#it's pretty clear he came into the marriage with far less than her and he technically eould have left his career for her

[mollysunder]

Imagine a universe where Anakin reveals his secret marriage to Padme to the Jedi and leaves the Order to be with her. In a scenario where things just don't work out (a lot's still riding against them) and they get divorced, would Anakin be entitled to alimony payments and child support?

He didn't come into the marriage with any money or assets because he was born enslaved, and as a Jedi, he was encouraged to own little. Padme was a literal queen who served two terms on Naboo and then became an influential senator on Coruscant, so she has a pension somewhere. Any divorce lawyer would point out that Anakin's standard of living was hyper elevated by his marriage to Padme, and he would be entitled to spousal support because the divorce has created a gap in his financial support.

None of this is meant to be pointed, I just like the idea of occasional awkward conversations between Anakin and Padme when she picks up Luke and Leia for her weekend with them to let her know the checks cleared. They were running into problems because Anakin never owned an independent bank account before.

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets - Part 1

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Freshly out of mourning, Lady Barlow, née (Y/L/N), makes her re-debut in society. If only she could simply ignore a certain viscount...

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none. enemies to lovers!!

A/N: I didn't expect this lil requested fic to turn into such an event, let alone a multi-part story! so, you're welcome or I'm sorry?

next part

__

She was perfectly happy. 

Well, supposedly right now she wasn’t. 

Her husband, Lord Barlow, had passed away ten months ago, leaving her with an empty estate, a shiny title and more money than she knew what to do with. Lord Barlow was an old viscount, desperate for an heir and willing to do anything to get one. 

In came Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Young, beautiful and well-bred, she was the perfect choice for any man of the ton. If only her father hadn’t a penchant for gambling. Perhaps she’d be married to a man more suited for her rather than the oaf of a dustbin she was forced to be with. She was no fool in believing in a love match for herself, rare and far between as they were, no, but she did have half a mind to imagine a kinder man as her husband. A man who perhaps cared even a little bit for her wellbeing. 

No matter. 

A dead man cannot care for her wellbeing either. 

“Lady Barlow,” a maid knocked, entering the ornate drawing room.

“Yes?” (Y/N) did not look up from her reading—the newest edition of Whistledown had just been delivered. While she herself was never one to gossip terribly, it was quite fun to keep up with the circus of the season. 

“Do you plan on attending the Danbury ball this eve?”

“I do not see the point,” she scoffed playfully, “after all, Meg, I am but a widow in mourning.”

“Perhaps her ladyship should reconsider?” Meg asked gently, placing a new pot of tea next to her lady. “I rather think it has been a socially acceptable amount of time since your husband’s passing.”

“If I am not to enjoy the perks of being a widow,” (Y/N) sighed, finally looking up at her favorite lady’s maid, “whatever is the point?”

“Perks that Viscount Barlow has graciously allowed you to use during your time of mourning—”

“The current viscount is all but twelve,” (Y/N) reminded. “He has no use for this estate in Mayfair until he himself becomes an adult, in which, I am sure he and his mother will come to make use of it. I believe if my maths are correct, that leaves me all of six years or so to use this home.”

“Forgive me my lady, but should you not be looking for a new husband, then?”

(Y/N) smiled at Meg. She enjoyed their friendship, her maid being only a handful of years older than herself, it made for a likely pair. “No one wishes to marry a widow,” she said simply, “widows are damaged goods. Every sensible man of the ton will be wanting a pretty little virgin instead.”

“My lady!”

“What?” She barked a laugh. “You know it to be true.”

“Regardless,” Meg said, clearing her throat. “Lord Barlow passed nearly a year ago, the period of mourning is rightfully over. You are expected to rejoin society.”

“Dreadful.”

“It is expected,” Meg repeated.

“It does not make it any less dreadful,” (Y/N) said. “Very well. Pull a dress and prepare a bath, it seems the ton gets to see my dreary face once again.”

—

Anthony Bridgerton was a man scorned. 

Particularly by his own mother in this very instance. How foolish he had been to share his intentions of marriage this season with her—for now she spread the news like a wildfire. Every desperate mama and her equally desperate daughter came flocking to him like bees to honey. 

It was only now, in the dark corner of the ballroom, that he found a respite.

“Looking a bit green, Lord Bridgerton,” a voice beside him called out. 

“I am not—” Anthony had huffed a reply before even knowing whom he was speaking to. “Lady Barlow.”

“I am shocked you can recall my name,” (Y/N) laughed over her champagne flute. “Considering how many new ones you’ve had thrown at you this eve.”

“You are out of mourning.”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an observation,” Anthony corrected.

“What gave it away? My bright dress? No tear stains left on my cheeks?”

“You are here, out and about,” Anthony said. “And, forgive me for not playing along with your delusions, but I do not think you cried much at all for Lord Barlow’s passing.”

“How dare you assume such a thing,” (Y/N) faux gasped. She had intended on pressing a hand to her chest. Intended, anyway. Somehow she forgot all about the champagne currently residing it her grasp. “Damn… this was a new dress too.”

“Good God,” he laughed. “First you are spilling all over yourself like a child and now you are cursing—tell me, do all married ladies act like you?”

“I am a widow,” (Y/N) had found a cloth and begun dabbing up the spill. It had only dribbled at most, but still, it was a new dress. “I rather think I can act the way I please.”

“Like a drunkard?”

“Like a free woman,” she said, fighting every childish urge to stick her tongue out at the viscount. “I am only here to show my face, prove I am still alive and I shall go about my merry way.”

“Lady Danbury is a widow,” Anthony noted. “Yet she still mingles with society.”

“I am not Lady Danbury.”

“You are not.”

“Do you not have young misses to go and woo?” (Y/N)’s eyes hardened. “Take your pick from the litter, Lord Bridgerton, any of them would be pleased to spend such valuable time with you.”

“Are you insinuating you are not?”

“I rather thought it was a statement, yes,” (Y/N) said.

Anthony’s eyes went only a fraction wider, nostrils flaring. “Well, if that is what you wish—”

“It is not a mean of wishing,” she laughed, “but really a necessity.”

“Good evening, Lady Barlow,” Anthony sneered, smoke practically coming out of his ears. If (Y/N) had half a mind she’d call for the authorities to put that fire out, instead, she simply finished her drink and smiled wistfully at the dancing ballroom, feeling fulfilled. 

—

Dearest Gentle Reader,

The season is in full swing thanks to the mark of Lady Agatha Danbury’s ball, a notable and traditional first event of the London scene. Eligible young ladies now on the Marriage Mart were enjoying their first taste at what fine society has to offer, however taxing or daunting it may be. 

Our resident Capital ‘R’ Rake, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is finally deciding on a wife, surely making him the finest catch of the season. Matchmaking mamas and their young ladies alike were seen flocking to him like petulant children asking their parents for pin money, thanks to his own mother, Lady Bridgerton’s declaration of such an idea last night. The viscount seemingly had enough of the attention, taking like a wallflower and hiding away in the back of the ballroom near the end of the evening. 

His company? None other than Lady Barlow, evidently out of mourning as of last night. While the this Author is under good authority that the match between Lady Barlow and the late Lord Barlow was not a love match, given their fourty or fifty year age difference, it has taken the new dowager viscountess longer than most anticipated for her to get back into the season. A woman as young as Lady Barlow would be eager to find another husband to support her, but something tells me that she is quite enjoying her time as a widow and will not easily give that up. 

While this Author has very little idea of the actual nature of the relationship between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Barlow, it is only to be assumed that it is simply not a favorable one. The two were seen making a scene by the refreshment table, a scene that went unnoticed by many prying eyes of the ton, leaving Lord Bridgerton storming away and Lady Barlow with the winning hand. 

Good show, Lady Barlow. 

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

—

“Brother! You are in Whistledown!” Eloise sang to no one in particular. 

“I have no care that I am in that gossip rag,” Anthony ground out, rustling his newspaper. “I can only imagine it is just another advertisement of my search for a wife this season.”

“Er, yes, however—”

“However?” Anthony’s attention immediately shot up to his sister, newspaper be damned. 

“Who is Lady Barlow?” Eloise asked. 

“No one of importance,” Anthony could feel his temperature rising. 

“Lady Barlow?” Benedict laughed. “Is that who you were talking to last night dear Brother? Is she not still in mourning?”

“No.”

“No it is not who you were talking to, or no she is not still in mourning?” Benedict gave his brother an amusing glance.

“Oh, according to Whistledown—”

“Sister—”

“Eloise, you may not recall Lady Barlow, given you only just came out this season,” Benedict began, deciding that this conversation was very much worth his time this morning. “But she used to go by Miss (Y/L/N) before her marriage to the late viscount.”

“(Y/L/N)…” Eloise looked to the ceiling, finding nothing in particular. “Oh! Is she not the woman who—”

“I am taking my leave,” Anthony said abruptly, newspaper all but forgotten. 

“Escaping, Brother?” Benedict asked. 

“I have calls to make,” Anthony sneered, ignoring the pleased face his brother was making. “Excuse me.”

“It seems Lady Barlow is a touchy subject,” Eloise noted as her eldest brother left the drawing room. Benedict snorted. “What?”

“You do not even know the half of it, dear Sister.”

Anthony Bridgerton, did not in fact, have any calls to make. He had no impressionable interactions last night to warrant such a visit to anyone—the Queen was still in need of naming her diamond, after all—but he had no desire to stay and be berated by his family this morning. He truly had no plan, no thought in his head on where he was going, he just simply was. 

Apparently he was going to the park.

It was still early in the day, few people graced the park at such an hour. The few who did, however, were too busy reading the latest Whistledown to even notice him. Anthony saw a handful of post boys running opposite of his direction on his way here, it was only natural they scoped out this location. He knew it was going to be a problem the minute they finished reading—if Lady Whistledown truly wrote about him, which he had no reason to believe his sister was lying about, all eyes would be on him.

“Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now,” Anthony exhaled. He took a quick glance at his watch—half past eight. Hardly could he recall a time he took a turn about the park on his own, usually he was in the company of his family or holed away in his study worrying about expenses and the like, never did he take a moment to actually enjoy the grand weather such as the kind today. Determined to enjoy it, he sat down on a favorable bench and watched the birds swim across the pond.

“Unbelievable.”

He turned his head, only to find Lady Barlow dressed in a rather pleasantly pink dress and matching hat, a look of distaste on her face.

“I didn’t take you as the park-going type, Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded, folding her hands. She had been carrying a small red book in one of them. “Especially at such an early hour, too.”

“Lady Barlow,” he nearly sneered. “Can a man not enjoy the park?”

“Oh surely a man can,” (Y/N) agreed. “But you? You are no man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It seems to me that you’re sitting in my spot,” she ignored his quip, readjusting her stance in annoyance. “This is where I come to read.”

“Can you not read elsewhere?” Anthony asked. “There is an entire park at your disposal.”

“No,” she hummed. “Afraid not.”

“No?” He laughed. “Surely out of the entire park you can find a suitable spot to read your—let me guess—romantically inclined fodder?”

“Poetry,” she corrected, “and no, I cannot simply read elsewhere. The shade is just right under this tree and I rather like overlooking the pond between my chapters.”

“Shame I got here first, then,” Anthony clicked.

“You…!” (Y/N) scoffed, fighting every urge in her body to stomp her foot. “You are an impossible man, surely you know that?”

“I thought you said I was no man?” Anthony’s brow quirked. “Or perhaps I misheard?”

She scowled. “You are not amusing.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms and taking his claim. “I find myself very amusing.”

A duck quacked from the pond, either laughing at the viscount or agreeing with him—it was hard to tell. 

“You leave me no choice,” (Y/N) said sternly, taking a seat on the other end of the bench—feeling worlds apart from the man on the far side. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than two feet, three at most.

“Truly?” Anthony laughed humorlessly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Hush,” (Y/N) said, opening her book in earnest. “I am trying to read.”

While there had been no guns drawn, this was a duel, in every sense of the word. Both parties sitting still as statues, Anthony’s gaze trained on the pond, (Y/N)’s on her book. Occasionally, she’d flip her page to the next, huffing every time Anthony still did not get up and move on. 

Stubborn. Both of them.

“Will you be quiet?” Anthony said, growing exasperated. “I cannot think when you are breathing so loud—” 

“You wish for me not to breathe?” She shut her book. “I never anticipated you’d wish me dead—”

“Please,” Anthony said. “You know that is not what I mean at all.”

“I never know with you. You, Anthony Bridgerton, are an enigma and I hope I never have the pleasure of truly understanding you,” (Y/N) said, fingers whiting from her grip on her book.

“So you admit it would be pleasurable?”

She wanted to wipe that grin off of his face, how, she was unsure. Idly, she thought about how a good smack to his cheek would feel. Painful in the moment but oh-so wonderful after, cathartic, probably. “I am not getting up.”

“Neither am I.”

“I am willing to die on this bench,” (Y/N) spat.

“Funnily enough,” Anthony’s voice dropped, “so am I.”

“How are you to find your viscountess on this bench?” She asked, angling her body towards the torturous man. “Surely you do not expect her to just walk past?”

“I am sure I can manage,” Anthony said calmly. “Many young ladies will walk this way when they see me sitting here."

“Even with another woman sitting beside you?”

“I rather think they’ll find you easy to ignore, I know I do.”

“Ha! You are truly something else, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) sat straighter. “Insulting a polite woman in public?”

“You are the furthest thing from polite,” Anthony leaned in. “Rude, ostentatious, quite full of herself—”

“Might I offer you a mirror?” The grip on her book tightened, cover bending from the force. “Or are you afraid you’ll see horns?”

“Oh, do they match yours?” He nearly sang. 

“Funny,” she clicked, finally setting her book down, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You should run a comedy act at the circus, seeing as you are a right clown.”

Anthony stood up, whether by the force of his breath or sheer spite he will never know. “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

(Y/N) met his height, now standing as well. “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I am going to walk this way,” Anthony said, forcefully pointing to his right, eyes not leaving hers. She did have the most remarkable eyes.

“And I will walk this way,” she pointed to her left, less force in her action but seething all the same. “Have the day you deserve, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Why you little…!”

She had already turned and stomped away, a fuming smudge of pink against the greenery of the park, growing further away with every step.

“What a wretched woman,” he mumbled, looking down at his watch again—nine on-the-dot. In the corner of his eye, something bright red caught his attention. Her book. She had left it behind.

Perhaps he would burn it.

Perhaps he would just put it in his pocket and carry about his day.

In the pocket it went. For now.

[promptthebear]

Kissmas Day 6

Prompt: A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

Pairing: Edmund x Reader

A/N: Finally, finally this one is done! Apparently I can't write any Narnia fic without going way overboard. Also be forewarned this one is a little spicy, but still PG-13/T so it keeps within my boundaries for this series. If you want to know how explicit I'm willing to get for Narnia characters specifically this is a pretty good benchmark. Anyway, enjoy!

When Edmund invited you to spar with him, you were immediately suspicious.

“Why on earth would I need to learn swordplay?” you asked, standing up on your tiptoes and gently pressing your lips to his “I’ve got the best swordsman in Narnia to look after me”

A blush rose across Edmund’s cheeks, a pretty red canvas for those freckles he never quite outgrew. You resisted the urge to grab hold of his face and cover it with kisses, putting your own mark between the constellations already dappling his skin.

“You’re very sweet,” your betrothed replied, glancing quickly at Abelia, the grumpy she-badger who was serving as your chaperone, before sliding his arms around your waist “And very right. But what if there comes a time when I’m not around?”

“Then I’ll just go find Peter,” you said, chuckling at the way Edmund’s nose scrunched in annoyance “Even if he’s only second best, he can at least provide a nice diversion while I make my escape”

The smack of his hand against your arse came so quickly, there was little chance of Abelia noticing. A sidelong glance at the talking badger confirmed this fact. She hadn’t even so much as looked up from her drop spindle, far more concerned with crafting an even thread than minding the two of you.

Emboldened, Edmund ducked his head and stole another kiss. This was far less chaste than the one you had given him moments before, threading his fingers through your hair to deepen it and brushing his tongue over the seam of your lips.

You tried to muffle a moan and almost failed. It was all you could do to keep upright as Edmund continued to lavish your mouth with affection, going as far as to tug at your bottom lip with his teeth before breaking the kiss and gently tilting your head to the side so he could whisper in your ear.

“Listen here cheeky girl,” he kept his voice soft, but there was a stern edge to it that nearly had you squirming “I’ve booked the training pitch for us, and I’ve been promised we’ll have at least an hour alone. No Abelia, no Tumnus. All you have to do is meet me there tomorrow, okay?

You looked up at Edmund with wide, hopeful eyes. Alone? The promise hung between you, almost like a magic spell. It sounded too good to be true.

You’d known Edmund since he’d first came to Narnia, when he was ten and you were eight. You’d loved each other in the way only children can, squabbling over card games and rounds of chess, falling asleep together by the fireside after reading on long winter nights.

At sixteen and fourteen, you’d been betrothed. Since then you could count on one hand the number of times you’d been alone, as though you hadn’t been playing at kissing and going for twilight swims only a few years before.

Reputation didn’t matter so much to Edmund’s siblings, you had been around so long they already considered you part of the family, marriage or not. Your family, on the other hand, was a different story. You were their only daughter, and being such a small household from Archenland, there was a lot riding on this marriage. So until the day of the wedding, you had to keep up appearances.

The sound of Abelia clearing her throat shook you from your reminiscing. You glanced over at the she-badger, who had set aside her drop spindle and was now making a “move apart” gesture with her claws. With a sigh, you did as you were asked, pausing to give Edmund one last kiss on the cheek before turning and gesturing to the nearby couch.

“Shall we sit? Perhaps play a game?”

Edmund nodded, bringing up a hand and running a finger nervously under his collar before he sat next to you. It was hard to tell in the rosy glow of the firelight whether or not his blush had gotten deeper, though you could certainly feel a kind of flame on your own cheeks.

Satisfied that her charges were once again behaving themselves, Abeila took up her spindle and began to wind the thread with practised ease.

“Only half an hour longer, my lady,” she warned, her voice growly by nature rather than intent “Your lady mother wants to sup with you this evening.”

“Yes Abelia.”

Under the table, you could feel Edmund’s hand brush your knee as you began setting up the board for checkers. You glanced over, and were pleased to see the usual mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Tomorrow” he whispered, giving you a small smile, which you returned.

Tomorrow.

***

It was high noon by the time you set off towards the training pitch. The sun was at its zenith, shining brightly over a cold, clear day. There was not a cloud in the sky, save for the ones made by your breath as you walked.

Even dressed in layers as you were, you still felt exposed. You’d borrowed a set of training garb from Lucy, which consisted of a linen shirt, leather jerkin and matching trousers. While you appreciated her generosity, they were a far cry from your usual gowns and petticoats.

You were well aware of the fact that the outline of your legs, thighs, and hips were all prominently on display in the snug breeches. Already, you’d garnered some stares from passing stable boys and squires going about their daily chores. The feeling of their eyes on you sent an anticipatory thrill down your spine. Whether Edmund had asked you to dress this way for function or his own benefit, you couldn’t say, but you were certainly eager to find out.

The training grounds were, surprisingly, empty when you arrived. Save for a few sparrows pecking about the grass, there was not another living soul to be seen. You stood on the dirt track circling the field, listening to the wind buffet the trees and the occasional birdsong while you nibbled at your bottom lip.

Surely you had heard Edmund correctly? The training pitch, tomorrow. That’s what he had said, you were certain of it. And yet here you were, without any sign of Edmund. Perhaps he had been called away and hadn’t had a chance to send notice. Or maybe Abelia or Tumnus had caught him trying to sneak off and he was attempting to explain himself without drawing suspicion to you. Or perhaps Peter had needed him to-

“First rule of sword fighting. Always be aware of your surroundings.”

Your shriek rang out, high and sudden, scaring the nearby sparrows into flight. How Edmund had managed to sneak up on you, in full plate armour no less, would forever remain a mystery. Solving said mystery, however, was far less of a concern to you than trying to connect the toe of your boot to Edmund’s shins.

“What’s the matter with you?! You scared the living daylights out of me!”

Edmund didn’t seem the least bit concerned by your admonishing, laughing and dancing away from your volley of kicks with an easy confidence. His bright eyes and wide smile made you forgive him almost instantly, letting yourself be caught when he reached to put his hands about your waist.

You stood on tiptoe and kissed him, open mouthed and unashamed. Edmund responded in kind, allowing his hands to freely roam along your body now that you were no longer under Abelia’s watchful eye.

The thick metal of his armour made it difficult for you to do the same, so you chose instead to use one hand to cradle his jaw while you brought the other up to twine in his hair. You could taste the tea he’d recently drunk on his breath, a blend of cinnamon, cardamom and ginger from Calmore you knew he favoured. A soft moan escaped your lips as Edmund grabbed a handful of your bottom, squeezing it none too gently. You pressed your body against his, hoping he could feel your warmth and eagerness through his armour, silently imploring for more.

When Edmund finally broke the kiss, you whined, which made him laugh again. You watched as he gathered up a pair of swords from the grass nearby, more than a little confused. Initially, you assumed that the remark about him teaching you swordplay was nothing more than a ruse, to mask his true plan from Abelia and anyone else who may question your intentions for that afternoon. Did he truly wish to put a sword in your hand?

“Come on, you needy thing” he said as he tossed a sword to you, hilt end down. You managed to catch it, albeit a little clumsily “I said I was going to teach you how to fight, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word”

The sword felt strange in your hand, and you held it at length from your body as though you were afraid of what would happen if you brought it too close. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your arm from trembling slightly, which almost ousted the weapon from your grasp.

Edmund watched you for a moment, before finally driving the tip of his own sword into the dirt and closing the distance between you two.

“Second rule of sword fighting,” he announced, his voice cheerful and relaxed “Know how to hold your weapon properly”

He reached out and closed his hand around your own. Despite his armour, he had opted not to wear gloves, and you could feel the callouses on his fingers as he began to adjust your grip. You stood, entranced, while he guided you into a more natural stance, his touch leaving a trail of tingling warmth each time it came in contact with your hand or arm. When he was satisfied with your position, he stepped back and went to retrieve his own weapon.

“Alright. Now, I want you to try and hit me.”

Your astonished expression made Edmund grin in spite of himself. Had he made that suggestion to his sisters or Peter, they would’ve knocked him flat without a second thought. You were far too sweet for your own good.

“It’s alright darling. They’re only tourney swords, watch.”

To prove his point, Edmund ran the index finger of his other hand along the blade’s edge. You watched, waiting for blood to appear, but let out a sigh of relief when none followed. As Edmund had said, the blades had been blunted for practice or sport.

“See? You wouldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to. Well, I suppose you could, if you smacked me with the hilt. But please don’t. My face is the only asset I’ve got”

You laughed, the action pulling some tension from your body. Edmund smiled encouragingly, before bringing up his sword and crooking the fingers of his other hand.

“Come on then. Or are you just going to stand about admiring me all day?”

With another laugh, you took a couple cautious steps forward. Edmund watched your feet with the trained eyes of a practised fighter, but otherwise didn’t move. A few more steps and the space between you two had shrunk to little more than an arm’s length. You stared at your betrothed for a moment, once again giving him the chance to change his mind.

When no protest came, you thrust your sword forward, aiming to hit the side of Edmund’s shoulder. It was a clumsy attempt, without enough force behind it to make for a decent strike, and Edmund sidestepped it easily. You expected him to come dancing around your other side, grinning like a fool and taunting you into having another go, when you felt the flat of a blade smack across your ass.

You whirled, gasping in both surprise and affront. Edmund was roaring with laughter, nearly doubled over with the force of it. You couldn’t help but pout a little, feeling betrayed.

“Oh god, I’m sorry dearest” he said, still a little breathless “That wasn’t very sporting of me, but I couldn’t help it. Here, let’s try again, only this time I want you to put more weight on your front foot and really extend your arm. Then you’ll have better balance and a more fluid thrust, alright?”

You nodded, doing as instructed while Edmund returned to his spot in front of you. As he said, the motion was smoother and your feet felt surer beneath you as you pushed forward. Once again, you tried to strike Edmund’s shoulder, figuring that was a safe choice lest you miss your target.

This time, you managed to glance the blade off Edmund’s arm before he darted away. He let out a playful whoop, before disappearing again behind your back. You turned as quickly as you could manage, knowing he was going to try and spank you again, but Edmund was quicker. The flat of his sword struck your ass with a sharp, stinging blow. You grit your teeth, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of hearing you cry out, and spun around to face him again.

Edmund’s grin, large and knowing, was the first thing you saw after turning. It was all you could do not to toss aside your sword and wipe the smug look off his face with the palm of your hand. It reminded you of your summers as teenagers and all the times he ducked you in the river, before finally apologizing and pulling you in for a burning kiss while you’d clutched at his bare arms.

The memory made you shiver, and you wondered if perhaps this was the same sort of game. Your betrothed's face gave nothing away, whatever he was scheming was staying locked away behind that infuriating smile.

“Giving up already, are you?”

Taking a deep breath, you brought the tip of the sword up once more and pointed it directly at Edmund’s chest.

“Not a chance, your highness.”

With that, you rushed at Edmund, throwing sportsmanship to the wind and hoping you could surprise him before he was ready. For a moment, he appeared genuinely taken off guard, and you relished the way his eyes widened as you swung your sword through the air. However, a well timed feint from an amateur was no match for the best swordsman in Narnia.

The resulting vibration of Edmund’s sword clashing with yours made your teeth knock together and seemed to shake the breath from your lungs. You clutched at your aching wrist, and doubled over to kneel in the dampened grass. Your sword fell from your loosened grip, now useless and forgotten on the ground.

Immediately, Edmund was crouched beside you, having tossed aside his own weapon the moment he saw you go down.

“Oh god, sweetheart, are you alright? I’m so sorry, did I hit you too hard?”

You sat, your face protected in the cradle of your arms and knees, refusing to look Edmund in the eye. When he reached out a hand and placed it on your shoulder, you pulled away.

“Darling?” his voice dropped low, into that special, soft tone he only used for you “Darling, look at me, please.”

Even when he said your name, you didn’t look up. You waited, trying to keep your breathing even. Inside your mind, you began to count.

Three…

Edmund moved even closer. You could feel his breath by your temple, his face only a few inches from yours.

Two…

He said your name again, but to no avail. This time, when he placed his hand on your arm, you didn’t move.

One…

The look of shock on Edmund’s face as you leapt and tackled him into the grass was one you were going to savour. Within seconds, the two of you were tussling atop each other like puppies, the world lost in a whirl of limbs and giggling.

You had the advantage, but Edmund was faster and stronger. It wasn’t long before he had you pinned beneath him, his face hovering just above yours and his arms forming a cage on either side of your head. Your legs were tangled together, one of Edmund’s knees trapped between yours, and your feet seeming to go every which way.

“You little minx” he panted, your mouths so close the two of you were almost sharing breaths “I was scared I’d really hurt you.”

“Will you forgive me if I yield?”

Edmund studied your face, the put upon pout, your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes shone with mirth, and felt what little resolve he had crumble.

“Of course. How could I stay mad at you?”

By way of apology, you reached up and pulled Edmund’s head down into a bruising kiss. He moaned, softly, before working your mouth open with his tongue, which you received without protest. Your bodies were flush together, the metal of his armour searing cold against your skin. You were about to offer to help him remove his chest plate, when your hips jerked up instinctively, knocking into Edmund’s and revealing the hardness in the front of his breeches as they brushed together.

Embarrassed, you broke the kiss and hid your face away in the side of his neck. The two of you had had many firsts together, but nothing that had ever gone below your waistlines. Edmund chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring in your ear.

“Hey, it’s alright. Don’t worry about that, okay? I just want to focus on kissing and touching you. It’s all I’ve been able to think about lately, you’ve practically driven me to distraction.”

You looked up at your betrothed, who’s cheeks were equally as flushed and eyes equally as bright as your own. You thought about the first time he’d kissed you, beneath an apple tree in the orchard. You’d been scared then, and embarrassed too, but Edmund had guided you through it with as much patience and gentleness as anyone could have asked for. Since then, you knew you’d always be safe with him.

“Alright, I suppose I’ve caused you enough suffering for one day.”

Edmund laughed again, before bringing his mouth down to kiss your neck. You moaned, tilting your head to the side to give him better access, and this time when your hips bucked upwards, you didn’t feel as ashamed. It wasn’t long before he was tugging at your collar, trying to gain access to the tops of your breasts.

You slipped a hand between your bodies, doing the best you could to open the laces on your shirtfront despite the awkward angle. That was all the invitation Edmund needed. He began a trail of heated, open mouthed kisses along your collarbones, each one leaving a faint red mark in their wake. Your body felt as though it was on fire, pleasure and want coiling deep in your stomach.

Every sense you had was filled with Edmund, his smell, his taste, the feeling of his lips and fingers exploring your exposed torso. He touched you as though you were something precious, his personal goddess of love and beauty laid almost bear beneath him. You moaned his name over and over, like a prayer, begging your most devoted follower to offer all he had in the worship of your body and soul.

Edmund…Edmund…

“Edmund!”

The two of you split apart as though you had just been burned, Edmund scrambling to his feet while you hurriedly tried to arrange your shirtfront back into place. Above you stood Peter, every inch a High King with his face like thunder and the afternoon sunlight glinting off the peaks of his golden crown.

You kept your eyes trained to the ground, studying where the grass had been trampled0 beneath your footsteps earlier on. Any explanation for this was going to have to come from Edmund, your tongue had left you to fend for yourself and you wanted nothing more than for the training pitch to open up and swallow you up.

“Peter…I…we-” Edmund’s voice was shaky, sounding more like a little boy who’d been caught nicking sweets than a grown man of one and twenty.

“I have been looking for you. Everywhere.” Peter’s tone was even, but there was a biting inflection to each word that made you wince “The council. Has been looking for you.”

Edmund’s cheeks went from flushed to pale so quickly, you were afraid he might swoon.

“Oh God. The foreign policy meeting. Was that today?”

“Yes, Ed! It was hours ago, or would’ve been if you’d actually bothered to show up. I had a room of dignitaries and house representatives, some of them all the was from Calmoren, looking at me like I was the biggest fool ever to walk the face of the Earth, and asking where you were. As if I had any bloody idea!”

Peter’s shouts rang out through the air, clear and dripping with every ounce of disappointment the young king could muster. While his ire was directly entirely at Edmund, you couldn’t help the cold shock of guilt that was now settling in your stomach. Edmund had been distracted lately because of you, he’d even said so himself.

“I’m sorry!” you cried out suddenly, rising to your feet so you could take hold of Edmund’s hand “It’s my fault. He wanted to come and see me, that’s why he missed the meeting. I’m so sorry Pe- Your Highness.”

There was little change to Peter’s expression, saved for a single raised brow. However, his eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly as he looked you over, taking in your mussed shirt and hair, and the way you were clinging to Edmund’s arm.

“Who’s idea was it to come out here?”

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance, but said not a word.

Peter let out a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his boots, before trying again.

“Tell me. Whose idea was it?”

“Mine.” Edmund interjected, before you could even open your mouth in his defence “I said we were going to have sparring practice”

It was all Peter could do not to roll his eyes.

“Wonderful. Then you can be the one to explain to the council why the meeting was moved to next week.”

Any glib comment Edmund might have made in reply was silenced as Peter grabbed his brother by the collar, and proceeded to drag him off by the scruff like a misbehaving puppy. You watched as Edmund was frogmarched across the training pitch, Peter half carrying him as though Edmund wasn’t at least a good foot taller and wearing full plate armour. The look on the High King’s face told you that this was something he’d had more practice doing than he probably liked.

They were about halfway across the field when Edmund finally wrenched himself free from Peter’s grasp, which in turn caused some sort of argument to break out. You were too far away to hear clearly, but you caught a snippet or two, mostly Peter’s exasperated baritone saying something about “the wedding is in a month, just wait, would you?”

He punctuated that statement by cuffing Edmund around the ear, and though the younger man yelped in protest, he didn’t return the blow. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, imagining that this was also most likely a scene that had frequently played out in Edmund’s life. He seemed to forgive Peter quickly, however, since he didn’t pull away when Peter then slung an arm across his shoulders.

Before long, the two of them were approaching the cluster of trees just before the path that would lead back to the castle courtyard. Just before they disappeared from view, Edmund turned back to face you, brought a hand to his mouth and mimed tossing a kiss to where you were waiting. You laughed, delighted, and returned your own volley of kisses, which Edmund then pretended to store in his pockets for later.

Edmund was a lot of things. Stubborn. Sarcastic, and well acquainted with a healthy sense of mischief. But in spite of all that, at least he was never boring.

[bestworstcase]

Wait, I'm confused. You've said before that Oz's task is inherently violent, and this was something Salem tried to communicate to Oz. After all, the closest Oz has gotten to completing it was via the great war, the bloodiest war in history.

Why would Oz's curse punish him for doing something required of him? Salem says to unite they world they must "Spread our word, and destroy those who will deny it." This is Lights own belief system, demonstrated repeatedly. And the reflection of Oz's host says "What are we doing?" And afterwards he says, "This isn't what He asked of me."

Oz at the very least seems to think that Light DOESN'T want violent subjugation so that they follow the Gods, but it's pretty clear Light does want that. And if his curse follows the punishment system as you said, he would've been punished far earlier.

And yes, it punishes him for questioning Light. But again "This isn't what he asked of me." Implies he doesn't think Light wants violence or that his task requires it (something he later learns does).

Either his curse doesn't have that punishment system, or it follows what Oz firmly and genuinely believes Light wants.

Sorry if anything sounds rude but I don't think it really lines up? It doesn't really make sense to me. Plus Oz coming back to his task again and again can easily be explained as, well, his task is really the only reason he's still around, his mere existence is a reminder. Sure he came back for Salem, but the only reason Light cursed him was so he could fulfill Lights task.

I do agree with everything else though, like his curse basically being anti-Ascension.

his task is innately and inescapably genocidal, yes. because you cannot unite the whole world under one creed, one religion, without genocide—and that is what the god of light commanded ozma to do; ancient humans weren’t destroyed because they fought among themselves, they were slaughtered to punish a rebellion. the redemptive project is to reunite the world in obedience to the brothers… which necessitates that anyone who refuses to bow down be killed or violently forced to convert.

the problem with what ozma and salem are doing, in the lost fable, as far as it concerns the divine mandate, is that they’re expressly pursuing in this genocidal project for the wrong religion, because ozma told salem that he wanted to “unite everybody” without telling her why, and her answer was “let’s make a paradise better than what the old gods achieved” which is the literal opposite of what the god of light told ozma to do.

what salem says—“we have to spread our word and destroy those who would deny it”—is correct in the essentials of what is necessary to achieve ozma’s stated ambition to bring humanity together under one banner. but ozma’s task is not to unite the whole world under a single creed, it’s to unite the whole world under ONE SPECIFIC creed that is diametrically opposed to everything the ozlem kingdom, founded upon salem’s revolutionary dream of a paradise free from the brothers, stood for. 

the curse is not a baby monitor light is using to eavesdrop on ozma’s thoughts. the enforcement mechanism is more or less magically-reinforced anxiety: ozma has a copy of himself in his head reflecting his own worries and self-doubt and feelings of obligation back at him constantly so he can never, ever do anything without his reflection nervously reminding him about the day of judgment he’s supposed to be preparing for. he is his own echo chamber.

gestures at ozpin’s treatment of oscar in v4. the hectoring, the guilt-tripping, the cajoling—that’s what ozma is doing to himself inside his head all the time. any time he does something he believes he isn’t supposed to, his other-self is there to tear him down. 

ozma—because he is a good person who does not want to commit genocide—really really really doesn’t want to believe that his god asked him to commit genocide. i think the closest he ever got to facing that reality was during his marriage to salem (because she was clear-eyed about what they were doing)… but he flinched away from it in the end. “are we sure this is right?” diluted into “this isn’t what he asked of me”—ozma wasn’t ready to face the moral question of “is what my god asked me to do wrong?” so he backpedaled hard and spent thousands of years telling himself “all the evil things we did were because salem led me astray with her Lies and Blasphemy”

the curse in and of itself doesn’t have an enforcement mechanism to prevent ozma’s sense of morality from influencing how he interprets his task. (light clearly sees himself as a benevolent adjudicator because he doesn’t consider humanity to be worth anything; thus it is not, in his mind, immoral for him to annihilate them, and i don’t think it would even occur to him that ozma’s own moral scruples might be an insurmountable obstacle.) but by nature of what it DOES to ozma and his hosts, it prevents him from changing—or at least makes it very, very, very difficult by taking all of his anxiety and religious fear and self-doubt and all of that and doubling it.

what it does react punitively to is ozma fighting the curse—as in, actively resisting the merge, actively trying to break himself free from the magic forcing him to subsume his host. if ozma fumbles around not making any progress for centuries because he’s trying to figure out the best way to fulfill his task, so what? the god of light doesn’t even need to be patient, he can just hang out for a couple hours in a realm where for every second a thousand years pass on remnant, and ozma’s recursive-reflection anxiety and religious faith will compel him to keep trying for however long it takes. but if ozma starts pulling against the curse, trying to break free… well THAT’S just not allowed.

the god of light promised to learn from his mistakes, after salem’s failed rebellion, and he did… he learned that leaving a human alone with their thoughts after putting them into a miserable inescapable situation will lead to them having rebellious thoughts, so he ensured that ozma would never be alone and let ozma’s psychology do the rest, plus an emergency failsafe that would come to life only if ozma ever tried to wriggle out of what he agreed to do. (not that ozma truly consented to this, but the god of light obviously doesn’t care about that. lmao)

like. the part where the curse is designed in such a way that ozma is forcibly changed (by merger with another person who doesn’t know, let alone love, salem) into a different person with a backup copy to force him to live under constant self-surveillance so he never dares change his mind or walk away from the burden forced onto his shoulders is what makes it anti-ascension—because every time he reincarnates his true self and purpose is driven down and he coerces himself into picking up the burden he Never Wanted again. you can’t have a corrupted ascension without that coercive cycle.

[ririya-translates]

Miguel

In June 2023, Ishida posted a short story about Miguel from the Jack Jeanne winter play for Fumi's birthday. The original post includes a drawing and a music link to listen to as you read. I'm still just an amateur, but I did my best to translate it to English. I also tried to maintain the poetic Twitter short story structure as much as possible. (Note that this has both plot and character spoilers about the winter play)

Miguel, as a child on the prosperous Neshiromi Farm, Lived happily outside of Havenna.

Sowing seeds in hot summers and passing time through cold winters, Bore plentiful good fruit.

2. Neshiromi fruit, with its long-protected cultivation traditions, Boasted a mellow fragrance and refreshing sweetness. When trading with merchants from the northern cities, it would sell out in less than a few days.

3. Miguel loved his work. In the village, life was too busy to even notice boredom But, in this quiet life, nothing felt missing.

One day he would inherit the family business, And be joined in marriage to the house of a daughter of a respectable family friend. It would then be his turn to pass the ancestors' traditions on to his descendants.

There was no conceivable path other than this.

4. The battle in the north continued into its 47th winter. Shadows of the flames of war extended towards Miguel's village.

Soldiers armed with bayonets arrived. The crop fields were devastated to shreds. His father, mother, and even his grandmother with a long-time leg injury, were all killed. The house was set aflame.

In the village, the ones being utterly crushed underfoot in the inferno and the screaming, Miguel turned his back on them, and fled alone.

5. He was headed for Havenna.

In that city whose name he once heard, The pleasure and the numbness, was said to make one forget everything. For Miguel, this was necessary.

He could only keep walking.

There was absolutely nothing but ruined land and yet, Like a fool, he continued

6. Upon reaching Havenna, Miguel started work in a room of the night.

As he had nothing, his only option was to sell himself.

Every night, he filled the loneliness of random strangers. As the days added up, he sensed a growing thirst inside.

In the overwhelm of his own misery, whenever he was alone, He remembered life in his hometown and cried often.

7. He wanted support from someone but, Fleeing the village alone made him ashamed of himself. Even to close friends, he was unable to open his heart.

By going to these lengths simply to gather money, He felt as if he was becoming defiled.

Gradually, this grew into a sense of punishment for his sins. He thought instead that he deserved to become defiled.

8. At this same time, a woman in a similar line of work Became friends with him. She was a liar. It was carefree and easy.

When they had free time, they would purchase it from each other. It supported him living in Havenna, however; He thought they would never be truly close.

He liked her, but all possible paths seemed to lead to ruin, So he was afraid.

9. At one point, he fell in love with his friend's friend. Despite being in Havenna, she was inexperienced and pretty.

10. Rukiora. "Farewell to the night" He thought the name quite strange, but it seemed to be her real name.

His heart was stolen by her clear singing voice. He could never say it, but he wanted her all to himself he tho-….

11. Rukiora always dreamt of a future outside of Havenna.

Outside of Havenna was beautiful, it was fun. Everything would happily exist out there for certain.

He wanted to tell her for her sake. Someday she would know the truth and he wanted to keep her from being hurt.

12. "You're wrong, Rukiora. The outside is wasteland as far as the eye can see. The rice paddies, the fields, they aren't there. I know this. It's where I came from."

13. (Neji's note/ Miguel leaves Havenna. On his departure, he tells Rukiora one final lie. He returns to his homeland and begins sowing seeds.)

[Note: Ishida says that these are his personal ideas so they aren't considered proper canon without Towada as they both created the game closely together. Towada retweeted the thread.

I also wanted to acknowledge a Japanese friend (who asked to stay anonymous) for their help.]

[maggiec70]

Antoinette Redux...

...and doubtless for far longer than I'm around.

Some time ago I replied to an earnest but largely inaccurate defense of Marie-Antoinette that bemoaned the alleged myths surrounding her. I only remembered this when someone “liked” my response, and I looked at it again. This time, I noticed the five added comments extolling Antoinette and Louis and tossing out red herrings and additional historical bloopers. More important, however, was that the original poster shut it down to any further comments. I wonder why? Disapproves of criticism? Dislikes historical accuracy when it challenges the pretty view she extolls of her historical heroine? Wants the two “fans” to have their say but no more from the nay-sayers?

I will not let this pass, petty as it may seem.  Besides, there are times that I refuse to allow crap about specific historical figures to pass unchallenged.

These are the comments posted in Antoinette’s defense. I haven’t changed a word, but I deleted the names because they are unimportant. My responses are in italics.

Commenter #1:

“There is evidence King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette gave to the poor, provided education and other needs to the poor, and that the queen took a special interest in local children in need.”

In my reblog, I described specifically how Antoinette treated the poor; this is a regurgitation but more generalized, perhaps to make this charity seem much more extensive and continuous than it was. One point here for some accuracy, though marred by clear exaggeration.

King Louis was very 'wholesome' and was the first king not to take a mistress. Yet cartoons of the time portrayed all the royals and nobles as debauched.

Louis had some well-documented physical issues—the two most critical were tight, painful phimosis, which generally inhibits erection and ejaculation, and hypogonadism, which causes diminished libido. I suppose those conditions would preclude a mistress. These conditions also meant that he did not consummate his marriage until Antoinette’s brother, Joseph II, came to Paris to explain the mechanics of sex to Louis. Nevertheless, Antoinette didn’t have a child until eight years later. The contemporary historical records, including reports from his doctors, are replete with medical details. Quite a few are on Gallica, and even more are in the various French archives. Have a look, why don’t you?

Does this low libido and physical condition make Louis “wholesome?” Absolutely not. But it does explain why he never had a mistress. And yes, the cartoons and broadsheets more often showed Louis as impotent and hopeless, watching as Antoinette frolicked with legions of men. Louis was undoubtedly sexually dysfunctional, but Antoinette was not debauched or promiscuous.  These broadsides were the late 18th century’s equivalent of X, formerly known as Twitter, where folks trashed royals and aristocrats.

“Marie apologized to the executioner for stepping on his toe.”

Excuse me, but why on earth does this matter? After almost a lifetime of indifference at best toward anyone not in her intimate circle, Antoinette’s “apology” means squat. However, if this means a great character trait, go right ahead.

Commenter #1, second comment:

“Some of the worst treatment was meted out toward their son, a helpless child, while imprisoned. It is too horrific to repeat here.”

No, this treatment is not “too horrific” to repeat here or anywhere if you want people to know what happened. However, you have to be careful here or regarding any other subject regarding what sources you use. Yes, indeed, the removal of the then eight-year-old dauphin, Louis-Charles, from his mother and sister, Marie-Therese, was harsh. His imprisonment was brutal: cold, filthy, with little water and less food, and no human contact other than his jailers who kept him under constant surveillance and who beat him almost daily, continually criticized Antoinette and Louis, as well as trying to force him to deny God, sing bawdy songs, and learn how to curse. The more gruesome allegations of sexual abuse are plentiful as well but not confirmed in the historical record. All the other types of abuse are documented in plentiful archival documents.

Commenter #2:

“…yes...and this poor child was litterally [sic] taken from his mother [sic] arms... Knowing how difficult it was for Marie Antoinette to have children in the first place ( in the Sofia Coppola movie my heart sinks every time when the young Queen runs to her private chamber to cry when her SIL gives birth) that was the worst thing her enemies could do to hurt her.”

Removing a child from its mother’s arms is a dreadful experience, but certainly not unique to Antoinette. So why is this an issue? Because it truly is not. Think of the many thousands of impoverished French mothers whose children dead from disease and starvation were removed from their arms for burial. Changes the perspective a bit, or it should.

The danger of using movies for any historical knowledge should be obvious. Coppola’s version certainly failed to explain any of the real reasons and backstory for these tears. And they are also exaggerated. You don’t read any history—real history, not Wikipedia, not historical novels, do you?

Commenter #1, third comment:

“Too horrible to imagine.”

I was tempted to omit this part of the chorus as too inane and uninformative, but, you know, truth.

I have no idea this will change anyone’s mind—it probably won’t, since breathless fangurl love for Antoinette, Anne Boleyn, and any one of the Romanov girls is generally firmly in place and generally idealistic.

However, I’m a historian, and I don’t often let misinformation unsupported by archival, primary, and even valid secondary sources go unchallenged. I also know how to evaluate those sources regarding when and by whom they were written and in what political, social, religious, and economic environment.

So here we are. I’ve said my piece—again—about Antoinette. Disagree all you like, but please state on what your disagreement is based: fact, or opinion.

[landboundstar]

Trade Secrets Part 7 Trade Secrets

Part 7

I shivered, snow clinging to my gloves.

"Here." Selina handed me a cup of hot cocoa before sitting next to me with her own on a bench.

"Thanks." 

I sipped at the cocoa, trying to pull my knees up under my coat.

"It's okay."

Selina set her empty cup down and put her hand on my back. I could feel her gloved hand rubbing circles on the shoulder of my coat and suddenly, my cheeks felt warm, even though I wasn't sure why.

If Selina knew why, or even noticed, she didn't tell me.

"I'm not sure that you noticed, but Bruce and Harvey are just a little bit competitive." Selina's tone might have been teasing, but following the sweep of her arm to where our friends were still pelting each other with snowballs, even though their laughter was winded, it was clear it was no joke.

"And neither of them is willing to give up on anything, so they'll be at this for a while. So, don't feel bad about taking a break."

The cocoa had started to warm me up a little, and I took my hat off, hitting some of the snow off of the bench.

"I am kind of surprised you needed a break. You're pretty competitive too."

Selina laughed. "I am. But, it takes a lot to be that competitive. And, if you take it too far, it isn't fun anymore. I'd rather have it be fun."

Leaning back into the bench with the cocoa, I watched the snowball fight with Selina.

"My mother is talking about sending me to boarding school again."

Since Selina's mother was constantly suggesting she might need to go to boarding school or finishing school, that was not a surprise.

"Do I want to know why she thinks you should go to boarding school this time?"

"Surprisingly, not my less than ladylike behavior. There is some tension with my half brother from my father's first marriage. And they think that maybe I should be out of the way in case it gets messy."

"But, that's not fair!"

Selina laughed and gave me a hug. "I know. Why do you think I am always over here? It's my own Switzerland, away from my family."

Selina hopped up from the bench. "Warmed up?"

I nodded, setting down my own empty cup, and pulling my hat back on.

We ran, throwing snowballs, shouting and laughing for the better part of an hour until our hands and faces were numb.

Bruce ran around a tree, snowball in hand. And his feet hit a trodden down patch of snow that had packed down into ice, and he fell, his feet sliding out from under him, making him unable to stop before he hit Harvey, making them both fall.

Harvey tried to push up, his coat half pinned by Bruce, and ended up falling back on top of him, his face pressed against Bruce's shoulder.

Selina and I moved to help him up, still laughing.

Until we went to help Bruce up.

He stood, a little shakily and seemed fine. For about five steps. Then, it became quite clear how not fine he was as he sat back down, hard, in the snow.

"It's my left ankle." Bruce said, his voice breathy from the pain and cold.

"I'll get Dad." I shouted, and cast quickly to cross the yard.

Seconds later, I came back with my dad and the other adults. Harvey and Selina had managed to get Bruce to stand back up between them. Soon, we were all bustled inside to sit on the couch with blankets and cocoa, while Dr. Wayne wrapped Bruce's ankle.

"Well, at least we can all get warmed up."

Standing up, Dr. Wayne crossed to the television and turned it on, the opening credits to The Gray Ghost crossing the screen. I remembered my dad mentioning this being a regular routine for Dr. Wayne and Bruce. Looking at the smile creasing Bruce's face in spite of his ankle, I believed it.

Then, he sat in another chair nearby Bruce, joining us.

And we all enjoyed sharing in their routine, enjoying the break it gave us, a personal Switzerland for all of us.

[otnesse]

And that isn't even half of the stuff he did that was bad:

He was also responsible for sabotaging Great Mouse Detective's successes, Rescuers Down Under as well (though to be fair, apparently diminished returns for The Rescuers' reairing played some role in that bit as well). And he came close to firing Bill Farmer and replacing him with Steve Martin.

Also, he's the reason why Linda Woolverton, aka the same misandric hack who wrecked Sleeping Beauty with her Maleficent movie and boasted about it, was hired into Disney. And to further elaborate on that bit, he pretty much rejected two writers for Disney's Beauty and the Beast (which at that time was planned to be the next feature film after The Little Mermaid). One, Jim Cox, who Michael Eisner not only chose to wrote the screenplay, but even managed to go as far as to track him down to Mexico to call him to do it while his family was vacationing after reading his story treatment for it. He then did a lot of work to make it into a full-fledged screenplay, but then Jeffrey Katzenberg basically nixed the screenplay and to make matters worse, he never even bothered to give him a reason, heck, not even any excuse, no matter how flimsy, for rejecting it. The most he ever told him was "no one bats a thousand." This was while The Little Mermaid was still being prepped for theaters, BTW. Then we have the more well-known Richard Purdum draft, which got some headway, only for Katzenberg to nix that one, citing that one as "too dark, too dramatic" (ironic, considering what he nearly did to Toy Story later on, more on that to come). He then said, apparently because of how critics complained about Ariel being "cloyingly sexist" just for even WANTING to go for Eric in the first place (all while clearly ignoring how she saved his butt twice and already dreamed about becoming human well before she even laid eyes on him, much less met him face to face), that Beauty and the Beast ought to act as a musical bonanza with a feminist twist. How feminist, you might ask? Well, that's where Linda Woolverton came in, hiring her purely because she left behind her book Running Before the Wind (which, BTW, was definitely not suitable for Disney), and she then proceeded to make Belle into a women's libber as well as pretty much trashing on marriage as an entire concept, made the villain into an obnoxious pig archetype just to do some take thats against her former boyfriends, and pretty much sabotaged the whole true beauty coming from within bit. And there's evidence of Katzenberg and Woolverton viewing their audience as morons via certain... writing decisions in the movie (like changing Gaston's attempted pre-mortem one-liner due to thinking audiences didn't get why Gaston was fighting Beast despite most likely sitting through the movie up to that point, or the Gaston reprise that had him gloating key details of his blackmail plan to literally everyone in the village, or even Beast having to explicitly tell Cogsworth that he released Belle despite Cogsworth most likely witnessing it.). Now, by itself, that wasn't too much of a problem since Beauty and the Beast STILL managed to more than make its money back, and even nearly win an academy award. But down the line, I'd argue that movie did more than anything to ultimately ruin Disney, including more mean spirited takes on the Disney Princess line (which going by what Linda Woolverton said was deliberate) and also culminating in the Maleficent movie (which Woolverton herself made clear in a TIME magazine article had repeated the themes she intended to impart in Beauty and the Beast, and did I mention Maleficent's notorious rewrite in that movie was exclusively HER idea, and that even Angelina Jolie, Maleficent's actress in that movie, disagreed with making her a woobie goody-two-shoes?).

We also get into Pocahontas, where he tried to focus development on THAT movie over The Lion King, viewing the latter as a guaranteed failure for, and I kid you not, "talking animals", warped American History to basically be a weird mixture of Romeo and Juliet as well as Howard Zinn's textbooks. Let's just say his projections were WAY off regarding the results of that one, and some of the failures of that film were self-inflicted.

And then we get into Toy Story and his near-disastrous handling of that movie. Remember when you said he was a micromanager? Well, he REALLY showed that bit about him in that movie, where he consistently demanded for Pixar to add more edge to the movie, which had as a consequence Woody, the intended main protagonist, becoming extremely unlikeable. And by "unlikeable", I mean he was a complete jerk to everyone, actually threw Buzz out of the window on purpose and then basically verbally abused Slinky when the latter hesitantly had to agree with the other toys that Woody's action to Buzz was terrible. When it was shown to the executives, they were appalled, and Pixar had to rework it to be the movie they wanted it to be. Had Katzenberg gotten what he wanted, in other words, we wouldn't have a Toy Story, or a Pixar, and we'd probably have to wait another decade for any chance at a 3D CGI film.

Oh yeah, and might as well add the reason why he was fired from Disney: He attempted to pressure Michael Eisner into giving him the president spot. Eisner was reluctant, as he didn't want to backstab Frank Wells, but assured him that if something happened, he'd get Wells spot. Let's just say Eisner REALLY regretted saying that three months later, when Frank Wells' chopper crashed and he died. The second the news came out, Katzenberg basically was all celebratory over his death and immediately claimed he was now in charge. This disgusted everyone at Disney, eventually culminating in Eisner having to take up the spot and firing Katzenberg for this crap. Oh yeah, and did I mention that under Katzenberg's direction with the live action movies, he was personally responsible for a -$247 million LOSS for Disney? Something that came to light in that aforementioned lawsuit about his severance package?

And I'm not sure the roasting of Disney Princess movies was at all good (besides, Beauty and the Beast if anything was a huge roast of its own on that front).

[landboundstar-writing]

Trade Secrets Part 7

Please support. Tip if you can, reblog if you can't.

Another repost from my main blog and AO3

I shivered, snow clinging to my gloves.

"Here." Selina handed me a cup of hot cocoa before sitting next to me with her own on a bench.

"Thanks." 

I sipped at the cocoa, trying to pull my knees up under my coat.

"It's okay."

Selina set her empty cup down and put her hand on my back. I could feel her gloved hand rubbing circles on the shoulder of my coat and suddenly, my cheeks felt warm, even though I wasn't sure why.

If Selina knew why, or even noticed, she didn't tell me.

"I'm not sure that you noticed, but Bruce and Harvey are just a little bit competitive." Selina's tone might have been teasing, but following the sweep of her arm to where our friends were still pelting each other with snowballs, even though their laughter was winded, it was clear it was no joke.

"And neither of them is willing to give up on anything, so they'll be at this for a while. So, don't feel bad about taking a break."

The cocoa had started to warm me up a little, and I took my hat off, hitting some of the snow off of the bench.

"I am kind of surprised you needed a break. You're pretty competitive too."

Selina laughed. "I am. But, it takes a lot to be that competitive. And, if you take it too far, it isn't fun anymore. I'd rather have it be fun."

Leaning back into the bench with the cocoa, I watched the snowball fight with Selina.

"My mother is talking about sending me to boarding school again."

Since Selina's mother was constantly suggesting she might need to go to boarding school or finishing school, that was not a surprise.

"Do I want to know why she thinks you should go to boarding school this time?"

"Surprisingly, not my less than ladylike behavior. There is some tension with my half brother from my father's first marriage. And they think that maybe I should be out of the way in case it gets messy."

"But, that's not fair!"

Selina laughed and gave me a hug. "I know. Why do you think I am always over here? It's my own Switzerland, away from my family."

Selina hopped up from the bench. "Warmed up?"

I nodded, setting down my own empty cup, and pulling my hat back on.

We ran, throwing snowballs, shouting and laughing for the better part of an hour until our hands and faces were numb.

Bruce ran around a tree, snowball in hand. And his feet hit a trodden down patch of snow that had packed down into ice, and he fell, his feet sliding out from under him, making him unable to stop before he hit Harvey, making them both fall.

Harvey tried to push up, his coat half pinned by Bruce, and ended up falling back on top of him, his face pressed against Bruce's shoulder.

Selina and I moved to help him up, still laughing.

Until we went to help Bruce up.

He stood, a little shakily and seemed fine. For about five steps. Then, it became quite clear how not fine he was as he sat back down, hard, in the snow.

"It's my left ankle." Bruce said, his voice breathy from the pain and cold.

"I'll get Dad." I shouted, and cast quickly to cross the yard.

Seconds later, I came back with my dad and the other adults. Harvey and Selina had managed to get Bruce to stand back up between them. Soon, we were all bustled inside to sit on the couch with blankets and cocoa, while Dr. Wayne wrapped Bruce's ankle.

"Well, at least we can all get warmed up."

Standing up, Dr. Wayne crossed to the television and turned it on, the opening credits to The Gray Ghost crossing the screen. I remembered my dad mentioning this being a regular routine for Dr. Wayne and Bruce. Looking at the smile creasing Bruce's face in spite of his ankle, I believed it.

Then, he sat in another chair nearby Bruce, joining us.

And we all enjoyed sharing in their routine, enjoying the break it gave us, a personal Switzerland for all of us.

[harrison-abbott]

plastic visage

She sat there sipping at her fizzy water. Usually for the first hour or so she would be smiley and engaging. Always ordered fizzy water. With maybe a bit of lemon to make it classier. And if there was food on, she made sure to not drink so much; always ate pizza with a knife and fork.

When that initial hour had passed she would notice the other people begin to get drunk. And would internally criticise. Then she would grow less patient as the clumsy antics ensued around her.

She had a real laugh and a plastic laugh and she used the latter far more than the former.

Her mother was bi polar and she (the mother) had had a mental breakdown when she (the daughter) was seventeen. Right before her high school exams. And that caused the collapse of the marriage with the father and then the father had moved out. But she carved out a way to university. And here she was.

When she grew tired of the pub chat she would politely declare that she had to go home. And would politely refuse their efforts to make her stay, with just the right touch of irritation in her answers, to make it clear she was leaving.

When at home she would be joyous that she would not be waking up with a hangover or in somebody else’s bed.

There was that emotional violence in her family but she’d never seen any physical violence because she came from a coastal town of a few ten thousand that didn’t really harbour such things as battery or mayhem.

Things would go pretty well for her across life: she got a First in her degree.

Most folks didn’t suss that plasticity in her voice; it seemed to glue in with how weather reporters talked: some kind of universal ease with which a voice can be heard. No needing to think about accent or affiliation or any other form by which judgements pass.

She was into mainstream movies that weren’t too plush with CGI.

On her 21st birthday she went to Paris with her mother (her mother, by the way, had recovered from her breakdown a few years back and she was on her feet and that’s how she could pay for the Parisian hotel and the flights and the several nights to be spent close to the Seine).

And she got a boyfriend shortly afterwards who was also from France. She’d known him in class for several years and he had slowly burned into her life and if you got deeper into him he could be funny and a little cynical in a laugh-it-off manner.

Almost all of her other friends were girls. She used to joke with them about her old boyfriend before he became her partner and now she didn’t try mean jokes anymore, only harmless ones that didn’t match her previous thoughts on him.

Her mother had that plastic visage, too … It was easy to be all plastic flowers, plastic ice cream, plastic blushes, on the surface, and not have to be real in front of people. And it was a decent tactic unless it finally led to mental breakdowns. It usually worked.

[kitty-is-writing]

Part 2 of Kitty's Pride Month short stories!

This short focuses on Elinor, the Queen of Oakshire, as she tries to navigate life as a bi woman in a prejudiced society. Unfortunately her husband is not the most understanding person, despite her attempts to open his eyes.

TW: mentions of homophobia, transphobia

Disclaimer: Francis' opinions do not reflect my own

💙💜🩷

The afternoon light glinted off rain-soaked surfaces, making Falridge look as if it had been coated in glitter. Elinor had always thought the place was beautiful, full of life and history, and for the most part she was happy living here. Sometimes, like now, she felt like that pretty exterior hid an unpleasant, cruel attitude in its people. She’d had to excuse herself from that morning’s court, after some comment from one of the visiting nobles had set her husband off on a rant about ‘deviants and abnormal behaviour’.

It wasn’t so bad for her, as she could pass for ‘normal’ quite easily. Her comments about attractive women could be seen as simple admiration for their clothing or hairstyles, rather than anything more. That was how she presented it to Francis, at least, though she thought her children suspected. Someone like Oliver, though… she knew he had struggled with his identity for years, and still did in many ways. Their respective positions, as Queen and Crown Prince, only brought an extra layer of difficulty to what was already a hard journey.

She knew that in Aglendale, to the west, people like her and her son were more accepted, could live freely and openly without fear of imprisonment - or worse - for loving the wrong person. In the early days of her marriage, she had tried to get Francis to see that Oakshire’s laws were wrong, that they were not preventing immoral acts, only punishing people for being who they were. She had given up on that after her ‘namby-pamby whining’ had only made Francis tighten the laws, cracking down on those who tried to leave Oakshire for Aglendale, Natabi or Nakata, all of which were far less bothered about who people shared their lives with.

Whether public opinion followed the law or the other way around had never been clear, but either way, many people agreed with the official line on ‘deviance and perversion’. Some tried to make religious excuses, claiming - against the actual words in holy books - that love between two men or two women was impure in some way, a devil’s corruption to be punished by both man and god. When even the Archbishop, leader of the Church, had pointed out that the Word of the One only mentioned loving one’s spouse, being faithful to them and forsaking all others, and did not specify ‘man and woman’ anywhere, the ‘religious’ crowd had gone silent for a while before inventing stories about how so-called deviants were always unfaithful and predatory.

“Has your stomach settled, my dear?” She jumped slightly, hearing Francis’ voice from behind her. “I’ll have to have a word with the chef. That’s the second time you’ve felt queasy after he’s served those shellfish things.”

“Oh, I don’t think it was the food. I’ve been a little off since yesterday evening,” she said. She wasn’t about to let the poor chef suffer because of her excuse to leave.

Francis came to stand by the chair beside her, until she nodded that he could take a seat too. Although he was the King, and her husband, these were her rooms, and he respected the traditions. “Something about Earl Davenport’s company, then? I must admit, hearing that his son is one of those foul deviants turned my stomach for a moment. A nobleman not only dressing as a woman, but engaging in perversions with other men?” He shuddered, making an ‘ugh’ sound. “He was right to disown the creature. Hopefully his younger son will prove more worthy of inheriting.”

You married one of those ‘creatures’, she thought. Your own son is one of them too, and your prejudice has made him hate himself for it. She bit down on the words before they could escape her, though. She knew that he loved her, or at least the parts he knew, but she couldn’t trust that he cared for her enough to set aside his long-held hatred of anything different. For herself, she might take that risk, put her own heart on the line, but she wouldn’t drag her son into it. “I’d prefer to speak about other things. The private lives of others hold little interest for me.” Her mask of the aloof Queen drifted into place almost without her noticing. It had served her well over the years.

“Of course, my dear. It’s a rather unpleasant topic.” They were quiet for a moment. “Have you heard from Michael and that elf woman, whatever her name is… Sara?”

“Sora,” she corrected without thinking. “We had a message from them just last week, I shouldn’t think they’ll be able to get in touch again so soon. How is the rescue plan going?”

Francis huffed. “The damned elves don’t seem in any rush to rescue their own pilot, let alone Michael. I have a feeling the boy’s told them to take their time, and he’s having too much fun exploring out there. He has no sense of responsibility, running off like this…”

She let him rant, having heard it all before. At least she had got him off the subject of ‘deviants’ for now. Letting him rage about the elves was far less personal, less uncomfortable for her, although she knew the elves didn’t deserve his disdain either. After a while, he ran out of steam, and she brought up a far happier topic. “Oh, did Nicola mention? She told me the other day that she’s two weeks late. It might be nothing, of course, but the doctor should be checking her over as we speak.”

“Well, there’s some good news. Another little grandchild on the way, possibly. Do you suppose this one might be a boy? Little Bethany is sweet, of course, but the Crown will be stronger with a son to inherit.”

This again? “It’s far too early to say, of course. And Queens have ruled Oakshire well before, there’s no reason that Bethany wouldn’t be able to do the same.” She tried to suppress a smirk. “I’m sure you remember Queen Phillippa II, one of our most beloved and respected rulers in history? Not to mention your own mother, Queen Alicia, who you admired so much that you insisted on naming our own daughter after her?”

He spluttered for a second. “I’m not dismissing Oakshire’s Queens, not at all, I’m just thinking of public opinion. There is a great deal of unrest brewing across the kingdom, and if the public can see a strong, unbroken line of Kings in waiting, it may calm a few uncertainties in their minds.”

“Or perhaps they will see it as more of the same things they are currently discontent with. A few changes might be what we need to settle these difficulties,” she replied. “A future Queen may capture the public’s imagination more than another future King. People do love princesses, after all.”

“Well, a princess does have more of a fairy-tale quality than a prince for some people. I suppose as long as it comes out healthy, it doesn't really matter. They can always try again for a boy."

Elinor gave up on the subject for now. Francis' attitude wasn't going to change any time soon, but maybe she could chip away at it with conversations like this. Over the years, he had mellowed slightly over traditional roles in a household, at least. When they had first married, he had expected her to sit quietly in her quarters with some needlepoint while he presided over the court. She had managed to persuade him that a second perspective could be invaluable when dealing with sensitive situations, and worked her way out of the tedium of ‘ladies' leisure’. Some might be content with sitting around taking tea and sewing, but she wanted more out of life. She had become a fixture in the court over the last ten years, and her prominence had encouraged other women to take more control over their own lives and roles.

Francis had eventually come around to the idea that women had more to contribute to society than homemaking and child rearing, and she was sure he would get used to other progressive ideas in time. It might take another twenty-five years of marriage, but she was determined to bring out his better side.

[zerohourdiary]

Notes and reactions from reading.

You said it was fun. You've told me you cried after. Here you seem to just say it was fun.

You make it seem like being friends with you was a possibility while with her. It wasnt. We both made that clear. Why I had to go no contact. I didn't want to.

Regretting sharing with me is a bad sign. I would have found out, you posted about it on both your tumblrs. It wouldnt have been less hurt for me. How exactly do you think you could have kept it from me? If he came after you like i did, you would have dated him even when I was back.

Theres a difference in getting in a relationship after healing and getting in one less than a month after i was gone. It made me feel like i was nothing to you. I risked my marriage for you and you moved on so fast. You were not in the right mind to be in any mind of relationship. Me not wanting that doesnt mean I want you to just pine for me and suggesting that is cruel.

Again. Theres a difference inbetween wife and fuckboy. You dont have to do everything perfectly all the time. Thats hyperbole and you fucking know it.  A fling is fine i guess (if you're in a good mindset and you werent) but you said you wouldn't have done it if we were "actually" dating.  Means what we had was lesser to you. No way around it. If you could do it after what we had but not if we were really dating, it's inherently less. You'll say I'm being cruel but I'm just saying the fact of the matter. Partly hoping you have some explanation that makes sense that I didnt think of. But pointing out what you words mean to me and make me feel and make logical sense isn't being cruel. It's pointing out the truth.

Why did the age matter for just friendship?

You told me if things took off with him, there was nothing i could do. I didnt pit you against either of my exes like that. I told you I would fight for you amd you pushed back. I get why, but still. We were in active competition, not just in my mind like it is in yours. If not actual in your head, you still made it seem that way. I never said that with either of my exes.

I would have left.  You gave me a deadline.  It might have happened sooner but there was so much shit going on that summer. Ypu make it seem like i would have made it last forever but there was a deadline and i took it seriously.

Pretty much how I thought. We wouldn't be together if Kyle gave you the same energy I did.

You said you had every intention of coming back the first time, seems you didnt have that the second. Again. Not being cruel, just looking back at your mindset and that seems to be the case. You'll say no but your actions and words dont match.

There was only one line you wouldn't cross. I dont know why pointing that out got that reaction from you. It wasnt to point out i think less of you because I dont. Just that I have lines that he didnt. None of what I said was to be cruel. Telling you how things are presented to me and make me feel isnt cruel and calling me that for sharing my feelings is creeping up on gaslighting. I wrote it two years ago and should have phrased things better, been less blunt. But the truth of it and how it makes me feel isn't cruelty.

I am not calling you a whore or slut or anything like it. Just pointing out that you have boundaries for me that you didnt for him and that's backwards

I dont think you're trash. I dont hint at that at all. As far as being in the black, i was never "just being ugly" like you were to me. I hurt you but only as a side effect of not turning my world upside down. You constantly undervalue all I gave up just for a shot with you

Top=bra sure but when you go to a topless bar they're not wearing bras so not crazy to ask for clarification.

You answered questions about what you're looking for as not sure and other ones indicating you weren't looking for just friends. You could have said looking for friends. You didn't. You weren't looking for strictly platonic.

I dont remember calling them dating apps but they were for friends. Had friends in the title maybe but dont remember.

She staid platonic with them. You didn't.  Dont know what you're trying to prove here. Nothing about believing her and not you, just facts of what happened. And she didnt go in looking for a kiss as a possibility.  Stopped hanging out with a couple because they wanted that. That's platonic. You went in platonicish. Platonic+. Not the same. She did it in a healthier way. How you should have. We'd be better off if you did. But that doesn't mean I think she's better. Shes just a first hand example. She did a lot of shit wrong in the aftermath, it was just that one point i was telling you.

Never told me about okcupid and tinder, both very much not for finding friends. So what i thought.  Hinge is also for hookups

You're not right about the script.  You're looking for reasons to be less honest with me then talk about me not trusting you. What the fuck? I do trust you. I ask questions hoping you can make it make sense. I wouldn't be here still if I didnt trust you. But comments like that or about how you wish you didn't tell me about light work because i brought up the questions is not being trustworthy. It's not. You make it hard, fuck! I would have asked you about them even if you were busy. I needed them amd told you that repeatedly. I need to be a priority.

(Name redacted), I would have fucking known about it. Not answering my questions is why we're fucking here. Why I didn't go to Nick's wedding. Why we haven't met yet.

Me trying to get to the truth of your intentions and mindset is not being cruel. If looking at the truth hurts thats on you. Im not slut shaming you. Ive told you over and over if you had gone and fucked him but regretted it and not gone back and not pitted him against me, then we wouldn't be here. But you repeat the same old lines trying to make it seem like I'm slut shaming you.

You contradicted yourself here. Earlier you said that dating him could have happened. ****. Now you say you'd have always chosen me.

I didn't let it fester. You do. This all could have been done a long time ago. Im sorry the questions got more and more invasive but time and thinking about you there and you not answering just snowballed. This could have been done so fucking long ago and it's your fault not mine.

I dont force kyle in that corner. You have by taking so fucking long to answer. He could have been gone almost 3 years ago but you refused. Why?!? Why make this so fucking hard.

(Name redacted), You needed to answer my fucking questions. You delayed it. Not me. I told you what i needed and you wasted time making me wait then talked about losing hope for us. It was in your hands. I took it because I couldnt wait any more and hoped you'd answer what i needed.

I think in asking questions that i answer or make statements on its in hope of you having an answer that makes it make sense. Like i cant figure out a puzzle and hopefully you have the answer but i dont want the hear the obvious ways I tried to solve it

I didnt want you to reread to force you into a headspace that hurt. You said you wanted to go back, remember? I wanted you to see how it really was. How it was for me. It wasnt a headspace of hurt for you, it was for me and thats the only reason its a hurt for you. Why are you phrasing it like I was forcing you back into a traumatic time? Again, it was for me. It was a fun and light fall for you. Needing you to see the reality of how itnwas for me isnt forcing you relive trauma, but to see mine first hand. I get it. You're angry. But you misrepresent me and my intentions. I do too. We both need to work on that.

Taylor isnt a good sounding board. Find someone else. Her advice led us here. I don't know why you dont hate her for that. She's a fucking no body.  Kate is still in contact with some of my family ( i dont know how much just know there is some). Its not the same fucking universe. I dont talk to her except divorce related stuff and then randomly getting mail in my old place. We might catch up a little when things come up but its like a work acquaintance. And that's rare.

How did you greet eachother when you first met? Each time.

Are you unwilling or unable to give me what I need? Neither is good.

I prepared myself to not compete with other men for a woman because thats not what I wanted. It hurt too much, it wasn't worth it. I decided that years ago, as a kid. Soemthing I told myself Id never do. But i couldn't prepare for you. How much i loved you and wanted to be with you.  How you would be worth it. I couldn't comprehend how I could feel for someone like I do for you. If i didnt love you and choose you, finding out you slept with someone else so soon would have been hard to come back from. If you were anybody else, knowing you went back to that same fucking guy after we started talking again would have been the end of it. I would never have wanted to talk to or see that person if it was anyone but you. And you're the only one I'd stick with this long after repeatedly telling you what I need and you not giving it to me. I choose you every fucking day we talk. I blew up my whole life for a chance to compete for you and you act like it's fucking nothing. Like I don't choose you. Like you're all that's left and I'm stuck with you. You're all that's left because I made it so.  You have done nothing even remotely close, haven't given up anything like I have to make sure that us being together is a possibility.  For all intents and purposes, your life is unchanged by what happened in 2021. Your situation is the same. Mine is completely different. Again, because I made it so. For you. I choose you. I chose you. I'll continue to choose you.

But you want more from me without having to talk about what almost ended us after I've answered all your questions about my ex.

You don't avoid asking me questions for my sake. You do it so you dont seem like a hypocrite by not answering mine. I remember you asking me at one point if everytime you brought up my ex I'd bring him up because it happened a lot. Your questions made me think of questions. Thats probably a big part of why you stopped asking. You didnt want my questions and were willing to stop yours to not have to answer mine.

I cant be my best self and not get what I need.

You say it opens up old wounds. What wounds? If it was just a fucking fling, it shouldn't be this hard to talk about. You talk about  Anthony and the ways he hurt you. That should be hard to talk about. You were with him for years. This fucking fuck boy and your time with him shouldn't be this hard to talk about. It doesn't make sense. You say I dont trust you. I do. But you dont make sense. This being so hard to talk about doesn't make sense so it makes you saying it was nothing hard to believe.  Something that was nothing shouldn't ruin your whole day or days answering questions about. That makes no sense to me. I just want you to make it make some kind of sense to me. Again. That doenst mean I dont trust you. I wouldn't be here if I didnt.

Also, just realized you talk about wishing you didnt tell me about what happened with him a lot. Things around that. But never that you wish you didn't go in the first place. Maybe that's implied but still. You've repeatedly reminded me that you wish you were less open and honest with me but not that you wish you were more devoted to me then. Thats not right, saying devoted to me. I guess more just that you were smarter and less reckless.

email initial unfiltered thoughts

Lots more thoughts in the moment. Gonma have to talk about this.

Main thing, why dod that take so fucking long? Why? We I told you I needed it and you let two years waste and then you blame me for not getting together. I, again, broke my rules to be with you and hoped you'd answeer regardless because it was too much time and I wanst sure you ever would. But I would have gone to Nick's wedding. We'd have dated at least a year and a half earlier. What about this was so hard?

I wrote most of those questions the same night I got the first email where you didn't answer many things we talked about on skype. We talked about the timeline of how things went down with him amd I expected it in the first. Most of the rest were scattered in different places but written in 2022. I should have restructured and rewrote, but I was never being cruel especially intentionally. It was telling you how ou made me feel amd how things seemed to me and other explanations didnt make sense. You brought things like talking to Kyle on his birthday when you didn't really intend to because you were being "ugly", I never did that.

You clearly haven't forgiven me for 2021 and you try to make it look Like i haven't forgiven you or am slut shaming you. I never called you a slut or slut shamed you. You are projecting that on me. What you did was slutty in the college hookup culture kind of way but that's not inherently bad and I never said that until now. But wanting to cover it up is so fucking scary. And using him against me was shitty. You have to know that. And you pretty mucb confirmed what I feared (even though you contradict yourself) that if Kyle gave you the energy I did and it turned to something more, then i couldn't stop it.

You also never answered if you showed anyone my pictures and why or why not.

Lots of other thoughts but my mind is all over. Gonna repost with what I wrote while resding last night.

Also, I didnt see this until last night because I never check that email. Even if I did, wouldnt have had a chance to read before October started so that's kind of sucky. I looked for it in my regular email because I forgot we did most of it on the other.

[balsee]

seeing a lot of mariano hate lately and i just want to ramble about it for a second because i think it’s a little weird. mariano probably had at least four scenes total throughout the entire duration of the movie, so there’s not much to go off of, but what we do get gives us a small glimpse of who he is as a character. 

first, the dinner between the madrigal’s and the guzman’s: 

here, the anticipated marriage between isabela and mariano is discussed in a way that sounds more like something of a business deal. it’s “the guzman’s and the madrigal’s together will be so good for the encanto.” not “the marriage between mariano and isabela will not only make them happy, but the family as well.” more importance is placed on the betterment of the encanto rather than isabela and mariano’s individual feelings about their marriage. mariano does look happy, but we soon discover that isabela is anything but.

isabela gives so much for the sake of her family, so this scene is not only pretty heartbreaking, but it’s cathartic for her as well. she can finally admit, out loud, that she never had any interest in mariano but was willing to marry him if it made her family happy. since this is the case, it’s not that far of a stretch to assume that mariano most likely did the same thing for the sake of his own family. that could very well be the case, and he just happens to have a better poker face than isabela. mariano’s mom was probably concerned about her son’s future, the expansion of her own family if mariano ever decided to have kids, and who in particular he would be married to. what better family for her son to marry into than the one with magical powers who helps their village daily? and who better for mariano to spend his life with than isabela, who has been nothing but “perfect” in every way her entire life? in the case of a mother with only one son, (we don’t know if mariano has any other siblings), it only makes sense.

circling back to the proposal scene, there’s a brief moment in which mirabel hits her head on the dinner table:

again, it’s short, but it shows that mariano genuinely cares about isabela’s family members (nobody else really bothered to ask if mirabel was alright, but granted, there was a lot going on at the time). he’s sweet, and i like how the movie took a little bit of time to show us this. 

also, let’s not forget that mariano was front and center when the rest of the village came to help rebuild the madrigal’s home. i can bet my bottom dollar that was his idea even though he ended up with a failed proposal and a broken nose.

then, finally, there’s this moment towards the end of the movie:

this scene is where most of the mariano dislike stems from, and i can kind of see why. it looks like mariano only decided to end up with dolores because things sort of crashed between him and isabela. but when mirabel approaches him earlier and asks him why he looks so bummed out, mariano replies that he just has a lot of love inside. it’s clear that mariano wants to fall in love and have a family, which i think might be a first when it comes to male characters in disney movies. we’ve seen male disney characters fall for their love interests, but this is the first time we’ve seen a man so eager to find the love of his life and settle down. his intentions are good, he just directed them to the wrong person, mainly due to family expectation.

what makes dolores a good match for mariano is that she knows very specific things about him. “you talk so loud, you take care of your mother and you make her proud. you write your own poetry every night when you go to sleep...” we can juxtapose this to isabela who had no interest in him anyway and probably didn’t even know that much about mariano to begin with. on my second and third rewatch of this movie, mariano and dolores getting together at the end seems less like him “jumping” from isabela to dolores because he couldn’t have isabela, and more like mariano finally finding someone who liked him for him instead of doing so for family, and was just as enthusiastic about falling in love with the right person as he was, even if it was a bit rushed. that someone is dolores. 

TLDR; mariano guzman is a sweet, caring, romantic at heart who takes care of his mother and deserves more appreciation.

[plus-size-reader]

Devastated

Ivar the Boneless x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2794 words

Warnings: Reader cannot have children. It is covered in very little detail but content may be triggering to some. Read with caution darlings. 

Summary: The reader finds out that she will never bear children, and knows that she must tell her husband, eventually. 

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You were devastated.

In your entire life, you were sure that you’d never been given such bad news.

When you went to visit the Seer, the last thing you expected him to tell you about your future was that you would never be able to have children, and yet, that was just what had happened.

You begged the mighty one to reconsider, to tell you something different, but there was nothing to be done.

The reality was that you would never bear children of your own, not in all your life.

You couldn’t believe it.

Child rearing was incredibly important to you, and your people in general. You should have been able to bear strong, strapping sons to carry on their father’s name and daughters who could hold their own against any warrior.

It was your birthright as a woman, and a Princess of Kattegat, but the seer was very clear. There were no young ones in your future, at least, not any that you would carry on your own as your mother had with you.

It wasn’t going to happen.

By all accounts, you were heartbroken.

Since you were a young child, you had dreamed of becoming a mother to brave children who could bring just as much glory to Kattegat as you and all the others before you had. You owed it to the Gods, but evidently, they had a different plan.

You weren’t to be a mother.

You considered this, and everything else the seer had said as you walked down the path toward the great hall, your feet heavy beneath you. Perhaps, if you made enough offerings to Freya, something would change.

Though, you knew it would never work.

The seer had never been wrong, in all the years you’d lived. If he was ever going to be wrong, you doubted it would be over this in any case.

You couldn’t rightly ignore the facts.

Your body wasn’t fit to carry children, and if your womb couldn't support life, there was nothing you could have ever hoped to do to change that. The most you could do was accept what you knew to be true.

Which was much easier in theory than in practice.

Not only did you have to come to terms with this new reality, but you also had to share the unfortunate news with your husband, who would certainly not take it well.

Every man wanted sons, men whom they could be proud to leave their name to when they were finally called to Valhalla. The idea that you were taking that away from Ivar made you rethink everything.

Would he want to be married to you anymore when he found out? Your marriage was relatively new, and you couldn't blame him if this was something that he simply couldn’t overlook and even worse, what if he was angry?

Ivar wasn’t exactly a joy to be around when he was angry, and you fear what he may do if he blamed you for something like this.

Was it your fault?

Gods, maybe it was.

You weren’t aware that you couldn’t have children before this morning so it wasn’t as if you could have been expected to warn him before your marriage, but now that you knew, was it possible you had done something wrong.

It was really starting to feel as though you were being punished for something, but for what, you were unsure.

Surely you’d done something wrong. Why else would the Gods see fit to take your children away from you before you’d even had a chance to consider having them?

It felt like a cruel joke, one that you could never escape.

The more you thought about it, the more distracted you’d become, and before long, you found yourself entering the mouth of the great hall, where Ivar was already waiting for you.

Of course he was.

Your husband was kind to you, most of the time, when his temper didn’t have a handle on his emotions. You had never found yourself worried about speaking to him, or telling him anything before, but today was different.

Today, you found yourself more willing to go into the woods to fight a bear as Bjorn had done, rather than tell Ivar of the news you’d gotten from the seer on your visit this morning.

It was simply too much to put on one person.

“Well hello my wife, how are you?” Ivar hummed, letting his eyes fall on you in the doorway once he’d decided he was bored of watching Ubbe and Hvitserk try to best one another in an arm wrestle.

They had been going at it for the last hour or so, and it had gotten tedious shortly after that.

Hearing about what you had gotten into today seemed to interest him that much more, especially because you had taken it upon yourself to get out of bed and leave before he’d even opened his eyes.

You didn’t speak at first, instead opting to admire the man you loved in a silent contemplation of how he was feeling today.

If he was already in a sour mood, you weren’t going to dare bring something like this up.

Still, compared to how Ivar acted on his worst days, he seemed rather content today. If nothing else, he was bored, which you couldn’t really fault him for. His mother had more or less kept him here his entire life.

He didn’t voyage away from Kattegat and he never was one for frivolous activities to pass the time.

In any case, if there was ever going to be a good opportunity to have such a sensitive conversation with him, it was now. At least, you had a better chance of him staying calm, rather than getting angry.

“I’m just fine, Ivar, how are you?” you hummed, sitting down beside him as gingerly as you could without disturbing him, though you were more in your head than you’d ever been.

You knew that you should pay attention as he told you about what he’d gotten up to today, not missing the subtle comments he made about you leaving him to wake up on his own, but you couldn’t focus on anything more than the sinking in your gut.

Deep down, you knew that he would blame you.

That it was bad enough that you weren’t as fair or petite as his brother’s wives, and that his father had arranged your marriage, but now, you wouldn't even be able to bear his children for him.

You had been rather fortunate to avoid Ivar’s wrath before now, though you’d seen it pretty frequently, and you could feel that luck running out. You knew that this would upset him, that he would be angry.

You just weren’t sure what you could do about that.

It would be foolish to believe that you could keep this from him forever.

Eventually, he was bound to put the pieces together when you couldn’t get pregnant, and even if he didn’t, the seer was sure to mention it to him at some point.

You could only keep this from him for so long, and if he found out you knew this long before he did, he would punish you for sure.

So, as much as it made your stomach turn, you knew that you only really had one choice.

“What did you do today that was so important?” he questioned, all but snapping in your face to get your attention once he’d finished speaking, only to find you as far away as ever.

Clearly, your head was a million miles away, and while that normally would have frustrated Ivar, he found himself strangely concerned for your wellbeing. Usually, when he spoke, you hung on every word.

Today, it was as if he wasn’t even here.

“I went to visit the seer, about the strange way I’ve been feeling” you shrugged, hoping that wouldn’t bring on any other questions from him.

This was your chance.

All you had to do was tell him.

Though, when you raised your eyes to meet his, you found that same knot in your belly twisted up even more. There was no way that you could tell him, he would never understand.

Still, you knew that at some point, he was sure to pull it out of you. He always did, no matter what it was you tried to keep away.

“Well, what did he tell you?” came his second question, the one you’d been anticipating, and trying to avoid, this entire time.

You did your best not to let the heavy sigh building in your chest escape as you tried to figure out how to word what you had to say, your eyes falling on both Hvitserk and Ubbe across the room.

It was bad enough that you were about to tell Ivar the worst news you’d ever gotten, but now, you had to do it with them within earshot? It was perfect. The entire Ragnarsson clan could hate you at once.

Not that them being here was a completely bad thing.

At least with his brothers in the room, there was less of a chance that Ivar could get so angry with you.

Perhaps they would be a good buffer for you.

In any case, you knew that you had reached the end of your very minimal stalling. If you waited any longer, the more you were sure that Ivar’s peaceful mood and ticking patience would fade.

The longer you waited, the harder it would be.

“There is nothing outrightly wrong” you allowed, doing your best to make him feel better about that, at the very least. It wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t exactly the truth. You weren’t dying, or seriously ill.

You just weren’t as you thought you were this morning.

“Then why were you away for so long? Surely the seer was able to tell you something” he groaned, bothered that you had been away for so many hours without so much as a warning to him.

After all, you had been missing from his side since before he opened his eyes, something he had never really taken kindly to.

You nodded, sorry that your clear absence had upset him so much before you finally let that sigh fall from your lips.

“Yes, he did, but the news is rather difficult to accept,” you warned, forcing some words out when you found the truth unable to leave your tongue. With every second that passed, you could just feel his patience leaving him.

However, even with all the blatant stalling you were doing, Ivar remained as calm as he could.

It was clear to him that no matter what you said, there was something you were keeping from him. The only question Ivar really had was why?

In all the time that you had been married, he was always kind to you. He took care of you as any husband should and though his temper was a bit harsh at times, he was always careful to be fair and gentle when he spoke to you.

All in all, Ivar thought himself to be a good husband but perhaps he was wrong.

He couldn’t imagine anything that could be so bad that you were so timid to tell him.

“Y/N, what did the seer tell you?” he prompted, shocking you a bit with the use of your name. Ivar never used your name, not if he could help it, always instead opting for ‘wife’ or ‘darling’ if he really wanted something.

It was never Y/N with him.

“I cannot have children, Ivar. Not ever” you finally broke, desperately wishing that you hadn’t said anything to begin with.

You should have been able to do this, and you both knew it.

Still, once you’d finally built up the courage to look, the upset that you expected from Ivar wasn’t anywhere to be seen on his face.

Instead, he wore an expression that was almost confused.

That was what you were so afraid to tell him?

You had come in here after a day of absence, as closed off and cagey as he’d ever seen you in all the time that you’d known him and that was what it was about? He just couldn’t believe that was the thing that you hesitated to share.

Of all the things it could have been, he would have thought that among the first that you could talk with him about if need be.

Not that you could read all of that from his silence and pensive expression.

From where you were sitting, you were even further convinced that he was about to tell you that he couldn’t be married to someone that couldn’t give him children, and that you would be on your own once again.

News that you couldn’t have been more unwilling to hear.

While your marriage to Ivar had been his mother’s idea in the beginning, you had begun to really care for him in the time you’d been married. Separating from him was sure to break your heart.

No matter the circumstances.

“And you’re upset by that?” he hummed, after a few seconds of silence between the two of you, a casual question that seemed so out of place in such a serious, tense conversation.

It was so strange.

He truly seemed as if he didn’t understand what the big deal was.

Though, you were talking to a man who had never truly been sure children were in his future to begin with. Not to mention the fact that even if he knew he was physically able, Ivar didn’t know how he felt about fathering offspring.

After all, if they had to live life anything like he did, he wasn’t sure it was worth it.

So, the idea that you couldn’t bear his children didn’t bother Ivar as much as you’d been expecting. Something that would have made you feel better, had you not been heartbroken over it.

You wanted to have children, all your life, so now knowing that you couldn’t, it felt as if something you’d never even had, had been stolen from you.

“Of course I’m upset, Ivar. Are you not?” you sighed, shocked at how this conversation had so drastically changed from what you’d been expecting. All this time, you thought your husband would be the most affected by this.

All the while, he remained almost entirely unphased by the news that you were barren.

It was almost insulting.

“Did you really expect to have children when we married, anyway?” he asked, his question giving you pause for a moment.

You supposed you’d never really thought about it before.

He had a point.

There was never any real guarantee that you were going to be a mother with him in any case, a fact that hadn’t even been important enough to cross your mind when you were getting married.

“I never thought much about it” you allowed, your eyes once again sinking to the floor as you thought about everything that had somehow changed, in the matter of a few hours.

It was hard not to feel as if your body had betrayed your trust, taking away something you had always thought to be promised.

You were upset, and rightfully so.

Ivar may not have ever considered himself a father, in any capacity, but that didn’t mean that your upset was any less real. He’d had his entire life to come to terms with this, whereas you’d only known for a day.

Of course it bothered you, and even if he didn’t really get why you were allowing something like this to get to you so much, he could recognize that you were hurting.

...and what kind of husband would he be if he left his grieving wife to her own devices.

“I understand that you are distressed by the seer’s news, but I promise you, it changes nothing between us” Ivar assured, his fingers brushing over the top of your hand as he held it between you.

It wasn’t the most comforting gesture outside of this moment, a simple hand holding as it were, but coming from Ivar, it made all the difference in the world.

As desperate as you were to change the state of your body, and as much as you wished it wasn’t the way it was, you knew that nothing could be done.

All you could do now was move on as best you could, and perhaps, sometime down the line, the gods may gift you with a child that you could care for. 

Even if such a child wasn’t of Ivar’s and your own.

At least, until then, you had Ivar by your side.

[robininthelabyrinth]

for the prompts: NMJ/JC - Everyone with a functioning brain cell can see that JC just needs someone to tell him he’s doing a good job. And if WWX isn’t stepping up? Well, NMJ definitely will. (Preferably smut and/or fluff) Thank you! ❤️

Compliments - ao3

It started in anger, out of spite.

Traditionally, the world took this to be a bad thing, but in all honesty the vast majority of projects in the Nie sect were started that way – they inherited fiery tempers and spiteful personalities from their ancestors along with their saber cultivation traditions – and it didn’t always turn out badly. There were any number of buildings, techniques, or technological innovations in the Unclean Realm that had started life as a furious fuck you to someone and only turned into something worthwhile about halfway through, once the person involved had calmed down enough to think about what they were doing, realize they were already committed, and then shrug and carry on forward because there was no point in stopping a charge midway.

What Nie Mingjue meant was: there was precedent.

He liked to think it started with Jiang Fengmian, but if Nie Mingjue was being honest with himself, it started back in the Unclean Realm when Nie Huaisang had told him, quite casually over dinner, that he thought that the female cultivator in his class was very pretty and that he’d be happy to marry her.

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue had said, very intelligently. “Huaisang, you’re seven.”

Nie Huaisang had not seen the problem. Instead, he explained very forthrightly that it was only right that he start thinking early on about his marriage, as getting married and having children would be his great contribution to the sect on account of being useless good-for-nothing unfit for anything else –

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue said. “Who told you that?!”

Nie Huaisang claimed he had deduced it.

Nie Mingjue claimed that Nie Huaisang was full of bullshit, and also that he wasn’t good-for-nothing even if he wasn’t good at saber, and anyway even if he was a total good-for-nothing he was still Nie Mingjue’s good-for-nothing and no one had better say a single damn word against him or Nie Mingjue would bite them.

“I meant stab them!” he explained, far too late; Nie Huaisang was already rolling around laughing to the point of tears. “I have a saber. I can stab people! I’m actually very scary, you know!”

Nie Huaisang hadn’t believed him one bit and had carried on, seemingly at peace and forgetting everything, but Nie Mingjue had gone seeking advice from all of his elders and counselors and the more dependable senior disciples of his sect, abruptly terrified that he was permanently damaging Nie Huaisang by raising him the wrong way or something. Didn’t children need encouragement at that age? Weren’t they all young and tender peaches liable to be bruised at the slightest glance or young sprouts that needed to be sheltered from the harsh wind lest they grow up crooked?

Everyone assured him that children were hardier than they appeared, flexible and capable of bouncing back from just about anything. He'd pressed, though, pointing out that even the most flexible wood would eventually form a crack in the face of a vicious hurricane, and in the end they'd admitted that it was better to avoid applying too much pressure at too young an age, that a child squeezed too hard or not hard enough might develop neuroses that would hinder them in the future.

They mostly tried not to look at him when they said that, presumably thinking to themselves that Nie Mingjue was little more than a child himself and had already been subject to the worst pressures possible, which would undoubtedly result in who knows what future issues, but he hadn’t paid that part any mind. As far as he was concerned, his life was already a loss – he had sworn to take revenge for his father, to make that ancient monster Wen Ruohan pay with his life for what he had done and furthermore he'd sworn to pay back the blood debt in full before any of that burden passed to Nie Huaisang.

Letting Nie Huaisang grow up happy – that was what mattered.

Letting him be insulted when Nie Mingjue wasn’t looking played no part in that plan. If Nie Huaisang were going to be insulted, let it be by outsiders who he wouldn’t need to care about! Within their Nie sect, at minimum, he should be doted upon and honored, or else those responsible would have to explain themselves to Nie Mingjue.

Those dark thoughts still lingering in his mind, he had gone to the Lotus Pier for a discussion conference, and that, perhaps, was where it really started.

Rumor had already made the entire cultivation world aware that Jiang Fengmian had found the orphaned son of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze, and that he had taken him into his home as his ward, allowing him to become a Jiang sect disciple – treating him almost as one of the family, even. That much was known, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise when Jiang Fengmian proudly introduced him or even more proudly showed him off, praising him to the high heavens.

What did come as a surprise was how little he praised his own son standing beside him, despite them being only a few days apart in age. It was as if Jiang Fengmian had simply forgotten that such a creature existed, much less that he had himself contributed to its spawning, and the constant looks of hope – invariably crushed – the child sent him made it clear that the present situation had been going on for some time.

Fuck you, Nie Mingjue thought, seeing red, seeing instead Nie Huaisang in his failed saber classes, struggling so desperately to keep up with the rest even though his body wouldn’t allow for it, being told he was useless and a good-for-nothing and fit for nothing but marriage. Fuck you, Jiang Fengmian.

He couldn’t say that, of course.

So instead he said, “Excellent stance,” to the child, who'd received the courtesy name Wanyin but seemed to be universally called Jiang Cheng. “Do you know the others in the set?”

Jiang Cheng, staring at him, very slowly nodded, and demonstrated them.

“Absolutely perfect,” Nie Mingjue said loudly, drawing attention to himself with his over-loud voice that everyone would automatically forgive on account on him being both a Nie and a young man. “You can see how hard you’ve worked at it, and it has paid off handsomely. You are very lucky in your son, Sect Leader Jiang.”

“…thank you,” Jiang Fengmian said, a little bemused at being interrupted. He’d been talking yet again about Wei Wuxian’s brilliance at picking up the sword again after years of living on the streets without practice, even though at the moment the smiling boy's admittedly impressive skills were still largely wild and undisciplined.

Nie Mingjue nodded, and said: “When exactly did you say the opening festivities would be starting?”

Jiang Fengmian had clearly forgotten about that in his enthusiasm, so he quickly hurried back to the actual subject at hand and the discussion conference was started in earnest.

It was almost enough to allow Nie Mingjue to forget the matter and put it behind him.

Or, it would have been, if only Jiang Fengmian hadn’t continued to insert praise for Wei Wuxian at every possible instance – it was as if he were the man’s first-born son, rather than another person’s child.

Irritated beyond belief, Nie Mingjue started complimenting Jiang Cheng every time Jiang Fengmian said something nice about Wei Wuxian, and he made sure to keep his compliments accurate: he was a hard worker, dedicated and sincere, thoughtful, clever, not overly arrogant…

“Wei Wuxian came up with his own ideas for a sword style already,” Jiang Fengmian claimed at one point. “You can see him on the training ground now, practicing it – take a look!”

Nie Mingjue picked up a stone and flicked it over with his fingers, making Wei Wuxian jump half a chi into the air and nearly fall on his ass.

“Weak foundation, and he over-commits,” he analyzed dryly, because it was true, and because no one else was saying it. He didn't make it any harsher than it had to be: he had nothing against the boy himself, of course; it was only that he knew from experience that it was much easier to be the one being complimented than the one not. “He’s got his head so high in the clouds that his feet are barely touching the ground – the weakest fierce corpse would knock him flat as a pancake with a childish style like that. He’d be better off sticking with orthodox or he’ll end up in real trouble one day.”

“Sect Leader Nie, really,” Jiang Fengmian said disapprovingly. “He’s only nine.”

“Old enough to pick up bad habits,” Nie Mingjue retorted. “Your son’s the same age and he’s as steady as a rock. If Jiang Cheng keeps going as he is, he’ll have a strong enough base to outlast the fiercest storm.”

“A rock has no imagination,” Jiang Fengmian said, and was he actually arguing that his son was inferior? Out loud, in front of outsiders? Did the man have no shame? “Mingjue, you’re young, but you must know that my Jiang sect prizes freedom and creativity as the highest virtue –”

“Would you rather build a house using a firework or a foundation stone?” Nie Mingjue asked, doing his best not to outwardly bristle at the condescendingly intimate use of his name by someone who might be technically his elder but legally his equal. “Tell me, Fengmian, does your Jiang sect’s acclaimed ‘freedom’ only allow for people to be as fluid as the river and not as steady as the earth?”

Jiang Fengmian faltered, clearly not knowing how to answer that.

Nie Mingjue raised his hands in a sarcastic salute: “As the leader of a sect whose style is based on a grounded foundation, I would be very happy if you would educate me in your wisdom. No doubt my peers would benefit as well.”

Perhaps it was at that point that Jiang Fengmian realized that his words could be misinterpreted as an insult to all the sects whose styles were less free-flowing than the Jiang – just about all of them except for maybe the Lan and their subsidiary sects, given their preference for techniques modeled on the wind over the water – and moreover that this was a discussion conference, where every word was political, and that a great deal of people were glaring balefully at him. He hastily moved the conversation onwards, and left the subject of his sons for another day.

Later that evening, Madame Yu came over to where Nie Mingjue was nursing a bowl of very fine wine that he didn’t especially feel like consuming. Before he could start worrying about the Purple Spider’s intentions, she said, voice stiff, “Your words regarding my son are too kind. His skills are still inferior; he has a great deal of progress yet to be made.”

“He’s only nine,” Nie Mingjue said, feeling mortified that she’d noticed his little temper tantrum, which he had belatedly realized was probably extremely obvious. “Anyway, I wasn't lying. He has a good foundation; he’ll be a fearsome cultivator one day, there’s no doubt. I only said what I saw.”

“You didn’t comment about Wei Wuxian,” she said. “You must have noticed his genius.”

“Geniuses don’t need to be praised overmuch,” Nie Mingjue said. He himself had been termed a genius by his teachers, and he’d hated every single moment of it – couldn’t he just be good at things without having people fall all over themselves to compliment him? He’d enjoyed it at the start, but after a while it had started to wear on him; he was expected to be a genius in all things, and being simply ordinary was suddenly seen as failing. “It’s the ones that have to work hard that do, or else they’ll be discouraged…comparing someone to another person’s child works as a spur to a certain extent, but after a while it loses its potency as a tool.”

Your husband is a fucking idiot, he didn’t say. It’s his own son! How could he speak like that about him? Shouldn’t he be holding him in his palms like a gentle flame, protecting him from the wind and rain? How can he bear to scold his son when he hasn't shown that the scolding is meant for his benefit?

“Perhaps,” Madame Yu said, but it was clear on her face that she wasn’t about to start taking parenting advice from a half-grown sprout like Nie Mingjue. “Nevertheless, your words were kind.”

She swept away after that, much to his relief. He shook his head and daydreamed about a magic tool that would make this whole nightmarish experience go by that much quicker.

In the end, it went by at the same speed it always did. It could have ended there, but Nie Mingjue kept up the habit of blatantly complimenting Jiang Cheng in future sect conferences as well, if only because it clearly irritated Jiang Fengmian – less because Nie Mingjue was praising his son and more because it was so obviously meant as an indirect critique of Jiang Fengmian’s skills as a parent or sect leader, and moreover it reminded all the other sects of that unfortunate interchange and made them less inclined to listen to him – and of course, because, well, once you’ve started a charge, you had to finish it even if you came to your senses about halfway through.

He made sure to keep it proportionate, of course, since there was nothing worse than false praise. He didn’t really mean anything by it, other than the half-formed thought that someone ought to be doing it – that the boy should know that someone looked at him and Wei Wuxian and remembered to praise him first. Nie Mingjue praised Wei Wuxian too, of course, since the boy often deserved it; it was only that he made a particular point not to forget about Jiang Cheng, either.

(He also made sure the other sect leaders saw how well the technique could be used to fluster Jiang Fengmian, an intrusion into his personal life that could be masked in perfect politeness, and several of them picked up the same tact, though less consistently than Nie Mingjue – Sect Leaders Jin and Wen, naturally, always looking for a weakness, but interestingly enough also Lan Qiren, who was normally above such petty maneuvers. Possibly he was actually just complimenting Jiang Cheng because he sincerely approved of him.)

He didn’t think much of it.

Nie Mingjue didn’t think much of it during the other discussion conferences, or when he came to the Cloud Recesses to pick up Nie Huaisang, who had – amazingly – actually managed to pass this time, although the expression on Lan Qiren’s face suggested the pass might have more to do with the other sect leader’s desire to never see Nie Huaisang haunt his classroom ever again.

“You know what, don’t tell me. Tell me….hm…how did Jiang Wanyin do?” Nie Mingjue asked, hand over his eyes as if it could forestall the headache. “He’s a bright boy, and knows how to put his mind to something when he wants. Tell me about him instead, it’ll be less depressing.”

“He’s very bright,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Very thoughtful, and very thorough. He sometimes errs towards conservatism out of fear of giving the wrong answer, but that’s just a matter of confidence; his thinking is very good. He’s very clear-sighted as long as the matter is logical, rather than emotional.”

“No surprise,” Nie Mingjue grunted. “He’ll be a sect leader worthy of respect, in his time.”

When he’s rid of that father of his dragging him down, he thought ungraciously, and he saw Lan Qiren bob his head in a sharp nod of unspoken agreement.

“All right,” he said. “I’m adequately fortified now. Tell me about Huaisang.”

Lan Qiren gave him a look of profound sympathy.

It wasn’t until much later, during the Sunshot Campaign, that it was first called to his attention – by Jiang Cheng himself, oddly enough.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he hissed, having stayed behind after one of their meetings.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Doing – what?”

“You – you said – about me…!”

Nie Mingjue tried to recall what he’d said during the meeting just now. “That you – were doing an excellent job while facing much higher level of obstacles than everyone else?” he hazarded, because he had said something like that. “Or was it the bit about how if any of them had needed to rebuild their sect and fight at the same time, we’d all be doomed because they couldn’t multitask for shit?”

Yeah, it was probably that one.

“I didn’t mean any offense by referencing what happened to your sect,” he said, hoping to explain. “It was only –”

“I didn’t take offense,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but – it happened, everyone knows that it happened, not talking about it isn’t going to make it not have happened. That’s not what I meant…why do you keep saying such nice things about me?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Because they’re true?”

Jiang Cheng’s cheeks flushed red. “You’ve always said nice things about me. Ever since I was a little kid – every time you saw me, at the discussion conferences, or the Cloud Recesses, or even in your letters to my father…”

He had in fact done that.

“I just want to know why. Is it – my father’s not around, you can’t be doing it just to piss him off, even though I know that was part of it. Why me?”

Nie Mingjue coughed a little, having not realized that Jiang Cheng had noticed. Or possibly even overheard, in regards to the Cloud Recesses. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of the other person’s child,” he said, and Jiang Cheng nodded his head sharply, clearly thinking of Wei Wuxian. “You’re Huaisang’s.”

“Me?” Jiang Cheng seemed unduly vulnerable when he asked. “You compare him – to me?”

“It’s amazing he tolerated you at the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. In fact, his brother had all but declared war on Jiang Cheng in absentia on account of all Nie Mingjue’s comments, only for his first letter home from the Cloud Recesses that year to be I see why you like him! He’s cute! A perfect match for you! because he’d apparently decided that Nie Mingjue had a crush on the boy.

Which he certainly hadn’t – at least not when he’d been that age, anyway. Jiang Cheng had grown up to embody every single one of the compliments Nie Mingjue had paid him when he’d been younger, especially with the maturity and natural aura of command that came to him after his personal tragedy.

“But why…you knew Wei Wuxian about as well as you knew me.”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “And that would have helped Huaisang how, exactly? If I wanted to compare him with someone who picked things up the first time they saw it, I wouldn’t need to go outside the Nie sect for that – I was also considered a genius when I was young. It’s no failing to be born without a vast and unending natural talent; Huaisang’s issue has always been his unwillingness to put in the effort.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

“Anyway, your father was so blinded by his adoration for Wei Wuxian that he overlooked your merits, which are different but no less impressive,” Nie Mingjue added. “As someone who was trying to figure out how to raise a child, it irritated me; I thought someone ought to make it clear to you that you were seen.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice strangely hoarse. “Yes, you – you succeeded.”

He paused for a moment, meeting Nie Mingjue’s eyes intently, and then abruptly said, “I’ll be leaving,” and dashed out.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t entirely sure if that meant he should stop or not. Jiang Cheng had said he wasn’t offended…anyway, it was a fixed habit by now. He’d been doing it for over half his life! He couldn’t stop that easily! It would be like trying to stop his temper, or a charge – there was nothing for it.

Jiang Cheng would just have to live with a few compliments.

“Wow, you’re an idiot,” Nie Huaisang said when he told him about the incident, months later while he was lying in bed, recovering from the disaster that had been the end of the war. “I’ll fix this.”

“Fix what?”

“I’m going to tell him you’re dying,” Nie Huaisang decided.

“You’re going to do what?!”

“Stay in bed, da-ge! Doctor’s orders!”

The Nie sect chief doctor was an extremely terrifying person. Nie Mingjue stayed in bed.

Some time later, Jiang Cheng stormed in, face pale.

“Huaisang’s a rotten liar and I’m going to be fine,” Nie Mingjue said at once.

Jiang Cheng stopped mid-storm, and abruptly deflated. “Really?”

“Really. I would’ve stopped him, but I’m stuck in bed for the moment.”

Jiang Cheng took a seat next to him. “That sounds serious. You shouldn’t underestimate war wounds, especially given your sect’s tendency towards qi deviations...”

“Compassionate as well,” Nie Mingjue teased. “I’ll have to add that to the rotation of compliments.”

Jiang Cheng flushed red. “You’re…planning on continuing?”

“For the rest of my life, however short it might be,” Nie Mingjue said, because he was an honest person, even when it was inconvenient. He was going to explain about the habit, and the concept of stopping mid-charge, but he didn’t manage to start before Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up into a kiss.

After that, he figured that maybe explaining that part of it wasn’t necessary. He might be slow on the uptake, but he wasn’t actually stupid.

[swtki]

HP Boys: Surprise Pregnancy Head Cannons

Summary: The HP boys and their reaction to their s/o (afab) being pregnant when its not planned.

A/N: This takes place post Hogwarts so all characters are 18+, though no real smut happens in this so its not an 18+ fic.

WARNINGS: UNPLANNED PREGNANCY, MENTIONS OF PRO CHOICE OPINIONS, MENTIONS OF SEX IN LITE TERMS, SWEARING, FLUFF, MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL, ALSO THIS IS SUPER LONG SORRY LOL

Draco

So everything is going great for the happy couple, you two just moved into a flat together and are working normal jobs, drinking wine like adults.

And sure, Draco knows he wants to marry you, but he knows you’re not ready to settle down like that so he just plans and dreams.

Due to poor choices, when you’re late by two weeks, you know what it probably is.

Draco doesn’t even notice that you ran out to the store and came back and hid in the bathroom for 10 minutes. CEO of minding his own business ig

You just kinda...walk up to him and hand him all 3 tests while your eyes fill with tears because what if he demands you get an abortion?

Or what if he fucks off to god knows where?

But instead he just looks at you with the most un-draco like smile. Like his face was soft and it looked like he could cry any moment.

“Oh my god,” He says, putting his hand on your belly, “I can be ready for this, but if you aren’t then we can you know...”

“No, I want it” then both of you rejoice bc yay baby!

Cut to 6 months later when your feet hurt so bad you have to lay down and watch while Draco fails to put a crib together.

He eventually gets it done tho.

And when the time comes, he’s built and arranged everything for your bundle of joy.

Harry

So you guys are probably already married, but with everything at the ministry going on, it makes Harry less than a family man.

You both agree that it’s probably better to wait so you can be home and yk...raise it.

Well smart man Harry forgets that to not have a kid you need to use protection.

So of course when your period is late you don’t think about it, until its four weeks late.

That night, you and Harry are laying in bed, and thats when you tell him.

“Harry..I’m late.”

“Late for what?” headass.

You: 😳😐

Him: 👁👁😲😲

He’s hesitant to say anything, because he knows its ultimitley up to you what happens with it until its out.

“I think I want to keep it...you know it wont remember much for the first year and a half so if things are stressful it will be okay and-“

“Love...Its going to be perfect”

Mf built the crib in like 45 minutes I swear.

And of course he forced you to keep up with your vitamins, pre natal care, and appointments.

Swear tho you’re about to kill him because cofFeE

But the way he holds your baby 🥺 its his most valued thing ever now.

Ron

Ron is iffy on the kid thing sometimes.

He does want them, but only later when you guys have lived and travled.

So no, you two haven’t planned nor is it even in the picture when your wedding roles around.

It’s in the early days of the marriage when you see his family at the burrow on the way back from the honeymoon.

And of course Molly knows

Because Weasleys are hyperfertile I swear.

She takes you into the kitchen and puts her hands on your arms, shes got that big Mrs.Weasley smile on too.

“I knew it!” She says and pulls you in for a hug, “How far dear??”

You’re just standing there like🧍🏻

“I can see it by the way you glow! Oh my you and my Ron must be so happy!” This woman doesn’t notice that you’re confused.

“Wait what? Mrs. Weasley what are you-?” Then you count the days, “Oh. Well I guess I just found out for myself”

Her face falls slightly, but then she tells you can make you a potion that will tell you if you are or not, stan.

The stupid potion turns green when you spit into it, so everything is confirmed.

That night, you and Ron are getting ready for bed in the guest room and you decide to tell him.

“Ron, sweetie. We need to talk.” He looks like he’s gonna start crying but sits next to you on the bed.

“Y/N...I know its scary but please, we just got married I don’t want to divorce quite just yet 🥺🥺”

“Ron I-“ you start smiling, “I’m pregnant you dufus.”

He just freezes, for a while. Not saying anything, he just looks at the wall with his mouth ajar.

So you get up and go to Ginny.

“Gin, I broke him.”

“Ew, I don’t want to know about how you and him”

“No, I told him that I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, yeah that would do it. Just I don’t know... Give him a minute?”

You give him several, getting a glass of water then heading back up to the room.

Ginny was right, he needed a minute.

“I don’t...I wasn’t...you were.?”

“You don’t have to stay, but I think we can do it. Plus, you would disapoint your mom if you left so...”

“Okay...we’ll do it. I’ll be the best damn Father you have ever seen.” He says, talking to your womb.

Well...he’s a father I’ll give him that.

Pro of having a Weasley baby: free crib thats already put together.

Even if it looks like a death trap.

“We’ll put some blankets over it don’t worry”

You know how some Dads hold their parters hand during the delivery? Yeah he got sick and was moral support from the outside.

To be fair, you weren’t screaming in pleasure by any means.

Scary. But beautiful.

He shows the kid to everyone, he might be more in love with the baby than he is with you.

Ron see’s the appeal of having kids now.

Neville

Moving in with your boyfriend is always fun, right up until you guys go at it so much you forget protection more than once.

You think about it, then move on with your day.

Until the doctor calls, then “oh fuck”

Romance Neville bf

“Why aren’t you having any wine? I thought it was your favorite?”

“I don’t think fetal alcohol syndrome is my favorite.” BRO HE SPAT

But he looks up with tears in his eyes, and runs over to you to grasp you in a hug.

“Oh my god! You’re pregnant! Oh my - We’re gonna be parents!! Oh my god we’re gonna be parents oh-“ Que you petting his hair till he’s calm again.

Lets be honest, this man probably swapped the herbology books for the parenting guides.

“Well I mean I’m just wondering if we should go with this color or this one”

“Nev, it doesn’t matter. Our baby will not care.”

“I read in my book that Infants actually can recognize mood in-“

He won’t let you do anything during your pregnancy.

Gotta love a man who cries because he loves you so much and you’re having his kid.

“I never had a father, what if I do it wrong? What if the baby hates me and runs away at seven?”

“We’ve got quite a lot of time before then.”

He was there during delivery, letting you crush his hand like a champ.

You can’t help but cry when you see him sleeping on the floor next to the crib, its so sweet.

Fred

You two most likely already had two kids, so you decided to wait a bit so your hands weren’t quite full.

Well...your body decided not to wait.

A test provides the two lines, another wild child.

The two toddlers already run around like thing one and thing two, only with red hair.

I think Fred would gladly make the family dinner, and wear an apron. He’d own it, as he should.

But mf gotta not drop the salad bowl when you tell him of the fetus inside you.

“Fred we are going to have a bee-ay-bee-why.”

Your five year old has just begun to spell 😐

He’s happy tho.

Like over the fuckin moon.

He buys the two kids big brother/sister shirts too 🥺🥺

He knows the drill pretty well, so he isn’t too worried about the future.

But its funny that he still freaks out about the crib and feeding chair since he gave it away, you know because you guys werent having another kid.

He packed a hospital bag and kept it in the trunk, counting down the days.

Hours of delivery (He just sat back and held your hand) only to end up with a room full of 7 Weasley family members.

Fred always said that 3 was his lucky number :)

George

You guys were taking it slow, no marriage until you both felt it was time. And certainly no children before that.

Well you know...things changed when the test was positive.

You slid it over on the table, tears pooling in your eyes. He was stunned and quiet, which made you burst out sobbing because you knew that neither of you planned on having a baby.

But to your surprise he starts to smile.

“I want whatever you want, I’m staying by your side no matter what.”

“I mean...would it really be so bad? A house, a kid, a dog?” He holds your hand as you think aloud.

You both give it a week to think it over and the virdict is to keep it.

Thats when he decides he has to marry you, asap because he loves you and will never let you go especially now.

He loves to gush about the carrier of his child, to him you are a godess.

He’s the Dad with a predestination complex.

“Y/N, I just see him being a star quiditch player”

“George, we don’t know if it’s a him.”

He rolls his eyes “Okay then I can see her being a star-“

He made Hermione take you out for a movie date so he could rearrange your bedroom, since you only had a single bedroom flat.

You come back to a new set up including a cot.

Damn pregnancy hormones make brain go 🥺😭😭

He freaks when your water breaks lol

ceo of driving like a maniac to the hospital.

He can’t hold your hand, he’s pacing back and forth, sweating and maybe crying though he’ll never admit to it.

You get the joy of watching him cuddle the baby while refusing to give your child to you.

“George I’d like to hold-“

“No, you need your sleep honey, don’t worry”

Hogging the child.

Cedric

Its no secret that Cedric wants a baby someday.

And he makes it clear your wedding will be spectacular too.

However, finding out you’re pregnant the week of your dream wedding was a shock.

A shock that made you bang your head into the wall because how could you be so stupid?? We had a plan??

So you decide to wait until after the wedding, that way it wont add onto the stress (happy stress) of the wedding.

Cedric keeps trying to fill your glass at the reception, to which you kindly refuse saying you want to remember the night entirely.

Yeah he’s like 🤨 mhm okay.

You can only pick at the dinner because ew salmon doesn’t sound like an option if you want to keep the contents of your stomach.

As everyone waves goodbye to the car, and you both set off into married life, he leans over.

“I may be out of my mind, but are you...?”

“Pregnant.” His face lights up, pulling you into a hug.

Finally, your car pulls up to a small cottage with lush garden scapes all around, putting a hand out, he walks you both from the car to the door.

“Ced, where are we?”

“Home.”

Somehow it was perfect with Cedric, even when it was rushed.

He loved talking to your womb, even if it was weird that he was talking about the babies future brothers and sisters.

“Cedric, slow down. We haven’t even had this one yet”

Basically he is father of the year before he’s a full father.

He’s there while you deliver, holding your hand and telling you how great you’re doing.

He doesn’t even complain when you insult him <3.

He updates you on everything.

If his eyes aren’t on that child, he’s either asleep or dead.

I think Cedric was meant to be a family man, because he loves everything about being one.

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