweat and recovering from our first round of lovemaking:

  ...And I knew when I entered her I was

high wind in her forests hollow

fingers whispering sound

honey flowed

from the split cup

impaled on a lance of tongues…*

 So no, we didn’t wait until after the wedding.  When the gulls wheeled over the ocean as we made our promises, it reminded me of the last lines of the poem.*  Maybe she thought of it, too, because I could swear I saw her blush—the most beautiful bride, and person, I’d ever seen.

 Maybe sometimes I can be smooth.  But I meant it.  And I’d do almost anything to see her that happy.  I want to see her that happy, again and again, as often as life allows, for as long as it lasts.

 Then there was the party, and it got a little wild, with my closest sisters there, all of us dancing and laughing, and Helena insisting on and winning at limbo.  And then there was the sky full of stars, and my lady and me sneaking away from the laughter and the music, and ascending, quickly as our dresses would allow, barefoot up the stairs in the water-misted night.  The frogs called their mates loudly enough to drown out our giggles, and a gecko scurried from the lintel of our cottage, deluxe as it may have been.

 The staff had lit candles, turning her skin golden and soft focus at the edges of my sight.  I wanted to remember every moment we were alone together here, again, returning to each other again and again in waves, to make up for the drought that had too long kept us apart.  I held her waist in my hands, taking her in, and my heart felt pressed against my sternum, swelling with a love so strong it bordered on painful, breath-stealing.  Her eyes met mine in that wide open, endless gaze she slips into, one hand taking my waist in return and the other tracing my clavicle.

 “Do you remember when we first saw each other again, here?” she asked.

 “Uh, yeah,” I answered, having to pull myself out of the trance I’d slipped into just contemplating her.  “I was in class, teaching.  I looked around, and… there you were.  You looked like you had seen a ghost… and I guess, in a way, you had.”  I gave her a small grin.  It had been a moment so resonant, and so difficult, in its own way.  To remember it now was poignant, almost jarring.

 “Cosima,” she breathed, and took my hands into her own.  She drew them to her lips and gently kissed the tender insides of my wrists each in turn.  “I was so shocked, and so scared, then.  Sometimes I wish I could go back in time to that day, and whisper to myself, to both of us, that it was going to be okay… that everything was happening just in time, as it was supposed to, and that our love had just been, almost… sleeping.”  Her dimples emerged and I could tell she was having one of those rare moments when her excellent English was escaping her in the face of her emotions.

 “Maybe you could bring a picture,” I teased, my grin growing.  “‘Here we are in our wedding dresses, Past Delphine.  This happens after you have to shoot somebody and rescue your bride-to-be like total badass, but you’ll get there.   P.S.: You’re going to be a mother.  Get ready to co-parent an amazing little kid with three other people.’”  She gave me a light tap on the arm in admonishment, as she often did.

 “You make fun of me, but it really shook me.  Of course, it was all worth it.  But I’m still impressed at how you were so calm and cool when it happened.”

 “I wasn’t, entirely, except…” I thought for a second.   “It’s funny.  I almost feel like I had, for a second, what Sevvy has, then.  I just had this feeling something was coming, even if it wasn’t totally conscious.  And then, when I saw you…”  I shrugged, unable to understand it, myself.  “It was like it was just right.   Like, sure, it had been ten years, but there you were, and it was like all the emotional work I’d been doing, all the healing, had made me ready for that moment.  It was inevitable.   We were inevitable, even if there was a piece of me that was still nervous, processing it.  I mean… it took me a bit to feel like we were on the same page, but… I can’t explain it, but it was just meant to be, and that storm brought you to me, finally at the right time in our lives, when we could work out everything that had happened in-between.”

 She hummed softly, in approval, and her hands found my face, stroking and holding it tenderly.  

 “It’s like that second storm,” I told her, and in the tilt of her head I saw that she knew what I meant: the one that had cut off our contact from each other when she was in the mountains at that conference, while Charlotte lashed out against us with her own wind and thunder, and I struggled to understand what was going on.  “There couldn’t have been a worse time for it to happen.  That’s what I thought then, anyway, when you told me about it.  Like, how was I supposed to believe that a freak accident had made you impossible to reach right when I needed you most?  It’s like it was almost put there on purpose to test my trust in you.  There was a part of me that was bringing up every terrible, difficult thing that happened between us, everything distrusting Sarah, or Felix, or anyone ever said about you…”

 She swallowed and licked her lips, hanging on my words.

 “What made you decide to believe in me?” she asked quietly.

 “Love,” I answered, and I smiled at her.  “I mean, sure, I could check the weather report, and I had Sevvy telling me things would be okay, and that helped, but…”  I shrugged again and looked down for a second, almost bashful in the intensity of the love in her eyes.  I felt my smile stretching even wider and met her golden gaze again.

 “We can believe things happen for a reason, or they don’t.  There was a time when I didn’t  believe in you.  I died from that disease that was built into me, or close enough, but I came back with your face in my vision and your voice reassuring me, within me so deep it had to be more than a thought.  But then you did what you thought was right to protect me, and I got caught up in rejection and fear…”

 Her eyes fluttered closed in pain for a second.

 “I hate to remember that time,” she breathed, “even if it is easier now than it once was.”

 “Yeah,” I acknowledged, and gave her a reassuring squeeze.  “My point is, I went down that road before, and missed out on you for ten years.  Whatever valuable life lessons I— we —learned from that, the biggest thing I learned was that, science or spirit, our hearts were meant to be together… and I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.”  

 I had just made vows to her, but I made one again.

 “I'm never going to make that mistake, again.  Not for as long as we live.”

 She took this in, and she shone from within as though the sun was breaking the horizon behind her.

 “I love you,” I told her,

 and

 “Je t’aime,” she said at the same time.

 We moved together and kissed, and it was just as right as it had ever been before, but it was different, because we’d made a commitment, we’d solidified it and vowed it in actual words before our friends and family.  We’d been through so much, apart and together.  But we’d made the promise now to never let each other walk alone through whatever life threw at us, again.

 Slowly, we undressed each other.  It felt familiar, yet new.  My pulse throbbed with the repeating mantra in my brain: we’re married, now.  This is my wife.  I’d never thought it was that important before; never thought that I was that sentimental, that a piece of paper from the state and a recitation and a ceremony that couple after couple had gone through, successfully or to end in bitterness, countless times over the centuries, would really be different from what we’d sworn to each other in private.  But it was real, now; it had weight, and depth, and meaning.  

  Delphine.  My love.

 In all the surprises I had had in my lifetime, that we had had, together, it was not the most dramatic: that making love with her, the feeling of her pulse and heat in my palm, the clasping of the inside of her body around my fingers pulling me into her with an involuntary force as true as her soul had pulled mine to hers through every obstacle, was different, now, somehow new, because we made it so by fully giving ourselves over to it; that when she brought me over the edge of reason with her mouth describing hot, pulsating patterns at the apex of my pleasure and convergence of my thighs, it was not just the flooding-nerve release it always was, plus the sweet tinge of love that turned the physical act a warmer shade of emotion; but that something within the chemistry of us had been forever altered and bonded by taking that leap, by promising: forever.

 It was not the most dramatic surprise, but it was the greatest.

 So far.  So far.

 *

Love Poem, by Audre Lorde

 Speak earth and bless me

with what is richest

make sky flow honey out of my hips

rigid as mountains

spread over a valley

carved out by the mouth of rain

 And I knew when I entered her        I was

high wind in her forest’s hollow

fingers whispering sound

honey flowed     from the split cut

impaled on a lance of tongues

on the tips of her breasts       on her navel

and my breath       howling into her entrances

through lungs of pain.

 Greedy as herring-gulls

or a child

I swing out over      the earth

over and over      again.

[chikkachu]

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Prompt: Does he know about the baby?

Summary: Lucy arrives home, relieved to see the house survived a day of Natsu looking after the kids. NaLu Fluff ficlet.

A/N: Oh yes, Natsu knows about his babies. Anon ff.net request. 

Super NaLu fluff which is the result of writing and listening to Disney Love songs. And once again I fell in love with Natsu (but Papa Natsu this time). I’m not sure if I like how this turned out but I hope you all like it! Happy new year everyone!  

Songspiration:

If I Never Knew You - Jon Secada & Shanice (reminds me of Natsu and Lucy so much)

You’ll Be In My Heart – Phil Collins

-x-

Peace is the beauty of life. It is sunshine. It is the smile of a child, the love of a mother, the joy of a father, the togetherness of a family. It is the advancement of man, the victory of a just cause, the triumph of truth. - Menachem Begin

Raucous children, a plethora of toys and food scattered over the living room is what she expected. Entering the front door, the silence was suspicious at first. The Dragneel family was not a quiet one, being full of life and laughter, contributing to a chaotic mess most days. However, they were worth the trauma her feet experienced every time she stepped on a lego. And being the target of various pranks and mischief.  Smiling, warmth spread across her chest as she witnessed the scene on their plush couch. Her husband sound asleep with Nashi tucked under his left arm, Akira their infant son sprawled over his chest, and Ember their youngest daughter on his right. Despite his shortcomings, Natsu was an amazing father. The children anticipated his return when he was on a quest, smothering him with hugs and kisses when he was at home. In that regard, Lucy couldn’t ask for a better partner, Natsu proved to be a doting parent. Spoiling them rotten with play time and love, not surprising considering her husband was a child at heart. Even the children at the guild couldn’t wait to see uncle Natsu.

She remembered the look of adoration on the slayer’s face when he held Nashi for the first time. Emotion ran high that day, two orphans coming to terms with having a family again. A little person who was the culmination of their love, so small and yet so perfect. Nashi’s birth made them whole again, with new life came a bright new future. Often, she caught Natsu rocking their babies, staring in wonder as they grasped his battle worn finger in a tiny fist.  Sometimes she would hear a low growl-like purr coming from the nursery, later she discovered Igneel did the same for Natsu. A lullaby dragons hummed for their hatchlings.

Forest green irises slowly opened, dimples forming as he smiled brightly.

“Welcome home”

“I’m home” Lucy whispered, the simple exchange meaning the world. It was verbal proof every day of beating the odds, lucky Lucy Heartfilia indeed. Her mother had taught her to believe in the stars, to trust in their guidance and leave her dreams and wishes with the heavens. Hindsight said meeting Natsu in Hargeon was serendipity, a work of fate. Nights sitting cuddled up to her mother on the couch were memories she treasured. Listening to stories about handsome princes whisking princesses off their feet. Natsu wasn’t prince charming but he was her hero. What more could a girl ask for? Natsu was a man who would take on the world for her. Whom cuddled his children tightly, tucking them into bed with a tender kiss on the forehead. A scene that made her teary every time, even without pregnancy hormones.

Picking up Ember carefully, Lucy joined her family. Leaning over she sweetly brushed her lips to over his, laying her head on his shoulder. Natsu wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his mouth resting against her forehead.

“Does Mama need cuddles from Papa too?”

“Shut up.” The remark earned him a swift jab to the ribs.

“Ow, you’re so violent” Lucy couldn’t stop her laugh, feeling his lips pulled up in a smile.

“Says the Salamander, Fairy Tails one man demolition expert.”

“Who also specialises in Lucy Lovin’.”  A comeback that had her choking back a full-blown laugh. He lightly bit her nose, peppering kisses upwards to her brow.

“Lame.”  Insults woven with affection were a normal spirited exchange, sometimes leading to other playful activities. Right here, right now, she wanted to surround herself in his warmth. Without Natsu, she didn’t even want to think about how her life would be. She had only gone one year without him since they met in Hargeon. It wasn’t something she wanted to repeat, he enriched her life and in his absence, she felt like half a person.

Natsu didn’t like talking about that year, whenever it was brought up he held her tighter. Lucy knew he had felt her absence even with Happy by his side. Nothing was the same without Natsu, not even Fairy Tail. And it had crossed her mind to join up with the other guild members. Denial was her main defence over the pathetic truth, her heart was pining after her pink haired partner. The past should stay in the past, it wasn’t relevant anymore. Not with three children to look after, neither were going to ruin their hard-earned happiness.

Smoothing her hand over Aki’s soft tuft of Sakura hair, a duplicate of his father. At just over a month old he was a sweetheart, always smiling, his fiery spirit already shining in liquid amber irises. Seeing Natsu cradling their babies, was in direct contrast to the explosive power wielded by the same hands. Gentle and compassionate, fatherhood allowed her to access to an entirely new side of him. Not to say Natsu didn’t take care of her before the children. She wanted for nothing since the moment she moved in. Natsu and Happy kept the larder full and the house warm. Lucy kept them fed and the house hospitable. A perfect team, nothing had changed.  

“I love you Natsu. Thank you,” Lucy whispered. Emotions momentarily compelling her to speak, clogging her throat “for everything.”

It wasn’t said all the time, Natsu was an ‘actions speak louder than words’ man. Language held a lot of power, Lucy knew this as a writer. In the right situation, they complemented actions beautifully with truth.

I love you.

Thank you.

A prayer for guidance from the heavens, and spirits watching after them. The one magic living in their hearts.

“There would be no point if I lost sight of you.” His fingers stroking her cheek paused “That’s all there is to it.” Natsu’s words always hit the mark, shaking her to the core. It made her jealous. How he could be unashamedly honest and expressive. Lucy knew of her weakness to Natsu’s voice, its effect instantaneous. She was a blubbering mess.

“I love you so much…”

“Luce, I’m starting to get a little freaked out” His panicked whisper changing her mood once again. Another reason she fell in for him. Natsu loved with his entire being. Passion in every word and action. Lucy giggled pulling him into a kiss, her hairs standing to attention at his intensity.

Pulling away, she laughed at his dumbfounded look.

“That’s your own fault.”

“How’s it my fault that you’re weird?”

“I’m going to smack you”

“Resorting to violence again? You’re not setting a good...ouch! That’s attached ya know!”