#like the endless list of aunts and uncles

[enviedear]

my modern!jace hcs and thoughts…

request ⊹ jacaerys masterlist

౨ৎ ┄───────╮ got a bit carried away with what was supposed to be hcs... but i can't help it! modern!jace scratches an itch somewhere in my brain—especially lawyer/law student!jace. don't question the family dynamics too much for this au. i don't have the brain capacity to rearrange and fix that mess <3

╰───────┄ ౨ৎ

twenty-two and a recent graduate. he majored in law with a minor in public policy. his younger brother, lucerys, makes frequent comments about how boring it all must be, but jacaerys velaryon loves it. he’s following the family line, after all.

he took office at one of his mother’s law firms, a by-product of having a family in the affairs of state. however, the firm is actually headed by his mother’s aunt, rhaenys. his mother, rhaenyra is in the middle of an election, running opposite otto hightower—a man jacaerys is lax to admit kinship to.

on paper he’s an associate, in practice, he’s whatever his family and their board need him to be. he likes it that way—being dependable.

he has such a large family, even disregarding those somewhat estranged. if you asked him to directly place everyone to their respective titles he couldn’t, so he settles for the ease of endless uncles, aunts, and cousins.

his schedule is usually packed—so when he is free, he likes to spend his time well. his best friend, cregan, gets him out of the house most the time. an easy task since the stark family owns numerous ski resorts. a perfect respite from his life of public service, at least that’s what cregan says.

jace absolutely hates the media, not necessarily social media though. his instagram stories are frequently full of reposts or camera roll dumps, his twitter constantly active but he mourns public likes. he loves to engage with factitious headlines about himself and his family, to his mother’s chagrin. he’s blocked on all social media by the estranged hightower news, headed by his mother’s old friend turned step-mother, alicent. a topic the family attempts to gloss over when in public.

has a laundry list of fashion houses at his disposal. he went viral once for “mogging” in armani at his grandfather’s funeral. he drunkenly admitted after the service that he figured viserys would have deemed it a rather lovely suit, despite the occasion. mostly, he shares his uncle laenor’s love for couture, a man who is firm in belief that a bit of pageantry never hurt anyone. almost exclusively wears canali for everyday wear, a luxury his paychecks find no issue with fulfilling.

listens to every single book he 'reads'. his airpods are constantly in his ears but he rarely opts for music. he listens to the greats on repeat, or at least that's what he calls them—near constant loops of orwell and machiavelli. he has a guilty pleasure for brandon sanderson novels though.

jacaerys is embarrassed to have a chauffeur for any and all events with his family, but he does an excellent job at hiding it. he’s is chronically good at masking any signs of disdain. his family would tell you he’s perfectly agreeable— his brothers, lucerys and joffrey, know him better, can spot his muddled ill temper through anything. he can hold his tongue most of the time, far better than the rest of his family, but he’s known to have his moments.

on his own, he drives a aston martin valour. wrapped olive green with burnt orange accents. it was pricey, a fact his uncle corlys never ceases to remind him of, but he loves it. gave it a name and everything—vermax.

the only cousins he talks to regularly are the twins, baela and rhaena. they flock together during board meetings, three ideal images of the pristine image their family attempts to portray. he and baela are most like minded, so much so that the rest of the board jokes they’re reading each others minds.

on the opposite end of the spectrum, alicent’s children— aegon, aemond, and helena, are of much different minds. the eldest of the them is prepped to take over his grandfather’s media empire. a complete disaster waiting to happen given aegon’s incessant and very public bad behavior. jace figures the young man more of a puppet if anything. the second born is somehow an even worse case, behavior less public but far more… sadistic. aemond is known in well to do social circles for his vitriol, mouth constantly fixed to land a cutting blow.

the youngest, helena, is actually quite sweet albeit heavily reclusive. she’s the founder of several successful ventures, thrust into the spotlight at a young age. these days the most the public get from her is a monthly blog update—refined and well crafted—detailing a mix of what she learned that month and a few run-on sentences about insects. but she always finds time for him at their disjointed family events, no matter the animosity in the room. she’s one of his favorite people to talk to. jace swears that somehow, she always knows just what to say.

on sunday’s he winds up at one of his uncle daemon’s golf courses. am agreement he took up after the death of viserys. his uncle is lonely without his brother, and he’s never had to tell jace that for him to know it. jace is rather shit at the sport, but he’s found that as long as daemon has a drink in his hand, nothing will be commented on. sometimes luke will tag along just to gloat, his younger brother has always been at golf.

every christmas he takes his siblings on a hunt. just like their dad, harwin, used to. it’s gotten to be a big deal after so many years. his mother often reminds him, jokingly, that he is the reason their home has become the holiday stomping grounds. he’s replied back many times that at least that saves them from the hightower’s grounds, and their brutish security detail. headed by one criston cole, he’s has never gotten a good feel for the man—or the men under his command.

jace can’t fall asleep without some form of auditory stimulation. he blames laenor, always gifting a young jace pirated lullaby cd’s… for some reason. nowadays, he’s usually a listening to a history podcast before bed. never picky on the topic or timeframe, he could listen to the tales of the past forever.

additionally—jacaerys loves linguistics. if you looked through his search history you’d find the following searches: why do we feel different when speaking in a different language? / are there languages with no numbers? / what happened to the transatlantic accent? / “where did the word ‘cocktail’ come from?

he has successfully created and maintained a masked dj persona after a drunken dare in ibiza from rhaena. he’s booked a handful of gigs, all without his name attached to it. rhaena keeps it a secret, at the promise she gets to accompany him at her own whim.

jace has only ever publicly has had one relationship. he dated cregan’s half-sister for a few years, sara. sure he had to deal with his best friends griping for a few years, but he really did love the girl. they broke up due to their schedules, moreso, his schedule. he promised baela he won’t make the same mistake in his next relationship.

he never has trouble finding people to fawn over him, but he does have a horrible issue with committing. not that he wants to play the field or hurt hearts, but he truly believes no one will ever give him the grace he needs to feel secure in the relationship. he feels like he already has too much baggage, carrying his own and his family’s. at this point, he’d rather have a few hookups as opposed to being let down—jacaerys hates that the most about himself, above all else.

that’s why he so confused as of late. unable to seem get his mind off of someone—something completely unaccustomed to him. you’re fresh at the firm, relegated to coffee runs and still straight to the book but god—jace thinks you're perfect.

he didn't even fully grasp his fixation on you until asking himself why on earth he keeps volunteering you to sit in on his client meetings. he almost shutters everytime he remembers the stupid excuse he forced out after you dared to ask him why—"i just write so slow, and i don't want to miss anything." a lie. jacaerys could tune out a client for an entire session and still win a case, but he determined early he'd rather bask in yout presence instead. however diluted he must keep his feelings...

[gale-dekarios]

An Endless List of In-Laws

Quick drabble about Rose's ridiculously huge family.

One thing that Gale wasn't quite prepared for when he proposed to one Rostislav Hylwood was the army of in-laws he was also about to marry into, and yet, he took it in his stride. 

“Okay, go!”

 “Your mother’s name is Nijala, she will be pleased that I put effort into saying her name properly, her favourite flowers are tulips, and she hates slouching and bad manners. Casimir is your half-brother, twenty. He likes fashion and will criticise my dress sense, and I shouldn’t take his offer to fix my outfit lest I end up in something else entirely. Najda is your half-sister, nineteen. She’s independent and passionate and I need to watch out for her elbows should I be near her when she speaks. Ivanka, seventeen, is your half-sister. She’s apprenticing at the local blacksmiths, which I should bring up to her, but not around your mother, who’s annoyed she’s not carrying on the family stone mason business--”

 “-- You’re doing great!”

 “-- thank you -- Jascha is your half-brother, fifteen. He works as a stablehand and doesn’t like direct eye contact. If he likes me, I’ll know. Luka is another half-brother, twelve, he likes climbing things and stealing, I need to watch my pockets around him. Lydia, half-sister, seven. She’ll mention her age, and I need to comment on how mature she is. Magda, the youngest, four, half-sister. She’ll try to climb on my lap and will scream if I don’t let her.”

 “Just let her.”

 “I will.”

 “Step-father?”

 “Casimiro.”

 “Last name?”

 “Aranov.”

 “And you shouldn’t…?”

 “Bring up dragonchess around him.”

 “Because…?”

 “He’ll challenge me to a game.”

 “And…?”

 “Get mad when he loses.”

 “I can’t believe you remembered all of that.”

 “Please, that’s nothing. I have your father’s side of the family committed to memory, the names, favourite gifts, and favourite pastimes of both your grandparents and step-grandparents, and a mental list of your aunts, uncles, cousins, and step-aunts, uncles, and cousins names and where they hail from. I know I can’t seat your Aunt Jenvig with your Step-Uncle Jakob, your cousin Helsig is lactose intolerant but will try to eat dairy anyway, and your Grandma Helena should not be referred to as anything other than Grandma Helena.”

 “Impressive. Did I ever tell you that your knack for memory is weirdly arousing?” Rose purred.

 “Oh you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until we get to your first cousins twice removed,” Gale flirted in kind. 

 “Hm,” he hummed, “Can’t wait.” Then turning sombre: “Alright, do you think we’re ready?” he grabbed the ink pen.

 Gale grabbed the wedding seating chart, matching his serious brow, “As we’ll ever be.”

[irenethewoman]

Mrs. Shelby - Chapter Two- First Shot

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December 1914, Birmingham:

As I settled into life within the Shelby household, it became apparent that observing and adapting were my best courses of action. Even though their workforce was currently absent due to the war, the Shelbys were far from ordinary laborers. When Polly and I went out shopping, I noticed passersby respectfully addressing her as "Good morning, Mrs. Grey." I had encountered workers in my grandfather's factory, but they never held such prestige and status. "Mrs. Grey," "Mrs. Shelby," "Miss Shelby" – the Shelby surname wielded an almost magical influence in Birmingham. I was beginning to grasp their line of work. The Shelbys were undoubtedly the same sort of people who had caused my father endless headaches and filled Nurse Claire with terror. Truth be told, when I had a clear understanding of their activities two months ago, I couldn't help but shudder. Gangsters weren't much better than brothels or No. 10 King's Road. It was akin to moving from one perilous situation to another. If my father knew that his little princess had landed in such a predicament, it would break his heart.

But as time passed, my perspective on the past 15 years began to shift. Yes, they were gangsters who earned their living through gambling, extortion, and collecting protection money. However, wasn't that the way of the world? How could they support such a vast family on meager factory wages? They relied on squeezing ordinary people to secure a better life, just as gangsters, politicians, and capitalists did. In essence, nobility was not fundamentally distinct; it boiled down to whether one's actions were legal or not. But who decided what was legal? If the law itself was one-sided and severe, where did justice originate? My noble relatives had either aimed to divide my inheritance due to my parents' demise or had avoided me for the same reason. After I was rebuffed when seeking aid from my aunt and uncle, I disregarded Nurse Claire's objections and ventured north alone. Furthermore, the Shelbys, the gangsters I had tried to avoid in the past, hadn't treated me unkindly. Even without the title of Baroness, I could still enjoy white bread, bacon, and chocolate that factory workers could only dream of.

After work, I'd rest on a comfortable bed by a warm fireplace. While it might not have been on par with my previous accommodations, it was leagues ahead of my recent fugitive lifestyle. All of this was thanks to the Shelbys, particularly Polly. Although she wore the mantle of the family's matriarch and appeared stern, she was not the kind of boss who criticized her employees relentlessly. In fact, she displayed more consideration for her workers than my maternal grandfather or the officials of the East India Company ever did. Beneath her veneer of cold and ruthless efficiency lay a softer, more compassionate core. While she hadn't immediately believed my story, like Ada and Martha, she had at least not sent me back to London, albeit explaining it as not wanting to "waste money on strangers."

Martha, with her oval face, was Finn and Ada's sister-in-law. Apart from her slightly protruding blue eyes, she was rather attractive. With three children to support and one more on the way, Martha was the only member of the family who could appreciate the poetry collection I had purchased with my earnings. She was kind and gentle, and she, along with Bo, regularly attended church services and provided food for the less fortunate in our community. She claimed to have been a pastor's daughter in the past, but her actions contradicted that background. I had encountered pastors before, and none of them resembled Martha. It was evident that she, too, grappled with hardship on the fringes of society.

As time passed, I found myself missing the life of a young lady from when my parents were alive. However, my new existence no longer held the same allure it had when I first escaped, and I refrained from incessantly comparing it to my past. These two months had wrought profound changes in me, challenging nearly every preconceived notion I held. Virtue and vice were not permanent fixtures in this world; no one could lay claim to absolute goodness or wickedness. It was a realm governed by natural selection, survival of the fittest. Initially, I had found this concept to be harsh, but now I recognized it as the unvarnished truth.

I no longer concealed my past. I had come from a privileged background. For the first fifteen years of my life, I had been a sheltered heiress. My sole misfortune was having a contingent of ill-fated relatives. Initially, Polly had tasked me with maintaining the household accounts and teaching the children arithmetic and reading. The Shelby family possessed few books, and the poetry collection I had purchased wasn't suitable for educational purposes. Thus, I had to buy a newspaper each morning during our grocery trips. I learned to read at the breakfast table, gradually absorbing the words.

My father had always read newspapers, both in English and German. Perhaps because my investigation had been thorough, Polly gradually began granting me access to the Shelby family's external accounts. These documents contained receipts related to horse racing, protection money, and dealings with the police station. It wasn't easy for Polly. The war had not ended as swiftly as we had anticipated, and the cost of living was steadily rising. Finn and his three nephews were still quite young. Ada had no desire to engage in the family's "business." Martha was pregnant and exceedingly gentle. This left Polly as the family's sole provider, responsible for the entire household. She had to be tough when dealing with others, ensuring her family's betterment, only to return home and seek solace in her prayer room. She was good to me, and as December approached, I planned a surprise for her on Christmas.

However, what could I possibly offer? As Bo grew more comfortable with me, I found myself assuming additional responsibilities. I had become the Shelby family's accountant, tutor, nanny, and even their cook. Despite the decent life I was leading and the kindness shown to me by the Shelbys, I still felt like an outsider. Perhaps it was because I couldn't master the art of smoking or tolerate the pungent taste of whiskey, or maybe it was because I couldn't casually toss around expletives as freely as the others did.

One day, as I finished my work and wandered the streets lost in thought, I suddenly heard Ada's scream, "How dare you! We're Shelbys!" My heart clenched in anxiety. Despite her upbringing in this environment, Ada retained an underlying romanticism and innocence that even surpassed my own. "Oh my God!" I recalled Martha mentioning the family's intention to confront Liz Stark today. I found the address and knocked on the door with urgency. Upon entering, I was greeted by chaos. "Ada!" I called out, searching for her. Please, let them be safe!

"Diana! Get your filthy hands off!" I hurried upstairs but found myself unable to open the locked door. It was then that the person who had let me in followed me up. He was tall and bald, with sparse black hair on his forehead. Even his touch on my forearm made my stomach turn. "Unlock the door," I demanded,

withdrawing the pistol from my bag and aiming it at his belly. It was a firearm Polly Shelby had loaned me, and I hadn't returned it yet. My hands trembled; it marked my first time pointing a gun at a living being. I feared that his appearance was deceptive, that he possessed greater strength than me, that I wasn't capable enough. I was anxious about getting entangled in a violent confrontation. I worried that my impulsiveness might harm Liz Stark, preventing her from earning a living. All these fears churned within me.

He seemed to notice my apprehension and boldly placed his other hand on my waist. I clenched my teeth, loaded the pistol, and jabbed it into his gut with determination. "Unlock the door for me—now!" He reluctantly acquiesced, fumbling with the key, and I allowed him to depart before rushing into the room.

Inside, I found Ada protecting Martha, while Liz Stark was being held by the hair and struggling. Another man had his back to me, undoing his belt, and turned around when he heard the door open. "Oh! We've got another visitor." He smirked, his mouth tainted by yellow nicotine stains. His lewd words, ones I didn't fully comprehend, made the man holding Stark's hair burst into laughter. "It was you who begged for this…" he muttered.

"Bam!" In a decisive moment, I fired my first shot at a living person, striking the man in the left thigh. He screamed and crumpled to the ground, clutching his injured leg and wailing like a banshee. The stench of blood and urine filled the small, enclosed space, nauseating me. I struggled to suppress the urge to vomit and aimed the gun squarely at the remaining assailant's head, "Release them. Let them go!" After firing the first shot, my hands steadied, and I possessed a firmer grip on the gun. This time, I pointed it directly at him.

"Don't mess with the Shelbys, not even with a woman." I declared firmly. Afterward, when I returned to 6 Waterley Lane, I rushed to the bathroom and, with as much grace as I could muster, promptly emptied my stomach. Gazing into the mirror afterward, I couldn't help but feel a sense of strangeness. The girl with black hair in the reflection looked pale, her mouth smeared with remnants of vomit and dirt. As I raised my hand, she mimicked the motion. I had genuinely transformed.

Martha convinced Ada and me to rest, and I prepared mulled wine for both of us. We huddled together, wrapped in blankets, sipping our drinks in silence by the warm fireplace. I, or perhaps we, were awaiting Polly's return. A gunshot had rung out; a man had been shot in a brothel, nearly disfigured. It was odd that neither Liz Stark nor Polly Shelby had received word of it. Perhaps Polly would dismiss me at the height of the impending storm, perhaps she'd grow infuriated over my use of the Shelby name. Regardless, I needed to explain myself face-to-face.

"Why did you use a gun?" Ada's question broke the silence, interrupting my reverie.

"What?" I hesitated, unable to meet her gaze, fearful that she might perceive me as a ruthless assailant.

"I noticed you often drift into thought... I mean, why did you use a gun?"

"My father taught me to hunt, ma'am, and I know how to use a shotgun." I replied, averting her eyes.

Another uncomfortable silence ensued, eventually broken by Polly Shelby's return.

Upon seeing her in the living room, relief washed over me. Even if she decided to expel me, I wouldn't be left homeless.

"Are you alright?" She checked on Ada before turning to me. I watched as she examined me, patiently waiting for her verdict.

"Go get some rest, Ada."

"Don't blame her, Aunt Polly. It was for me and Juliet that Diana fired." Polly remained silent but gave Ada's shoulder a reassuring pat before pouring herself a glass of wine. Despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead, I exchanged a reassuring glance with Ada.

"Why did you use a gun?" It seemed everyone was curious about a young woman who could wield a firearm, especially considering my age.

"My father taught me to hunt, ma'am, and I know how to use a shotgun."

"You rarely speak of your past," Polly noted, and I confessed, "But you never asked, ma'am."

Polly smiled, "I wasn't interested in a secretary's past before, but it's different now."

"My name is Diana Elizabeth Turner. My father was Baron Charles Turner, and my mother was Elizabeth Barton. I have an older brother, a younger brother, and a younger sister." I shared this information as Polly's gaze remained fixed on me.

She then put down her cup and embraced me. At that moment, tears welled up, and I allowed myself to cry. I did know how to use a shotgun, but the first time I had threatened someone with a gun, I was terrified. Fear had consumed me, fearing that his appearance concealed great strength, fearing that I wouldn't be effective enough, fearing I would become embroiled in violence, fearing for Liz Stark's safety, fearing Martha and Ada might view me as a merciless demon, and fearing Polly Shelby might expel me from her home or send me back to King's Road.

"Silly girl, go rest." Polly comforted me.

"Madam, are you going to send me away?" I asked, my tears finally subsiding.

Polly seemed to find my question amusing. "Why would I send you away? Because you protected my family?"

"Silly girl, right now, the Shelbys only need to use their guns to show Birmingham that even when the men are away, the Shelbys are untouchable. Besides, you and I are the only ones in this household who can handle a firearm."

Following that day, Polly asked me to address her as "Polly" or, like Ada and the others, as "Aunt Polly." On Christmas Eve, Polly presented me with a gift. She instructed me not to open it until everyone else had retired to their rooms. Inside the box was an elegant lady's pistol.

"The old gun I lent you belonged to Tommy. This one is more suitable for you," Polly explained, her cheeks slightly flushed from wine. "Just remember, don't let the children see it, let alone play with it, unless it's empty."

I held the unloaded pistol in my hands, examining it, and then looked up at Polly, questioning, "Who is Tommy?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Tommy is one of Finn and Ada's nephews, the second brother. All three brothers enlisted in the army. Tommy is a handsome young lad, inheriting his mother's striking blue eyes." Polly remarked, gazing at me. "You bear a striking resemblance to him."

"Really?" I responded, my fingers tracing the contours of the gun, my gaze still locked onto the pistol. Polly's words had left me pensive, and I couldn't find the right words to reply.

The town bell chimed, signaling midnight. I leaned down and planted a kiss on Polly Shelby's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Aunt Polly."

[anqelbean]

I have many mdzs fanfic ideas (or mxtx in general) that I'll never write because I'm a coward with no time to spare so I'll just share what's supposed to be a 100k fic in my head into a long tumblr post.

So I have been thinking of this tgcf x mdzs crossover for months basically.

You know those AUs where hualian adopt wwx? What if. Hear me out. Wei Wuxian is their actual blood son?

Like. One of the two of them finally took that childbearing pill and popped out little A-Ying, who's basically the first human to be born immortal. Little young master of Ghost City. Little prince of the heavens. Spoiled with love and care by his parents and endless list of uncles and aunts. Crimson red eyes and a bright smile.

So, of course, in this au, his last name wouldn't be Wei, but what if they couldn't decide whose name he should take? I don't think hualian would care much for that anyway, but the realms have different opinions. The heavens want his name to be "Xie Ying" after his godly father, but the ghosts want it to be "Hua Ying" after their king.

So, why not both, you know? The Gods call him "Xie Ying" and the Ghosts call him "Hua Ying".

He grows up a very happy child with incredible parents, beloved in all three realms, by Heaven, Earth and Ghost.

Then, he turns 22, and decides he wants to know what mortality felt like, being the only one in his family to have never experienced it. He asks his parents to grant him the chance to see how it felt to be mortal, at least for a while.

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng take this with a heavy heart, as both of them are incredibly worried over their son. They agree of course, but they make a deal.

It goes like this: A-Ying will be reverted to a 9 year old, and until the day he reaches the same age as he was the day he gained his mortality, he shall not have the memories of his immortal life. He will not remember his fathers, he will not remember how it's like to walk through the golden streets of the heavens, or the colourful ones of Ghsot City. He will not remember his relatives, nor will he remember his friends. He will lose all of them, for 13 years as a mortal.

And so, the little young master is sent to Earth, with no memories nor spiritual power. His parents sent him purposefully on the path of two young newlyweds, who unfortunately couldn't have children. They send word to their friends that they have adopted a child. He gains a third name, one for the Earth to call him, Wei Ying, a normal silver eyed boy.

Then, his mortal parents die, and Wei Ying is alone. Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are worried sick as they watch their little boy from afar. Then, while Jiang Fengmian is searching for his da-shixiong's child in Yiling, he spots something quite peculiar.

A butterfly, with wings that seemed as if made of pure silver, looking neither alive nor dead. He decides to follow it, thinking it the will of the heavens.

He finds a young boy, cornered by a pack of stray dogs in an alley. He rescues the boy and asks for his name.

"My name is Wei Ying," The boy bows to him in gratitude. "Thank you for saving me, kind shushu!!"

Jiang Fengmian thinks it the blessing of the heavens.

And so, Wei Ying gains a new family, a kind shushu and an angry madame, a sweet older sister and a grumpy little brother and he couldn't be happier.

So he works hard, he learns how to cultivate, he does everything so that he doesn't disappoint this new, fragile family he has. Soon enough he becomes da-shixiong, just as his adoptive father before him. He even gets a his own sword, one made specifically for him!

(Xie Lian's hands itch to see his son's spiritual weapon, especially since it's a sword, but he cannot help but laugh at the name)

The madame is harsh, but he'll take any punishment if it means keeping his family.

His little brother is often jealous of him, insecure in his standing as heir to their clan, but he still cares for his older brother, even when he is reckless, so Wei Ying tries everything to help his brother with his woes.

His shijie is the best. But she's in love with an idiot. So he needs to protect her. It's the least he can do for her.

His shushu is still as kind as the first day he met him, but he is too harsh on his shidi. He cannot have that, so he tries everything to get him to acknowledge his son.

And then there's Cloud Recesses.

Then there's long black hair and sharp golden eyes. Bright white and soft blue against a moonlit night. An uptight personality and a face he cannot get out of his head. And easily triggered annoyance, an even but deep voice, a natural rule follower. Someone who he can spar with on even ground.

Wei Ying, now Wuxian, has always been smart. He realizes why he wants this boy's eyes and attention to always be directed at him. He wishes he could ignore it. It would be preferable to dreaming of being pressed to a desk at the Library Pavilion by an angry Lan Zhan and being kissed within an inch of his life.

Although not by much, if such a fantasy were to come true.

Then, he punches Jin Zixuan and gets sent home. It's worth it, it's to protect his shijie's honour. But as he says goodbye to Lan Zhan, as he leaves him with two small bunnies, as he sees blush seep into the top of his ears and back of his neck, he thinks he should've been more careful about it.

(As Xie Lian watches his son from afar, he cannot help but chuckle at his son's first love, and thinks that maybe, that Lan Wangji would be a good son-in-law. His husband is not as convinced, protective over his child. Maybe this is how Guoshi felt when he found out about him and Xie Lian.)

When Wei Wuxian sees him again at the archery competition, he feels overjoyed, and, wanting to show off in front of Lan Zhan, wins the competition single handedly, but not before accidentally taking off Lan Zhan's forehead ribbon, and angering him in the process. He really didn't understand what's so serious about it.

(Feng Xin could not be more proud of his nephew for winning in archery, but he does wish he could smack him on the head for not realizing the meaning of his actions. Mu Qing rolls his eyes as his husband's boisterous laughter fills the room.)

Then there's a dark cave and a murderous monster, blood and hunger and wounds. But there's also a kiss, soft, speaking a thousand promises, a song, a sweet melody to lull him to sleep, and the lap of his beloved, supporting his head as he rests and Wei Ying thinks he could happily die like this, in Lan Zhan's arms.

(There's also a brother, who's frantic to return home to get help. There's also a silver butterfly, guiding Jiang Cheng back to the cave, where he finds his brother hurt and battered, sleeping peacefully on Lan Wangji's lap.)

Then. He wakes up alone to the ceiling of his room. He would think it all a dream but his wounds say otherwise. He understands, of course, why Lan Zhan couldn't stay, but oh how he wishes he did.

But then there's fire.

There's fire and a mountain of corpses. There's hands around his neck, and tears falling on his face. There's Zidian, pressed to his brother's palm.

Then there's steady hands cutting him open with precision honed by years of experience. There's pain worse than anything he's ever felt. There's a peak in Yiling, there's a golden spiritual core.

Then there's darkness and resentment. There's spirits around him. He learns to wield it. To bend it to his will, no matter the cost. Asks the spirits of the dead for their bodies, to help his cause. They agree.

But then there's a worried father dressed in red. There's an unplanned reunion. Unplanned memories. Unplanned tears. Unplanned consequences.

Hua Cheng tries everything to save his son from the pain, but even with the knowledge he was given again, his A-Ying, his A-Xian, couldn't stop.

He had loved ones to protect.

(After all, his A-Ying always took after his love)

[busdriver-55]

Queer head-canon

Making this list was/is a very self indulgent activity for me. I came out fairly recently and this us kinda my fun passion project atm as far as rec lists go. I wanted to put together a list of all the queer reylo fics I've read (am reading atm) - I know there's the "Queerly Beloved Reylo" collection on Ao3, which has WAY MORE fics on there, but like I said I'm basically making this list for myself first and I'm gonna be updating it as often as possible. I really don't care if no one likes this list since it's something I'm making for myself. Buuut hopefully people can get some great fics off here!! 😌💖🏳️‍🌈

If you lead me from the shore by @howls-immobile-bungalow: The seas run rampant with pirates. Islanders live in fear of the sight of the Jolly Roger. To escape an arranged marriage, Rebecca Palpatine, also known as ‘Rey’, disguises as a man and enlists on a ship, which leads to being under command of the dreaded and fearsome pirate, Captain Kylo Ren. Through living under disguise, and getting dangerously close to the Captain, Rey will explore and discover his identity as a trans man, and his understanding of his place in the world will change forever.

How to Be a Heartbreaker by @littlestarlost: Rey is a black widow. Ben is her new husband. Things aren't quite going to plan.

Thanks for the feedback by antlersantlers: Name? Age? Is this the first time you fucked Ben? Did you cum? Would you fuck Ben again? Are you a… top / switch / bottom? What is your gender identity? What is your sexual orientation? Please rate your overall satisfaction 1-10. Please write any additional feedback on the opposite side.

Hold Me Up (In The Palm Of Your Hand) by violethoure666 -> @multishiptrashh: Rey is sent to live with her aunt and uncle at eleven after the unexpected death of her father Luke. Thank god for her cousin Ben. A slow burn, no age gap, coming of age story following Ben and Rey from eleven to nineteen.

You're Not Alone by @howls-immobile-bungalow: Not your everyday College/Coffee Shop AU. Ben Solo is a creative writing major (stage name Kylo Ren), has a rock band called the Knights of Ren, and he's a trans guy out and proud since childhood. Rey Jakku is a mechanical engineering major and a trans girl still in the closet. But that's about to change for her when she meets a hot barista attending the same school as her.

The Villain I Appear to Be by Leo_Rosa: When the young idealist Sociology major Rey Johnson and the jaded and cynical Political Sciences postdoctoral fellow Ben Solo met, it was hate at first sight. But grief and desire connect them in a twisted, powerful, and secret bond, showing them just how much two lonely souls have in common, in spite of all differences that divide them. When Professor Snoke, Ben's mentor, decides to ruin Rey's life and her career, their relationship is tested – as well as their beliefs.

meet me in the aftergloom by @diesirate: Weddings are supposed to be beginnings. But not to Rey. They're endings. This one is, anyway. Or, one winter night that changes Rey Niima's life. And Ben Solo's too.

To Love Shadows and Marvels by midwinterspring: A modern startup AU with Lovecraftian elements.

Lots More by MissCoppelia: Rey and Ben are ready for another year of sexy fun at their famous annual Purim party. This year they've been planning for an orgy, which Ben is looking forward to, but does Rey feel the same?

The Dinner Party by DarkKnightDarkSide: It's Rey's 30th birthday, and her husband Ben wants to give her the most unforgettable evening. All she wants, though, is a low key night in with some good friends. Some very good friends.

the eye has to travel by @secretreylotrash: Kylo Ren is the head of the Costume Department for the Star Alliance Opera. Rey is his beleaguered assistant. It’s hell. She’s slowly crumbling under endless hours of work and impossible standards. Being a broke post-grad, their most recent argument is fought over the condition of Rey’s personal wardrobe and her inability to find anything appropriate for the Opening Night Gala this season. Kylo insists he’s handled the problem by making her dress himself, but has he? It just seems like he's making Rey stay late after work out of spite, for hours of fittings, alone with him.

Checklists and Promises by @crossingwinter: Rey's new to being a Domme, and when she comes across Kylo's sub profile, she worries she doesn't have enough experience for him. Kylo has ten years of experience subbing, after all. Soon enough, though, it's clear that even if she's something Kylo wants, she might also be someone that he needs.

(this will definitely be updated so stay tuned)

[memoirs-and-memories]

Home is Where the Heart is

Home.. It isn't just contained within those four walls that surround my everyday existence. It's not the spaces I share with others or even the cosy spaces I call my own. I've always associated home with something that's felt, rather than inhabited. It's a quaint feeling, of belonging, of peace, of love.

I've come to associate home more with people than places. I think it's because I grew up in a handful of different settings and was cared for by significantly different people. Home was never just one place. So I learnt to find my home and solace within the people who surrounded me and delighted in the constancy of this new revelation.

I often joke about feeling like I have multiple sets of parents. It's not an untrue statement whatsoever- I was raised by a whole horde of people in addition to the (amazing) people who birthed me. Too-cool-to-be-true aunts and sombre-outside-but-sweet-inside uncles, my ever-loving grandparents, even family friends. Those memories I made aren't just moments in time, they are somewhat like talismans that constantly remind me of what really matters and what doesn't.

Moving on from parental figures, the next on the list would be similar-aged companions. I think my sister would top that list (not just because she would kill me if I didn't mention her first). One complicated history and tense childhood later, now I can't imagine home without her in the picture. My cousins (just for the namesake, they're all actually bonus siblings) made life infinitely more exciting and annoying at the same time, I am yet to understand how they managed that. My friends, I look at them as somewhat of a chosen family in how meant-to-be my connections with them have been.

I am filled with gratitude and endless love as I recount all the amazing times I've shared with these people whom I consider my home. It's too vast and virtually endless to cram into just one piece of writing, which is probably what prompted me to create this page.

I am greatly looking forward to writing not only about recollections from the past but also memories that I hope to make with these amazing people in the future.. I hope you have fun with me on this journey!

love,

achinthya ♡

[kittttycakes]

Yes that would be such a trip for Hob to meet Johanna. I can just picture his face and double take when he sees her! I’d love to see Grace trying to get as much info out of Johanna as she can too.

You know, now that you mention it, I reckon Rose would actually be great!

She knows a little bit about the Endless but isn’t super close to any of them, is a writer (maybe she and Grace can talk writing and procrastination, and Rose could get little tidbits of info for her book from Grace), and is an all round excellent human. Do you think they would have a big/little sister/cousins kinda vibe? Or just friends?

Also, what about Gault? Do you think she and Grace would get along?

Or Calliope? (Is that too messy as Morpheus ex though?)

I am so excited about your Promptober plans! Super keen for that an cannot wait!

Also, what you reblogged about the Dreamling monsters to lovers trope. So good. And I love that for Hob and Grace and Morpheus so much!

Grace is just so deeply curious about things! Not pictured in the fic is every time she has absolutely grilled Morpheus about the Dreaming and his function and how he creates dreams and the limits of his power and the list just goes on. He mostly answers, as much as he can, and as much as any one human (even an immortal one) is capable of conceptualizing and understanding. She would definitely do the same to Johanna, especially if this is her first introduction to “Oh, by the way, demons? Also very real!”

I think her and Rose definitely do end up having a nice relationship! Grace would technically eventually be her…double great aunt? She’s not that much older than her (a little over 10 years, I would think?), so I think that complicates the more traditional family dynamic that you’d expect, but what about this family is traditional? They talk books and dreams and writing and Grace doesn’t have to be anything but herself. She can say “No, I’m just annoyed with your uncle. No, the other one.” and have it just be…normal, which is huge for her. Even if she can’t talk relationship things with her, just having their relationship be out in the open and not a secret is so nice, and she would absolutely like Rose (and Jed!) as a person.

Grace would love to meet Gault! I think they’d get on as well, which I know I say for everyone, but Grace is a generally pretty affable person, and she especially loves meeting dreams and nightmares. She’s probably dreamt of Gault before, in her function, so getting to meet her outside of that would be interesting! Grace thinks she’s beautiful, especially her wings.

Someday, I think, Grace will meet Calliope. It’s definitely a little awkward, meeting her partner’s ex-wife, but she’d be absolutely in awe of her. Calliope would get it in a way that other people wouldn’t, though, and that can’t be underestimated, even if they probably don’t talk in too much detail about Morpheus, for both of their sakes. They could definitely have a nice talk about art, though! And if Grace walks away from the conversation feeling inspired just from being in her presence, hey, that’s not so bad at all! And maybe later, they happen upon each other again, and are in a situation where they could have a glass of wine or two, and let loose a bit, and have a nice talk as two people who have loved the same person.

I had so much fun with Promptober last year so I’m very much looking forward to doing it again!! Getting to pick out ideas is my favorite part and I already have a few I for sure want to do, which is exciting.

I love monsters to lovers, it hits every single time. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Grace is not exactly the norm. The speed with which she accepts Morpheus in his more nightmarish aspects? Not the move of someone who is just totally average and normal. She’s many other things too: curious and kind and intelligent, but she’s also just a little weird. And she’s found people who appreciate that about her! She definitely has had the “No, you cannot doom that man to an eternity of nightmares just because he disagreed with me during a panel discussion at the conference. Dr. Ward, though…” conversation at least once, maybe twice, three times on the outside. Hob is just not great at boundaries when it comes to Morpheus because he genuinely doesn’t care, he just wants him and loves him and he’ll take that however he can get it, but he definitely does have to enforce some of the basic ones and Morpheus is just pleased as punch to be getting a good grade at being a partner, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve. They can all be a little monstrous together, in the enormity of their want, as a treat!

[secondguessing-reality]

Manifested Wrong

Written privately some time in December 2022:

What really happened, as of summer 2023:

You’re here. You’re finally here on my side of the country, in my city where you always said you’d be. I’m here with you, not living together yet but I made it, and you did too. We’re dating, we’re together. We speak daily, see each other a few days a week unless we’re busy - which happens to be often but at least we get a few days.

This is cute. You moved in immediately, and not only do we spend time together every single day, we sleep together a few nights a week. We speak all the damn time! <3

Sometimes you come over just to watch me with housework while I sip wine and have music playing in the background. These nights we spend together end in us tangled up together. Sharing details about our day as you help me put away dishes and place a kiss on my neck.

Oh, my beloved. Things turned out so much better than I imagined. I come home from work and everything I have piled on my to-do list is done already, thanks to you. When we spend the evenings together there's nothing to be done EXCEPT become wrapped up in each other. When we're home, we get so absorbed in our love that we don't even have time to get through videos and craft projects like we said we would. We're just too into each other that anything else seems almost like a distraction from our endless conversations.

On the weekends we hang out with our friends, with my sister and her family, my fiancé, or just with each other. We go places, do activities, find new places to try, all the fun things we said we’d do together. We have dinner at the fancy restaurants I like, and we find new cafes constantly. I take you to Rise or Asa's and you brag that nothing is better than NY bagels. It makes both of us laugh.

We definitely spend more time with each other than with anyone else. I'm happy to report that everything else is true, except I haven't taken you to a bagel shop here, yet. Soon!

I show you all my favorite spots in the suburbs that I call my home, a place that always felt solid and familiar. Sometimes we go out to Milwaukee to visit my family, spend time with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. I’m not afraid of introducing you, especially to my mother's side. Seeing us in the dynamic doesn’t worry me as I thought it once would.

I've shown you many places that hold meaning to me. I feel lucky I've gotten to see similar places to you. The family that has met you has loved you.

Sometimes we go out East to visit your family, your friends. Sometimes it’s for cons, sometimes it's just back to the Island for little weekends, occasionally it's for the City. We watch sunsets, we walk by the beach, I make an excuse to touch seawater every single time I get near it, you tell me about historically significant buildings and landmarks we pass, we share street food, I point out wildlife. You take my hand as we walk through the villages telling me this is the best love you’ve ever had. 

We've been back twice so far. This prediction was surprisingly accurate! Look at it! Everything came true. Well, take me back to the city for another day of adventures.

We share our traditions, or culture, stories from our upbringing and what its like to be raised by parents raised by immigrants. Things I thought most people wouldn’t understand but you do. The good, the bad, the ugly, the dirty, and the beautiful parts.

In the nights we stay up talking, joking, having sex, watching Netflix, laying next to each other in blissful comfort. We trust each other. I never thought it was possible to trust someone this much, I thought it was a myth, that it was something I only read or see on TV but you make it real. The closeness, the vulnerability. I overcame aversions because I want to be with you more than I’m afraid of being vulnerable. We learned from each other. The lessons we knew we needed to learn. You helped me to rely on others, to be open with others, to ask for help and let people help me. With my fierce love and adoration, I hope I'm helping you learn how to see the greatness within yourself. We’ve grown with each other, becoming better, stronger for each other all with the intention to continue to grow with and for each other.

Wow, okay. All true. Plus a plethora of pets. We've been through so much else the last few months, but when you look at it from December's perspective, I had no idea the depth of our bond could take us this far, and almost too easily.

I open up to you in ways I haven’t opened up to people before. And the best part, you don’t look at me like I’m crazy, or that I’m from another planet. Even if you thought as such you never make me feel alien for it. I don’t need validation, and you know that, but you let me find comfort in you without the fear of feeling like I made a mistake.

I let you be the weak one when you need to be. You want to be strong for me because I AM strong for you and for myself, but you know when to put away the façade and take a break. We lay down on the couch, your head on my chest as I play with your hair. Your long, silver, cloud-soft hair that I love so much. You talk as if no one is listening, opening up about things you keep buried deep. I respect your boundaries and you respect mine but we ask each other questions and tell each other our concerns without having any worry.

And when we look at each other and into each others eyes, we know it, better than we’ve ever known. We’re in love, and we always will be.

This is what I imagined for us. Prayed for. Beseeched the old Gods to grant for us. And it's true, except...

It's so, so much better than I dreamed.

[julietfm]

warm   honey   in   lavender   tea ,   a   pre - game   ritual   that’s   more   fun   than  the   actual   night   out ,   a   locket   adorned   with   precious   photos   of   loved    ones   dearly   missed ,   the   first   bite   of   a   delicately   decorated   pie   that   took   hours   to   make ,   &   watching   thousands   of   lights   pass   by   on    the   cab   ride   home   from   a   first   date .

JULIET MIDDLETON

FULL NAME: Juliet Joy Middleton

NICKNAMES: Jules, Julie Joy (family & closest friends)

PRONOUNS: She/her

BIRTHDAY: October 10th, 1996 (26)

SEXUALITY & GENDER: Bisexual cis woman (single)

HOMETOWN: Birmingham, Alabama

OCCUPATION: Host at Soigné since 2020

TRAITS: Unpretentious, warmhearted, hypocritical, naïve

TLDR;

Small time girl-next-door follows her heart (cough, girlfriend, cough) to New York City just to be dumped after three months. Her only saving grace? Her work family at Soigné; the only familiar faces in the city. That was two years ago and now Juliet can't imagine being anywhere but New York (through the good and the bad). She runs a custom cake business out of her apartment part time and swears she'll drop everything and go to culinary school someday.

MORE ABOUT JULIET

(tw: long-term illness, toxic relationship)

1996. Juliet Joy Middleton was brought into the world, a handmade gift for her mom and mama. When they took her home, it was to a little house right outside of Birmingham, Alabama just big enough for the three of them. As far as Juliet’s mom and mama (a kindergarten teacher and a university professor, respectively) were concerned, it was their own little slice of paradise.

2001. By the time Juliet was five years old, the motto “it takes a village” had become an understatement. The constant parade of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends from couldn’t get enough of Julie Joy, as she became known. Students at the university would erupt in a chorus of “aww”s when Juliet’s mama brought her to class. For all intents and purposes, it was a charmed little life for a child to lead.

2006. Years of fun-focused dance classes, joyous Pride parades with her moms, and an endless stream of friends at school and family at cookouts made it hard to expect life to be anything but good. When her mom took ill, little Julie Joy’s heart could hardly take it. The years her mom was being diagnosed and eventually waiting on a transplant list, when they didn’t know if or how long she would make it, were the worst years of Juliet’s life.

2011. Fifteen years old. Every parent’s nightmare. But for Juliet, life was starting to regain its color. It was the year her mom went back to teaching and the year her mama became department head. It was the year Juliet went to her first dance; the year she had her first kiss; the year her nana taught her how to make her famous pie dough and a lifelong love of baking was born. What more could a girl ask for?

2016. Sixteen was sweet, seventeen was wild, and eighteen flew by quicker than any other year. Nineteen was spent at college, unsurprisingly following her mama’s legacy to the college she taught at; the college that had loved Juliet since she was in diapers. Twenty was the year she met Dana. A mercurial whirlwind of a woman who swept Juliet off of her feet and had her wrapped her around her finger within weeks.

2019. With college graduation in the rearview mirror, Juliet had stars in her eyes and all kinds of plans in the works. Culinary school was at the top of her list and when Dana announced that they would be moving to New York City to pursue her dreams, it seemed like a fine place to start. Three months later, after three failed auditions, Dana packed her belongings and left Juliet in their one bedroom, alone and heartbroken.

2020. The money for culinary school was immediately repurposed to cover rent while Juliet looked for a better job. The diner where she made pennies playing hostess just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Enter the only saving grace of that year: a couple of friends Juliet had made at trivia night who worked at the fine dining restaurant Soigné. The application process kicked Jules’ ass, but at the end of the day, she could proudly say that she was the new host at Soigné.

2022. Life at Soigné is wild. It is overwhelming and trying and frantic and beautiful and alive. At least it’s consistent. Thank god that’s where Juliet’s found family is, because there’s hardly any time to focus on anybody else. The time she does have is spent filling her Cake-stagram (please forgive her) with video after video of her cake-making process and the big reveal from her custom cake business. That dream of culinary school is still wrapped up prettily in her subconscious, but for now, life hitting the Ragdoll with some of her favorite people (and yeah, some people she can’t stand) doesn’t sound so bad.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Ride or die best friends, aka the Squad ! No doubt in my mind that Jules is the mom friend enabler type. She has advice and bandaids but she won’t actually stop you from making terrible decisions.

A little bit of chaos in Juliet's life in the form of a fellow employee that distracts her and gets them both into trouble. Jules pretends to be mad, but you know she’s cackling along and hyping the hijinks.

Whoever drags Juliet out after work every night so she’s not stuck at home worrying about money and Instagram followers gets a gold medal. A very important person in Jules’ life, considering she’d be a little hermit if she didn’t have them.

A trivia night team that Juliet drags people out to and takes way too seriously.

Exes ! Crushes ! Will they, won’t they !

They weren’t always friends, but their dogs are dog park best friends that now have play dates.

Someone who always hires Juliet to do their kid’s / partner’s / friends’ birthday cakes and gets them at a discount now because it’s basically a tradition.

Anything else you might be thinking of!

[purplebass]

hiii read your post of one shots and inspo, which ones are you working on rn?

Hi anon, I've been working on several things at once and I'm trying to finish them all hehe I have no idea when I'll post something new. I have one of these fics that's almost done but it's about characters I've already written recently (well, if recently is more than one month ago). I know that people who follow my writing may not care about some characters/ships so I try not to post about the same people all the time even though it's a fact that some ships and characters inspire me more than others and I can't help it. I like to post content :)

I have few things in my "currently writing" tabs:

A story about Gabriel and his all his kids (it doesn't follow canon and what happened in CoT) where something happens and he feels like he's not a good father and they tell him that he is

Gabrily have a mature talk before marriage

Domestic Jesse and Herondales content where Will openly asks Jesse if he wants to learn the ropes of his job as the head of an Institute

Thomastair fluff with little Zachary

More Jesse and Grace sibling content (non canon complaint) alone and with their aunts and uncles

Jordelia's second marriage rune/other fluff stuff

TLH gang as little children content mainly with the Lightwoods and Herondales at the London Institute

I have so many ideas! One of these is almost done, while others are still in their early stages. I don't know when I will post but soon. Feel free to ask for more content. I usually add it to my endless list so I won't forget.

[boltslutters]

Hey! So what are some of the main characters you have in your big world building story and how do they interact with eachother and your main world?

So I actually have a lot of them, and a lot don't actually ever interact due to the timescales being too big, locations too far, or being from entirely different universes. So I'll list off SOME of the stories I remember/focused on and their associated characters. >Peyon, Pillar Electric, & No. 2. These three follow a side universe in a magic-heavy world, where a prophecy has predicted that the figureheads of the magic systems (Pillars) will fall to mortal hands. Doesn't have an ending, but what's important is that No.2 will meet their alternate universe counterpart, TAQ, who will eat them and steal their heart. No.2 actually 'survives' this and ends up terrorizing mining ships.

>Bones, ALL-EFR3 & Pyrosis. ALL-EFR3(Alley-Free) due to a mining accident, gets infected with pieces of No.2 and starts perceiving and hearing the calls of the active tower, now FoAQ. Ends up learning about a psychic link between it and another mining ship called Bones, and they both agree to seek out the calls. Pyro has a starring role, but is something of an antagonist to the other's goals >Pyrosis, Terrabit, Redshift, Bones, Solaris & Nix. There's a couple stories around this lot, mainly revolving around Solaris trying to raise a sun god, everyone else trying to stop them, as well as fighting multiple companies who don't like the deviating actions of their mining ships.

>Illizyka, TAQ, Titatiaraum, Perfect Shield, Perfect Weapon, and unnamed Crystal Dragons. These unnamed Crystal dragons find and harness a creature from beyond the barriers of reality to destroy an ancient enemy, Titatiaraum, with the help of some somewhat illegal entities. >False Second, Bitjack, unnamed UFSS authority, FiAQ. Exposited a little on them before, but basically Bitjack finds and nurses a half-dead False Second back to health, then keeps this illegal Tower heir as something of a pet/delivery vehicle >False First, FoAQ, and FoAQ and a Half. Despising its creator, the False First seeks out its.... aunt? Uncle? gender neutral term for sibling of a parent for its piece of a heart. >SAQ and an unnamed cemetery guard. This poor bloke learns about the successor of the terrifying and infamous FAQ, and that they're not actually all that bad. >FiAQ, The Prism Star Monument, and Cider. A curious explorer goes places entire civilization's worth of experience tell you not to go. >AIOU I, Noctus, Illizyka. A frustrated, repurposed AI gets into some really bad company. >Noctus and Illizyka. A voice from the void leads a young dragon down a dark path. (I'm tired so if the summaries are getting more vague then that's why) >Thunder, Finch, and a bloke whose name I forgot but it has changed so sue me. A minder breaks the rules and uses it for immense power. >Torus. Gets hit with massive amnesia and gets mind-reading gaslit into thinking he's part of the local populus.

>Second Chances/Fate, Lucky Shot, Dawnhide (somewhat), Ringa Styx, Gregoria, Altus, Malxivos, Millarite, Leucite, Headrose, and Angel's Blood (halfwheel projector guy YOU KNOW WHO ME). A long, long running story between Second Chances and their quest to destroy the shrine Malxivos made, that's been restricting the Ouranists and Ouruls.

>Ringa Styx, Gregoria, Ringa's unnamed guards, and Steel Footing. Ringa acts on an old grudge against Steel Footing.

>Guardlily, Paintbrush, & Ringa Styx. Guardlily and Paintbrush act on a more recent grudge against Ringa Styx. >Millarite & Malxivos. Millarite receives a strange call from someone's decapitated head. >Lady in White, Glesal, Spaceship, 9H7R-A, Endless, & Ilizyka. The Lady learns and exploits a different way to interact with the void.

>Magika, Ionize, Probe, and one other bastard. Fearing that its siblings may use it for their never-ending expansion, Magika agrees to have part of themselves removed to ensure it cannot happen.

>Heran, Guziel, & Datar. Three young Ermista attempt to find the people of their village after they strangely disappear.

>Killjoy, Taizon, Banott, Stung, & The Wandering Tower (SAQ). Killjoy and Taizon get caught on the wrong end of the Amalgam Arcana's most sacred ritual.

>Iro and FAQ. Iro unwillingly becomes the heir to FAQ, even if FAQ's not aware of it itself. >Bypin, SIO-54, & Remizular. SIO learns their idolization of the seemingly perfect Remizular may be misplaced.

>Perfect Light & Lunalim. Two divine beings, stripped of their powers or status, find solace in an enemies to lovers way

>Venus and its creator. In order to keep a hyper-advanced computer virus obedient, its creator makes it hopelessly in love with him. This, inevitably, backfires.

>Illuminalus and all its remaining siblings, Necromalia, Chaos Lord, FiAQ, & Ilizyka. Illuminalus collapses herself and her siblings into the closest thing to Pure Order that exists, and stuffs all the major manifestations of chaos into one being. They all hate each other.

>Moondoc, Maurda, MI-27, Metzia, Ibion, Werhed, an unnamed god and a couple of its followers, and Venus. This one's a clusterfuck of a story, but Metzia, being used as a vessel for a god's influence, turns the tables on said god.

>Demon wars. Forgot a looot about this but I know it was manipulated and the demons werent all that bad. Also happened before the UFSS.

That's all I remember/want to do so hhhhhh

[owl-with-a-pen]

All I can think about rn is Brainy and Nia being left to babysit Esme for a night and Brainy just being really confused and not knowing how to handle a child and Nia just watching his failed attempt, dying of laughter.

By the end of the night, Esme will totally have convinced Brainy to let her give him a makeover. Once again, Nia laughing about it all.

I also feel like Caluans would be the type to have really brutal children's stories (at least, they're brutal from the human perspective) and so Brainy starts to tell one and Nia has to stop him.

If anything, Esme is more cool and mature because Brainy is just freaking out the whole time about everything that could go wrong. She would go home saying how much she loves Uncle Brainy and Aunt Nia and Brainy will curl up on the couch next to Nia stating how scary "tiny humans" are.

Omg yes, I have so many thoughts about Brainy and Nia being the most chaotic babysitters!

I agree that Brainy would realise right off the bat that he didn't consider every factor when babysitting Esme for the first time. I get the feeling he would initially walk into it absolutely brimming with confidence, only to realise very quickly that he bit off a lot more than he could feasibly chew.

There would be a lot of trial and error, and Nia and Brainy would probably end up utilising a lot of their superhero skills to create a safe environment for Esme. Brainy would definitely take that to the extreme. I think his nerves would come back with a vengeance when he starts mapping out every conceivable danger in the apartment, seeking to rectify every single one of them before they have the chance to become a problem.

Nia, meanwhile, would take a more laid-back approach, and would definitely encourage Brainy to do the same when she finally convinces him that not every nook and cranny has to be child-proofed. Once they'd found a balance in that regard, they'd make quite the pro babysitting team.

I get the feeling that kids in general would gravitate towards Brainy, and this would be no different with Esme. Kids love the weird and unconventional, and I can totally see Brainy sharing some very brutal stories he may have been told as a young child on Colu. The kicker though is that I think Esme would actually really enjoy them, and when Nia tries to explain to Brainy how some of those stories might not fly here on Earth, you can bet Brainy would start listing off the classic fairy tales in Earth culture as examples for why that isn't true. Coluan stories might have some pretty grisly parts, sure, but are they really any worse than Little Red Riding Hood getting eaten by a wolf, or Cinderella's stepsisters amputating parts of their own feet to fit inside the slippers? I imagine the two of them would light heartedly bicker about that for a while. 😂

And yes, Brainy would definitely let Esme play with his hair and give him a make-over. You can bet he'd even let her play with his image inducer so that she could dress him however she wanted. (Nia would certainly get a kick out of that.) I also think that, in an effort to ensure Esme's optimum happiness, Brainy would try to give her everything she wanted, even if that is an excess of candy and ice cream that probably isn't advisable when she needs to be getting to bed at a reasonable hour. Nia would recognise when Brainy's habits start looking a whole lot like his giving 100% tendency, though, and would step in as the voice of reason if he looked like he was going too far.

Overall, though, Nia is in hot competition against Kara and J'onn on who can be the most fun babysitters, and so she's not beyond using her own powers to level the playing field. She'd be levitating Esme in energy bubbles any time she wanted (and that does become something of a common demand after Esme experiences it the first time.) Also, just imagine the cool stuff she could cook up with her lucid dreaming power?? The possibilities are endless and Nia would use that to win.

And you just know Alex encourages the competition if it means she gets help eagerly offered to her whenever she's got a date night planned with Kelly. I like to think she has a sticker board on the fridge that keeps tabs on who's been doing the best babysitting job according to Esme. (Points do get docked if Alex finds out that Esme was given ice cream for dinner two nights in a row. Candy bribery is also a big no-no 😉)

I'll stop here before I go on for too long, but these are some of my thoughts on the subject! Feel free to share your own!

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 1

Your feet dangled down from the stool, elbows on the granite counter when Jeff turned around. “Alright,” he said, lips in a thin smile when he revealed the plate of reheated lasagna that someone dropped off in the last few days. “Smells good.”

You looked up at him with an unimpressed stare. “It looks a little disgusting.”

“It’s vegan, I think.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes. “You start one all natural skincare line and people think you only eat plant-based shit.”

He let out a small laugh, set the plate down and watched as you picked up the fork. One bite--mediocre. Not exactly hot enough, but after all Jeff had done for you the last few days, you didn’t have the heart to demand he put it in for another minute.

“So--do you think it went well?”

You laughed around the food in your mouth, picked up a paper napkin and let your head tilt to the side. “As good as a funeral could be.”

The lights in your kitchen were dim and the sun had already faded behind the trees, the house quiet after people finally filed out. Friends, extended family, strangers you’d never met had flocked to Los Angeles for the funeral of your famous father.

It’d been coming from a mile away. His health declined, an obvious result of the cocaine and the cigarettes and whatever else he’d ingested regularly in the 70s. A heart attack a year ago put him on a fast track to the afterlife, but he always joked that he’d probably end up in hell.

Being in the music industry ruined him, in a way--it ruined your parents’ marriage and it ruined a lot of the relationships your father had. Blow outs and big fights that left him exiled from a lot of social circles, sometimes never speaking to people again after one bad phone call. But it was never like that with Irv.

“Well, I’ve never seen my dad cry so hard,” Jeff smiled. “He really loved him.”

Another bite of the soggy noodles and fake cheese. “I know.”

A comfortable silence, the doors off the kitchen were open, a breeze from the backyard let the southern California warmth blow through the sheer curtains when you sipped at your left over wine.

Jeff was the closest thing you had to a sibling, his family was all you had left at this point. You were tossed in the bathtub with him and his siblings as a baby, shoved into family photos and tagged along for vacations.

Being closest in age to Jeff meant people always hoped it would be the two of you that would end up together. Happily ever after or having babies of your own. But when you saw Jeff wolf down a whole pizza at his bar mitzvah, any hope of a spark between the two of you had been permanently extinguished.

His older sister was the one who told you what it meant to have sex, and after your mom died, his mom helped you pick out a dress for your Sweet Sixteen.

She was the one who talked you off the ledge when you found out you were pregnant only a few years later, she was the one who threw you both baby showers and she was the one who helped you through your divorce only six months earlier.

So now that your dad was gone, too, you wondered where you fit into their family and what your definition of family even was.

Before the thought could cross your mind, the front door was pushed open and the sound of high pitched giggles floated in from the foyer.

CeCe’s tiny voice echoed down the hall. “Uncle Jeff?”

“Is that my CeCe?” He took a few steps forward and she ran straight into his legs, he hoisted her up onto his hip when Maeve rounded the corner with Tristan in tow.

“Hi honey,” you opened an arm so your ten-year-old could fit into the side of you. She leaned her head on her shoulder. “How was ice cream?”

The easiest ploy to get them out of the house while you hosted some kind of awkward afterparty.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But Tristan said that funerals are a selfish attempt by the living to hold on to someone after they’re dead.”

You blinked a few times and looked down at her, shocked by the words and apparently, her ability to understand them. You looked over at Tristan, arched eyebrows to communicate how displeased you were.

His eyes went wide when Jeff choked down a laugh. “I didn’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about Maeve.”

You kissed Maeve on the head. “Well, Tristan is wrong about a lot of things, trust me. But you two should go get ready for bed, it’s been a long day.”

You looked over at him again--younger by two years and easily one of the most important people in your life. You met him only a year after you started your business, he had a knack for brand management and eye for design that you couldn’t pass up. He was way too sarcastic and cynical to be your regular babysitter, but Jeff and his family were basically in the receiving line beside you.

Jeff let CeCe climb down and Maeve took her by the hand as they headed for the kitchen stairs to the second floor, leaving you alone at the island with two of your closest friends.

He waited until he heard the water turn on from their bathroom sink, then whispered in Tristan’s direction. “Great idea to say that to a ten-year-old and a six-year-old after their grandpa dies.”

Tristan rolled his eyes theatrically, “she asked why so many people came and why she’d never met any of them if they loved her grandpa so much.”

“Well, you can expect a bill for their therapy in a few years,” you laughed, forking more lasagna into your mouth.

Tristan made his way over to the fridge and pulled out the glass dish, helping himself to a piece when Jeff took a seat beside you. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” you glanced at him sideways, suspicious about any ulterior motive he might have.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jeff laughed, Tristan eyed you from over his shoulder like he didn’t believe you. “Let me try again. How are you feeling emotionally?”

You cleared your throat and swallowed the most recent bite of dinner. “Oh, you mean cause my husband left me six months ago and my dad just died and now I’m a single mom with two fiesty daughters who just inherited a giant house aaaaaand,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect. “I’m a business owner who barely gets any sleep?”

“That’s what I was getting at, yes,” Jeff nodded and fought a smirk.

“I’m alright,” you sighed. “Tired. Kind of freaked out about what the fuck is going on in my life, but, I’ll survive. I always survive."

You knew you would--in fact, you’d been waiting for this moment for the last few weeks. When Jeff’s mom called to tell you your dad needed to be put in hospice, you prepared. You talked to Maeve and CeCe and explained it all in a way they’d understand. His life on earth is over, but we can still talk to him and visit a pretty garden to remember him.

It was a lot to deal with only a few months after your high school sweetheart turned husband admitted he’d been having an affair and moved out, you saw on Facebook that he’d since bought a motorcycle and was spending most of his time at bars along the coast. That whole fiasco was harder to explain to your children.

And now suddenly everyone wanted to make sure you were okay. Frozen dinners, offers to drive your kids to and from their extracurriculars, a lot of attention was suddenly thrust onto you and your family, as if you hadn’t always hated that growing up.

But you knew the time would come when life would settle back down. Cousins and aunts and uncles would fly home, people would stop asking how you were doing post divorce. Dust would settle and the sun would set on this chapter and frankly, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

So here you were, the funeral was over, the dinner in his honor at Jeff’s parents, the media coverage was starting to die down and life could return to normal. Or, at least, a new normal.

Your dad had been a fixture in your life--weekly dinner dates with grandpa gave you a minute to yourself after working long days and answering endless phone calls. A glass of wine on the couch or even dinner with Tristan and Zoey was a nice escape from breaking up fights or figuring out how to reattach the head of a Barbie doll after someone shoved someone into a closet and tears and screaming ensued.

“You will definitely survive,” Jeff nodded.

Tristan came and sat, forked into the lasagna and made a face when he realized how bad it was. “Is this fake cheese?”

“Unfortunately,” you nodded.

Tristan made a face and then cleared his throat. “I, for one, think this is the start of a new chapter for you. New opportunities, new love,” he smirked.

A quick retort: “Yeah, that’s obviously the first priority right now.”

“He’s right, though,” Jeff said. “You have a fresh start, a totally new chapter.”

You nodded--they were right, but easing into a new chapter felt a lot better than trying to dive right in.

“Speaking of a fresh start, you know, changing things up,” Jeff forced a grin in your direction. “Can we actually talk for a second?”

You eyed him suspiciously, put your fork down to bow out from eating the world’s worst lasagna. “Yeah?”

“I have kind of a weird favor to ask. And--I know it’s kind of bad timing, with everything going on, but--just hear me out, okay?”

Instead of replying, you watched him, lifted your brows to encourage him to continue and tread carefully.

“So I have a client who isn’t from here, he bought a house but it’s in the middle of getting renovated. There’s kind of been a lot going on, it’s a long story.”

“Okay,” you nodded, unsure where he was going with it.

“He needs a place to stay, and I was wondering if maybe he could stay here for a little.”

“Here, like, here here?” You pointed to the floor of your kitchen, an elegant upgrade from the more modest house in Woodland Hills you’d occupied before the divorce.

Along with the death of your father came the inheritance of his Bel Air estate and all of the bedrooms, the four car garage, the manicured lawn and the pool out back. Some people thought you should sell it, use the cash to make trusts for the girls or save for college.

Selling it didn’t feel right, though. It was the house he worked so hard for, the house you called home for the later half of your teen years and the place you always came back to when things got hard. So instead of putting it on the market and closing that chapter, once again, you returned to the safe haven in the hills when you didn’t know where else to turn.

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but you have the room and it might be fun to have someone else around and--”

“I have two daughters, Jeff, I can’t just let a stranger live with us.”

“He’s not a stranger, Y/N, he’s my friend. We’re really close.”

“Who is he?” Tristan asked, waving his fork in the air to remind us that he was still present.

“Harry Styles.”

Tristan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “The kid from the boyband?”

“No way,” you shook your head, dismissing it before you could even let his name register. “I’m not having a pop star boy band kid stay in my house.”

“Okay,” Jeff held up a hand to get Tristan to relax, then moved to point at you. “He’s 24, number one. He’s not a kid, he’s, like, only a few years younger than us.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “exactly. I don’t need a 24-year-old living with my daughters.”

“He’s not like that, though. He’s responsible and he’s a family friendly dude, and--”

“Then why can’t he live with you? Or with your parents?”

“I don’t have the room,” he said. “And my dad hates house guests.”

You rolled your eyes, it was obnoxious, but it was true. Irv hated having people stay over almost as much as he hated it when your dad beat him in golf.

Jeff took your silence as an opportunity to continue selling you on the idea. “He just finished his tour, he’s working on his second album. He’s probably going to be in the studio a lot, Y/N. Do you really think I would let some crazy party animal live with my nieces?”

Another eye roll from both you and Tristan.

“Is this like, just a few nights?” You asked.

“Like, two weeks. Tops.”

“Two weeks?!” You shook your head. “No--I can’t put them through that after all the shit that’s been going on this year. Why can’t he just stay in a hotel?”

“Cause that’s lonely and he’s a people person and--I don’t know, it might be good for you to have someone around.”

You rolled your eyes that, was it a jab at your new status as a single mom or new status as a fatherless daughter? Unsure.

Jeff stood from the counter and grabbed for his phone on the far end of the island. “Just think about it, okay? I’ve gotta run. A few weeks, built in babysitting, maybe--he’s great with kids.”

“I’ve already thought about it,” you told him, resting your chin in your hand and offering a sugary sweet smile. “No fucking way.”

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice called from upstairs, you hoisted yourself up, ready to tuck them in and forget that Jeff had ever asked such a ludicrous question.

“I would owe you big time--it might be fun! You’ve got the room, he could be a positive male influence on the girls.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the end of his sentence--like that would really sway you.

“And I’m not that?” Tristan pulled his head back, offended.

“You’re the one who told them funerals are stupid,” Jeff said with a sarcastic smirk.

“And you’re the crazy one trying to let a stranger move in here like it’s an AirBnB,” you shot back at Jeff. “So maybe they do need a better male influence than both of you.”

“Mommy!” CeCe called again, more impatient this time.

“I’m coming!” You shouted. “You, let yourself out when you’re finished eating this terrible meal,” you pointed at Tristan and the lasagna. “And you,” you pointed at Jeff with a smirk. “Please never speak to me again.”

He was already heading for the door, keys in hand when he blew you a kiss. “Love you, see you soon!”

“Love you,” you called back, bounding up the stairs, mom mode activated.

**

A text message the next day when you were at work:

Jeff Azoff (1:43pm): 🙏😇🙏😇

You blew air from your lips, Zoey sat across from you at a conference table when you took a late lunch. She was the first friend you made when you started high school, your long time confidant aside from Tristan and Jeff and a sure bet to tell it like it is.

Now she regularly popped into the Luna offices and she loved nothing more than acting like she was a higher up at your business. She’d rather be doing that than admit she was a new mom with no clue what the next chapter of her life would look like. You had that in common.

Her two-month-old son, Benny, sat in a carrier on the ground, his eyelashes fluttered when Zoey put her feet up on the chair beside her.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“Jeff is being annoying.”

“What’d he do now?”

You looked over at her, nose deep in her phone when you took another bite of the burrito bowl she’d picked up for you. You didn’t know if it was worth it to explain it all. Zoey was excitable, never one to turn down an adventure and her aptly timed identity crisis that came with becoming a mom was sure to make her encourage bad decisions even more.

She looked up at you, suddenly aware of the wheels spinning in your mind.

“Spill it,” she instructed. She put her phone down and let out a breath, clasped her hands and waited for you to fill her in.

“He asked me to let a friend of his stay with us in my dad’s house.”

“Your house,” she corrected. “Deed’s in your name now.”

“My house,” you nodded. “And I feel weird about it.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Some client of his,” you tried to wave it off as if the name didn’t matter.

It didn’t, really. You’d long been exposed to the rich and famous just because of the nature of your father’s work. He was one of the biggest managers in the music industry in partnership with Jeff’s dad, so you were no stranger to beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes. When Jeff took on the family business, you only grew more accustomed to it.

“So a celebrity?” she shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “Which one?”

“Harry Styles,” you said the name slowly, quietly, even though it was just the two of you in the second floor conference room and even though this was your office that you bought and you owned and you ran.

“He’s hot,” she nodded casually, less impressed than you’d expected.

“He’s also like twenty-something, so it's disgusting for you to say that.”

“Oh relax,” she dismissed your concern. “He could be your pool boy.”

Zoey--who also grew up in Southern California and spent plenty of time at your house as a kid--hadn’t yet grown so accustomed to the coming and going of celebrities. Her parents owned a florist shop in Santa Monica and in high school you had to tell her she could only come to a Britney Spears concert if she didn’t cry when you inevitably met her in the green room thanks to your dad.

“I have children,” you reminded her. “A ten-year-old who might as well be fifteen and a six-year-old who would think I literally bought her a human playmate.”

“But if he’s friends with Jeff I highly doubt he’s a serial killer,” she reasoned.

“Wow, you are completely missing the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“It’s weird--I can’t have a stranger move in with my kids.”

“Why not?”

“Because first their dad left us and now their grandpa died.”

“Sounds like they need a new man in their life.”

You ignored the similarity of her words with Jeff’s from the other night. “I just think it’s crazy.”

“Okay,” she sat up straight and suddenly looked like this was morphing into a business conversation. “How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh my god,” she turned her palms towards the sky. “Just do it.”

“What? No!”

“It’s two weeks--it’ll take your mind off of all the shit that’s been going on, it’ll be a fun distraction for the girls. You have so much space in that house you will never even know he’s there. And you’re helping a friend.”

She wasn’t wrong: Harry could likely stay in the bedroom all the way on the other end of the hall from where the girls slept. Maeve was thrilled to get her own room in the move and CeCe would occasionally run into your room after a nightmare, so the space was a plus.

He’d have his own room, his own bathroom. Hell, he could even park in the extra garage and enter from the back of the house. Maybe you wouldn’t even notice he existed.

You sighed, tugged at your necklace when you met her gaze. “I just feel really protective over them right now. I feel like Luke ruined their sense of family and now with my dad gone--”

She stuck her tongue out in disgust at the sound of your ex’s name. “I get that--but they have you. They have Jeff and his family and they have me and Shawn and now Benny.”

You offered a small smile at her reassurance. She was right in a lot of ways. The Azoffs were as much a family to your daughters as they had been to you. Shelli and Irv were like grandparents, they offered to babysit plenty of times and they always managed to get the girls the most amazing birthday presents.

But something in you knew it wasn’t the same. You’d dreamed of giving your daughters the sense of family you never had: a mom and a dad who loved each other. One house, not two that had two different beds and sets of books or toys.

Luckily and unluckily, your ex hadn’t made a huge deal about custody. Visits here and there were outlined in your divorce papers, but at this point in time he didn’t seem the most interested in maintaining a relationship with his daughters, even though he promised way back when that he’d never leave.

Getting pregnant with him during college wasn’t planned, but he swore you’d make it work and you tied the knot only a few months before Maeve was born. Things were good at first, you always knew you’d have more than one--if only to combat your own only-child loneliness--and then CeCe came five years later when you felt a little more prepared.

“I don’t think it’s going to traumatize them, Y/N. I mean, the least you could do is meet the guy.”

You watched her for a minute, blew air from your nose in a huff before you picked up your phone.

Y/N L/N (1:56pm): Fine. I’ll meet him.

Three days later you pulled up to a cafe in Brentwood and took a deep breath in the parking lot. If he was creepy, you wouldn’t go for it. If you got even the slightest weird vibe from him, you’d ex-communicate Jeff and only go over to visit his parents with the girls when he wasn’t around.

You’d already been leaning towards just doing it, especially once Tristan got a glass of wine in you and reminded you what your dad would have said: he who helps is one who prospers.

A few sleepless nights left you staring at the ceiling and wondering if you were crazy. You just now had the chance to let life settle down and here you were, mourning the loss of your biggest supporter, trying to piece yourself back together post divorce, and considering letting a stranger move in? Grief really did do strange things to people.

But when you walked in and found them sitting at a table in the back, something clicked.

Your dad was already fond of your possible houseguest, which you only knew from overhearing previous conversations between him and Irv about how proud they were of Jeff for picking up the family business, and now it all made sense.

A small part of you--probably the stupidest part of you--wondered if there was something cosmic about it. Your dad was always one to let his artists stay in the house, if they weren’t creepy, of course. You grew up with bands rehearsing in the backyard and going to shows at the Troubadour before you were old enough to drive, and you turned out fine.

“Hi,” Harry stood, offered a hand and introduced himself after Jeff gave you a kiss on the cheek. “Harry, pleasure to meet you.” Polite, maybe a bit of a kiss ass. Your dad must have loved him.

“Y/N,” you nodded, sat down when Jeff tugged out a chair for you. “Thanks for--uh--meeting with me, I guess.”

“Thanks for maybe letting me stay at your house,” he offered a sheepish smile, held your gaze for a second when Jeff adjusted the sunglasses clipped to his shirt.

“I’m actually surprised you guys haven’t met before,” he said.

“I’ve been a little busy this year,” you reminded him with a nod. “But--nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, a dimple in his left cheek ignited a tiny spark in your chest, but you pushed Zoey’s words out of your mind. Two weeks, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d be in and out and this would be a blip on the radar.

“We can order coffee or something, but Y/N, I’m assuming you have like, a whole interrogation mapped out?”

You pretended to laugh at Jeff’s joke, turned to Harry and offered a no-nonsense smile. “I have two children, I got divorced earlier this year and my dad just died. So I don’t need any drama or anything. This is temporary and I’m doing this to help out a friend. Jeff, that is, not you.”

He laughed at your clarification and nodded. “Right. This is just me living in your house. No drama. Short-term.”

“And obviously my children will be there, so no guests.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay I’m not that much older than you,” you said it quickly, offered a small smile when he looked a little scared.

“Sorry--no, I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”

“No ma’am,” you added a rule, pulling a laugh from both of them when you lifted another finger in the air to count them off. “No drugs or alcohol, unless it’s like a glass of wine at dinner or something,” you shrugged.

“Look,” Jeff leaned forward. “Y/N’s kids are great, she’s got a great skincare company and she’s a kickass human. And you need a place to stay, so don’t fuck this up.”

“You both have my word. No drugs, no alcohol, no guests, no ma’am,” he smirked in your direction. “I’ve lived alone for a while, so, it’ll be nice to have some roommates.”

You nodded slowly and watched him for a second. A hoodie with the name of the management firm your dad and Irv had started, a backwards baseball hat and simple Ray-Bans. You ignored the fluttering in your veins from just looking at him, your own words echoed against the walls of your skull: he’s also like twenty-something, so that’s disgusting.

This was his brand, you were sure. Something Jeff had worked hard on--the looks, the smile, the exact formula that management firms drooled over was playing out in front of you. You sipped your drink once the waiter delivered three cappuccinos. Two weeks, tops.

**

Los Angeles afternoons were meant for playing outside, which is what your daughters did best if they weren’t busy pulling each other’s hair. You had dinner on the stove--enough for five--and a knot of nerves in your stomach when the wheels of his fancy car crunched atop the gravel.

The girls ran to greet him and Jeff showed him around the house. Now, Harry sat across from you at the table, Maeve to his left with an unimpressed look on her face when you cleared your throat. “Okay, gratitude time.”

Jeff set his fork back down, a guilty look on his face to admit he’d forgotten about your pre-dinner ritual.

CeCe squirmed in her seat, let out a sigh when Maeve protested with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I don’t have anything to be thankful for,” she informed you.

“That feels a little hard to believe,” you nodded, losing patience for her attitude over the last few days. “CeCe, do you want to go?”

Your younger daughter looked up at you, scrunched her mouth and thought about it. “I don’t have anything either.”

You tried not to groan aloud. After the week you’d had and the sudden changes in your life, disciplining your daughters felt like the last thing you wanted to do, if only they’d just behave.

“I can go,” Harry lifted his hand sheepishly as if he was sitting in a classroom and not in your dining room, a dimple on his cheek when he smiled sheepishly.

“Take it away,” you motioned towards him.

“M’thankful for being here, having a place to stay--and what looks like it will be a delicious meal.” By now he had a bit of smug look on his face, maybe proud of the fact that he’d broken the ice and stepped up to the pre-dinner prompt.

“Mom’s cooking is a solid six out of ten on a good day,” Maeve looked over at him, her fork now in her hand as if she was ready to dig in.

“Okay,” you leaned in and caught her gaze. “Drop the attitude or go to your room.”

“I’m thankful for Emma,” she named her friend, her quick submission after she rolled her eyes told you she just wanted to eat and get this over with. “She warned me today that Hayley was wearing a shirt I wore last week so I think she’s copying me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, you’d accept anything at this point. “CeCe? Last chance.”

“I’m grateful for pudding.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, you nodded and said: “Great. I’m thankful for you two,” you smiled at them, hopeful that this nightly tradition would hold some type of meaning, more than just eye rolls and pre-pubescent angst from Maeve.

Jeff looked over at the girls, “I’m thankful for my friend Harry getting to meet my other friends, CeCe and Maeve.”

“Aww,” Harry smiled, a hand clutched to his heart when he looked between them.

“Alright,” you were annoyed by how good your daughters were at turning on their charm for anyone but you. Jeff was often the fun uncle, just like your ex had been the fun dad, which left you forcing them to play this gratitude game every night after they finished their homework.

CeCe wasted no time digging into the spaghetti on her plate, leaving Jeff to ask Maeve: “so what are you going to do about Hayley?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve sighed. “She’ll die when she finds out that you’re sleeping over,” she pointed her fork at Harry.

“He’s not sleeping over,” you corrected. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms, remember?” You’d already explained it a few times to them. A few weeks, he’s working on more music, he’ll be busy, he’s not here to play with you.

“Whatever,” Maeve said. “Maybe I’ll hold it over her.”

“Maeve,” you looked over, unsure what had gotten into her. “I thought we talked about this stuff with Hayley?”

“I know--but she just keeps annoying me,” Maeve explained.

“Dump pasta on her head,” CeCe suggested with a giggle.

“Don’t do that,” you looked at CeCe and poked her in the stomach.

“I personally am a big fan of that idea,” Jeff smiled over at CeCe. “But it’d probably be better to just forget about it. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Or the sincerest form of annoying,” she retorted.

Harry let out a laugh at that, caught your gaze when you wondered how soon it’d take him to get annoyed with your kids.

They were great--smart, funny, clever, definitely witty and sometimes dramatic. But they were good kids.

You remembered how tough it was to adapt to motherhood, even though they were your own. Something told you that Harry, no matter how short his stay would be, was not in the chapter of his life that entailed finding joy in playdates and pillow fights.

But he made it through dinner, quiet but friendly and as soon as Maeve was finished, she begged him to play squishball outside before sunset.

“Squishball?” his eyebrows dipped together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s basically just baseball but with a softer bat and a foam ball cause mom doesn’t want us to break our skulls,” Maeve informed.

“I never said break your skulls,” you argued.

“But it’s what you meant,” she shrugged.

“I would love to play,” Harry laughed, unbelievably entertained by the back and forth he’d already witnessed. They yanked him outside and set up their tiny diamond, CeCe pulled on a tutu just for flair and you and Jeff were left to handle the aftermath of a family dinner.

Jeff put the final plate into the dishwasher after a little bit and offered a hesitant smile when he turned around. “So?”

“So what? It’s been like an hour and a half of him being here.”

Their laughter from outside was audible, CeCe shrieked when Maeve made contact with the bat and sent the ball soaring into the air. “The girls clearly love him.”

“Of course they do--they love anyone for the first two hours.”

“I think he’ll be good for you guys.”

You rolled your eyes, wiped the counter with the sponge when he continued.

“And you guys will be good for him.”

This got your attention. “How so?”

“He’s a people-person, never likes being on his own too much. Some structure and responsibility is good for him.”

“So I’m babysitting him?”

“Oh my god,” he laughed. “Relax, will you? This could be a mutually beneficial thing if you let it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You didn’t read too much into it, you figured Jeff was peppering you with reassurance only to calm your nerves or quell your concerns. When he was finished helping you clean, he hugged the girls goodbye and waved over his shoulder, leaving Harry alone in your house with you and your daughters and nothing but good intentions.

You left him downstairs at first, helped CeCe brush her hair and sat on the floor when Maeve picked out her clothes for the next day: hopefully Hayley doesn’t own this dress.

When you headed back downstairs an hour later, the girls were tucked in, the lights were off, and your usual plan would have been to check your work emails if it weren’t for the dimpled guy in your living room.

He stood at the bookcase, hands clasped behind his back when you found him.

“Hi, sorry--bedtime is always a--” you paused, not even knowing the right label. “A shit show. But thanks for playing with them earlier.”

He laughed, turned around and offered a smile. “No worries--they seem like great kids.”

“They are,” you assured. “Maeve’s been a bit snarky lately but I think that’s just the whole beginning of puberty thing.” You cringed a little when the words left your mouth, wondering if it was too much information for someone who likely had cooler things to do than talk about ten-year-olds and training bras.

But he smiled, shoved his hands in his pockets when you said: let me show you around.

He’d arrived at the worst time. Homework, dinner prep, CeCe crying because Maeve finished her homework first. You didn’t have the chance to give him a tour and you figured it would be better coming from you than from Jeff, that way you could remind him of all the rules.

You showed him the ground floor first. The library, the family room, the two offices and the three different remotes that all worked different TVs or speakers or lamps. He marveled at the pictures on the wall in your dad’s old office space, he was a legend, he told you.

He climbed the stairs behind you and whispered in response when you pointed out what was behind each door. Bathroom, Maeve’s room, CeCe’s room, guest room, another bathroom, master suite, guest room, his room.

You pushed the door open and stepped aside to let him in. Gray walls, a wooden four-post king-sized bed. Throw pillows you’d picked out when you moved in a few weeks ago, a dresser to the left. He looked around and nodded. “S’perfect.”

“Good,” you said, walking over to a small linen closet in his attached bath. “Towels are in here, should be soap and stuff in the shower--had our housekeeper stock it.”

“Thanks,” he nodded again.

“I don’t know where you parked, but there’s a garage in the back that my dad used to keep some of his sports cars in--there’s definitely room and that way you don’t have to leave yours out if it rains.”

Were you talking too much? You just wanted him to feel at home or at least welcomed.

“Amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

A repetitive answer but it didn't stop you from rambling.

“Keurig’s on the counter--creamer in the fridge. Should be plenty of food but obviously feel free to stock what you like. Except like, weed.”

“Weed doesn’t go in the fridge...” he eyed you suspiciously, the same dimple appeared on his cheek and you rolled your eyes.

“I know--I know weed doesn’t go in the fridge.”

“Just the no drug policy,” he nodded.

“Right. Am I forgetting anything?”

He shifted his weight on his feet and shrugged his shoulders, a subtle shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” you nodded, one final look around the room to make sure he had what he needed. His duffle bag was already in the corner, you’d told Jeff to put it upstairs and out of the way so CeCe and Maeve didn’t get nosy.

“I just have a question actually, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“When did you move in here?”

“Uh, beginning of August, so like, almost a month ago.”

He nodded, his eyes curious despite the fact that he didn’t ask more.

“We had to put my dad in hospice, I was looking for a place anyway after,” a quick motion over your shoulder to gesture to the girls. “My divorce, so--a lot of change, but it’s been nice to be home.”

He nodded thoughtfully, the quiet of the bedroom suddenly felt heavy. “S’a beautiful house.”

“Thank you,” you looked around the room again, if only to put your eyes somewhere other than his face. “I felt shitty about redecorating it at first, but--it was a little too much of a 70s bachelor pad.”

“Leave it to Walt,” he joked.

That piqued your interest. “Did you know my dad? Like, did you spend any time with him?”

He pushed his lips out in thought but shook his head when he sat down on the bed. “Not really--met him a few times at events with Jeff, but I never spent any quality time with him.”

You nodded--he was a busy guy, popular and well respected in his industry. “He was a good person, good grandfather, too.”

Harry smiled at that. “Always heard that Irv was the balls but your dad was the heart.”

You laughed, scrunched your nose at the saying you’d heard a hundred times. The two of them were partners in crime, two peas in a pod, yet they couldn’t be more different. He spoke again before you could reply, voice soft in the sleepy house.

“I mean, if you're his daughter he obviously did something right.”

He held your gaze just long enough for you to feel something, something you pushed out of your mind so quickly that your hand was on the door knob before he could even say goodnight.

Two weeks, tops.

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[pale-silver-comb]

So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals. 

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong. 

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day. 

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.) 

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.  

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.  

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.  

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XIV

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, thoughts of self-harm and suicide, depression, some triggers might not be fully tagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: It’s the final day of the tournament and all are holding their breath to see who prevails.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The arena was buoyant on the final day of the tournament. The most awaited event, the joust, was finally come. As Lord Barnes would once more be among the competitors, you were left on your own in the box with the rest of the ladies and their queen. Most of the noblemen were listed for the sport, Barnes, Rogers, Stark, and even the king.

You didn’t watch as the names were announced and the banners presented before the games commenced. Your attention wasn’t even drawn as the first clashed with their blunted staffs and galloping horses. It was much more perilous than the other contests.

You stayed away from the other women. You were not interested in humouring the queen’s false kindness nor were you interested in their chatter of things that hardly mattered to you. Sewing, birthing, loving; you didn’t care for any of it. You didn’t care for them or the men on the field. You cared for nothing in this bleak world.

As Barnes took to the saddle for his first opponent, you glanced down lazily but found your eyes drawn to clouds instead. It was bitterly cold under the grey sky, streaked with umbrous and ominous wisps. It would likely snow soon as if to mark the grand finale.

You tucked your hands into your sleeves and hugged yourself alone on the bench. You were drawn from your glowering by the rustle of skirts. The queen sat beside you and let out an airy sigh.

“Thankfully, my brother has kept clear of conflict,” she said, “in fact, he’s hardly spared another snarl for the visiting Baron.”

“Your majesty,” you muttered as the flag was waved and the horses barrelled at each other and the men pointed their long poles.

“Unless you count this,” she mused as his pole broke off the armour of the other men and sent his adversary sprawling and the other horse whinnying in a panic. You lowered your eyes meekly. “He will be eager to be away and I do hope you aid him in a speedy departure. The baron is expected to remain in the capital for the winter.”

“Yes, he is want to be gone back to the castle,” you assured her.

“It would be tragic if you were to be snowed in here. Very inconvenient and costly at that.”

“Certainly, your majesty,” you said flatly.

“You understand the urgency that will follow in the coming days,” she intoned.

“I understand but you do seem to misunderstand your brother. To think that I have any hold over him is farcical. He does as he pleases. He is a duke, I am a displaced chambermaid. That is all it is… your majesty.”

“You do not speak as a chambermaid,” she replied sharply, “my brother favours you but he still cannot overrule me, understood?”

“Your majesty, I understand my place completely,” you ceded, “would I be remiss to excuse myself?”

“For what means?”

“To find a commode,” you answered, “these game do carry on and I am distracted by my humanly needs.”

“Go off then,” she stood, “you are rather dour today. You would cast a mood over us all if you languish thus.”

“Your majesty,” you rose and made your way to the doors as she rejoined her ladies and gave a forced giggle as they welcomed her. You wondered how the nobles were trained so well in lies. Was it in their books or did their tutors include it in their curricula?

You descended the stairs without aim. You had no need of the commode, only an excuse. You stepped out into the lower stands and peered out at the field. In that moment, you could be gone. You could disappear and be away from all this misery.

You scoffed at yourself and leaned against the wooden planks. He’d find you again. You couldn’t make it far enough before he sniffed you out again. You weren’t stupid enough to try it twice, even at such an opportune moment. You would only earn yourself further punishment.

“Is something amusing, my lady?” you stood straight and looked startled to the man who emerged from the shadows of the stairway. Lord Zemo smirked and came to stand arm to arm with you as he looked out across the stadium.

“My lord, I was only watching the field,” you lied, “thinking.”

“Ah, yes, these games, how violent,” he remarked, “where I am from, we have festivals before tournaments. Singing, dancing, poetry, theatre… I suppose that is just as silly as all this.”

“It is… a privilege to be able to afford silliness,” you said, “to not be the one cleaning up after all of it and yet… so very pointless.”

He nodded and grumbled as he considered your words, “very true. Wise, even. I think that after one has seen how grave things can be, these affairs become less and less entertaining. It is almost sickening to think of them, let alone attend them. Why should men play at war as if it were fun?”

You peeked over at him. He was here because he once fought those men down on the field with real steel and armour. It was rather grim to think of. “I did not think of it like that but I suppose you are right. I know little of war, however, my lord.”

“You know of pain, though,” he said, “it is painted on you as much as those battle scars carried by veterans like your beloved Barnes.”

You were silent. You stared up at the sky again, the endless grey, the half-finished canvas.

“Beloved? Perhaps that is the wrong word for him. I see little affection there. I sense it is not an arrangement you asked for.”

“Does it matter if it is?” you shook your head, “My lord, you waste your breath on little more than a servant. I suffer Lord Barnes the same as any, I am no help to you.”

“Help? I have no desire to change my standing with Barnes, I am not so foolish as that,” he turned to face you, “Have none ever taken interest in you as your own being?”

“I am a servant. I am not my own being,” you murmured, “my lord, if you would, I should return to my party.”

“As you will,” he said dolefully, “it was a pleasure to meet again.”

“Was it?” you asked as you turned to go.

“It is always a relief to speak of anything but politics or gold,” he said, “and yes, you served me well in this conversation. As you said, that is all you are worth.”

You left him but didn’t ascend back to the box. You continued down the steps until you reached the final landing. You looked up and sat on the lowest stair. A moment of peace before you had to go back. To not think for a single second.

🏰

You listened to the raucous voices of the audience. You didn’t want to move from that spot. You didn’t want to go back to it all. You just wanted to stay on that step forever. But you knew you had to go. You knew you had to get up.

You lifted yourself wearily but your foot only hovered above the bottom stair. You heard more voices, and an angry one as the crowd bang and buzzed. You followed the lower sounds, the singular conversations yelled through the din. You ventured down the tunnel that led beneath the stands.

Horse kicked and snorted as you came into the area meant for competitors. Men sat and stood with blood on brow and lip. Those who’d already lost, many as the final face-off was about to commence. You looked around but did not see Lord Barnes. Perhaps he was on the other side or even looking for you.

You walked the perimeter of the large space and a familiar face caught your eye. Peter rubbed his shoulder as he muttered, his aunt and uncle sat with him as the former checked the cut on his chin. You felt the same stabbing in your chest as the night before. Before you could think, you were marching towards him.

You skidded to a halt before him and gulped. You didn’t know what to say, you only knew how you felt. He looked over at you as May and Benjamin followed his gaze. You wavered and blinked away the tears that threatened.

“I did want to be friends but I stayed away to protect you, Peter,” you said, “did you have to be so cruel?”

“What? I--” he stood and winced as he jarred his shoulder, “I didn’t-- I wasn’t--”

“I know what I am and I know we cannot be friends but could it have hurt to let me think ‘what if’?” You quivered.

“No, my lady, I--”

“You know I’m not a lady. No need to treat me like one now. I heard you last night. I didn’t come to change your mind, I’m not so simple as that. I only came-- well, I don’t know why, but perhaps I only wanted to say to one person how they hurt me. Perhaps I wanted to just once be able to speak my part and that I can do because I know I will never see you again.”

You brushed past him and he reached for your arm as he stammered, “please, don’t, I was l--”

“Don’t,” you shrugged him off and stomped on as the figures around you blurred and the anger and despair swelled in your head.

You followed the noise of the crowd. They were hungry for blood. If that was what they wanted, they would have it. 

You pushed out from behind the curtain and the wood and dirt vibrated from the cacophony. You saw Lord Barnes in his saddle as he was handed his pole and his competitor, Lord Rogers, as he took his own. Their attendants checked the horse and took them to their marks.

You quaked as the ocean of voice rolled over you and you crept out along the wall. All were entranced by the two dukes as they readied for their signal. Barnes silver armour was dented and dinged from his former bouts and Rogers golden armour was just as scuffed. The two men steadied their steeds and the crowd fell into a hush of anticipation.

The red cloth dropped and the riders galloped at each other across the field. The hooves dusted up the cold dirt, through blood stains left throughout the day, and the crash that came sent up another cheer through the crowd. 

Wooden slivers exploded around Barnes and Rogers was pushed back against his horse as his own shield was deflected. Both men kept astride and righted themselves as they rode back to their posts and again, their liveried attendants approached to calm their horses and fix their dressings.

They would go again and again, until one of them was tossed from their saddle or worse. You began to breathe heavily as you paced along the wall and the lords were handed new shields. You readied and watched the man in gray lift the rag. You began to run before it was even visible to the crowd.

You heard the horses barreling at each other as you did the same. You closed your eyes as you got closer to the lanes and you tossed back your arms as you threw yourself forward. A heavy and hard force hit you and several crushing blows landed across your body as the horse trampled over you and overturned.

You croaked as you were left in the dirt. The eerie silence that followed was void of the bouncing excitement. It was broken only by the screaming of the injured horse and the confused voices of those on the field. You heard that familiar deep groan, of pain, not delight this time.

You rasped and gasped as your chest ached and your bones throbbed. Your limbs were filled with sand and your head pounding. There were shadows all around you as you wheezed and you smiled as you tasted blood on your tongue. You began to laugh as your eyelids drooped and blacked out the arena.

“Don’t move her!” A voice called as someone touched your arm. It was broken, you were sure of it. It didn’t matter, they couldn’t fix you. Not your arm, none of it.

You laughed louder and louder as you heard more footsteps. It was all so funny. You were free! Your eyes rolled back and your mind flickered. Just before the flame gave its last lick, you heard his voice. The gravity of it gave you peace.

“Is she alive? Is she alive!? Help her! Help her!”

Lord Barnes could demand as he did for all he had but in this, he could not be mollified.

[right-brain-of-froggy2]

Christmas in July Chapter 7

Day 7 is here! Prepare the milk, because today is all about cookies with Wonderful Christmastime.

A little author’s note: The Tracy cookie baking day is based on my (and Froggy One’s) own family's tradition of exactly this story. We get up really early, our grandparents, aunts/uncles, and some cousins come over and we bake cookies from dawn until night. Once everything is finished around 9PM, we distribute them amongst ourselves and make up plates multiple kinds for other family members. And all the ones listed are real ones we make too! Writing this today really made me crave some Christmas cookies...

Ao3 link here!

“I’m gonna die of hunger, Mama.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Really. You won’t see me ever again ‘cept in the ground. Dead. ‘Cause you won’t feed me.”

“I don’t want you dead, Scotty!”

“At least Virge cares…”

Lucy pats on a sulking Scott’s head as she whisks the eggs and sugar together for the next batch of cookies. Her oldest son does not appear amused.

“We just ate lunch an hour ago.”

“And an hour ago we didn’t have those!”

Scott points directly to the oven where the Andes Mint cookies are baking. Virgil immediately copies his older brother. Being only three means copying his brothers in the most entertaining thing in the entire world. Scott smacks down Virgil’s hand so he’s the only one pointing. Having a glass front oven is tantalizing thing for a little boy with an endless stomach.

“You’ve already had five cookies, Scott. Give your stomach a break.”

Her little boys pout and whine to no avail. She’s not breaking her stance on this one.

The Andes Mint cookies finish in the oven, and she has to nudge Scott and Virgil out of the way. Lucy places perfectly sized dollops of cocoa dough on a fresh baking sheet. Despite telling Scott no to more cookies, even she can’t resist those baby blue eyes staring up at her. She hands off the now empty bowl with bits of raw batter still stuck to the sides to Scott and Virgil.

Raw cookie dough is an even better treat than the cookies themselves. Virgil especially enjoys running his finger along the edge of the cool glass bowl to scoop up any leftover dough.

She waves a dirty spatula at Scott trying to sneak bites of the cooling cookies behind them. “That’s all you’re getting for a while, Scott Carpenter. Go find your Dad.”

Scott has lost interest with the definite answer of no more cookies and runs to find where Dad and John have gotten to. Virgil takes up his abandoned perch on a chair by the kitchen island.

Lucy peers into the oven as the cocoa cookies are halfway done baking. The Rolos in the center of each are melting down in perfect gooey blobs. Little bubbles of caramel pop as the chocolate of the Rolos melt further in the cookies’ dough.

“Well, Virgil, it’s just you and me now.”

“You ‘n me.”

“Which ones do you want to make up next?”

She flips through the homemade book of recipes, handwritten by her own grandmother, her mother, and now by Lucy herself with a few of the Tracy’s own recipes sprinkled into the book. There are certainly plenty to choose from. Some like the oatmeal cookies have to be refrigerated overnight (Jeff’s favorite: he already made up the batter late last night) while others like the Oreo balls have to sit in the freezer for a few hours. Sure, they aren’t all the typical Christmas cookies, but each one holds a special memory in the Tracy family hearts.

Virgil turns the pages intently as if he’s reading the cursive handwriting of each recipe. He stops at a recipe and points to it.

“This one.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes!”

“It’s a lemon cookie.”

“I like lemon.”

“No you don’t, Virgil. Lemons are the yellow fruits.”

“Icky. Only Daddy and John like those.”

Lucy pokes her nose into Virgil’s hair to earn a giggle. She turns the pages, finding a recipe better suited for Vigil. Making the cookies means sneaking bits of the batter with no repercussions. “How about these? New twist cookies?”

Virgil’s eyes light up like the kid he’s going to be on Christmas. He reaches for the nearest clean bowl to start mixing. Lucy takes that as a yes.

The timer for the Rolo cookies will go off in five minutes or so; and then, they still have two more trays of raw cookies to bake. That should give Lucy enough time to make the new twist cookies while corralling a toddler. The new twist cookies are her grandmother’s take on chocolate chip cookies: a cookie bar topped with a brown sugar meringue that’s to die for.

Lucy measures out each ingredient and hands it to Virgil to dump into the bowl. He mixes up the base of the bar, pausing only to pour in the ingredients his mom gives him. By the time Virgil’s chubby little hands are packing down the cookie bar base in a ceramic dish, the Rolo cookies are done. Lucy passes over the rationed amount of chocolate chips to sprinkle out over the dough while she gets the next batch in the oven. While the first batch is now cooling, Lucy throws the next set of pans in to bake.

“Look, Mama!”

Virgil is all smiles as he shows her the unevenly spread chocolate chips.

“That looks so yummy, Virge! Good job!”

Oh well. John’s not the biggest fan of chocolate anyways; maybe she can cut him one of those pieces devoid of any chocolate chips. They move on to the meringue topping to finish off the cookie bars before putting them in line to bake.

The Christmas music playing softly in the background is drowned out as she whips up the eggs in the bowl to a stiff peak. She carefully mixes in the brown sugar and a splash of vanilla once the eggs are able to stand on their own. Her finger swiped a dollop from the edge of the bowl. Virgil’s own are plugging his ears against the beater’s loud noise. A smile comes to her lips as the flavor is exactly what she’s looking for.

Yup, tastes just like Grandma’s.

The next step is to layer it carefully over the chocolate chips and base. With practiced flourish, Lucy smooths out the meringue with swirls. The timer dings and Lucy swaps the Rolo cocoa cookies and the bars.

She looks over to the second card table set up against the wall of the living room open to the dining room. All the extra ingredients are laid out in neat rows and groups. Extra bags of flour and sugar are here, some butter left out to soften next to the baking powder, molasses there. The odd ingredients like peppermint chips, apricot jam, and lemon cake mix are farther to the back of the table. John’s been put in charge of organizing every year and takes his job very seriously.

Virgil yawns. She helps him off the chair with instructions to find his dad to help him clean up for a nap. As Virgil leaves he passes by Scott. Her eldest son wanders back into the dining room to stand by her side. A mess of incriminating cookie crumbs line his lips.

He reaches for molasses and jar of freshly ground ginger to hand to her. Gingersnaps are one of Scott’s favorites, and always a classic.

“Just how many cookies did Daddy let you eat?”

Scott shrugs. “A few.”

At the sound of John Lennon’s “Wonderful Christmastime”, Lucy can’t even find herself to be mad. If anything, she’ll make Jeff deal with the sugar crashing children and clean the whole kitchen while she goes to bed early. Now that’s a pleasant thought. Lucy helps Scott get out the first scoop of molasses.

Baking cookies and singing along to Christmas music, who could ever be unhappy doing that?

 . . .

 “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” is playing in the background as Lucy takes small amounts of the thickened pineapple mixture sweetened with sugar and plops them in the center of the shortbread dough. Armed with a plastic cutter, John trims the square pieces of dough so they could be folded up into star shapes. Lucy instructs her middle son on how to fold up the dough to resemble a pinwheel star.

Looking at the time, she realizes that it’s already nearing five in the evening. The whole family’s been helping bake, but she’s been in here all day for over ten hours after starting at six this morning. She deserves a breather. Lucy washes her hands at the sink overflowing with dirty dishes that are soaking with soap. While she had been washing the spatulas and bowls all through the day, it would only take minutes before they would be in use again for some other cookie recipe.

Jeff popped by in the kitchen around two to start his ‘world famous chili’ supper so she didn’t have to cook. (Read: Jeff and Scott dumped in cans of beans and tomatoes and mixed it with seasonings, peppers, and cooked ground beef from two nights ago). Either way, Lucy’s relieved to not have to make dinner tonight.

“I think this is the last batch, Johnny,” Lucy says, hands on her hips as she surveys the damage to the kitchen.

“I counted all the others. We made so many!”

“Did you count the tallies too?”

John nods. Each person is meant to keep track of how many cookies they eat to get an exact count in the end. He leans in lose to whisper to his mom. “Scotty ate eleven!”

“That child…” Lucy shakes her head and leans in close to John. “Well… how many total then?”

“Um…” John takes a moment to think. He then pulls out a piece of paper with crayon scribbled on it with a neater number written blow in pen. “Daddy helped me. We have seven hundred and two total cookies!”

Pineapple, Andes mint, snickerdoodles, pecan tassies, Oreo balls, fudge, jam thumbprint, gingersnap, lemon, snowcaps, plain chocolate chip, new twist chocolate chip- they made every type of cookie imaginable and more. So many more. Every year, Lucy forgets that one family is even capable of making that many cookies.

The oven dings. The last of the pineapple cookies are finally done baking. Lucy takes them out and allows herself to collapse down into the living room couch. John follows her straight to the couch. He climbs up and sits in his mom’s lap.

“Done already?”

Lucy shoots Jeff the stink eye as he trudges in from outside. He pulls down the mask from his face.

“You’re tracking snow everywhere.”

Jeff looks down at his coat wet with freshly melted snowflakes. Scott trapezes in with his own coat wet and nose red.

“It’s just water, Mama! We learned it in science class,” Scott clarifies. John nods seriously from her lap.

“Well, whatever it is, go hang your coats up and dry off. You and Daddy are on plating duties. We’ll eat supper and then drive these cookies out to people. We can even start with Grandma Sally and Grandpa Grant if you want.”

Scott and John whoop with excitement.