#my husband is perfectly justified in his fear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ibijau · 3 years ago

Text

Persuasion AU pt6 / On AO3

It came as something of a relief to Lan Xichen when he found out that he was not the only one to have been affected by their afternoon of work in the mountains. Most of the Lan juniors were also a little unwell by the next day, and the Nie disciples hardly fared any better. Nie Huaisang, who was perfectly well since he hadn’t done any work, scolded Wei Wuxian for not warning them that he was taking them in an area harbouring such intense resentment, and also for not noticing how hot the temperature had gotten, while they’d only carried very little water. Wei Wuxian retorted that Nie Huaisang should have said something at the moment since he was so wise, before playfully accusing of being too busy flirting and strutting in front of pretty boys like a peacock to remember his duties.

Nie Huaisang took that comment to heart, and to compensate for what he seemed to take as a failure on his part, he prepared soup for everyone, which he assured them would help them recover faster. That Nie Huaisang knew how to cook came as a first surprise to Lan Xichen. The second was that Nie Huaisang cooked rather well. The third, that he had remembered the vegetarian diet of the Lans and made sure to include no meat in his soup so that they too could enjoy it.

When that soup was offered to them, Lan Xichen had no idea who prepared it. So when he complimented it, it was done innocently enough, with the assumption it had to be Wen Qing or someone of her clan who had cooked for them. He could taste some medicinal plants used in it, but their bitter flavour had been expertly balanced out with spices and vegetables.

“Let it be a lesson for Gusu Lan,” Nie Huaisang had retorted to that compliment. “Food can be good for the body and yet not taste awful.”

“I would have put more hot pepper in it,” Wei Wuxian complained.

“And then only you and I could have eaten it,” Nie Huaisang said with a smirk. “It’d be a waste, when you and your husband are the only ones who weren’t affected by yesterday’s work. No, my soup is perfect like this, don’t you dare criticise it, you uncultured ruffian.”

Hearing this, Lan Xichen had felt curious as to when Nie Huaisang had picked up such a skill, though he did not feel he was in any position to ask. Luckily for him Wen Yuan and Lan Jingyi were just as intrigued and much less shy, and so he was given a chance to hear Nie Huaisang explain how he had followed his brother into battle sometimes, how he had even led their troops in person on occasions though he never fought himself, and how he had learned to do his share of the work just as everyone else did.

It was odd to hear Nie Huaisang speak of such things, when Lan Xichen remembered a young man who feared nothing so much as getting mud or sweat on his fine clothes. But from the sober way he spoke of the war, it seemed clear that Nie Huaisang had not enjoyed the role he had been forced to take on. What he had done, he had done not for glory and justice, as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had, but merely because it was what his sect had needed from him.

It struck Lan Xichen as particularly sad that they should both have changed so much to please their sect, and as particularly tragic that, had their roles been reversed, they might not have been so unhappy. Lan Xichen would have gladly fought thousands of enemies if it had been asked of him, while he suspected that Nie Huaisang would have been quite content dealing with the daily affairs of a quiet sect. In this as in other things, they had been truly unfortunate.

Once breakfast was over, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang decided to go check certain things in the mountain. Only Lan Wangji would go with them to ensure that they didn’t put themselves into unnecessary danger, a justified worry when they intended to go check on some dangerous fierce corpses that Wei Wuxian had not yet managed to subdue with his new methods.

It said a lot about Lan Jingyi’s interest in Nie Huaisang that he offered to go as well, even when there were few things that terrified him more than fierce corpses. But to the young man’s relief, Wei Wuxian became serious for a moment and stated he wouldn’t bring anyone who wasn’t already an expert on the topic, at least not until the situation had been better assessed.

As soon as the three men had left, it became obvious how much they contributed to the present company. While Lan Xichen did not mind having little to do and always found something to occupy himself with, the other guests were a little more distressed by that sudden lack of activity. The Nie disciples briefly considered sparring and training to pass time, but Wen Qing was quick to remind them that they were meant to be resting and threatened to drug them if they couldn’t sit quietly for one day. After that they tried chatting, while the Lan juniors borrowed some books to pass time, but everyone was clearly extremely bored without Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang to exchange jokes.

Lan Jingyi and Wen Yuan were the most badly affected. Unlike everyone else, they weren’t particularly tired, since Nie Huaisang had kept them idle at his side the previous afternoon. And of course they, more than anyone, missed his company. Lan Jingyi lamented so much that it became ridiculous, and Lan Xichen had to lightly scold him for his lack of restraint.

“Tang-ge wouldn’t understand,” Lan Jingyi retorted, coming to sit with him, much to Lan Xichen’s chagrin since he’d been enjoying reading one of Wen Qing’s treaties. “You’ve never felt that way, so you just don't understand. But someone like Nie gongzi… he’s like Wei-qianbei, he needs someone who will stay by his side no matter what.”

“Within reason,” Lan Xichen replied, barely more than a whisper.

“Reason has no place in this!” Lan Jingyi exclaimed. “If you love someone, you don’t let anything come between you, it’s that simple. You should know that, at least. You supported Hanguang-Jun when he decided to stay with Wei-qianbei, didn’t you?”

Lan Xichen nodded. He tried, and failed, to smile at his young cousin who had unknowingly said exactly the right thing to hurt him most deeply. It was something he had told himself again and again over the years, that if he had really loved Nie Huaisang, he wouldn’t have let the opinion of his father and uncle impact him. If he had really loved Nie Huaisang, he would have found the courage to run to Qinghe when the war started. He would have done more than drown in regrets. If it had been real love…

But it had been real.

Lan Xichen, exhausted from Nie Huaisang near constant proximity, heartbroken to see him moving on, could at least have this much kindness to himself, and finally stop telling himself that what he had felt, in good and in bad, hadn't been real. He had been in love with Nie Huaisang, as truly and sincerely as a person could love another. That he had not given into his passion at the time didn't diminish the strength of his feelings, not when his father had been a living example of such passion going awry, something his uncle had reminded him of when warning him against a hasty alliance.

Lan Xichen had loved Nie Huaisang, and the pain of pushing aside his feelings had nearly destroyed him.

Worse, and more unwisely, he might still have loved him. Of that he was less certain, because Nie Huaisang had changed so much during their time apart, yet Lan Xichen still felt the same impulse to be close to him which he had to fight every moment, the same need to be the reason for his smiles, the comfort in his moments of doubts.

Lan Xichen might still love Nie Huaisang, but just as he had managed to be reasonable thirteen years earlier, he would be so now, when Nie Huaisang’s every action and every word made it clear he had no interest in renewing their old connection. Lan Xichen loved Nie Huaisang, and would find the strength to be happy for him, no matter what cultivation partner he chose for himself.

"Oh, but it wasn't so easy for my fathers," Wen Yuan protested, coming to sit on the other side of Lan Xichen, startling him out of his thoughts. "Even if they were in love, it almost didn't work out. I don't know everything about it, but certain things happened during the war that Wei-baba tried to hide from Lan-baba, and they nearly fell apart."

"But it did work out eventually," Lan Jingyi insisted. "So it's proof that if you're in love with someone, and they love you, it'll work out in the end!”

“It’s not always that easy,” Wen Yuan stubbornly repeated.

“True, you are practically engaged,” Lan Jingyi said. “I guess you know a little more than me. Are you having much trouble with that Jin boy, then? You don’t seem to be missing him too much. Not that I blame you. I met him once, some weeks ago, and he was very unpleasant.”

“Jingyi,” Lan Xichen said in warning, but Wen Yuan merely laughed at that rude comment, looking radiant as he nodded.

“Yes, A-Ling usually makes a bad first impression,” he agreed. “But he’s just the sort of person who doesn’t let you see what he really thinks unless he really likes you. Nie-qianbei is like that too, even if he uses jokes instead of getting angry.”

“Nie gongzi has nothing in common with someone like that little Jin mistress!” Lan Jingyi objected. “That kid was just spoiled, and lazy, and fussy, and… Tang-ge, why are you smiling like that?”

“I am just thinking that I’ve heard Nie gongzi called all these things when he was your age,” Lan Xichen explained. “When we go home, you should ask my uncle what he remembers of Nie Huaisang. I think you would both be surprised as to what the other might have to say on that topic.”

Even before the issue of Lan Xichen’s romance, Lan Qiren had had somewhat mixed feelings regarding Nie Huaisang who he had once called as lazy as he was clever, adding that the boy was regrettably extremely clever.

Nie Huaisang, uninterested in nearly everything that Gusu Lan tried to teach its guest disciples, had required a lot of tutoring just to fail his exams without too much disgrace. He’d gone through several tutors before Lan Xichen had tried his chance. Nie Huaisang’s grades had finally started to improve, though Lan Qiren had sometimes complained it came at the cost of a number of small misbehaviour from his oldest nephew who would laugh too loud, or arrive late to his classes because he’d gone bird-watching. Innocent mischief certainly, but perhaps it shouldn’t have surprise Lan Xichen when his uncle had shown himself so firmly opposed to the idea of a marriage with Nie Huaisang who must have seemed to him a corrupting influence no less threatening than what Madam Lan had been to Qingheng-Jun.

“Tang-ge, I never realised that you knew Nie gongzi when he was young,” Lan Jingyi exclaimed. “But if he met Hanguang-Jun and Wei-qianbei when he was a student in Gusu, then of course you had to be there as well. Unless you were already in seclusion at that time?”

“No, that happened later, after the war started.”

“Then you must have some stories about him to share!” Lan Jingyi said, while Wen Yuan silently but eagerly nodded. “You have to tell us what you know.”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Xichen retorted as calmly as he could.

“But it wouldn’t be gossip,” Wen Yuan quietly protested. “Surely it’s fine to speak about certain things, not everything is gossip. Like his favourite dish, his favourite colour…”

“What books he likes, the person he admires the most…”

“How he started keeping birds…”

“Just little details like that,” Lan Jingyi pleaded. “We can’t ask Wei-qianbei, he’d tease us. And we can’t ask Hanguang-Jun, he’d give us a disappointed look which is worse than being teased.”

Lan Xichen pinched his lips.

When they were young, Nie Huaisang’s favourite dish was Biangbiang noodles covered in enough hot pepper that Wei Wuxian was the only other person who could share his meal. His favourite colour was the pale golden light of a clear sunrise. He read absolutely everything that fell into his hands with a voracious appetite, but only if it wasn’t required by any class, in which case he suddenly hated reading. The person he admired the most was his older brother Nie Mingjue, whom he feared and adored at the same time. He’d started keeping birds after falling sick as a child, when his mother had thought it would be good for him to have a companion to entertain him while he lingered in bed for weeks, but usually Nie Huaisang told a different story about finding a wounded bird, because the weak health of his youth embarrassed him, especially when he was so late in developing a golden core that he still didn’t have one by the time he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

“It has been many years,” Lan Xichen said, “and Nie gongzi has changed since then. What I might have to say about him is probably no longer true, so I'd rather say nothing.”

“Tang-ge… could it be you don’t like Nie gongzi?” Lan Jingyi asked, suddenly alarmed. “You’re always avoiding him, and now you sound so cold when speaking about him… Do you disapprove of him?”

Lan Xichen was startled by the question, but above all by the tone in which it was asked, and the very sincere worry on Lan Jingyi’s face. His young cousin, so passionate only a moment earlier and claiming so loudly that he believed nothing would stand in the way of true love, now looked as if a single word from Lan Xichen would be enough to make him renounce his current infatuation.

It was a terrifying power to have over anyone, and one Lan Xichen had never expected he would hold, least of all when it came to Lan Jingyi who could be rather headstrong. It would have been immensely easy to be selfish, to ensure that Nie Huaisang’s heart remained unclaimed with just a few words, but the very idea of such cruelty made Lan Xichen nauseous. He might have had doubts regarding Nie Huaisang’s feelings for his cousin, but there was no denying that Lan Jingyi seemed to feel an affection no less strong and sincere than what Lan Xichen had once felt, what he still felt in spite of himself.

Lan Xichen would rather see his own heart broken again than inflict that pain on anyone looking up to him for advice.

“Seeing Nie gongzi reminds me of happier times in my life,” Lan Xichen explained, “and of certain choices I’ve come to regret dearly. The last time I saw him was the last time I was truly happy, and it is difficult to see him again without wishing things were that way again. But I have no objection to his person. On the contrary, I think whoever he chooses as his cultivation partner, as his husband, will be a very lucky person indeed.”

Lan Jingyi smiled almost shyly, and Lan Xichen felt a pang of envy for the hope his cousin could still hold when his own had long died.But more than that, he felt some anger at the advice he had been given in his youth. His uncle’s fears he could excuse, Lan Qiren having only ever suffered because of the passions of others, but surely his father should have understood, his father should have wanted him to have the happiness he no longer could feel, just as he now wished for Lan Jingyi to have a better life than his own.

That brief moment of anger was soon interrupted by Wei Wuxian’s laughter, who had just returned with his husband and Nie Huaisang, perfectly in time to hear at least parts of their conversation. Wei Wuxian found great joy in teasing both Lan Jingyi for his crush, and Nie Huaisang for being worthy of such high praise.

This went on for a bit until Nie Huaisang, clearly irritated, snapped at him that they had more important things to do. Nie Huaisang then left the house again, grumbling about preparations he needed to make for a Night Hunt.

Hearing this, Wei Wuxian grew serious again and started explaining that the situation with those fierce corpses in the Burial Mound had taken an unexpected turn. A few of them, the most powerful ones, had made their way down the mountains and could no longer be found, though it seemed they were following the edges of the lake that linked Yiling to Yunmeng. A Night Hunt would be needed to take care of them.

“I’m sending a message to Yunmeng," Wei Wuxian announced. "It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jiang Cheng anyway, and in this season, Jin Ling is probably spending time with him. It’ll be nice to get the family together. Won’t it, A-Yuan?”

The boy blushed at being teased by his father, and mumbled that he would be very happy for the company, as well as for the chance to go on a Night Hunt. And perhaps it had really been too long since he had seen his sweetheart, because upon being promised that he’d soon meet Jin Ling again, Wen Yuan immediately toned down his behaviour toward Nie Huaisang.

When Nie Huaisang returned, still looking exceptionally cross, Wen Yuan barely paid him any attention, as if the older man had never been anything but a distraction. But Lan Xichen was not the only one noticing that, and Lan Jingyi from that moment on acted as if there could be no doubt that he would win Nie Huaisang’s heart now that he no longer had competition.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #persuasion au #jau writes

28 notes · View notes

archaneanscribe · 4 years ago

Text

Finally Taking the Trip to Jupiter

Vague spoilers for MGS4. Also xtremely fucking sad fair warning lol

“Snake... Dave?” Hal immediately corrected himself upon entering the room. The veteran’s (finally they could use that term, with there truly being no fights left to fight) request to drop the codenames they had maintained for nearly a decade had been a little sudden, but entirely understandable, “We think we’ve found a place to stay, for the moment. A nice house, close enough to a town that Sunny can go to school in, but far enough ouy most folks will leave us alone.”

David simply nodded- taking a deep breath that would normally be an intake of smoke into his lungs, but he was sincere in his declaration of quitting. Even if it wasn’t for very long, he could do that much for Sunny and Hal, after all this time. The tech wiz stood awkwardly in the doorframe, posture so closed in on himself David would see the gangly nerd he once was before he had started spending more time eating and moving around than seated in front of a computer.

He still did plenty of that, but years on the run had shifted the ratio considerably until just recently.

“Out with it, Hal,” he croaked out in a voice that was becoming increasingly unfamiliar to both of them. This seemed to shock his companion out of his own thoughts, and he finally moved closer.

“Ah, well, you see- what do you want for your last name, Dave? You know I’ll be formalizing Sunny’s adoption, which means we’ll finally be obtaining,” emphasis was put on the word, because in reality it meant forging, “papers for her, and I thought you’d probably be in need of some too. We can use whatever is on your birth certificate, but if you want to pick something out yourself...”

A smile formed under Dave’s mustache.

“I already know what I’m using.”

Hal perked up, “You do? What is it?”

With the same simple, to the point gruffness he would never quite be rid of, the one legendary soldier answered in a single word.

“Emmerich.”

All sounds except the Nomad’s machinery working overtime on her last voyage and David’s unfortunately heavy breathing ceased for an eternally long moment, Hal’s face journeying between every emotion he possessed. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and his attempt to stifle his sniffles failed.

He probably wouldn’t have admitted it at the beginning, but something David had always loved about Hal was his ability to keep crying. No matter the hardships he faced, the traumas, the evils and cruelties he bore witness too, he didn’t run out of tears. His compassion was a well that ran deep, and those tears were just a result of it overflowing.

“Dave...of, of course,” his expression betrayed some amusement past the waterworks, “Do you want me to list you as my brother, or-”

“You know exactly what it’s going to say, Hal.”

They both laughed now, such different sounds than it was just a year ago even. David had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and Hal had been across the room, but that distance closed as Hal kneeled on the floor, placing his hands on David’s knees. It was a gesture that David had previously classified as pitying, but he knew better, now.

It wasn’t for his comfort at all.

“Thank you, David.”

David had half a mind to ask what it was like to kiss an old man with a mustache, but they didn’t have the time for jokes like that anymore, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

---

The eyeroll David had given when Hal told him the name of the town they’d be living in was named Jupiter was so legendary it surpassed his previous exploits with ease. But, despite how silly it was, he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest.

They’d gotten their trip to Jupiter, just a little late.

Jupiter, Washington, was as small as a small mountain town got. It didn’t even have an elementary school for Sunny to attend (she was bussed to the neighboring, larger town). Most residents were the descendants of the people who had first lived there, so their new faces stuck out for awhile, but they eventually concluded what was essentially the truth, albeit missing some key details, and moved on- they were just two retirees, hoping to live out what was left of the older one’s life in peace with their orphaned granddaughter, nothing exciting.

Hal laughed at how huffy David had gotten at the granddaughter comments.

For the first month, their time there was peaceful. Content. Happy.

The second month, David starting being able to spend less and less time out of bed.

In the third month, he took Hal aside.

“You should stop sleeping in the same bed as me.”

His husband was a genius, he knew exactly why, but he still asked anyway.

“Don’t make me say it.”

That he didn’t want Hal to wake up one sunny spring morning cuddling a corpse.

Tears were shed, as they always were, but he complied nonetheless. All of David’s belongings were transferred to the guest bedroom (Hal had tried to convince him to stay in the master bedroom, it was more comfortable, but David was adamant- that was where Hal would be staying in the future, and he didn’t want his ghost lingering in the air whenever he slept).

On the first day of the fourth month, right after sending Sunny off to school, Hal told him they were getting a dog for her.

“She loves those chickens, and I thought she might like another pet.”

“Or is it to replace me?” he asked, morbid mirth nearly buried under the pure gravel that had become his voice, “Seems to fit perfectly.”

Hal’s eyes, sad and weary, seemed to want nothing to do with this conversation, but he participated for his partner’s sake, “How so?”

“It’ll bark at strangers, bite the hand that feeds, and just generally be a pain in your ass.”

Despite himself Hal did laugh, not entirely bitter, “We’ll train it better than that.”

“Don’t train it too well. Won’t remind you enough of me.”

Fifth month, they had a dog. Rex, a joke on two layers- a name so common it was funny, and a reminder of one man’s shame that he’d never quite shake off. Not a husky, because while that would please David, they’d be keeping it long term and that level of energy just wouldn’t suit their needs. Rex was an adolescent Golden Retriever.

The dog of the American dream.

Almost like he could tell David wouldn’t be around long enough to justify getting attached, Rex mostly ignored him. The feeling was mutual.

Sunny loved them both dearly, and that was enough.

---

They had been there half a year, and Sunny made them breakfast. Her specialty, eggs fried to methodical perfection, toast just a little browner than anyone would like, maple sausage microwaved for ten seconds more than the instructions said just to make sure they were thoroughly cooked, and a glass of pulpless orange juice tucked precariously into the crook of her arm as she carried the meal to Uncle Dave’s bedroom.

It was two minutes after Hal watched Sunny depart from the kitchen that he heard a loud crash, glass and ceramic shattering, followed by Rex’s insistent barking and whining. He was on his feet and rushed to the scene, fearing the worst and finding exactly that.

“Oh, Sunny... Sunny...”

“U-Uncle H-Hal,” she barely managed through her cries. Rex, to his credit, ignored the food on the ground and nuzzled at her face, whining, confused and upset by the noises of unparalleled distress his beloved human was emitting. Stifling his own grief, Hal went over to the young girl and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

He didn’t do a great job at holding that grief in after all.

“Sunny, Sunny, Sunny... I’m so sorry... I should have checked up on him when I woke up... It’s okay, Sunny...”

“H-He’s d-d-dead. J-Just,” her stutter was exacerbated by her choking sobs, “J-Just l-like my m-mother.”

The downside of having such a bright child was that you couldn’t shield them from life’s harsh realities that easily. There was no convincing Sunny that Uncle Dave was with the birds in the clouds, or any other such comforting tale.

He was dead and gone, and she knew that.

---

The gravestone read:

David Emmerich

Beloved father and husband.

All three of those titles were ones he had only worn for six months, but he had worn them with honor.•

#otasune #snotacon #jupiter family #sunny emmerich #hal emmerich #otacon #solid snake #mgs #mgs4 #metal gear solid #metal gear solid 4 #fanfic #fanfiction #suu's scribbles #this shit made me so sad to write i literally cried planning it #i have only watched most of mgs4 not played it thats why the spoilers are vague lol

96 notes · View notes

raincitygirl76 · 2 years ago

Text

Exactly!!!! Speaking as someone who was raised in a household with a parent who abused my other parent, my siblings, and me, nobody ever guessed. My dad was a model husband and father, as far as everyone not living in our house was concerned. He was highly intelligent, he had an upper class English accent (a guarantee of respectability to many Canadians, for some reason), and he’d been to the right English boarding schools.

He was intensely respectable and not many people believed a word against him. It was much easier to believe his ex-wife was some pathological bitch who was smearing his good name because of messy divorce shit. And she’d brainwashed those poor children of his into believing her nonsense. Such a sad case, that poor man. To lose not only his family but also to be slandered like that when he was a pillar of the community.

Some people stopped talking to my mom after the divorce because they’d rather believe she was hysterical than believe she was justifiably scared to death of that nice man. Some people stopped talking to me, because I backed her up. I was 13 fucking years old and they’d rather believe I was either too young to understand what violence really was, or a disturbed adolescent who was out of touch with reality. One of those, either would do.

Either way, it was my mom’s fault, not that nice man’s. The nice man who repeatedly threatened to break into our new house and stab her kids to death in front of her before slitting her throat. She went to the police about the death threats. They seemed like they believed her, until they interviewed her ex-husband and found him to be this lovely, cultured British man in a nice suit. He didn’t fit the stereotype of a monster, so clearly he must be a victim of a bitter ex-wife.

Incidentally, my father is now almost 80, and has stopped being able to keep up appearances due to cognitive decline. Now people actually believe me about him, now he’s a weird old man with bad hygiene, anger issues, and bizarre racist and anti-Semitic outbursts. They didn’t believe me back when I was 13 and their belief would’ve helped. Back then he could put on a good front of being a loving husband and father who was being dragged through the mud by his horrible ex-wife.

The one good thing about his current mental state is that when he broke his hip last year, the social workers at the hospital didn’t try too hard to convince his estranged fortysomething children (my younger siblings and me) to take him in. He was obviously an unpleasant old man we had good reason not to be close to since my mom got us the fuck away from him in 1990.

Best year of my life, 1990. Worst year of my life, too, because it was terrifying. But the best year of my life because there was suddenly a lockable front door separating us from him, and his name wasn’t on the deed. Suddenly not living in the same house as an abuser, after all my life so far in that house, was a revelation. But he put on a great front in public. He didn’t act like a monster, and only a monster would hit his wife and kids. So clearly his wife and kids must be deluded.

Tl;dr

Don’t assume all abusers (and that goes for rapists, etc too) are monstrous and easy to spot. Most of them can act like perfectly nice human beings when they’re being observed, or when they need to get their victims on side. And many of them are smart, manipulative people.

Is my father a monster through and through? No, of course not. One of the reasons it was so hard for my mother to leave him was he talked a great game when he knew she’d blown past fear of him into anger and thoughts of escape. He was always incredibly sorry when he needed to be sorry.

There were convincing-sounding promises to change, offers to go to therapy, declarations of undying love, and promises he would kill himself if she left him and took us kids with her. I think he even believed his histrionics himself. Bouquets of flowers and opera tickets for her, out of the blue presents for us. Thoughtful presents, usually. He knew what toys and books his kids were into. He was an abuser, but he wasn’t stupid or unobservant.

And I think in his own twisted way he loved us. He’d just been raised in a family where his dad hit his mom, and hit him. He thought it was normal, I guess. My grandmother died when he was 15. There’s no proof, but family lore suggests she probably died by suicide. Just hushed up by my very respectable grandfather and an understanding doctor. My dad often begged my mother not to abandon him the way his mother had abandoned him.

I often believed his promises at the time. He was my dad, he was supposed to protect his family, not hurt us. So when he said he would change, it took a while before I developed sufficient cynicism that I knew his good behaviour wouldn’t last. The promises of change never lasted, but he was excellent at being vulnerable when necessary.

And I think he even convinced himself. So no, not a monster. It would’ve been much easier if he had been. Being simultaneously terrified of someone hurting you, and worried you’re hurting them, is a thing when you have an abuser in your life. I suppose my dad knew that too, when he was a kid himself. I never saw my paternal grandfather hit anyone, but I had zero doubt he was capable of it. We didn’t see him much, as he lived on the other side of the Atlantic. But he was a lot like my dad, in both good and bad ways. Same extravagant gestures in a good mood, same explosive temper in a bad one.

Oh, and I happen to know WHY my grandfather was so horrible. My great-grandmother did not want another child, and tried to get an abortion. Her husband found out and threatened to have her locked up in an asylum. This was decades before abortion was legal in any country. She repeatedly told her youngest child she didn’t love him and had wanted an abortion, even in front of her grandchildren (my dad and his brothers).

I know this because Uncle #1 is the best of the lot. He got therapy in prison (long story), and continued getting therapy after being released. He is by far the most well-adjusted person on my dad’s entire side of the family, despite being the only convicted felon. He talked to me, not only about my grandmother’s suicide, but also about his childhood memories of my grandfather (his and my dad’s father) and how my great-grandmother never lost a chance to remind her youngest child he was unwanted and unloved. Or to disparage her grandchildren by that child.

My father abused his wife and kids because he learned that at his father’s knee. My grandfather abused his own wife and kids because his mother was abusive to him. Christ only knows what happened to her as a child that made her think scapegoating her youngest child and constantly telling him she wished he’d never been born was okay.

Is it “inappropriately humanizing abusers” for me to talk about the context in which my father, grandfather, and great-grandmother perpetuated abuse against their own families as adults? Those conversations with Uncle #1 about the dynamic he remembered between my grandad and my great-grandmother (who died before I was born) were revelatory for me. My dad was abusive, but he also was abused, etc, etc.

Intergenerational abuse is a vicious cycle, but it is a cycle people can step away from. Given sufficient motivation and sometimes therapy, the cycle can be broken. My father did not choose to step away from it. And that’s on him. I haven’t exactly forgiven him for what he put us all through when I was a kid. But he was a scared little boy once upon a time just like I was a scared little girl. Writing off abusers as monsters ignores that fact.

My dad’s not a monster. He’s a victim who grew up to victimize others in his turn, rather than a victim who broke the Intergenerational cycle of abuse. Breaking it by either not having children, or actively choosing to reject abusive parenting and to give their children better than what they grew up being subjected to.

Sorry, that got long.

yeah you know what? I'm going to get into this. "don't humanize villains"/"this abuser is a monster" is some of the worst character discourse in fandom. abusers are not other. abusers are not always easy to recognize. othering someone who's done terrible things from humanity is an arrogant, poisonous idea.

that is a person who is doing those things, and you want so badly to be unable to fall into such patterns of harm and abuse that you will force that person into another category of species altogether, and in so doing you spare yourself from introspection and you give yourself a pretty little pedestal to stand on and you shame everybody who fell for a red flag that is surely so easy to recognize. and you give into prejudice you assign moral values to attributes outside of yourself and you think you are so above doing harm that you could never act in such a way, even as it is a capability within all of us to do so.

get off your self righteous high horse for a moment and use your fucking brain. I'm sick of people in fandom claiming to be the most moral members that are the "only people willing to discuss this" and then every statement out of their mouth is harmful and pervasive word vomit.

500 notes · View notes

cherryjuicegf · 4 years ago

Note

66 and/or 72. I'm so glad you're back and writing Chrysa!!! 💖💖

thank you so much my dear, and thank you for this prompt!! also please accept this as a late birthday gift because i wanted so much to write something separate but my brain refused to work 😔 i hope you like it!! 💞💞

1.2k, tw implied sexual harassment

66. guiding them away from a situation that makes them uncomfortable & 72. giving them little nose kisses.

🌸 send me prompts 🌸

The banquet hall was flooding with life. Music had barely stopped from the time they got there. People were dancing and jumping like there's no tommorow, their laughter echoing in every wall of the mansion and maybe on the streets outside of it. The hall was impressive, drown in golden mosaics on the floor and walls that were made instead of using said gold to feed the starving people of the city. A banquet envied by the wealthiest lords, such was its splendor.

Geralt was suffering.

He was almost sure his doublet was at least one size smaller than his everyday clothes. There were no windows, it was too hot. Too loud. He had convinced himself that if the scent of lust coming from every corner of the hall became just a little bit stronger, he would burst. Or aard something else to make it burst. Either way, not a desirable outcome.

It's for Jaskier, he kept telling himself, it's only for Jaskier.

Said Jaskier was, however, nowhere to be seen. And this shouldn't make him nervous or anxious or sweating with concern, why should it? Only that, for the greatest part of the night, he had noticed a second pair of green eyes staring intensely at the bard. The first pair was his. Well, he had to admit it to himself some time. And the way Jaskier looked tonight, dashing in his silver doublet and charming smiles and sweeping the stage, he didn't have much hope denying it anyway.

He scanned the room. When his look returned to the same place it started, he clenched his fists. No Jaskier. Even worse, no green eyes. The man wasn't a cuckold husband, Geralt knew. He didn't want to kill Jaskier. And except for this case, there was only one alternative; he wanted to fuck him.

And Geralt shouldn't mind, of course he shouldn't. Strangely enough, he didn't even felt jealous. No, what he felt was afraid. Because in the man's eyes there was lust, no doubt. But there was also something else. And their dark shadow, when they met Jaskier's eyes, made the bard shiver.

And Geralt had seen it.

The scent of lust did become stronger eventually. And Geralt would curse the gods and then some, if he didn't realise that he could smell none of it inside the room. Instead, his gaze trailed to the wooden door some meters away from him, one of the many leading to the chambers. And his heart picked up its beat.

With quick steps, he approached and opened the door slightly. He waited for a moment. Listened.

Don't you think we should–

Come on now, I know you like it.

I'm actually–

Geralt cleared his throat loudly and closed the door with an accidental bang. The man in front of Jaskier jumped and turned around. He peered at Geralt and, seeing as the witcher stood tall in front of him, he smiled nervously.

Geralt tilted his head. "The bard is with me," he said in the most politely threatening voice he could muster. The man chuckled and raised his eyebrows in a defeated expression but Geralt's glare didn't let him utter a single word. Instead, he stepped back and passed beside him, disappearing behind the door. And Geralt turned to Jaskier.

And for a second, his heart fluttered. Not because Jaskier looked that bad and if he did, he did a good job in hiding it. But because the heavy scent of discomfort coming from him, the deep blush of his cheeks and the smile he never managed to fake in front of the witcher made Geralt commit otherworldly attempts not to run behind the man and grab him by the collar.

He didn't. He only stepped closer, seeing how Jaskier was still leaning on the wall, his body tense and raised his brows. "Everything okay?"

Jaskier looked at him as if he was just noticing his presence. After some seconds, as though forcing his mind to work, he nodded with a smile. "Yeah, perfectly fine."

Geralt hummed. In the darkness of the corridor, he could still see Jaskier's palms stuck on the wall behind him. He sighed and reached for his hand, holding it tight in his. He could feel its light tremble and he raised his look. Jaskier swallowed. With a snort, Geralt shook his head. "Come."

And pulled him away from the wall. And Jaskier followed. But this time, Geralt smelled no discomfort in the air, no fear. Only trust. And something else. Something that made his heart beat just a bit faster.

Soon, they reached the doors to the garden and stepped on the paved path, going out into the night. It wasn't cold, but cool enough for the breeze to hit their faces. Jaskier didn't seem to mind though. Geralt watched him as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He loosened his grip, but didn't let go. "What about now?"

Jaskier smiled and this time Geralt knew it wasn't fake. "Much better," he said and looked at Geralt with a gaze that made his knees plead to give in. Even like that, flushed in the most unfortunate way, he was beautiful. "Thank you for this. I felt like suffocating in there."

His eyes shone blue, brighter than the most precious of diamonds. Under the moonlight, Geralt discerned their wettness. Admittedly, it was not the first time this happened. But he would lie if he said it ever became any easier. He shook his head and as Jaskier's tears threatened to fall over his smiling facade, he stepped closer and took his face inside his hands. "Hey." Jaskier froze for a second. But then, as though starving, he leaned into the warmth of his touch. Geralt stroked his cheek with his thumb. "Don't fret now. He's gone."

Jaskier nodded with a small huff. Then looked at Geralt, the look in his eyes almost pleading. "Can you do me a favour, Geralt?" Geralt didn't answer, only raised an eyebrow, prompting him to go on. Jaskier bit his lip. "Can you stay close to me for the rest of the night?"

Struggling to ignore the redness of his lips and craving to suck the other man's taste from them, replace it with his own, Geralt smiled faintly. "Yeah, I can do that." He gazed at Jaskier with no special subtlety but damn it, he had drank a bit of wine to justify himself. The bard's nose had gone red from the cold. Without thinking, he leaned and placed a gentle kiss there. "If you want me to."

"But of cour– Geralt." Jaskier's eyes were wide now and slowly, embarassingly slowly, Geralt realised what he's done. And rushed to pull back, clearing his throat, but then Jaskier's hands cupped his on his face. Jaskier looked at him daringly, and raised an eyebrow. "Did you just kiss my nose, Geralt?"

A pause. "No."

Jaskier laughed and oh, what a beautiful sound. He batted his eyelashes, the idiot. "Can you do it again?"

Geralt wouldn't. He really wouldn't, because he had already gone too far making a fool of himself. But he was too close, and Jaskier's hands were warm and his lips– no, his nose looked so kissable. And what else can a man do? So Geralt slowly leaned in and once more, he kissed his nose. And Jaskier giggled and whispered 'again' and really, who was Geralt to refuse? He kissed again with a smile, and again, small, soft kisses that made his lips tingle.

And Jaskier laughed silently under him, his hands holding Geralt's tight, until he met Geralt's eyes again and shook his head. "Stupid, stupid witcher."

And, smiling, he pressed their lips together.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #chrysa writes #fic recs #101 ways to say i love you with actions prompts #samstree #prompt fill

83 notes · View notes

venusluvrr · 4 years ago

Text

The Psychological Horror Manhwa “Killing Stalking” is not a Romance, but an Emotional Series Depicting the Codependent Relationship Between Two Ill Individuals

Content Warning!!: contains mentions of sexual abuse (rape) and mental illness.

Killing Stalking is an immensely twisted webcomic series, mainly popular within the Yaoi community for its boy on boy focused plotline. The story follows characters Yoon Bum (Bum), a shy, scrawny young man with a haunting past filled with abuse, and Oh Sangwoo (Sangwoo), a younger man who also has a quite damaging upbringing but masks it perfectly with his vibrant, extroverted personality. After being saved from a rape attempt during his time serving in the military, Bum develops a crush on his saviour, Sangwoo, from which an unhealthy obsession starts to arise and he eventually finds himself locating and breaking into the man’s home one day when he’s out. When he does, he discovers a terribly injured woman being held captive in his basement, and with further evidence, soon comes to the realization that his crush is actually a serial killer -- hence the name “Killing Stalking,” as Sangwoo kills and Bum stalks. For a very specific reason though, Sangwoo decides not to kill the man that had been stalking him, and instead holds him hostage in his custody. From here, the story goes into exceeding depth of the abnormal, toxic, and manipulative relationship the two form during their time spent together. By just the mere description of it, it’s a bit concerning to know that a large portion of readers still support Sangwoo and Bum’s relationship. In other words, they believe they truly loved each other and that the story was not only horror fiction but a romance as well. One could easily come to this conclusion by basing their relationship on the few parts within the novel where they showed affection towards each other -- for example when Bum allows Sangwoo to hug him to sleep when he suffered through the night, or my personal favourite, when Sangwoo buys Bum a stuffed frog keychain after finding out that he had an affinity for such creatures. But we cannot simply dismiss the underlying factors of their relationship because of some cute things they did that made our heart melt -- Sangwoo still abused Bum at his leisure which makes those moments quite meaningless in the sense of it all. What Sangwoo and Yoonbum shared can’t be classified as “love,” because even with their peculiar bond and endearing moments, the psychological damage they both endured played a bigger part in the way they perceived each other.

Many toxic relationships start out lovely and glamorous until the couple have become comfortable enough to start revealing some bad habits, but in Sangwoo and Bum’s case, they were already off to a bad start, as the reason they remained with each other was solely for reasons pertaining to their poor mental health.

At the time Sangwoo saved Bum in the military, Bum still suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) -- a disorder he inferrably developed due to the fact that he grew up being constantly physically and sexually abused by the people around him. People with this illness may easily develop an infatuation for a person who shows them even the least bit of care; It can reach the point where they begin to idolize them and see them almost as a perfect human being -- which is exactly how Bum viewed Sangwoo after he helped him to escape a rape attempt. The likely specific term for what Sangwoo was to Bum is a Favourite Person (FP). To an individual suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder, their FP is everything -- their self-worth, identity and emotional dependency all rely on this one person, making them the center of their lives. In contrast to this sincere fondness, the only reason Sangwoo kept Bum alive was because of the man’s resemblance to his late mother -- the one person in his life who he truly loved. While his father was abusive and negligent, his mother tried her best to care for her son even while her own mental stability wasn’t so great either. Even though it was implied that he was responsible for the murder of both his mother and father in high school -- getting away with it scotch-free because of how perfectly executed his plan was -- he still shared a special bond with the woman, allowing her existence follow and continue to torutue him mentally as he grew older. When he saw Yoonbum, he felt as if she had been somewhat resurrected, or at least he could pretend so by dressing him up in his mother’s clothes and making him cook and do the chores; He also played the husband role by abusing and assaulting Bum just as his father did to his mother -- mostly just out of his own nature. Sangwoo had his own issues, “mommy issues,” and he initially needed to keep Bum alive so he could fulfill his own longing desires. Knowing the man’s character though, things wouldn’t end there and instead headed down a very gruesome and frightful path.

The very reasons that the two were drawn to each other we’re even more evident the longer they lived under the same roof. While Yoonbum continued to recall the perfect image he had of Sangwoo in his head, Sangwoo continued to manipulate the man in order to satisfy his own needs. A healthy relationship cannot be based on deceit, because one person will end up victimized instead of loved.

Oh Sangwoo is a sadistic sociopath with a history of kidnapping, abusing, raping and torturing innocent people, and because of his illness, he shows feels and shows no remorse for his actions and even proceeds to kill off his victims as they pleaded in objection. What some people don’t understand is that when Sangwoo met Bum, the only reason he treated him differently was not because he thought of him as special, but because he had a personal agenda that included making Bum think that was the truth and that he was indeed the favoured victim among many. It’s no surprise with the man’s manipulative personality that he would enjoy planting a lie in Bum’s head to make him stay and continue to do as he says, and this is confirmed whenever he returned back to his old destructive habits even after showing the man acts of affection. Yes, Sangwoo spared Bum’s life, clothed him and fed him, but as their bond grew, his narcissistic attitude was still more apparent than ever.

Upon meeting Bum for the first time, Sangwoo didn’t hesitate to aggressively break his ankles to prevent his mobility, he left the man within the dark confinement of his basement for a certain period of time before letting him out only after he had gained his trust. He made him sit in a chair to wash dishes and make dinner because he could no longer stand. Sangwoo also constantly dragged Bum down with derogatory words and statements every chance he could get, this included calling him a “retard,” and referring to him as a “disgusting” and “filthy” human being. As confirmed by the author, Sangwoo is also heterosexual, which is further proved by the homophobic remarks he made towards a significantly older man who was sexually attracted to him while murdering him with Bum’s aid. This fact alone is another one that should justify a strong point that demonstrates the true hostility of their relationship -- Yoonbum never gave his consent to have sex with Sangwoo, nor did he allow it to happen because “he wanted it.” He specifically used phrases such as, “No,” “Stop,” and “It hurts,” implying that sometimes there was no mutual agreement when they had sex and Sangwoo had actually raped him several times.

People with Borderline Personality Disorder have been reported to have difficulties seeing the faults in their partner -- this explains why Bum still held on to him. He chose to stay when he had the chance to escape, and with tears rolling down his face from excruciating pain he still told Sangwoo he loved him. In a scene where Bum is left alone with the police as they investigate the suspicions they have surrounding him, he questions them saying, “Could you kiss somebody like me? Could you love somebody like me?” As he believes nobody but Sangwoo could answer yes to those two questions, convinced that Sangwoo really does have feelings for him. It’s saddening to know that the poor man had successfully been lured into a trap, and because of his mental health it would be much harder for him to realize it.

To the readers that think, “Sangwoo and Yoonbum needed each other,” -- You’re not completely wrong. They did need each other in the way that they found somewhat of a saneness from each other’s presence, each using one another to each other’s benefit. But being together at the same time built on their insanity, as the presence of Sangwoo’s mother seemed to grow even more prevalent with Bum, who resembled her, also in the picture, and Yoonbum growing so unhealthily attached to Sangwoo that he constantly feared of abandonment and turned the sociopath into the only source of his happiness. They needed each other, but not for the right reasons. They were attached to each other, but there was no love, otherwise it would reflect throughout the story. One of the most debate-worthy scenes that challenge this fact is when Sangwoo is reported by an old lady in the hospital, the one that had ended his life, that he was calling out Bum’s name throughout the night as he lay in his deathbed. Those were his final words, and Yoonbum’s final word was also Sangwoo’s name before he was very well implied to have been hit by a car while he chased an illusion of the man he “loved.” Even I almost felt that this was solid proof that even through the tough and terrible of their relationship, deep inside, the two really were in love but could not express it in the right way due to their mental health issues -- after all, what someone makes of their final moments before death is much more meaningful than most of what they've done in their life entirely. But I came to realize that the only way I could support this relationship would be if they had met in an alternate universe where they did not suffer from such dreadful childhood trauma that made them into the hurting individual they had become before meeting each other. As difficult as it is for me to picture the two with different partners, it would be best if the two had not met at all as they only fed into the severity of their conditions.

#killing stalking #sangwoo #yoonbum #yaoi #horror #manhwa

121 notes · View notes

ofhonorastute · 1 year ago

Text

The doctors knew the procedures inside and out. Jack knew his condition wasn’t one to rave about. It was easier said and done in his mind. Jack had disappointed his wife his family before. And that least he ever wanted was to turn out like his dad. He didn’t want regrets; and last night he wanted a chance with his family, He wanted to tell Beccs how in love he was, That he made a mistake. He found himself again. He wasn’t nearing the edge. He wanted to be where she was. And now with the looming idea of death; the idea he may be risking his own life again. Weather it was surgery or allow the clot to move out of his system on its own. He justifiably had doubts. Jack was a man who made choices for himself.

He choice to stay with Rebecca, he never allowed the threats her father made him wash him away. He knew Rebecca was always out of his league but when you meet this perfect girl, beautiful smart, mega talented her voice of a angel you don’t walk away, And Yeah Jack had for himself; because he didn’t want to be a drunk husband for her or the kids, but he knew he wanted the best chance of being with her forever, Of waking up and seeing her in his arms again. And yeah each option was risky and scary, He felt the squeeze of her hand in his, and he nodded noting the doctor had now closed the door to give us a moment of charity, of time to take in the options. Dish out the cons and pros together; because ultimately we’re a team.

Sinking into his mattress, a low exhale was heart. His lungs were damaged from the flames, from his crawling around their once home. And now he had to bare those consequences. Ones Jack held perfectly with him. The quietness, the spinning of the room as I listened, and I heard the worry; the wary tone of her voice, And I felt the fear too. I was going with my gut; and I wanted Rebecca to be okay with the decision I was about to make. Pulling my eyes to face her own; taking in her beauty, A soften expression ran along my features. “ Beccs, I love you.” I paused as I held our enclosed palms together, It was earth shattering of how much I loved her. “ I want to do the surgery. I think it’s worth the risk. Both hold the chance of death, but I’m trusting the process, I think it’s my better chance of coming home to you, Of getting to make up to you what I did these last few months. I want us to be okay, and I promise I will love you always until the day I die. Not today but you know..” I fumbled with a low laugh and I hoped the brunette understood; I picked the option that brought me home to her.

Continued

@testytendencies

Burns; you see it displayed in movies; on television. But you never anticipate being the one on the other side. Jack felt worn down; he felt like his body was on fire. From the mask that was attached to his face to help his breathing; from the lack of oxygen coursing through his body. The smoke inhalation had caused his lungs damage; he felt it. He knew there was a reason why the doctors told me to stay put; to relax despite all the fire his skin felt like. He knew the wires were to help his lungs; he decided against sharing that information with Kate when he woke up. She was already attached to my side; she was holding my hand as if her life depended on it. I understood she was my daughter; and she definitely had more of an attachment to me, I could see the fear she felt when I had climbed down from the house; when I heard the swallowing breathing the coughs that had emitted from my lips. It wasn’t easy to watch someone you love risk their lives; to wonder if they’d come out on the other side.

Weakness; the way his eyes had to adjust to the light; the way my chest slowly raised and fell; but Kate was only a teenager she wouldn’t of known the signs. Nor do I think I’d be stuck to a hospital bed if the doctors felt I was stable. I was the one that took in the most smoke; I knew the risks with my lungs but at the moment I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was saving my family; the family I walked from. The people I wanted to prove I was okay; that I was capable of being the parent and husband they deserved.

Eyes had kept blinking shut back and forth until I heard her voice; the tenderness; the care when her face came into view. My wife; she was okay. A Gentle smile came to tug at the corners of my lips. I wore a brave face, I didn’t want to worry her or our kids. I wanted to feel okay. Upon her sitting at the edge of my bed; I felt Kate loosen her grip on my palm before I felt her hand leave mine. She had taken the time to reach for her mom; placing a hand over hers. A sight I loved to see; seeing as the pair never liked to see eye to eye.

A sheepish grin displayed upon my lips; I let my hand find hers; fingers easily laced through her own. How am I? Honestly I was wore; O felt like my chest was on fire. I felt like each time I removed this oxygen Mask from my face; It only lasted a few minutes before I struggled to breathe again. I felt the tighten in my chest when I breathed in too deep. But I stared at my son, my daughter and my wife and I couldn’t say the words. I was barely holding on with the fear of worrying the people I cared for. “ I’m fine.” Fine perhaps the more I said the words it be true. Rebecca knew me; I knew she doubted me which is why she asked Kate and Randell to go phone Miguel; I had hummed an okay; As I whispered “ I love you” To the kids; giving an attempt at a sten expression to indicate I wanted the kids to listen to Miguel. He was family.

Brief minutes when the sound of smaller feet disappeared from earshot, hand fully wrapped around her own, as I tried to be more reassuring. “ My Lungs took in way more smoke than the doctors had anticipated. That’s why they want me to stay overnight. But I’ll be fine Beccs.” Pausing swallowing the slight lump in his chest; he had brought their linked hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “ I didn’t come all this way back to you only to leave again, I’ll be fine I promise.” A promise I held my breath on keeping.

44 notes · View notes

flyinghome-againstthewind · 4 years ago

Text

the best by far is you: chapter 18

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you - Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 18

It was half a day’s journey from the port in Le Havre to the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré. They stayed one night in a tavern before arranging a coach to take them to the abbey. Though the impulse to head straight for Paris to Jared’s home was strong, the abbey was another consideration they couldn’t rule out ‒ and the closest location upon arriving in France.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the abbey and the three of them stepped out into the bright sunshine. They approached the abbey with only the faintest flicker of hope. Months on this trail had left them anxious enough not to get their hopes up too soon.

The exterior and grounds of the abbey were lovely ‒ a 12th century Romanesque structure with a large garden that was carefully tended to. Claire’s gaze was inexorably drawn to it as they walked up the path leading to the abbey.

And then she glimpsed a flash of red-gold hair in the sunshine from up ahead in the gardens.

Her breath caught in her throat as her feet refused to move any further. Absently, she registered that Murtagh and Fergus had stilled beside her, puzzled.

Ahead of them, a small red-headed toddler registered the presence of three new visitors and boldly went out to greet them.

Claire’s vision burned with tears. She won’t remember, she reminded herself. And just the same, it didn’t matter. After all those months, Faith was right there in front of her, and she didn’t care if she had her work cut out for her still in winning her child’s heart back.

Her feet moved then of their own volition, unsteady at first and then picking up the pace to close the distance. Claire dropped to her knees as gracefully as she could in her condition and pulled Faith abruptly into her arms as soon as she was within reach.

“Oh, my baby. Oh God. I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out of her in a rush and then it was like a dam breaking open. She clung to Faith and wept.

Claire had her. At last. Faith was alive and real and heavy in Claire’s lap.

She felt the girl squirming in her grasp, her little hands pushing against Claire’s chest, and reluctantly, she let her go. Fergus was at her side, she realized, and he gripped her by the elbow to try and help her to her feet. They managed, a bit awkwardly.

It was only then that she noticed who Faith was with ‒ and who Murtagh was helping ease onto a stone bench after she looked about ready to faint.

“Y-y-y-you’re dead…”

Claire’s gaze flicked over to Murtagh briefly. In all their time searching, they hadn’t given much thought to how they would explain this to Mary ‒ or anyone else who wasn’t Jamie for that matter.

“Whoa, lass!”

The sight of Mary beginning to hyperventilate snapped Claire out of her thoughts. “Easy now. You’re alright.”

She was aware of Faith trying to burrow behind Mary’s skirts, but couldn’t give that her full attention just then. Murtagh stepped aside to let Claire in next to her. “Easy now. Cup your hands together over your mouth and nose and breathe into them. There you go. Try and breathe slowly.”

Faith moved to lean against Mary’s knees, watching anxiously. Claire stifled the impulse to reach for her. God, this was all going so poorly…

“I d-don’t… understand,” Mary said between labored breaths. But she was calming down and a little color was returning to her cheeks, Claire noted.

“I can imagine it’s quite a shock, and I’m sorry for that.” She rubbed Mary’s back lightly. It helped her own nervous state to be able to focus on helping someone else. “It’s a long story, but we’ll tell you it all later. Where’s Jamie? Is he inside?”

“Oh God,” Mary uttered suddenly and she looked as though she might be sick. “Oh I wish you had been here even a day earlier.”

She felt her stomach lurch at Mary’s words and wondered if she would be sick. “What do you mean? Where is Jamie?”

Mary began to tremble. “Th-th-there was an a-accident…”

They had started towards the abbey with Mary leading them, but in their panicked haste, Claire and Murtagh quickly overtook her. Mary shouted directions at them, but it didn’t matter. Once inside, it only took one frantic request to the first monk they ran into before they were brought to Jamie’s room.

Seeing her husband bruised and bandaged, unconscious, Claire didn’t realize at first that she was physically leaning on Murtagh for support, holding tightly to his arm. It was a different time, a different abbey, and yet her mind made the connection to just after Wentworth, when she almost lost him. She felt dizzy and weak.

“What‒” Her gaze took in the leg wrapped in splints and soaked through with dried blood. Whatever had happened, his leg seemed to bear the brunt of it, though the rest of him was covered in scrapes and bruises as well.

One of the brothers had followed them in and was explaining softly in French what had happened and how Jamie was faring. In all the commotion, they attracted a few more residents of the abbey, who filtered into the small room.

She caught enough to understand Jamie had developed an infection, most likely from his leg. Her stomach roiled and her hand came to press high on her pregnant belly out of habit, though it did nothing to help.

It was then her eyes fell to a cut on the inside of his forearm, too perfectly placed and neatly cut to be a coincidence. Still, her mind rebelled against the idea. No, they couldn’t have…

“You bled him!”

Stillness descended on the room following her outburst. She finally tore her gaze away from Jamie to look at the monks for explanation, to Mary who was trembling in the back.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM?”

Just as quickly as the room had fallen silent, it roared back to life with voices raised and overlapping ‒ each person trying to explain or justify or placate. Above them all was Claire, unable to contain her horror. “--already weakened from the accident and trying to fight off an infection and you bled him!”

She was vaguely aware of Murtagh’s tug on her arm, but it wasn’t until he screamed for the rest of them to be quiet that she paid him any attention. Her gaze flew to him, but he wasn’t watching her. And that’s when she heard the hushed, gravely voice of her husband, straining to be heard above the noise.

She caught his fevered gaze and felt her heart tumble in her chest.

“Sassenach?”

Murtagh quietly cleared the room, though in the moment, Claire hardly noticed this kind act.

Claire’s words clogged in her throat but she moved closer to the bed and sat carefully on the edge, taking Jamie’s hand carefully in her own. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Am I‒ I…” He struggled between labored breaths and his eyes fluttered shut but he seemed to muster the energy to force them open again and find her. “Am I dying then?”

The implication of his words hit her hard, and she shook her head vehemently, feeling silent tears spill down her cheeks. “This isn’t a hallucination. I’m real. I’m here.”

He smiled weakly, his eyes drifting shut again.

God, to find him after all this time and to find him like this…

Murtagh cleared his throat as he re-entered the room. “Ye can save him, Claire.”

It wasn’t a question, but she heard the need for reassurance.

“I’m damn well going to try,” she said as much for her own benefit as for Murtagh’s, but her voice wobbled even as she tried to sound confident. She squeezed Jamie’s hand and brought it to her lips. “I can make a poultice for his infection,” she said with a bit more authority. “And maybe a tea.”

She brushed the hair back from his forehead ‒ faded dark locks with his natural red coming in at the roots. They’d caught on that he had dyed his hair through some of the descriptions they’d heard of him along the way. He must’ve stopped worrying about it once they reached France. He looked ridiculous and she wanted to be able to tease him about it, to see the way his ears turned pink when she did and hear his laugh. Later, she told herself. Get him well.

She pushed herself to her feet and went to examine his leg. Whoever had tended to it had done well ‒ the gash across his thigh had been stitched by a steady hand, and though the wound had become infected, that might not have been avoided even under Claire’s care.

But the bloodletting…

Indignation still fizzled in her veins. He’d already lost some blood from the accident, from the looks of it. And of all the things they could’ve tried to help him once infection set in, this was the worst.

“Where are the children?” she asked suddenly.

“Mary has them.”

“Did Faith see me‒”

Scream like a lunatic at everyone within earshot?

“Nay,” Murtagh said quickly. “She wasna in the room.”

Claire nodded at that. She knew the ground she was on with Faith was shaky at best. And the last thing she wanted was to give Faith any reason to fear her.

“Madame?”

She followed the sound to its source ‒ a frail, kindly-looking monk in the doorway that Claire got the distinct impression was sent in as an intermediary. But behind him stood a stocky figure with black hair and familiar slanted eyes. Jamie’s uncle, Alexander Fraser. Though she’d heard about him, they’d never met even during her time in France two years ago.

“You must be Claire,” he said. His voice had a strange dialect that Claire knew at once to be the result of a born and bred Highlander living so many of his adult years in France. “I must admit it is a shock to meet you at last, given that Jamie told us you were dead.”

“A misunderstanding,” she supplied lamely.

“Un miracle,” said the quiet monk with a kind smile, and Claire decided that she liked him very much, even if he was sent in to placate her.

Abbot Alexander nodded to the man. “This is Brother Thomas. He can assist you with Jamie and bring you anything you need.” His eyes darkened as he added, “It was a terrible shock, what happened. We all want Jamie to be well again.”

She knew this was as close to an apology for the bloodletting as she would get. And that whoever’s call it had been would never be revealed to her. “Thank you, Abbot. I shall be very happy to have Brother Thomas’s assistance.”

Jamie heard her voice again, and felt his whole body orient toward the sound. Softer this time. Hushed. Bleary-eyed, he looked about and found her right there within reach, though he dared not try to touch her in case doing so would somehow banish the vision of her. No matter ‒ he hardly felt strong enough to turn his head let alone lift his hand.

“Am I dying?” he asked again.

“Not if I have anything to say about that,” she shot back at him, eyes snapping up at his in challenge. He smirked at this, weakly. Even as he neared the end, this part of his soul that Claire occupied and materialized before him was just as fierce and unrelenting as the real woman.

“Do you hear me, James Fraser?” she spoke again, gripping him by the chin as he fought to stay awake. “You do not have my permission to die.”

“Aye, lass…” He couldn’t manage more than that before darkness crept in once more.

Some time in the evening, Brother Thomas came around with supper for Claire and made her sit and eat. When he tried to encourage her to leave the room for a break and go see the others though, she resisted the idea.

After how she’d found Jamie, she sure as hell wasn’t leaving him unattended.

But at the moment, he was resting and there was nothing immediate that she could do for him ‒ and Brother Thomas swore he wouldn’t leave Jamie until she came back.

With enough prodding and reassurance, Claire left Jamie’s bedside in search of the rest of her family.

She found them in a small library and stood in the doorway watching them. Mary was sitting with them, one hand resting on her rounded belly. She still looked pale and drawn with worry, the poor thing.

And Murtagh had Faith on his knee, bouncing her slightly and talking in a low voice to her. Claire felt her throat clog with emotion, watching the two of them. She knew what that moment meant for Murtagh, having been the one to bring Faith to Culloden three months ago, to hold her again and see Faith’s family restored to her.

Claire stayed frozen in the doorway, a voyeur to this moment, never fully part of it. She had a visceral desire to walk right over to Murtagh and pluck Faith from his lap, to hold her close in her own arms again ‒ oh god, even to look at her and know she was real ‒ and yet that desire was overpowered by one thought that kept Claire in check. That whisper of doubt in her ear telling her that she’d already screwed up. She’d startled Faith out in the gardens and now what did the girl think of her?

She felt the baby kick and her hand went automatically to the spot. Hadn’t been that long ago that Faith was just a little nudge felt from within and now they were nearly strangers to each other.

Fergus noticed her first and raced to her side. “How is Milord?” he asked in a whisper, and she realized her hesitation to join them had come off as being the bearer of bad news.

“He’s alright.” She pulled him to her side and gave him a squeeze. “He’s still fighting.”

“Can I see him?”

She drew in a steep breath, choosing her words carefully. “Well, he’s resting right now, darling. Maybe tomorrow, alright?”

He gave her a half-hearted smile, but she knew she had crushed him. Of course he wanted to see Jamie, but if… if he saw him while he was fevered and weak, heard Jamie’s talk of dying… no, she didn’t want that for Fergus.

He slipped away from her and went to join the others. Claire watched as he bent down to talk to Faith and then as she jumped down from Murtagh’s knee to take Fergus’s hand. Claire’s hand came up to press just below her collarbone where it felt like her heart was splitting open at the seams. To see them together again and slipping easily back into a rapport with each other, as children often did without much difficulty… Her children ‒ Hers and Jamie’s ‒ together again.

The ache was still there for the time that was lost with Faith, the guilt over any unintended pain she’d caused her wee girl. But there was something tender and hopeful in knowing she’d returned Murtagh and Fergus to Faith’s life. They both loved her so, and Faith would know that soon enough. Claire held both things, the hurt and the hope, as she watched Fergus and Faith.

Murtagh saw her then, still standing in the doorway. “Come sit down,” he called out.

She pushed away from the doorway and went in.

It was later in the night when Murtagh came to check on her and Jamie. With Brother Thomas’s help, she’d made a poultice for Jamie’s leg and also managed a few times to get Jamie to drink some tea for his fever and pain. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and the fever hadn’t broken. Every time he spoke to her, it never felt like she was speaking to the real Jamie.

“Take another break,” Murtagh insisted gruffly. “I’m no’ sure all this pacing is good for the bairn.”

Her hand smoothed over the bump. She’d forgotten how everyone treated her as though she was made of glass as soon as the baby was visible. “Baby’s fine. I’m fine.”

Murtagh pulled a face at that and grunted, which she ignored.

“Ye’ve hardly gone near the lass since we’ve been here.” He said this bluntly, and Claire blinked quickly against the burn of oncoming tears. She’d hoped no one had noticed. “She’s awake still, wi’ Mary. Go an’ put the lass tae bed, Claire. I’ll sit wi’ Jamie.”

She chewed the inside of her lip, considering. With Jamie, she knew how to care for him ‒ a little too well, the damn fool. But Faith…

“And if anyone tries tae bleed him, it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”

She chuckled softly at this and her heart swelled with affection for the old grump that loved them all better than they deserved. “Thank you, Murtagh.”

He grunted and dropped into the chair at Jamie’s bedside.

“And where’s Fergus?”

“They gave him a room and he’s gone tae bed.”

“Thank you,” she said again, patting his shoulder as she moved past him, “for everything today. I didn’t expect… well, it’s been a shock, with Jamie. I couldn’t have managed without you.”

Without looking at her, he reached up and squeezed her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “Get some rest, a nighean.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Alright,” Murtagh said with a resigned sigh. “Go and see Faith then and dinna hurry back. I’ll find ye if anything happens.”

She slipped quietly out into the hall and turned a corner leading to more sleeping quarters. She knew where Mary’s room was, but she went first in search of Fergus. He was still awake when she found him.

“Your own room, hmm?” She sat on the other small bed across from his, looking about the room. “Haven’t had that luxury in a while.”

Fergus’s mouth twitched slightly, like he was trying not to smile. “If you’re scared, just say so and you can stay in here, Milady. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

She grabbed the pillow on the spare bed and flung it at his head, relishing the sound of his laugh as he ducked and covered his head. Cheeky little arse…

But when his head poked back up, the moment of teasing had passed. She stood and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Just wanted to see you before you went to sleep. Have sweet dreams, love.”

“Goodnight, Milady.”

He caught her hand as she was turning away, and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I love you, my boy,” she murmured.

“I know. je t'aime aussi.”

Mary’s door was open and there they were by the fireplace, Mary sitting in one chair and Faith leaning against the other one. She had something small in her hand, some kind of toy, and alternated between moving it along the seat of the chair and turning to talk to Mary.

Faith glanced up and noticed her. Claire forced a smile and took that opportunity to enter the room.

“Claire! Oh, come sit. Here, Faith, let’s make room.”

Faith shuffled backwards until she bumped into Mary’s knees, staring curiously up at Claire as she took the other seat.

Mary asked about Jamie and she gave her the same update she’d given Murtagh and Fergus and any one of the monks who had poked their head into Jamie’s room to ask about him.

“I am sorry for startling you earlier,” Claire added. “I hope it wasn’t… well, I hope you’re feeling alright now.”

Mary exhaled a smile. “You’re actually the second person I’ve thought was dead to show up out of the blue, and both of those instances happened in the last few months…” Mary shook her head at that, and Claire realized with sinking dread that it had been Jack Randall she referred to. She’d all but forgotten… but no, she could see now that Mary didn’t want to discuss that. “Come to that, both times the message came from Jamie that you and‒ and‒”

“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” she said quickly. Firmly. “Jamie had no idea I was… alive.” Still had no idea, really.

Claire took a deep breath, unsure what Jamie might’ve told Mary already. “We knew that we couldn’t win. We knew if we fought the Redcoats in our current state, there was no way the Jacobites would be victorious. So we had Murtagh bring Faith to us and we were going to run. But there was… some confusion on that day. It was chaotic and we were desperate to get out of there. But I got separated from Jamie and Faith. And I think Jamie thought I was taken by the Redcoats and killed. He didn’t lie to you intentionally. He just didn’t know the truth.”

Mary’s gaze drifted towards the fire, still shaking her head slightly, though Claire got the impression it was more to do with the improbability of all that had occurred than any sort of ill feelings. And Claire didn’t blame her one bit.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Mary added shyly. “And that you’re here.” Her hand dropped gently to Faith’s head, stroking her soft red curls in a familiar way. Her gaze flew to Claire suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh I’m so stupid! You’re here for Faith! Of course you are. And here I am chattering away with you.”

“No, no it’s alright,” Claire said swiftly. She had come here for Faith, but… “I did want the chance to speak with you, too. To explain.”

Mary breathed a sigh of relief but she still smiled politely and moved to stand. “She’s slept in here since the accident. You’re welcome to stay in here as well. But I’ll‒ well, I’ll make myself scarce for a bit. Give you two some time together.”

She moved a bit slowly, her much smaller frame balancing a larger belly than Claire, but Mary extricated herself from the room as swiftly as possible, closing the door behind her.

And then it was only Claire and Faith.

With the sound of the door closing, Faith seemed to realize then that no one she knew was with her. Just Claire. Just this odd woman who had wept hysterically at the sight of her earlier today. Claire had already been preparing herself for this ‒ No more tears. Not from herself, at least. She wouldn’t scare Faith again.

Faith stood stock still by the chair Mary had vacated, no longer wide-eyed with curiosity. Instead, she seemed to search the room for something familiar. She made a beeline for the door, which she wasn’t tall enough to open.

“Lovey, it’s alright…” Claire moved to her feet, but hesitated to take a step further. But when she stood, she drew Faith’s gaze and felt something wrench in her chest. The panic in the tiny girl was palpable. “I know you’re frightened and you don’t remember me, but I’m‒”

Faith’s expression pinched with worry and she breathed in deep, and it made Claire pause.

“Want my da,” Faith croaked in her little voice, and then her face scrunched up and she began to howl.

Claire moved in an instant to scoop the girl up. She held Faith close while she cried, the small girl’s body resting above the swell of the baby.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly that she knew Faith couldn’t hear it over her own wailing. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.” She slowly paced the small room and rubbed circles on Faith’s back, just as she used to when Faith was a baby.

Faith’s howling didn’t let up, that stubborn streak making itself known. But the longer it went on, Faith crying in her arms and allowing Claire to comfort her, the less her tiny girl felt like a stranger to Claire. How many nights in Faith’s life had been spent just like this?

And eventually, her cries became more of a whimper and then ceased altogether.

Her head popped up from Claire’s shoulder with a red face still streaked with tears and her brows still creased together. “Want da,” she tried again, her lips forming a pout.

Claire’s fingers caressed the sweet face, wiping at the tears. It broke her heart that she couldn’t just bring her to him. “He’s still here, but he’s sleeping. You’ll see him as soon as he’s better, I promise.”

“No,” Faith whined half-heartedly. Claire swayed in place with Faith and watched her yawn and then shiver slightly and burrow into Claire’s warmth.

“Shall we sit by the fire?”

“Aye.” Faith murmured, succumbing to another yawn.

“Here,” Claire grabbed a woolen shawl and draped around them both, and sat in one of the chairs by the fire. Faith sat up straight once she was in Claire’s lap, glancing about again. Her gaze turned back to Claire.

“Wha’s yer name?” Faith asked in her sweet little voice. Her head cocked to the side in a familiar way and Claire felt the sting of tears but blinked them away swiftly.

“I’m your mama,” Claire said, feeling her heart clench at saying those words. She delicately traced the sweet face that she longed to smother with kisses, wiping at the last of Faith’s tears and brushing curls off her sweaty forehead. Faith’s brows furrowed together again and Claire wondered what she made of that, what she could understand of the word at the tender age of two.

“My mam?”

Claire made a slight sound, caught between a laugh and a cry. “Yes. Yours. I carried you inside me for several months while you grew. And when you were born, I held you close and I couldn’t believe that you were mine. My baby.”

“Baby.” Faith pointed to her rounded belly and Claire exhaled a soft, surprised laugh at this.

“Well, yes, there is one in there, but I meant you. You were a baby in my belly once, too.” She brushed Faith’s curls back out of her face again and cupped the back of her head to pull her forward, meeting no resistance from the girl. Faith’s head rested on her mother’s chest, a little awkwardly draped over the baby bump. Claire sighed. She was already running out of room in her lap and a desperate feeling gripped her, that she needed to rebuild her relationship with Faith before the next one arrived. “I would hold you here and let you hear my heartbeat as a newborn baby, the same sound you heard from within when I carried you. And you knew who I was from that sound.” Faith stayed quiet and relaxed under Claire’s hands as they cradled her head and slowly rubbed her back. “My baby.”

She wasn’t sure at what point Faith drifted off to sleep, but she stayed in that chair with her girl curled up on her chest much longer than she needed to. She felt Faith’s exhales of breath caressing her skin once more, no longer the quick little puffs from when she was first born, but deeper now. This was how they had started out, the two of them, and this was how they were finding their way back. Claire’s arms went about Faith’s still form, anchoring her there, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there to breathe her in and know she was real. The tears did come then, spilling fast down her face. She shook slightly with choked-back sobs but didn’t make a sound.

Barely three months ago, Claire had been in 1948 with Frank. It seemed like another lifetime ago ‒ and Culloden with Jamie and Faith, another lifetime before that. She’d searched for months and now that she had this girl back in her arms again, she’d never let her go.

“Faith Elizabeth Janet Beauchamp Fraser,” she addressed her sleeping child slowly, pronouncing each name distinctly as Jamie had done with his own name when he first told her. “I don’t know what your future holds, but I promise to do everything in my power to see you living a long and happy life. And I know you don’t know me anymore, but you will. You’ll always have me from this moment on. I traveled 200 years just to find you… I’m not likely to let anything else stand in the way. And you won’t ever lose me.” Her lower lip trembled and a few rogue tears spilled onto Faith’s head. “You and me, Faith,” Claire rasped, resting her cheek on top of Faith’s head. “We’ll be alright. I’m here. I love you.”

She didn’t want to move for fear of waking Faith ‒ and in doing so, of ruining the moment of being able to hold her baby to her chest ‒ but she couldn’t stay there all night. She needed to check in on Jamie.

So she stood slowly, carefully, and readjusted Faith to rest her head high up on Claire’s shoulder. The girl breathed in sharply during the move, but turned her head into Claire’s neck and let out a sleepy sigh, settling back in.

Faith’s bottom rested just above the swell of the baby, which was almost protruding far enough to sit Faith on top of it, but not quite. “I really will have my hands full in a few months, won’t I?”

Claire sauntered quietly down the hall with Faith and turned into Jamie’s room to find not only Murtagh where she had left him, but Fergus, who had joined him too.

He must’ve snuck in as soon as she went to see Faith, since he was already sound asleep in a chair near the foot of the bed. Murtagh caught her eye as she entered and merely shrugged. “Didna see any harm in letting him stay. Jamie’s been out since ye left.”

“It’s alright.”

She reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his forehead before shifting Faith’s weight higher in her arms. Despite wanting to keep the children from seeing Jamie in a distressing state, she felt strengthened by their presence and by Murtagh’s. They were whole, finally. And as long as Jamie stayed strong, they would remain so.

“Jamie?”

Claire’s voice called to him, and he whined. What punishment was this? He had fought so hard these last few months to give Faith the best life he could, to accept his future as just a father but no longer a husband. And while he was torn between fighting to stay for Faith or give in and be at peace... be with Claire… it felt as though the spirit of Claire was urging him to stay put. Stay with Faith.

“Jamie, don’t give up on me.” Her voice was pinched with worry. “Not now that I’ve got you back.”

But he didn’t know that he was strong enough to keep fighting.

Oh, lass, dinna be pained on my account, he wanted to say, i’ll be wi’ ye soon. But no words came out.

The gardens provided an escape during the day as well as allowing for Fergus and Faith to run off some of their energy. Even though she’d been slow to walk at first for her age, Faith was quite steady on her feet now and Fergus made a game of chase with her, running at a slow pace to keep her after him. Every now and then, he’d slow down enough to let her catch him and flop dramatically onto the grass, which never failed to make Faith burst into laughter.

It was a short-lived escape from their worry, and inevitably for Claire, something would happen between Fergus and Faith that made her wish Jamie were present to witness it. They’d already lost so much time…

“Want my da!” Faith declared as she sped ahead to Jamie’s room before anyone could stop her. Claire huffed and picked up her pace as best she could.

“See? Da’s sleeping. We have to be quiet.”

Faith stood beside the bed, and her tiny frame shook. She was close to tears, Claire could tell. Nothing about the situation made sense to Faith, and she didn’t need to verbalize her distress for everyone else to know it was deeply upsetting to not have Jamie awake and alert.

“How about some cuddles for Da? You have to be careful of his leg but you can go up here by his shoulder and cuddle with him, if you want.”

It was nearing Faith’s nap time anyway, from what Mary had said. Faith didn’t need further invitation and started to scramble up the side of the bed.

“Easy, love,” Claire laughed, jumping in to help situate Faith to the other side of the bed where there was more room. She moved Jamie’s arm away from his body, creating space for Faith to curl against his side. “There we go. Rest your eyes, sweet girl.”

Jamie muttered softly and shifted in his sleep. Claire reached over and felt his forehead. He was sweaty and didn’t feel too terribly warm, which was promising. Claire tried to keep her hope tempered.

“Fergus, do you know where they keep the herbs for making tea? Could you run and grab me some more?”

Fergus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I do not know, Milady,” he said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She sighed. Brother Thomas wasn’t around and neither was Mary, but she wanted to make Jamie a fresh cup of tea and see if he would drink some of it the next time he roused.

Faith was still knocked out against Jamie’s shoulder and it was only Claire and Fergus awake in the room. “Come with me. I’ll show you so you know for next time. It won’t take long.”

Jamie opened his eyes and felt like he was waking for the first time after a very strange dream. Tired and still weak, but his head felt clear. No more chills or aches through his whole body. No, just a dull pain in his thigh when he twitched his leg. He felt too warm and tried to kick his uninjured leg free from the blankets.

The fever was gone and he let out a sigh that was only partly relief. If the fever had left him… then so had Claire.

He became slowly aware of a small, warm weight on his right shoulder and looked to see a head full of wispy, red curls that could only belong to Faith. His arm tightened around her as best as he could and he turned to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Deo gratias…” He whispered hoarsely into her hair, holding the only remaining testament that he had of his and Claire’s love. I’m sae sorry I almost left ye, a nighean...

She slumbered on, undisturbed by this even as Jamie’s hand came to rest on her head in supplication and he offered up a plea for this child’s safety and a humble request that if he should have to live the rest of his years on this earth without his wife, that he might still live to see this child of theirs grow up…

“Oh thank god!”

He stiffened at the sound of his wife’s voice, knowing it meant he was not as well as he thought, if he was still hearing her. But even as he wouldn’t turn his head to look towards her voice, he was aware that he and Faith were not alone. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure filled the entryway and in his peripheral vision, his sight told him it was Claire. But his head knew better. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

Then she drew near and her hands framed his face. His eyelids slammed shut in disbelief, pushing tears down his cheeks. “Thank god!” she said again in a tight whisper.

“Claire?” His voice came out ragged. Her hands gently held his face and turned him towards her. His eyes fluttered open and there she was, smiling down at him through her own tears. He breathed in sharply and could only stare because she would always be the most beautiful sight to his eyes ‒ And a sight he thought he would never see again. “How‒”

She leaned down and kissed him, tentatively at first but feeling him respond, she let the kiss unfold, lingering for what seemed like a blissful eternity until she pulled away, leaving them both panting softly. He reached up and touched her, tracing the outline of her face.

She was trembling terribly, almost on the verge of crying, as her eyes slid shut at his touch, and she let out a shuddering sigh. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

His heart felt as though it were trying to march right through his ribcage, it was hammering so fiercely. “I thought… I thought you were a dream. I canna believe ye’re real.”

He shook his head then as the truth set in. “Ye came all the way to France?” He was aghast, still shaken by the very presence of her. She smiled through a fresh wave of tears.

“I came two hundred years and all the way to France,” her hand reached tentatively for Faith, hovering just above the girl’s head before gently making contact, “Just to find you two.”

There was a soft scuffle of feet and Claire glanced over her shoulder, smiling brilliantly. “And I didn’t come alone, Jamie.”

“Milord!”

He’d hardly processed her words before Fergus was there, flinging himself haphazardly at Jamie. Fergus’s head buried itself in Jamie’s chest, and Jamie clutched him close, feeling a sudden, sharp sob tear from his throat. Oh God, his son.

His vision clouded over, but not before he’d noticed his godfather standing in the doorway. One arm tightened around Faith while the other held Fergus to him, and his resolve not to openly weep like a baby finally crumbled.

He had believed for so long now that his family as he once knew it was lost for good… and to have them returned to him in one instant, he felt a brief flicker of doubt. That this was nothing more than a fevered dream, to have everything his heart desired.

But he could feel the weight still of Faith leaning on his shoulder, awake now and sitting up from the sudden bursts of noise around her. He could feel where Fergus held a fistful of his shirt in a clenched fist, refusing to let go, and where the boy's tears were soaking through the fabric to Jamie’s chest. And he could feel Claire’s delicate hand brushing his hair back from his face, the softest touch but unmistakably real, before she framed his face again and kissed him, first on his lips and then peppering soft kisses across his face like she needed to cover every inch of him with her love.

And it was everything and all too much.

His family was here. And they were real. Deo gratias.

#jamie x claire #faith fraser #outlander #outlander fic #tbbfiy #the best by far is you #OL fic #my fic

61 notes · View notes

xiverni · 5 years ago

Text

“Heroes hurt their own families, only to help complete strangers.”

I feel as though people are taking this line by Shigaraki in weirdly literal directions. While, yes, there is a literal interpretation of this line, I feel like it was included mainly to indicate the larger philosophical difference between Shigaraki (and the PLF in general) and the Heroes.

Considering the literal interpretation, we have the case of Kotarou Shimura, who felt as though his mother, Nana Shimura, had chosen her life as a hero over her life as his mother.

It could be argued that the actual reason why Nana abandoned Kotarou was to save Kotarou’s life from AFO, and thus Kotarou was wrong in his reasoning. However, this argument misses the basic fact that Nana, no matter the nuance later down the road, did in fact choose to pursue a dangerous career as a hero and have a son. She accepted One For All, likely knowing that AFO would come after her sooner or later. If she had pursued her heroic path before having Kotarou, then it stands to reason that her decision to have her son was at least somewhat careless and shortsighted. If she had Kotarou before becoming a hero, then she willingly chose a career path that would put her life and her son’s mental wellbeing in danger. In either case, Kotarou’s initial feelings about Nana are, at least to a point, justified.

This interpretation, however, is not the one I believe is the most important. Rather, I feel like the line above is supposed to show the core disagreements that Shigaraki has with hero society.

Shigaraki values individual desires and wills above “the greater good”, much like his mentor does. We even see Shigaraki being taught this very lesson as a child, planting the seeds of his unawakened philosophy.

Even before this lecture, Shigaraki saw the way the bystanders in the streets looked at him and treated him: not maliciously and not benevolently. The people on the streets were, for the most part, completely apathetic to Shigaraki and his struggles. This phenomenon, known as Bystander Syndrome, is something that occurs in our own world, although it has been plainly stated to have worsened within the world of MHA, as people have become complacent and shirked at their individual responsibility.

This disagreement is shown quite clearly in the ideals of the PLF: absolute freedom to express one’s very identity and powers, at the expense of the larger health of society. The PLF, much like Shigaraki, seeks to “liberate” the world from heroes, by tearing down the fabric of society and replacing it with a system in which people are taught to defend themselves.

The way Shigaraki treats his comrades is quite indicative of his individualist outlook as well. He treats them with relative compassion, even declaring to the world that all he wants is for them to live the way they see fit.

(this is not given nearly enough focus by the fanbase, even though it’s one of the most important things Shigaraki has said, ever)

Interestingly enough, Shigaraki’s individualist philsophy rings true for nearly all of his comrades, and all of his comrades seem to represent different ways that society can fail a person.

Toga was rejected and driven insane by her parents’ (and society at large) rejection of her deviant quirk, which had caused her to be attracted to blood. She represents the way that some people who have difficult mental conditions are forced to conform to societal expectations that can simply be alien to them.

Twice made a simple and honest mistake that led to his life spiraling out of control. He represents the plight of individuals who are left behind in the cracks of society, people for whom society simply didn’t care enough about to seek after.

Spinner was a victim of discrimination and racist vitriol, due to his appearance as well as his unusually weak quirk. His weak social position caused him to seclude entirely from society, until his will was reawakened by Stain’s conviction and later Shigaraki’s conviction.

Dabi, if we assume that he is in fact Touya Todoroki, is almost a perfect showcasing of Shigaraki’s philosophy. He was abused by his hero father in order to become a hero that could then go on to save “complete strangers”. It almost fits perfectly with Kotarou’s words.

In general, every main villain we currently have in the story has been a victim of the larger society pressing down on their individual characteristics. What Shigaraki, and the PLF in extension, fight for is the exaltation of the individual over the larger society.

Compare this with the philosophy of heroes such as All Might, who have a very collectivist understanding of the world: secure and promote peace in society, disregarding the cost to the individual. All Might lost multiple organs and his devoted sidekick and friend, all because of the fact that he was a hero and it was his job to protect “complete strangers”. His characteristic smile is an extension of this, as Nana Shimura once stated that no matter how scared and distraught a hero is, they should always keep smiling, as to ward off the fears of others. Compare this to Shigaraki, who is constantly showing off his emotions at every second.

This is not to say that one side is clearly better than the other. From a utilitarian standpoint, the heroes are obviously justified in nearly everything that they do (and even from more deontological frameworks, the villains aren’t looking too great on that scale either). I’m not trying to make a moral judgement, rather I’m trying to clarify what I see as the root of the main philosophical battle of MHA: individualism versus collectivism, the closer good versus the greater good, and “your own family” versus “complete strangers”.

EDIT :

I don’t think Nana is a horrible person or anything. In fact, I actually think she made the right decision in abandoning Kotarou. It was either that or having her son die due to exposure to AFO. My point is that Nana’s decision to become a hero, whether or not it came before or after having a child, probably cemented this belief into Kotarou that his mother was more concerned about saving “complete strangers” than her own family. While her decision to abandon Kotarou after learning about the fact that AFO was hunting her down was perfectly understandable and correct, the fact that AFO was hunting her down in the first place was due to her status as a hero with OFA. If Nana never became a hero, and thus never chose the path of saving “complete strangers”, then her family wouldn’t be in such danger that Nana’s husband was killed and she was forced to leave behind her son. Of course, I also believe that her decision to accept OFA and become a hero was justified and correct, especially considering the state of society at the time. But it is undeniable that she chose a path that would result in her saving countless people from AFO, but at the same time putting her family in danger and eventual doom.

TLDR; If Nana didn’t give up Kotarou, he would probably have died from AFO anyway. That said, the only reason AFO was after Nana was because she had decided to become a hero, and with OFA to boot. Thus, Nana’s choice to save the greater society would come at the expense of her family’s safety. Which Nana recognized, thus is why she abandoned Kotarou.

#bnha #bnha spoilers #shigaraki tomura #paranormal liberation front #hero society #meta #bnha 281 #mha #mha spoilers #mha 281 #manga spoilers #nana shimura

470 notes · View notes

metanoiamorii · 4 years ago

Text

Wip Re-Introduction: A Rope In Hand

❛Horror is like a serpent; always shedding its skin, always changing. And it will always come back. It can’t be hidden away like the guilty secrets we try to keep in our subconscious.❜

♧ Title: A Rope In Hand [ARIH]

♧ Status: First Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third Person, flexible between a few

♧ Genre: Dark Fantasy, Supernatural, LGBTQ+, Action, Drama

♧ Warnings: This story revolves around the occult. There will be talk of witch hunts and trials and cults. There will be torture methods used to gain confessions, and these methods will be justified under religious belief. There will be toxic and abusive relationships, particularly family; finding an escape from them, and healing from the trauma. There will be homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and colonization. There will be major character deaths, but I can spoil after the book ends the main characters do get a happy ending. Each chapter and scene posted will have personalized warnings, but these are the main things to expect.

♧ Featuring: The majority of the characters will be LGBTQ+, from pansexual, homosexual, to asexual; genderfluid, agender/nonbinary, and transgender. Each character is complex and morally grey. Yes, they will do things that are blatantly terrible, or actively good. Overall, they will be morally grey and questionable at best. There will be complex world-building, from both the universe it takes place in, and the religious pantheons brought up. The religions brought up will be polytheistic and animism-themed. The romance between the major characters will be slow-burn enemies to friend to lovers, and them learning to love themselves through one another. There will be an exploration on generational healing, and unlearning toxic, and bias believes.

♧ Setting: The setting is influenced by Victorian London, and Medieval Ireland. There will be mention of other places, primarily western Europe, the Ottoman Empire, Ancient Rome, Eastern Asia, and Napoleonic France.

♧ Synopsis:

In the town of Arkaley, in the northwest of the Duchy of Ruairc, the people have been plagued by bad fortune and crime. Attacks of bandits on the road, raids from pirates on the shores, untimely deaths of children and young women, elected officials coming out corrupt; there is no end in Arkaley of the suffering the locals endure.

Rationally, to explain such a bad string of luck, there is only one possible explanation: Witchcraft.

The Duchy of Ruairc already has a history of witchcraft: the Ó Ruaircs turned out to be witches, the Abondé incident in Salem, the Liathain incident in Trakee; the Ruaircs have their record. Perfectly acceptable for everyone to assume the worse of the Ruairish, as they have proved to be nothing but.

To prove his worth, the young Reverend Prudence Clemency Frye, takes up the task of quelling this coven of witches and heading this witch-hunt. Young and naïve, witch only knowledge from books and little hands-on experience, he’s unprepared for this challenge. When he finally leaves the town, well… everyone would rather put this incident behind them.

♧ Tease:

My darling dear, a knave so clear

You appear, so bravely near;

Do you hear my darling dear, sneers of austere jeers?

Behave, my dear, when I am near;

For peers will lear, in their fear,

Allow me o' dear our persevere

So my fave you appear

And volunteer a slave so dear

in an atmosphere we fear.

my darling dear, wave so clear

Depravely as we leave, and give a souvenir;

My lips to yours, as you crave in these fallin' years.

Be brave darling dear, and give into hearts o' queer.

For mine you be, your darling dear,

To the stars you have swore in love, so crystal clear.

My peers shall sneer, but whore I be, and you I crave

Oh so bare. slurs and glares, just listen to my prayers.

Kiss me love, and leave o'they to a'crave

In this atmosphere that we fear

Their own, o' pure, knave so dear.

♧ Excerpt:

".... This is wrong." Prudence finds the words slipping from his lips, voice a quiet whisper; a breathless tone of voice. He allows his fingertips to falter against scarred skin, watching as Mastema turned his cheek, he pressed himself into the palm of Prudence's hand. Eyes closed, a smile curled on his face. Prudence couldn't help but smile at the scene, but slowly, slowly, slowly, he rescinded his hand; breaking the hold.

"Revered..." Matching his voice, Mastema replied. Maintaining such a soft voice, as he shifted himself forward on the bed. One foot to the ground, the other drawn beneath himself. Over Prudence he leaned, resting one palm to the sheets, the other lifting to seize Prudence's hand before he could recoil back. "You have made me feel something in which I've never felt before..."

From where he laid, Prudence could only form a soft frown. He knew he could draw his hand back, the grip was far from tight. But he didn't. He laid there, allowing Mastema to hold his hand. "... This is wrong, Mastema."

Mastema frowned; he matched the reaction Prudence wore. Through it, he forced a half-smile, tightening his grip on the other's hand, and forward he brought Prudence's hands to kiss the knuckles. "... If this is wrong, I do not wish to be right."

At the response, Prudence shook his head. "It is not for us to be right or wrong, the gods—"

At the angle he sat, Mastema shifted once more. He dropped Prudence's hand, to lean forward; to lean in close. Both of his palms found the other's cheek, as he touched their foreheads to one another. "... Do not force your will onto another." In that soft whisper, he spoke. Eyes closed, breath drawn in. "Is that not a Commandment of our Creator?"

"I..." Prudence faltered. In, he drew his breath, to try to steady himself. "... I did not take you for the religious sorts."

"I'm not." Mastema all too quickly retorted. But as he was, he laid; this proximity. "But you are."

♧ Characters:

The Order of Witchesbane

Prudence Clemency Frye; The Reverend

Half Fae/Half Human • Intersex • Genderfluid • He/They • Homosexual • Homo-demiromantic

The bastard son of Lord Zachariah Frye. Raised by his father, with his mother dying young, he took to following in his footsteps. He became a religious young man and an active witch-hunter. A part of him desires his father’s acceptance, his praises; the other part despises his father and everything the man stands for. In recent years, he has joined the De La Cruz household, becoming an apprentice beneath the famous Witch’s Advocate; upholding the beliefs that not every witch is evil and has foul intentions, and the ones that mean harm are the only ones that should be hunted.

Zachariah Frye; The Bloodhound

Human • Male • He/Him • Bicurious • Aromantic

The oldest living member of the Order. Now he is the man that holds the face of the Order, who you think of when they come to mind. Cold. Vindictive. Despotic. Violent. He is not a good man. He is firm in his beliefs and stubborn to change. Once his mind is made up, he cannot be reasoned with. He is blindly convinced of his beliefs and his cause to eradicate every living witch, unfazed if he has to fill a few innocent thousands in the process.

Calisto Ferzan Hermengildo Melchior Lorencio De La Cruz; The Witch’s Advocate

Half Fae/Half Human • Amab • Nonbinary • Genderfluid • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic

A witch-hunter in title alone, Calisto has been making enemies since he could first talk. He’s always enjoyed being the underdog, going against the expectations of society, being ridiculed by his peers. The sole reason? Proving them wrong. To ridicule his own peers for their outdated beliefs, he’s taken to defending witches, proving them innocent of their ‘crimes’, and going on to help them to set up a life in a country more accepting of witchcraft

The servant of Calisto, never seen far from his side. He is a servant in name alone and is more-or-less an assassin, a hitman for Calisto. Held in contempt by Athylian society for being a foreigner, he often treated by others more as a slave than a servant. To help be unseen, to help the De La Cruz Household, Michelotto endures the treatment and goes as far to be perceived as ignorant, alongside him being born a mute. Keeping his true intents and intelligence duly guarded, only a handful are aware he is also a witch.

Myk'loumihr [Michelotto Dougal] Siavash; The Man-Servant

Witch; Amab • Agender • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic

Austin Duvine; The Lord Without A Ring

Half-Human/Half Fae • Amab • Nonbinary • He/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

One of the younger members of the order, Austin relies on his father's wealth and name. He doesn't care for responsibilities, he doesn't care for hard work. He's a playboy at heart. He's fit to hold social events, and use his natural talent to gib and fib his way through life. He'll keep his mixed feelings to himself, struggling with doing the right thing or upholding tradition.

Alistair Lavine; The Witchfinder General

Human • Amab • Agender • He/They • Bicurious • Aromantic

The best friend to Zachariah and his right hand. Where Zachariah is business and lacks charms, Alistair can charm a crowd and hold their attention. He knows how to feign being an ideal human, without letting on his own bloodlust; he's a monster in human skin. At the end of the day, unlike Zachariah, Alistair does have morals and standards he will abide by, even if they come back to ruin him.

━━━━━━━━━━

The Vakari Coven

Ausrine Baoghal; The Lady

Witch • Female • She/Her • Bisexual • Aromantic

The woman in charge of the town, widowed and inheriting the right to rule as her husband had no heirs. She is a manipulative and dangerous woman, eager to commit any sin or crime for more power. She, in truth, cares only for herself and would feel no remorse if she had to turn on one of her coven to further her own agenda.

The magistrate and also the chief policeman of the town. He maintains a calm, but manipulative personality. As a front, he presents himself to be fair and just, liked and favored by the people for genuinely caring for them. While in truth he has his own heinous and sinister agenda, aiding Ausrine in her plans.

Leary O'Laoghaire; The Magistrate

Witch • Male • He/Him • Bicurious • Aromantic

The oldest member of the coven, Dairine lives under the guise of an elderly woman, who lives alone with her children and grandchildren already leaving her to live their own lives. She is a kind and understanding woman and cares for the younger witches in the coven. She will not support Baríon with her agenda, nor does she care for the servant girl, she even despises the so-called ally Ausrine claims to have and who they all adhere to.

Dairine Ó Séaghdha; The Crone

Witch • Afab • Agender • She/They • Asexual • Aromantic

The acting servant of Barion, Anisha’s true loyalties lie elsewhere. She stays within the town, serving the coven while acting as the eyes and ears of someone, the person who is truly pulling the strings. She is the one to relay information and letters between the coven and her master. She is a quiet woman, that keeps her head down and her mind to herself. She only shows her true, confident and demanding, nature behind closed doors with the coven when they dare to question her.

Anisha Kaur; The Servant

Witch • Afab • Demigirl • She/They • Asexual • Aromantic

The charming son of Leary. Many whisper that is part fae, due to his charm, if it’s true or not many are unaware. He is a very sophisticated young man, that has managed to wrap the entire town around his finger. While on the surface he is alike his father is a caring, compassionate, charming young man, something sinister brews beneath. He is devious, demanding, domineering.

Nathir O'Laoghaire; The Magistrate’s Son

Half-Witch/Half-Fae • Amab • Agender • He/Him • Bisexual • Aromantic

Being the baker's daughter, Liannah helps around the bakery and family business. Unlike the company she keeps, she is a reserved young woman. She is polite and maintains her manners with whomever she is dealing with. She has the patience of a saint and rarely loses her cool. Liannah is a woman with a calm demeanor about her, being a woman many are comfortable around due to her peaceful and calm aura.

Liannah Ó Buachalla; The Baker’s Daughter

Witch • Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Asexual • Panromantic

Ausrine's bastard son she had with a spirit she bargained with for more power. Since he was young, he was raised by the servants of the house, and the coven, over his own mother; the two have more of a business relationship over a family one. Since he cares less about what his mother does, he spends his time with Liannah and Reyes, either at the bakery or getting into trouble somewhere. With Reyes as an influence, Mastema is a flirtatious man that enjoys scandals and making the most of life

Mastema Baoghal; The Knave

Half-Witch/Half-Spirit • Amab • Genderfluid • He/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

Rochan Misra; The Charlatan

Half-Witch/Half-Spirit • Amab • Queer • He/She • Pansexual • Aromantic

A foreigner to the Coven, born and raised in the Duchy of Incali. At a young age, he became a traveling charlatan, recently settling within the coven only as he befriended Liannah and Mastema and enjoyed their company. Now, he is the local bad influence: scamming locals out of their money at the taverns, wooing and seducing young men and ladies alike, always trespassing and vandalizing something. He is trouble but has a heart of gold when it matters.

ARIH: : @hekat-ie, @writings-of-a-narwhal, @silent-creed

━━━━━━━━━━

Taglist:

General: @endlesshourglass, @writerray, @poore-choice-of-words, @alexwritesfiction, @primusesgiantmetalballbearings

Both: @cecilsstorycorner, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @hazard-writes, @egg-shark

48 notes · View notes

homeformyheart · 4 years ago

Note

Oohh 44 with Rosy plss? 💕

THANK YOU Soso for the request!! I love IvyRose and exploring Married Life (TM).

author’s note: thank you for the request, @sosolenoo! i wanted to feature korean terms of endearment and was inspired by several of the soft/private rosy asks from jo’s blog. shout-out to @mepheesto and @captainsaku, who helped me with some brainstorming. i’m still getting the hang of writing for these two, so this may not hit quite right but hope you all enjoy! copyright: all characters, except my oc button, are owned by jo o’connor @mindblindbard. series/pairing: mind blind – ambrose kim x f!button (ivy park wiseman) rating/warnings: 16+; married life/mature relationship based on/prompt: dialogue prompts // 44. “Cuddle me.” (in bold) word count: ~800 summary: ambrose is upset when he finds out that ivy skipped work for seemingly no reason.

ambrose diligently put his shoes away before stepping into the living room, leaving his briefcase and keys in their designated spots in the entryway.

“ivy?” he called out, his tone tense.

he paused despite the silence to unbutton his shirt meticulously. with each button undone, he mentally removed the stresses and worries from the day one by one from his body.

the one stressor he couldn’t leave behind in the entryway to their shared home was ivy herself, or rather a decision she made. it caused him both worry and stress – two things he had long since learned to manage separately as a survival tactic.

when the two combined, like they did today, it wreaked absolute havoc on his ability to control his emotions and he knew that, despite his best efforts, he probably took some of that out on his students.

ivy had skipped work that day without telling him. he had to find out from alavidze that she had called in sick and it was an understatement to say that he was upset. there was no justifiable reason for his wife to skip out on a job that she normally took very seriously when he also knew for a fact that she. was. not. sick.

she seemed fine in the morning when they left for work. he had gone straight to his class while she headed to her office per their routine. she had been quieter than usual during their commute but chalked it up to being a bit overloaded with work lately.

he had resolved to help her unwind tonight, even planning to pick up some cheese and a bottle of her favorite wine on his way home. but here he was now, emptyhanded, standing in the threshold of their bedroom and staring at the large lump in their bed.

any remaining feelings of irritation vanished as soon as he took in her hunched figure buried underneath their duvet.

ivy’s entire body had tensed once she realized ambrose was home. she was fully expecting an angry rosy lecture, complete with perfectly valid points about not running from her responsibilities just because she didn’t feel like it. she knew he’d be a bit more understanding once he knew exactly why she chose to ditch work for the day.

but she figured she’d still have to get through the lecture first.

“yeobo?”

dear wife, look at me.

it was a term reserved for each other, in the privacy of their home. as natural as the air they breathed and the sound of her name on his tongue.

as fateful as his heart in her hands.

ambrose was not known as a soft man to most, but ivy knew no other man besides her husband when he said her name. dear wife.

her shoulders sagged with relief before she remembered why she had disappeared for the day and didn’t even bother to tell him where she was.

“i don’t want to talk about it yet,” she said quietly, closing her eyes. “cuddle me.”

she couldn’t see the conflict between worry and fear in ambrose’s eyes as he lifted the duvet and climbed in beside her, bringing his warm body flush against her back and wrapping his arm around her stomach.

ivy squeezed her eyes tighter at the feel of him around her, his hand on her stomach sending a wave of emotion through her body.

“i’m pregnant,” she finally said quietly, pausing for a beat before twisting in his arms and willing herself to look him in the eye.

ambrose was not a man of many facial expressions. but she had learned how to read him and his little tells. the slight upward furrow of his brow indicating he was overwhelmed and processing. the widening of his dark pupils taking her in and reinforcing his absolute adoration for her. the pressing of the corner of his lips together letting her know he was trying to find the right words.

so she wasn’t surprised when tears started pooling in his eyes and falling down his face instead.

“i know we said we’d wait a while,” she said, wiping his tears with her thumb. “say something.”

he just leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, taking a few deep breaths until the tears stopped. she tilted his head back until she could see herself in his eyes, see the way he breathed her in with just a glance.

ivy gave him a small smile, her goofy one, reserved just for him. “jagiya?”

you are me and i am you.

“i love you,” he murmured, the intensity of his voice contrasting with the softness of his tone.

“i love you too,” she said, letting herself finally express the joy on her face. “you’re going to be my eigi appa.”

ambrose was done with words. he captured her lips with his with an intensity she had never experienced before, and she knew this was just another beginning.

* * * * * *yeobo – Korean term of endearment used exclusively between married couples

*jagiya – Korean term of endearment usually used pre-marriage and is seen as more “cutesy”

*eigi appa – Korean term of endearment used to refer to spouses once there’s a child ([baby’s] father in this case)

from these dialogue prompts (always accepting)

* * * * * taglist: @anotherbeingsworld; @sosolenoo; @fhauvilles; @wayhavenots;

38 notes · View notes

magioftheseas · 4 years ago

Text

Rose Stem Asphyxiation

Summary: In one life, Hilise and Gabrielle try to be sisters.

Rating: T+

Warnings: References to violence, murder mostly fraticide, suicide, child abuse... Canon-typical stuff, tbh, even if this is canon divergence.

Notes: I just don’t get enough opportunities to write fucked up sisterly relationships and if Untouchable Lady is going to give me a dynamic that I think has potential, then I’m gonna go for it. Sorry that there’s no Axion. There’s no male characters at all beyond a couple of cursory mentions. Sorry~

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“Hiliseeee!”

Gabrielle tackles her arm with innocent glee, but there’s a maid nearby who flinches. Unperturbed, Gabrielle beams up at her. The perfect image of the adorable little sister.

It should be satisfying if not endearing. No matter what Hilise does, it’ll always be Gabrielle who is the darling of the Inoaden household.

And yet, Hilise remembers the first time she saw Gabrielle embrace their father.

The way Gabrielle embraces her right now.

And the bitter resentment that stains her soul burns like a fresh wound.

“Are you going out, sis?” Gabrielle asks, and her bright inquiry snaps her from her dark mood. “I can come, right?”

No, it’s different.

The way Gabrielle squeezes her arm is with a hint of desperation. Unease. Gabrielle’s usually effortless smile twitches at its edges.

“Of course you can come,” Hilise says, watching Gabrielle relax.

Gabrielle who nuzzles against her, giggling all the while.

Gabrielle who has never had to fear their father, but her fear here is quite justified.

Hilise could kill her, after all. Has killed her before, in fact, albeit in a past life.

And she could never quite forget that look of sheer terror.

How Gabrielle cowered, scrambling back pathetically and looking up with those usually bright eyes torn up with hideous tears.

Hilise had let her scream her throat out raw. Begging for someone—anyone—

That...had perhaps been too cruel of her.

Next time, she’ll just snap Gabrielle’s neck first. What good came from saving her for last? If it was meant to be mercy, it was a poor execution.

The two sisters go shopping and it’s overall an uneventful trip.

She already knows there’s no usurping Gabrielle’s status as a darling, but at the very least, she can play the role of a loved older sister. Rather, she can pretend.

Unlike her father and her brother who will never truly love her—will never even pretend to love her, Gabrielle is different.

Gabrielle will give her easy smiles and shower her with easy affection. Gabrielle will offer her jewelry and adornment and this time, it wouldn’t be a mere childish prank. Even now, Gabrielle enjoys treats with her, humming with pleasure.

Hilise smiles at her mildly, but it feels miserable. Doesn’t fit quite right on her face, either. Well. It’s not too bad. Better than her disastrous relationship with Christian. At least Gabrielle lacks the depth to hate this arrangement.

Gabrielle is happy as long as she is doted on and spoiled.

It’s as enviable as it is contemptible.

“So, for the next ball,” Gabrielle is saying. “There’s this dress I really want to wear. You should see it! It’s going to be the start of a new fashion trend!”

She is well aware.

“I’m sure,” she replies simply, meaning it. “However, you are looking to impress Christian Parvenon as well, right?”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Gabrielle asks, eyes alit with anticipation. She’s so radiant it makes her stupid. “I don’t want him able to keep his eyes away! Oh, but, you should get dressed up too all nice and pretty too, sis.” A touch of discomfort at Gabrielle’s smile. “As long as you don’t distract Christian, then it’s fine...”

Even now, Gabrielle can’t help but be a little entitled. It’s fine. Hilise doesn’t have any interest in him.

“I...” She doesn’t... “I don’t really care about getting a husband.”

“You don’t?!” Gabrielle gasps, aghast at the idea. She’s just too naïve to not be sincerely surprised. “Do you not like anyone?!”

“No.” There is no use in hesitating or drawing it out. “I’m not.”

“You should let me introduce you,” her sister says, already excited. “There are plenty of handsome bachelors from good families! I hear aaaaaaall about them!” She brags, proud of the social life she has that Hilise was never allowed. “I know all the gossip, too! I’ll make sure not a single scandalous guy enters the equation! You can count on me, dear sister!”

...the thing is that Hilise doesn’t doubt it.

That’s the thing, isn’t it, that Hilise never doubts a word Gabrielle says.

Gabrielle can play pranks, but like this, Gabrielle would never lie. In fact, she offers up answers without even needing to be prodded. Hilise nearly needs to sip her tea like so, and Gabrielle is already chatting up a storm about the aforementioned gossip. Quite spiritedly, at that.

She’s so eager.

So desperate.

As if this is life or death, when it’s just another vapid method of filling space and passing time. Something to do as Hilise waits for the end of this loop.

How shall I attempt dying this time?

She considers, for a second, pushing Gabrielle into it. But with how Gabrielle is still yapping away, Hilise thinks it would be too tedious an avenue to pursue.

It’d be a change of pace, but she’s not like my father nor my brother. She doesn’t have the bloodlust nor the blood running through her veins.

(Or so she thought.)

“Sis!” Gabrielle exclaims, realizing that she is not being listened to. The indignance has her cheeks puffing out. “Are you paying any attention?!”

“I am,” Hilise says simply, thinking of puncturing those perfectly round cheeks with thorns. “It’s just—that I’m not interested. Sorry.”

“Why not?!” Gabrielle demands, more out of confusion than frustration. “Don’t you want to...?”

“No.” Hilise doesn’t care to hear the rest. “I don’t want to court, much less marry.”

There’s no point. I won’t be loved either way.

“Y-You can’t just stay alone forever,” Gabrielle points out shakily. “I mean, that’s just...that’s really... Hilise...”

Oh?

Is that pity?

Is that sympathy?

Is Gabrielle sad for her?

Hilise straightens up. She sets down her cup. She folds her hands into her lap. She stares, bores holes into Gabrielle’s twisted-up face from her trembling downturned lips to her downcast eyes.

Gabrielle is at a loss for words for once.

It’s quite the sight.

“Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle perks up immediately. Attentive. Outwardly anxious. Adorable. Precious.

“If I have you,” Hilise says smiling. “I won’t ever be alone, right?”

Gabrielle doesn’t smile back.

Not at first.

When she does, it’s clear she has to make an effort.

“O... Of course...!” She trips over her words. “You’ll always have me...!”

I think...

“I’m glad,” Hilise replies, still smiling. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gabrielle insists. “We’re sisters, aren’t we? Obviously, I’ll always...”

When I get bored of this...

“...be with you...”

I’m going to throw myself off the roof without a bed of roses to embrace my fall.

She had dreamed of having a normal family once, but it was always a distant, childish dream. Even when given other chances, she had known on some level that it was impossible for her. That she wasn’t meant to be loved by her father and brother—it just couldn’t be helped.

As for Gabrielle, well—Gabrielle filled the void of beloved little sister and daughter. Even if it wasn’t Gabrielle’s fault, that was the simple fact of the matter. At least she was still innocent, Hilise thought.

And Gabrielle could be swayed and won over with such ease. What was the harm, then, in indulging a little? What was wrong with wanting some familial love? Even if it was shallow, it was Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was innocent and lovely, right? Everyone loved her for a reason. Even if Hilise couldn’t be her, she could be with her and pretend, if only for a moment, that Gabrielle loved her.

Gabrielle was bright. Gabrielle was lovely. Gabrielle—was never going to understand.

“You’ll die for Gabrielle’s sake, won’t you?”

Whatever sisterhood she may have wanted, had wanted dearly at that, was just another pipe dream.

There wasn’t much point in wanting it. Not when she was never going to get it no matter what she did. Illusions were always meant to fade and the loop was always going to restart.

“It’s fine, you can come back, so it’s fine. Just bear with dying one more time.”

Her father was always going to hate her. Ricardo was never going to love her. And Gabrielle, well—she was too innocent of the world. Even when she snapped, she was going to be sheltered and protected. Gabrielle could be persuaded to love her, but they weren’t ever going to inhabit the same world. Not when one of them only knew love and the other...knew nothing of the sort, even as she longed so much for it.

Whatever.

Just.

Whatever.

I think I’m done with everything, with both love and family, Hilise thought tiredly. I don’t even care anymore.

The truth is that I could have been fine never being loved. I just wanted someone to worry about me. Did I ever have that, even for a moment? Or was that just a delusion?

It didn’t matter anymore.

It didn’t.

She couldn’t do this anymore. Because regardless of the end, they’re never going to care about her.

Trash till the end, Hilise thought, exhausted. Still...do you want to know something? It wasn’t too bad to pretend for a bit. Thanks for that, Gabrielle.

But I’m still going to throw you away with everything else.

#Untouchable Lady #mahwa #Hilise Inoaden #Gabrielle Inoaden #Magi fics #Idk what to tag this

38 notes · View notes

clevercorvidae · 5 years ago

Text

BNHA Common Misconceptions

I’ve been seeing wayyy too much bs on my dash lately. So I thought I’d share some of my thoughts on some Controversy™

***Spoilers For The Manga***

1. “What the HPSC did to Hawks wasn’t bad”

A government organization putting a young child through rigorous training so that he can be used as a tool is bad. I don’t know why I have to spell that out

Hawks had to abandon his real name at a very young age. That’s damaging for a kid’s sense of identity. His identity as a person no longer has any separation from his work as a hero. Being a hero is all he is now. I wouldn’t be surprised if (provided Hawks’s wings are gone for good) he has an identity crisis after this arc because he can’t be “Hawks” anymore.

Hawks is based on Lionel Messi, a soccer player recruited at a young age in return for paying for his medical procedures. I’ve seen people say that Hawks chose to be a hero. One, he was a child, young children shouldn’t be making decisions like that. Two, we know based on context clues that Keigo was more than likely living in poverty, possibly with alcoholic parents, and we literally are told that the HPSC payed for his family’s living expenses. Do you really think Keigo had much of a choice here?

I’ve seen people say “it’s just like what UA is doing”. First of all, UA is called out for being irresponsible and endangering their students IN UNIVERSE. Second, Keigo was a young child, the UA kids are 15+. There’s a huge difference.

2. “Mitsuki isn’t abusive”

Honestly when it comes to her smacking Katsuki, I could excuse it as a joke done in poor taste and not hold it over her as a character.

Hitting him WASNT just discipline tho. You should never, ever, under any circumstances hit your kid. Fuck that noise.

What I really have an issue with is what she SAYS to Katsuki. Her guilt tripping him isn’t a throwaway line either. He repeats the sentiment that he is responsible for Kamino during Deku v Kacchan 2. It’s one of the main reasons he fights Deku.

Horikoshi says that Katsuki has a good relationship with his mother. In that case, he did a horrible job at presenting that. What is written in the canon is what should be used as the basis for how we interpret her character.

3. “Shigaraki chose to kill his family/was born evil”

No...just...no. He was FIVE for crying out loud.

He wanted to be a hero, and took extra care to play with kids that had no friends. He definitely wasn’t born evil lmao.

His quirk manifested while he was having an emotional crisis. Decay is controlled by emotion so of course it went haywire.

He didn’t even know it was him doing it at first.

“But Shigaraki said he WANTED it to happen” Shigaraki is an unreliable narrator. What we actually SEE tells a very different story. He reaches out to Hana and his Mother for help. His grandparents are just caught in the shockwave. The ONLY person he killed on purpose was his father.

Now when it comes to his father, he had just beat him and locked him outside. He’s FIVE, and he has no healthy outlet for his anger and frustration. Hell, we see that in his “itchiness”, he only feels like this in the house, because his father makes him suppress his love for heroes and his dream to become one. He takes joy in killing his father because it’s the only release he’s ever experienced.

The fact that you guys forget that this is an abused child with no real control over his quirk that just got beaten and locked outside... Nope, no reading comprehension here.

4. “The League of Villains are justified/are a revolutionary group”

...Shigaraki has stated over and over again that he just wants to destroy everything. He doesn’t care about reform or improving anything. That one panel in Ch. 222, where he says he wants to destroy everything I think sums it up perfectly.

He wants to destroy EVERYTHING good or bad or neither or both. There’s a newborn baby, a field of flowers , Nine, various heroes, the UA kids, etc all varying in innocence.

The rest of the league have very different goals and reasons why they continue to support Shigaraki. Twice wants to protect the only people that accepted him. Spinner just wants to have purpose for his life. Toga wants to live the way she wishes with no consequences. Compress is also here.

The only “revolutionary” is Dabi. But his views are not universal throughout the league.

Even if they were trying to improve things. They have killed countless innocent people, they’ve tried to kill the UA kids too. That’s not ok. And it’s not erased by the fact that they’ve done good. (I do appreciate them for killing the MHA version of the KKK, truly epic of you)

5. “Hawks is abusive”

It’s not abuse to manipulate someone for info when you’re a double agent. It’s kinda shitty, and you could argue that it was unnecessary for Hawks to do so in context. But it’s not abuse.

Y’all need to stop using the word abuse/abusive tendencies to describe all immoral actions

I’ve also seen people say that Hawks has abusive tendencies (as in he’s abusive in all his relationships with other characters) and...do I really need to explain why that makes no sense at all?

6. “Twice deserved to die/it was necessary to kill him”

Feel like I need to remind people that we’ve only ever actually seen Twice kill one guy and that was one of the KKK guys.

Twice isn’t evil, even Hawks admits that he is a genuinely good person. Good people don’t deserve to die.

It wasn’t necessary, and here’s why: Hawks could’ve just knocked him out or even just severely injured him. (Or the HPSC could’ve just grown a brain cell and sent more people to back him up, making it easier to hold back his quirk and arrest him)

Hawks shouldn’t have killed Twice, he only killed him because he’s been raised as a child soldier and I wouldn’t be surprised if what he told Twice about taking out villains was a direct quote from the HPSC

Also, Hawks would’ve killed Twice with or without Dabi’s intervention

Something I do have to say though is that Hawks was right not to just let Twice go. It’s tragic because Twice WAS leaving to help his friends, but the other side of that tragedy it that his friends are terrorists. If he was allowed to leave a shit ton of people would have died (again that doesn’t mean he deserved to die either, don’t get it twisted)

The WHOLE POINT of Hawks v Twice is to make you question who the bad guy is. Both characters are morally gray and the only reason they even have to fight is because of the outside forces controlling their fates. It’s supposed to be tragic it’s supposed to be unclear who is in the right, so stop arguing about it.

7. “Bakugou is abusive/irredeemable” (I know it’s been talked to death but I still see it everywhere)

People are, in fact, allowed to grow past the person they were in middle school.

Most people get hung up on the “throw yourself off a building” line. Which is fair, but again, he was in middle school.

People also say “he hasn’t apologized yet”. Yeah? And? The story isn’t over yet. Horikoshi has already acknowledged that too. I don’t know what you want? People who like him know that his arc isn’t over yet.

I’ve seen a lot of people denying his character development. In the beginning of the series he was a bully and let his ego control him. I don’t think he’s bullied...anyone since Deku v Kacchan 2. He insults people but they obviously don’t take it seriously.

He’s also gone from preferring to fail a final exam to avoid working with Deku, to following him into battle against Shigaraki.

Also, when he actually likes and respects someone he doesn’t mistreat them. This is the same thing with Hawks where y’all NEED to stop misusing the word abuse. He was an abusive friend to Deku when they were kids, that’s it.

8. “Rei was abusive too!”

I’m BEGGING YOU to learn what the term “abuse” means istg

She had a psychotic break. She genuinely thought it was her abusive husband coming through the door, and she acted out of fear.

“Well that’s not an excuse” yes it fucking is. Not to mention that as soon as she realized what happened, she sobs hysterically because she hurt Shouto and tries to use her quirk to help him.

I genuinely don’t understand why people think this

9. “Dabi actually does care about the league”

Listen, I know it sounds harsh, but y’all need to get your heads out of your piles of headcanons.

We know next to nothing about how Dabi feels about just about anything. But we do see that he’s aloof and distant with the league, he doesn’t put in more than he needs to. The rest of the league think of each other as family. Dabi straight up says he doesn’t give a shit about them.

“What if he was just putting up a front for Hawks” Why? Why would he do that? When asked who he was he answered him. He tells him how he feels about hero society and Stain. Not to mention that he was getting ready to kill him. If he was hiding his true feelings about the league I doubt he would’ve so easily said that he didn’t care about them but rather how useful they were.

At this point it’s just wishful thinking. Based on everything we’ve seen in the series so far and everything we know about Dabi, I think it’s safe to say that he doesn’t care about them all that much. If he secretly does care about them, I’d say it’s likely that he doesn’t even know he does.

Idk why all of a sudden villain stans and hero stans are feuding over things that shouldn’t even be up for debate in the first place. Sorry if this came off as super aggressive, I’m just sick of seeing this stuff all over the place. If anyone has anything to add go ahead

#bnha #bnha spoilers #discourse #bakugou katsuki #Hawks #keigo takami #dabi #league of villains #mitsuki bakugou #shigaraki tomura

322 notes · View notes