#the fear that his mother whom he loves is watching and judging everything he does as if she knows who he is

[ceaselessims]

the way martin blackwood is literally me to a concerning degree

[thehumbleacquaintance]

5 years & 323 days

idk if my calculation of the days was accurate but hello, i remembered my personal diary that i haven't visited in years and thought i'd stop by and say hi. a lot has happened in these 4 years that i haven't vented to you. lately i feel like i have a hard time identifying my emotions, all i seem to feel is stress and distaste. you know me, how i desperately want to be happy all the time. i am supposed to have things figured out by now.. nowadays i have some relationship problems, i know: surprising. i have been in one for a year and half. it began as a friendship, i felt like i could share my every single thought and feeling with him, and he would just get me. i really believed he did. then i wanted him to be my person cause he got me. for almost a year it was great, until it wasn't. i feel like i gave him a meaning in my life he wasn't willing to have. i believed i had finally met my soulmate which was childish of me, probably a product of my inexperience. i stopped doing the things i did to fill the void in my life and replaced it all with him, and now i regret it. cause now his place in my life seems shakey, and that left me doubting everything. he didn't cheat, says he never would, never will do anything to hurt me. but how can i trust that when he has no idea when he already has and now i have to replace all that hurt with anger to defend my pride. at least that's what i feel like.

ever since my childhood i never learned to express my feelings unless they were positive ones. i always hid them behind others, until i was at a point were even i wasn't able to tell what i was feeling. it just didn't feel good and i felt like crying. was it anger? was it sadness? disappointment? but in whom? well myself of course.. when have i ever had someone else to blame?

i can no longer have phone calls with my mother where i don't feel so sad and tired after hanging up. i always feel like i am being judged, cause i am. she just never listens and when she does she hears only what disappoints her. it breaks me. i can never please her, and the more i denied it i became a people pleaser. always fearing being disliked, disappointing. even in the tiniest things. i can never order my drink correctly, i can never have a phone call without saying something that doesn't belong there. i need to be funny, i need to impress. i need to be liked. more than everyone else. why? cause i try harder, i practice it in my head and imagine happy smiles in front of me. achieving things, everything. i'm just so lost. and i can never be a good girlfriend it seems..

i lack the courage to try, i am just so scared of rejection. so i believed i found the one and i was so happy cause i would no longer have to try for someone to love me. he already did. with all my hyperactive thoughts, through it all he loved me and it felt enough. did i ever love him i don't know, i thought i did but now i am not sure of anything. maybe i loved being loved by someone who i believe wasn't in debt to like my family. he took care of me, my emotions. i didn't feel like my feelings were cast aside. he reassured me that things would get better, i wouldn't have to feel so so lonely anymore cause he was there with me. then came a time where he wasn't. i took it for granted, i thought he would always be there for me.

i was having a really bad day, bad week, bad month. and he went out with one of his girl friends, then he went to her house to get drunk and watched cartoons with her, massaged her back, listened to her talk about her ex, an elaborate story of their experiences in bed, then i can only imagine he acted as a shoulder to cry on while she weeped about the so called ex. he did it all. and told me himself. first he let me know he was going over to hers then he said i was such a cool girlfriend, i was super chill after all i could say was okay. i was so tired i almost passed out that day. and that traumatized me. i couldn't bring my thoughts together, i wasn't able to acknowledge that he did me wrong until weeks later. and when i finally had the courage to stop being passive aggressive and bring it up he said ''but you said you were fine with it'' ''it's been weeks why are you bringing this up'' ''are you accusing me of cheating? how dare you? i would never!'' he silenced me. i felt silenced while he believed we were fine. he said he would stop being friends with her for me, his grand gesture. that was almost a year ago. i don't think i ever forgave him for it. he hurt my pride, i had to deal with the after effects of it on my own.

i didn't sign up for this, i kept repeating to myself. i wanted to pull myself out of this mess. i wasn't in love anyways, right? maybe not idk but i was feeling dependent on him. i no longer had a support system, who would i rant to about him? who would get me if he didn't? it was difficult, still is, and realizing he didn't get how hurt i was only angered me. having to form proper sentences about my feeling of hurt is harder than i thought. but i did it. and he didn't take any action. even to this day he still follows her on social media. he gets a phone call from her when he's with me, although they haven't spoken in months(?). she sends me a follow request 2 months ago from now. non of these things support his explanation of not being on speaking terms with her. it's like he cares more about what his friends think than hurting me and believes he can just make my hurt go away with a ''i won't do it anymore''. i would believe if he kept to his words. it feels like he doesn't take my feelings seriously and that is something i am very familiar with from my childhood.

now i am left doubting everything he says, more so the dept of his emotions for me. he cannot be in love with me. he cannot be my person. if he can't get anything i am saying, sometimes not voiced but implied. sometimes i'm not sure if he really doesn't understand me or he's just looking for a way to escape the blame, to escape my rage, to escape my hurt, to escape me. and that hurts more than i can explain. feeling like something to be dealt with rather than cared for. i can't go on if that's the case. he still gives me bursts of happiness that distract me but then something reminds me of his lacking actions and i am once again left questioning everything.

i have to end this entry here, nothing is decided yet. we're on a break i suggested and he accepted quite easily. it's the second one. i don't feel ready to let him go, to bond with someone else seems so unlikely right now. once i feel comfortable in my loneliness, maybe then..? again, nothing is decided yet. i will try to go easy on him, on myself. i don't need to identify my sadness i can just feel it and learn to let go. i can solve my own problems. i can form a routine that supports me. i can do it all, no need to rush myself. i will no longer struggle to fix us, but fix my own support system: me.

[thedragonnerd]

Rayaari headcanon - travel through the emotions with tears

(inspired by this lovely anon)

Tears of sorrow and pain

Raya is so young when she loses her mother, that the concept of death is difficult for her to understand. The reality doesn't strike her until bedtime, when she slowly begins to realize that Ma will never again be there to sing her a lullaby, or hug her fear of the monsters away. Benja is unable to stop the tears for hours, as Raya screams and cries and hits her small fists on the bed. Finally, she upsets herself so much she throws up, and her crying trails off to quiet whimpers instead. For months afterwards, Benja and Raya both dread bedtime, for this is when sorrow hits the hardest for her.

Namaari is nine when her Ba dies. Death is not an unknown concept for her, unfortunately. She has already begun to see its cold grasp ensnaring Fang citizens as famine begins to sweep the lands. But nothing can prepare her for the news the young soldier delivers of her Ba's accident, nor the expression on Ma's face when they both realize he won't be coming home. She doesn't cry for the first week after his death, and people whisper about how stoic and brave she's being. In reality, she is too shocked and numb to demonstrate any further emotions, until one night she awakens to find Ma has crawled into bed next to her, hugging her close in her sleep. Hot tears fall down her cheek, and she burrows into her mother's embrace as she cries silently.

After the Druun return, after she loses her Ba, Raya finds herself scared and all alone in the world, besides faithful Tuk Tuk. During the day, she wraps herself in false bravado, learning how to be a confident young woman instead of an easy mark for people with questionable motives. She employs a 'fake it until she makes it' approach to life, and it carries her through well enough...except at night. At night, she can't help but remember both her parents, and in the darkness she softly sings her mother's lullaby to soothe herself as the tears fall.

When the magnitude of what she has done by trying to take the Dragon Gem hits Namaari, she is horrified with herself. She cries quietly at night for weeks on end, reluctant to talk to anyone about her guilt. And then one day, she wakes up and decides she has no right to cry over it – she should step up and be responsible for her own actions instead, and be the best leader she can be. For several years after that moment, she refuses to let herself cry. Then one scouting mission, she loses her first soldier to the Druun, watching him turn to stone over her shoulder as they flee. She manages to hold it together as she tells his family how brave he had been; then, she goes to the kitchen, stealing as much rice wine as she can carry. She hides with her serlots, drunkenly crying into their soft fur until she can barely breathe. After that, she allows herself to cry sometimes, but only ever when alone.

The first time Raya visits Talon, she is fourteen and half-starving. The market place is loud and confusing, but it’s also full of food and wonderful scents. Unfortunately, she has no jade pieces and the soldiers patrolling the stalls do not seem like people with whom she should risk get into trouble. She almost walks away instead of trying to buy anything, but her stomach cramps just at that moment, and she almost gasps in pain. It breaks her heart, but she slowly hands over a ring of gold in order to buy some food – the only thing she has with her that belonged to her mother. ‘You know, that vendor scammed you,’ a young boy tells her with a snort, as she walks away. ‘You should have gotten far more product for the worth of the ring.’ The food tastes like ashes in her mouth after that, and hot tears slip down her cheeks as she tries to choke down the rest of her dinner.

Namaari’s scouting party is ambushed, not by the Druun, but by angry citizens from Spine. She loses good people that day, watching in horror as they are overwhelmed by Spine’s army, still acting as good soldiers trying to protect their Princess until the end. The last warrior screams at her to run, and even though it is against her instincts, she turns and flees into the forest, not even stopping when a sharp pain pierces her side - an arrow hitting its mark. She collapses some distance later, crying in pain and fear. For the first time, she fears she will die alone, bleeding out amongst the trees. Then she remembers her mother, remembers her duties and the promises she made to herself, and staggers upright. Her serlot finds her as she slowly makes her way forwards, and when she finally manges to crawl onto her back, they take off towards Fang.

‘You’re a traitor to your people,’ someone snaps at Raya, as she tries to mediate between two disagreeing Heart citizens. ‘You try to tell us what to do, but you’re a Princess who doesn’t even know half of her own culture. Too busy cavorting with binturis from Fang and other lands to bother with your own.’ She can feel the tears coming on as the words cut deep into all the fears she has about herself – how she isn’t a good leader, how she lost so many years where she should have learnt about Heart and her role as Princess. A hand lands on her shoulder squeezing gently, yet the voice behind its owner is cutting. ‘Gentlemen, I suggest you leave now before you make me do something I regret,’ Namaari says, and when the men depart angrily, silence falls. Namaari doesn’t say anything at first, drawing Raya into an embrace instead. ‘You’re a better leader than they could hope to be,’ she whispers into Raya’s hair, kissing her head gently. Raya clings to her tightly, arms wrapped around her waist.

‘You’re not welcome here, binturi,’ comes the accusation thrown into her face, and Namaari flinches, much to her own disgust. The celebratory gathering is supposed to be for all the lands to come together, but she can understand Fang not being so warmly welcomed. She is trying though, trying to atone for her mistakes, and after a long day of talking herself into having the confidence to attend, she is now just feeling overwhelmed with their cutting remarks. She simply nods and tries to walk away while hiding her face, but Raya is already pushing past her, getting into the personal space of the other women with a snarl. ‘She’s more welcome here than you currently,’ she growls. Then she spins around, holds out an arm gallantly to Namaari with a smile, and says ‘shall we?’ with a wink. Namaari links their arms, and they walk away with their heads held high.

Tears of laughter and joy

There is something charming and fun in watching Sisu learn more about people and their odd behaviours. Namaari is still slightly in awe of dragons in general, but she finds it easier the more she spends time with Sisu and watches her do ridiculous things. Sisu often brings Tong, Boun and even Noi along to visit Raya, and Namaari loves this time especially, because Raya will go and join in on the fun, laughing at her friends’ antics until tears stream down her face. Namaari sits and watches them with a smile, until Raya runs over and grabs her by the hand, dragging her over to the group.

Raya likes to think she is excellently athletic and nimble on her feet, and to a certain extent this is true. Unfortunately, she has a rather clumsy side to her also, and she spectacularly demonstrates this in front of Namaari by mistake. She is trying to demonstrate how smooth her mounts and dismounts from Tuk Tuk’s saddle are, and even goes so far as to try and show off by standing up on his back. And yet, she slips sideways instead, arms windmilling in the air before she drops onto the floor. ‘Are you alright?’ Namaari calls, and as soon as Raya answers in the affirmative, she can hear a cackle of laughter. Namaari is laughing so hard that there are tears shining in her eyes, and Raya can’t feel too embarrassed by her tumble when it brings Namaari such joy.

At the end of a very long day of Council meetings, Raya wants nothing more than to escape the political grandstanding and disappear into the night instead of staying for dinner. She manages to grab some food from the kitchen before it is even brought out for the guests, and then steals Namaari herself as company. They sit under the stars, enjoying their picnic and complaining about the day. Namaari does a wonderful impersonation of the most annoying Councilor in the meeting, and Raya startles into loud laughter at how realistic it is. Soon they are lying next to each other, giggling loudly until they are both crying from laughter.

Namaari kisses Raya for the first time during a sparring session. They are fighting in a casual manner for once, not trying to be highly competitive as usual, but preferring to shoot as many teasing remarks towards the other as punches, enjoying the moment. Raya manages to pin Namaari down on the ground, leaning forwards slightly to highlight her triumphant and teasing expression, and instead sees Namaari staring up at her with a soft smile. Namaari brings both hands up to slide her fingers through Raya’s hair, drawing her down until their lips are touching softly. Raya feels tears welling up behind her eyes at she feels the love emanating from Namaari.

Raya proposes after two years of dating and several days of angsting over whether she has the correct words to say or the correct proposal gifts. But when it comes to the moment, she forgets everything, and just blurts out ‘I love you. Marry me?’ Namaari stares at her in shock for a moment, before stepping forward to kiss Raya. ‘Yes, yes of course,’ she says, her voice shaking from her emotions. Raya cups her cheeks in both hands, gently wiping away her tears before they kiss again.

When they marry, neither of them can get through their vows without some tears of happiness. No-one judges them for it though – most of their family and friends are crying also.

[five-miles-over]

Let Me Save You (Thomas Sharpe x Abbé de Coulmier)

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe (from Crimson Peak) x Abbe de Coulmier (from Quills) Not sure if this should be platonic or something more.

Warnings: Mentions of incest, abuse, and murder. Also 1-2 instances of swearing

Summary: While on holiday with his sister Lucille in Paris, Baronet Thomas Sharpe briefly escapes from her vigilant eye only to flee to an asylum and find solace in the company of a kind-hearted priest.

Word Count: 1,691

"I have something to confess."

Thomas placed his snow-covered hands in his lap like a little boy, blinking in the confessional. His chest rose up and down, his breath scattered after this rather unplanned escapade. Lucille never liked going to church. She had always taught Thomas that God was nothing but an evil concept meant to make humans miserable. She hated going to church, and after their mother passed, the brother and sister duo rarely ever attended a service, apart from the occasional Christmas mass.

So what was he even doing here? Had he made the right choice to go to a church in an unknown part of Paris?

No, he shouldn't be here, he told himself. Lucille would be upset if she knew that he was here. Maybe he should leave, before any of the housekeepers noticed his absence. Was anyone even listening, or was he talking to an empty room?

"What is it you wish to confess, good man?" A soft voice responded from behind the somewhat see-through wall. "Speak, for here you shall be protected by the Almighty."

So there was someone listening after all. Thomas swallowed, his throat constricted as if he were choking on his own words. The baronet could feel his heartbeat quicken, and he began to rub his pale fingers together. This was it. Tonight, he would bare his deep, dark soul and seek peace for himself, and no one else.

"Tell me, my good man. Have no fear," the voice goaded.

The baronet swallowed again, simultaneously fighting the urge to silence the priest with a scream. Instead, Thomas turned to his left, daring himself to catch a glimpse of whom this priest could possibly be. Through the weaves in the wooden window, he could see a hint of pale skin - perhaps this man remained indoors most of the time. And the black curls…they almost reminded him of his own. A shame this man chose to devote himself to God; Thomas almost smirked at the idea of damsels mourning how he could never be a husband or a lover. A morbid joke indeed.

"My sister does not know I'm here," Thomas finally muttered after a long pause. The priest complimented Thomas for being considerate and thinking of her, only for the baronet to icily thank him in return.

"Is that all you wish to confess, my good man?

Say yes, the voice inside Thomas's head spoke. Say yes, and leave this place at once. If Lucille finds out…

"I confess…" Thomas blinked, going silent again.

"Yes, go on. Speak freely, my good man," the Abbe repeated.

Thomas crossed his arms and tried to take a deep breath. Instead, his breath grew even more ragged than it already was. Heavens, he wanted to speak…he shouldn't…he couldn't. What if this priest knew her? What if there was someone else in the church - if not her, it could be someone working for her. Lucille always wanted to be in control. By running off like this, he was openly defying her in a way he'd never done before. His hands shivered, suddenly colder and weaker. His muscles continued tensing, especially in his thighs and calves.

Through the wooden wall of the confessional, the Abbé decided to take a different approach. "Are you afraid of your sister?" He asked in a soft voice, sensing the tension and uneasiness of the baronet. "Is that why you have come without her knowledge."

By this point, tears were welling up in Thomas's eyes when the Abbé's voice came through the wall. Was he truly going mad or was the priest still there, waiting for Thomas to speak? He placed a hand upon his fluttering stomach. He felt as if his insides were bubbling up and threatening to fill his throat with bile.

"I…am…afraid."

Thomas panted, realizing the words that had just slipped off his tongue. "I'm afraid of my sister," he repeated, much more audible this time. "I'm afraid of her, and that is why I came without telling her."

The Abbé took a deep breath, glad the man was able to voice his thought. "Why are you afraid of your sister, my good man?"

"I'm not," Thomas immediately denied.

"But you…"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID!" The baronet shouted, clenching a fist and letting the tears freely roll down his cheek. "I know…I know…"

"Then tell me what you fear," the Abbé softly replied. He placed his palm against the wall, knowing it was the closest thing he could offer as a reassuring touch. "Your words are safe here. No one will know what you have said here, except for God. I promise you."

"I…I…" Thomas sobbed childishly. He clutched his knees while the tears blurred his vision. "I worry she'll find me. She'll hurt me and...she never…she never liked me leaving her sight. She claims it always made her sad. I want her to be happy."

"Your sister will not hurt you, my good man. The Lord protects those who take refuge."

The baronet shook his head. "My sister said that God only wanted to take people's happiness, and make them miserable…that's why she never wanted to pray."

The Abbé insisted, "That is far from true, my good man."

"Then…" Thomas reluctantly began, "Would God have mercy upon a sister with love for her brother? Would he not want to take her happiness?"

"What do you speak of?"

"My…my…my sister, she…my sister and I…we loved each other."

The Abbé nodded silently. He did not want to judge the other man; after all, one could never truly know another's story. "You loved each other."

"Yes," Thomas whispered. "We made love when we were young, she taught me how." He curled his fingers inward, wrinkling the fabric of his trousers. "Lucille told me that our love was the only thing worth preserving, and how everything else in this world meant nothing in comparison."

"I see."

"No, you don't," he asserted. "For so long, Lucille was the only real woman in my life. We lost our mother at a young age, and I married others, but she…there is no one like her. She made me promise not to fall in love with anyone else, and then promised to do the same. I did everything she told me to, everything." Thomas gritted his teeth. "I shared her bed when she wanted me. I fucked her, and let her fuck me in any way she pleased. And worse, I spilled blood for her! I willingly killed people who found out the truth about us, because nothing else mattered! Nothing else mattered except for her, and her love."

Thomas shook his head again, tightly shutting his eyes. "I kept quiet when she poisoned my wives, I kept quiet when she committed her dirty crimes, and I kept quiet when she lied to policemen time and time again! I kept quiet, and now…I don't know how to anymore."

Hearing all of this, the Abbé closed his own eyes and sighed. This man had been through far too much.

"You must be disgusted…" Thomas spat. If not before, surely the priest would have left by now. What was he thinking, confessing his and Lucille's sexual affair to this priest? It was no secret those men condemned incest.

"No, my good man." The Abbé quietly protested. "No. Rather, I am proud of your courage to speak up about these things. God is not angry with you. He sympathizes with your pain and if you take His refuge, He will certainly heal your wounds."

The baronet continued to keep his eyes closed. Aside from a ringing in his ears, the sound of his rapid heartbeat resounded inside his head. And the only thing that kept Thomas from passing out in the confessional at that moment was the priest's level-headed calming voice.

"Are you still here, my good man?"

"Yes," Thomas mustered. "Yes I am."

"Very good," the Abbé smiled a little. "Very good."

"So…what must I do now?"

"Now," the Abbé calmly advised. "You must trust in the Lord. Now that He knows of your pain, He has offered you protection. Wherever you go now, He will be watching you from above. Have faith in this, and let your soul be uplifted."

"How do I know he's there?…He was never there when I was a child," Thomas petulantly retorted.

"God was always there, and always will be," the priest assured the baronet. "You must believe in Him, that He will care for you."

After a long, aching silence between the two men, Thomas finally spoke. "I should go now."

"You wish to go leave - have you more to confess, my good man?"

"No," Thomas answered, this time with a strange sense of conviction. "I have nothing more to confess."

The Abbé nodded again. "You must be feeling immeasurable pain, my good man. Perhaps it would be foolish of me to even begin to imagine what it must be like…but I can promise you that it will pass. One day, it will all be better."

"Thank you, Abbé." The baronet sniffed, addressing the priest the way he knew most French people did. He rose up from the seat and opened the door, only to find the priest leaving the confessional as well. "Not many sinners tonight, I suppose."

The Abbé shook his head, a light smile forming upon his face when he beheld the other man for the first time. "No matter who may come here, no one leaves as a sinner, my good man."

"Thank you again for listening to me," Thomas reciprocated the priest's smile.

"My door will always be open to you, my good man."

"It's Thomas," he softly corrected.

"Enjoy your evening, Thomas." Standing on the tips of his toes, the Abbé air-kissed Thomas's cheeks and then calmly walked away.

And as for the Baronet, he closed his eyes and silently prayed, listening to the Abbé's footsteps fade into silence. God have mercy upon my sister. And protect this Parisian priest from all harm.

[animeyanderelover]

Hi, can I get a yandere Keishin Ukai who's interested in a new girl as their new volleybal team member, please? Like would he be overprotective over them, kidnapp them, stalking them? And if so, how would he deal with another teammates noticing his yandere behaviour and giving hits to a newbie to be careful around him? Thank you very much, i really like your blog. ♥♥♥

The coach, hmm? I did a platonic and romantic version of him since it is possible that he might see her more as a sister rather than a lover given the age gap. I’m actually not a fan of student and teacher, but since a few of my parents closest friends, with whom I grew up with, are 10 years apart, everything in that span is somewhat acceptable. But I refuse to do this for people like Aizawa as long as it isn’t platonic Yandere!

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, stalking, overprotectiveness, romantic interest in a much more younger person,

The new girl

🚬I’m making the s/o a third-year to make the age difference as small as possible. That would make you about 18 years old, giving us an age difference from about 8 years. Since you’re a third-year, there’s a chance that you’re friends with the other third-years who probably wanted you to join them since your first year and after a really long time of trying to convince you, you gave in.

🚬You would be most likely a bit protective over Yachi since she’s a first-year, and whilst just like you new to everything, as the older one and person who isn’t as scared of everything as she is, you might just naturally act that way. It’s similar to Kiyoko who watches over her. You might be in general more watching over the first and second-years since you’re their senpai. You would be ordered as a ‘good’ person in Ukai’s mind, someone who looks out for others and cares for them. I see him in general falling for someone who could be described as the hardworking mother type.

🚬I believe that his reactions would differ whether we’re talking about a platonic version or not. In a platonic version I see him remaining a lot more oblivious than in the other one. Because in here Ukai might just sort his growing overprotectiveness out as feeling worried for the newbie despite the fact that you’re a third year and have Kiyoko and all the other members of the team helping you. He wouldn’t really realize the wrongness of his feelings until something happens where he goes more violent.

🚬If we’re talking about a romantic Ukai, he would feel much more faster and intense embarrassed and deeply ashamed about this. Keishin is an aware Yandere, he knows about the dangers laying in his emotions and would be in general someone who tries to hold himself back. But he has his honor as well, you know? And the moment he would notice how he starts feeling jealous whenever you talk to the boys in the team or gets flustered when you talk to him, he could sink in a hole and not come out because he knows that this is inappropriate.

🚬Platonic!Ukai wouldn’t be jealous, he would be more worried. Because you’re surrounded by boys, too many boys for his taste and they all come running to you when they need a bit help in something. He does trust this boys a bit, they’re his team after all, but he doesn’t trust them too much either, especially when it comes to you. He is kind of worried that someone might use you for your kindness and boys in their teenager years are the not dangerous to deal with, he used to be one himself. He’s especially worried if Nishinoya and Tanaka should have the same fixation on you like with Kiyoko. It leads him to somewhat sticking during training sessions closer to you or asking you to help him organizing stuff, about anything to keep you away from all the boys. He would also try to keep the boys away from you and keep them busy so they don’t go anywhere near you.

🚬He would act more like an overprotective brother in here, being really friendly with you, asking you everyday how you’re doing and if perhaps one of the boys is annoying you. If you should visit his shop, he would always give you snacks for free or at the very least make you pay less for them. Doesn’t count for the others, they would be afterwards all whiny because they didn’t get special treatment which leads them to accusing him he does this because you’re a girl. He’s always in a good mood when he is with you and would feel proud if you should ask him for help or advices. It makes him feel like you trust him and he wants to be a person you see as mature and come too if you need help with anything.

🚬It’s the complete opposite with a romantic!Ukai. In this scenario he would somewhat shy away from you because not only has he currently the most difficult time of his life after discovering his feelings, but he also knows what everyone will think when finding out about this. If worse comes to worse, everyone, including you, would feel disgusted of him and call him names, him getting kicked out of the school and maybe even from his own mother kicked out of the store since she would feel ashamed of her own son. So he tries to limit the interactions with you to a minimum, more watching from a distance and trying to keep quiet, even if he is jealous of the many boys.

🚬And yes, in here he would be more of a stalker since he is too nervous to be too close to you. He wouldn’t follow you home or anything, he just kind of watches over you a bit so nothing happens. The age gap just makes him feel like he lived longer and has more experience whilst you are still missing a lot more in comparison to him. At the same time he realizes how immature he is, not to mention that there is something very wrong about this, for falling for someone in High School! He feels like he is acting exactly like a boy in High School as well, he can’t speak nor hold eye contact with you without getting totally flustered which is why he distances himself in the first place. Because he fears he would be too obvious with his feelings. He talks more through Kiyoko and the other teammates with you and if he seems to notice that you overworked yourself a bit or it seems like something is bothering you, he would ask Kiyoko to tell you that he told her to look more after yourself. It’s ridiculous, but the only method he can think of right now.

🚬With him as a platonic Yandere the chances of others noticing are in my opinion less likely than if he would be in actual love with you. Because in this scenario it’s just obvious that he likes you the most from all, judging from the way he constantly hangs around you, gives you free snacks and barks as soon as one of the boys comes to close to you. He’s openly acting like a brother trying to keep his younger sister away from other boys at this point and some of the members are joking about this. The need to do something in here wouldn’t be that big because it just looks more harmless and ridiculous and as long as nothing catastrophic happens, it will stay that way. The only time where others might warn you about being more careful around him is when he becomes a bit too overprotective. But thing is that they know that he does because he cares for you as a student and member of the team which makes it more acceptable.

🚬That would be different if he is in actual love with you because that’s the scenario where everyone will become more cautious around him and protective over you. Because in here everyone can agree that his feelings are wrong and not suited for a coach of their team. They don’t have real proof, but it unnerves them how he keeps staring at you from a distance, glares at every male being that comes too close to you and whilst he is careful with it, he was caught a couple of times somewhat trailing behind you. And in all honesty, Keishin can’t really blame them if they should warn you about him, even though his darker thoughts will. His sane side even thinks that you need to be warned of him and the Karasuno team warning you just leads him to walking on egg shells since now everyone is watching him and he knows Takeda will throw him out of he slips up one more time. It’s everything, but a pleasant experience for him.

🚬In both scenarios he wouldn’t kidnap you, even after you graduate from Karasuno. Him as an overprotective brother version would most likely throw a drama when you do and babble about you being careful now, to take care of yourself, to not date any boys, things like this. He will be hugely upset if you move somewhere further away from this town for your college, but that’s no reason to kidnap you. Not for him. He would also ask you to contact him once in a while so he knows what you’re doing and whilst this might come over as creepy, at this point everyone knows that he acts and feels like a not blood-related sister about you, you as well.

🚬Him being romantically interested would give him maybe more temptation to kidnap you. But he wouldn’t for two reasons. The first one is that he can feel the mistrusting gazes of the whole team even when they aren’t there and so he knows that, if you should disappear, he would be made suspect number one which he would like to avoid. The second is his awareness of this whole situation. He’s convinced that he is messed up for falling for a student in the first place which is why he won’t kidnap you. You deserve better and he doesn’t need another reminder that he is sick. So despite his brain screaming at him to not let you go, he would be mentally strong enough to let you go. If you stay in contact with some of the members, he would try to ask through them how you’re doing, maybe, if your college isn’t too far away, drive for a while with his care by to check on you. He might even confess to you some day, but that would only be after you graduated, have your own job and are a grownup.

[loki-darkprince-odinson]

King Loki, I apologize for the rant but I would like some advice.

My father always makes me feel like complete garbage. He is always putting me down, never appreciates me, and makes my depression so much worse. I'm fixing up a house to move in with my friends but I'm still stuck at the house since my parents won't help me get my license or a car, much less a job. I cook, do dishes, take care of the pets, take out the trash, get the mail, do my laundry, wash towels, and help with their laundry. I also take care of my sick mother and while I'm currently on summer break, I'm going to college to become a clinical psychologist. Even then, my father will point out other things that I don't do, and expects me to clean the entire house every day. He always talks about how he needs to do everything around the house yet all he does is sleep, play video games, and watch television. He also says he works hard yet on many occasions he says he sits on his ass all day on his tablet. He also yells so much. I get scared every day when he starts yelling because I worry he may leave us, which he has threatened before, or he may actually hit us. He never has hit either my mother or I yet, and says he never would but he slams and throws things when angry at us so it's his way of showing us how much he wants to hit us, even if he doesn't realize it. However, not only do I have many responsibilities, My depression makes it difficult for me to do much, and he makes it worse. Even when I do try to clean the house he always makes comments such as: "About time." or "How long until it gets cleaned next time?" or "This was half assed, you didn't do it right." I have tried so hard to have a connection with him but I'm so tired of fighting for a relationship that he doesn't care about. I can't address my concerns with him because he will threaten to not take me to college and pay the bills. Do you have any advice to help me deal with my father until I can escape?

Best regards, Catrina.

“Catrina,” Loki drawls, in his smooth resonate voice. “I firstly must commend your good work. For caring for your ill mother, minding the household needs, and that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for a rest; that you keep on living even if you do not know how to anymore. Secondly, you have my deepest sympathies for your grievances. I am all too familiar with what it is like to seek the approval of a parent; only for there to be none in return.” His eyes were completely unfocused, yet his pallid features bore the most intense concentration as memories flowed unbidden.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, something in the edge of his mouth—and the corner of his eyes—resembled the ghost of a sad smile.

“Those whom I knew and called my mother and father are dead. That much is beyond dispute. They were not my real parents, but they raised me as their own. I daresay they loved me. That had been in dispute, at least in my own mind for awhile. I found out very late that my identity was a lie. Not Asgardian, not a son of Odin, I was completely unmade. That was how I felt when I learned of my true parentage. I was a fraud, a monster; it explained so much. It explained why I never felt like I fit in, why I would never be my brother's equal, why I would never get what I'd been promised my whole life.” His voice was soft, hoarse. Intent.

Loki raises his left hand and rests his forefinger against his lips as a line forms between his own eyebrows in thought.

“I have lingered around Midgard long enough to come to an understanding of how your minds tick. I shall do my best to give advice where I can.

Try, if you will, to put things into perspective. The most loving parents commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force one to destroy the person they really are: a subtle kind of murder. Even the most loving parents damage their children with the best intentions—to protect them, to guide them, to better them. In most cases, it would appear they do it by imprinting their own fears and prejudices on them.

The point is, parents are mere, imperfect people.

They have flaws, struggles and impaired judgement. They have both emotional and intellectual handicaps. Regardless of their parental role, they are afflicted by personal blockages and limitations.

But most of all, they are people who make mistakes, and who are terrified of being judged by their children.

Learn to see your difficult parent as just that; human. Learn to see their emotional immaturity as a type of disability.

With that in mind, you would do well to keep your expectations of them low.

In many ways the effect a difficult parent has on ones self is fueled by their feelings of injustice and the belief that things could be different, or ought to be different.

In other words, your expectations dictate how you feel.

You need to let go of your expectations and accept your parent for who they are.

You cannot expect someone with, say, a narcissistic personality, to act with empathy and kindness. No more than you can expect a scorpion not to sting.

Difficult parents are much easier to deal with when you accept that they will not change. So do not expect of them more than they are capable of, and you will not be disappointed or hurt.

Do not fall into the illusion of guilt, Catrina.” He warns. “A difficult parent loves nothing more than to make you feel like you’ve hurt them. Or, in a different scenario, like you’re a bad person if you do not do something they ask.

Do not fall for it. If they’re setting a guilt trap, calmly tell them that you do not appreciate being emotionally manipulated, and you will not tolerate it anymore.

Manipulators, and I should know, detest being called out on their dirty tricks.

If they continue to harass you, reiterate that you cannot do what they’re asking you to do this time, and you need them to respect that.

The trick is agreeing with everything they’re saying (how can they argue when you agree with them?) and re-stating your decision over and over again.

Now this part I find to be… far more easier said than done. You must let go of the need for your father's approval, Catrina. It goes without saying that every child needs and wants their parents’ approval. It is normal to want it, and it is normal to receive it.

Yet so many have to accept the fact that this is not going to happen. For whatever reason, their parent has chosen to withhold their approval. Some difficult parents do it as a form of punishment. While others hope to influence their child in the “right” direction.

Most likely, your father loves you, but they have a very warped idea of what parental love is.

In their misguided quest to make you into a version of themselves, they missed the chance to get to know you. And so they cannot appreciate you for the wonderful being that you are.”

He shrugs elegantly. “It is their loss. When you realize this and let go of the need for their approval, you will be able to start living your life in a whole new way.

When confronting your father, be direct and calm without expecting a specific response. That is the part you cannot control. The part that is within your control is letting your thoughts and feelings known, which is empowering.

Stick to the facts and use “I” statements such as, “I feel like my words do not matter to you when you constantly interrupt me” or “I feel scared and misunderstood when you yell at me”

Remember that manipulative parents are not known for their empathy. They will try to confuse you, go on the offensive, or assume the role of a victim.

Do not allow them to bully you into submission by invoking guilt or pity. State your case in a calm and polite manner, and stay cool regardless of their response.

Your goal is to be honest about your feelings, and to make it clear that you will not tolerate certain behaviors.” He softly clears his throat.

“Last but not least, an unhappy alternative is forgoing the relationship that is too harmful. I know, a parent is not someone you can so easily cut out of your life. But if all else fails and your father continues to cause you psychological harm, then this may very well need to be taken into considerable consideration; at least for the foreseeable future. Sometimes it is the only logical recourse.

A parent that is fundamentally incapable of showing love and support, unable to see the error of their ways after numerous attempts to communicate how their behavior or words affect you, consistently dismissive, demeaning or critical, manipulative in a habitual manner, punishing and cruel whenever you disobey, are disrespectful of your boundaries and using threats and intimidation to get what they want is a destructive force that will continue to tear you down until you put a stop to it.

It is not an easy feat, my dear. The parent-child bond is hardwired into the brain, which means children get attached to even the most awful of parents.

But consider the cost of having that toxic relationship in your life—stress breeds anxiety, depression, internalized feelings of inadequacy, and failed personal relationships.

I wish you all the best, Catrina. I truly do.”

[miraculouscontent]

(Shanghai-related asks)

.

Anonymous said:

Did you see how, supposedly, the reason Marinette goes to Shanghai is bc Adrien is there. Because you know, that's a totally normal thing to do.

You know, there’s this suspension of disbelief where characters are allowed to do certain things that you’re like, “okay that’s not realistic but it’s fun so I don’t mind.”

Yeah, this is not fun.

Anonymous said:

Based on the new trailer for the Shanghai special, one of my biggest fears is that we won't see Marinette interacting with Sabine's family outside of Uncle Wang, even Sabine is nowhere to be seen in the trailer, please ZAG at least give us one of Sabine's parents, we're starving

I’m still rolling my eyes that there’s not one piece of dialog with Sabine talking about stuff related to her family, though her cheongsam is also flipped so--

Anonymous said:

Synopsis for the Shanghai Special: To join Adrien in Shanghai, Marinette is going to visit her uncle Wang who is celebrating his anniversary. But, as soon as she arrives in China, her purse gets stolen with Tikki inside, whom she needs to secretly transform into Ladybug! Without money and alone in the immense city, Marinette accepts the help of a young and resourceful girl, Fei. The two girls will ally and discover the existence of a new magical jewel, the Prodigious. Hawk Moth, also also present in Shanghai, seeks to finding it since a long time... Yea, cause Marinette still hasn’t suffered enough :p

mAriNEtTe mAkeS a mIsTakE iN eVeRY sToRY

Anonymous said:

As someone of Chinese descent, I felt extremely bothered by how miniscule the boy's , the one on the right (?) taking a picture with Adrien, eyes were when I saw the Shanghai trailer. It feels extremely... stereotypical? Not sure if that's the right word. I mean, he could just be squinting, but it still bothers me. Especially if that's their normal eye shape.

I heard similar complaints when Kagami arrived. They really stress the eye shape when it comes to someone full-on Asian (and if you’re half-Asian then you get wholly round eyes which makes no sense). It also gets weird because I feel like we have characters in the show who could pass for Asian (Mireille at least has the proper eye shape without it being over-exaggerated; I don’t remember if her skin tone is correct or not), but when characters are actually Asian, it’s usually taken to the exaggeration.

My sympathy goes out to everyone of Chinese descent who’s going to have to deal with the special. I’m literally a mish-mash of whiteness (American, French, and German) but even I know it must suck.

Anonymous said:

im tempted to watch the Shanghi special with my family, we're part chinese and have been to shanghi a few times. Then we can laugh and yell at it together, no need for show context

omg

As long as you have fun! Give it a good roast for me!

Anonymous said:

Excuse my french (pun intended) but

WHAT EVER LOVING HELL HAPPEN TO THE SPECIAL!!

Marketing.

Also the writers wanting to make sure you don’t forget that Adrien is a guy who exists.

Anonymous said:

Hi, Clarity! If you don't mind me asking, do you have any thoughts on the upcoming Shanghai special based on the information and trailers we have?

When I found out that Marinette was spending time with her great-uncle Wang, I was so excited. I was hoping that this special will be a breath of fresh air and spontaneously focus just on Marinette and her family for once. Maybe we'd explore Marinette's Chinese heritiage and learn more about her mother, Sabine and extended maternal family.

Then I saw Gabriel in which I eye-rolled 180* like any degree of character development. Like... great... more needless Miraculous lore/exposition. (Can we even call it exposition? I doubt any of the Miraculous-related events will be referenced within the show.) Whilst Miraculous lore is great and does expand our knowledge on the Miraculous, it steals any individual focus that Marinette could potentially have. It also tends to "hands everything" to Hawk Moth, who gets almost everything done his way without him even trying. Hmm, I guess as Shadow Moth, he won't have to use Mayura as his catslyst anymore. He'll have to ruffle his own feathers. (I don't know why I'm making a bird joke about Gabriel here. I hate him snd I couldn't care less about him.)

Also by reading the special's synopsis, it mentions that Adrien and Gabriel go to China for an unknown reason (maybe business related.) So Marinette decides to go to spend time with him (also spend time with Wang concurrently.) This might be a minor issue but I don't want Adrien to always be the centre focus of Marinette's motivations/desires. (He isn't always but I feel he is more than he should be.) Let our beautiful amazing girl just have an amazing time with her family in China. The writers need to stop Adrien being an integral part of Marinette's character. This special should be about Marinette (along with her family) and them solely.

Moreover, I'm worried that Marinette will imminently be embarassed/scolded/humiliated in some way. The synopsis mentions that she loses her bag (that contains Tikki.) Inevitably, she's going to be scolded for this for not being careful. The writers will blame her for the destruction that Hawk Moth will cause and not the actual man terrorising Shanghai himself. And no needless lovesquare drama please. If I'm not interested in it in Paris, don't think I'll be interested in it in Shanghai. And please do not let it be used to cause Mari/LB to suffer. Romance (no matter how contrived it is in this show) should be about finding joy and happiness. It should never intentionally be a burden for anybody, especially if it's for comedic purposes. Why am I worried that CN will yell at LB this time?

Maybe I'm just being pessimistic. I hope that the writers actually have them communicate properly about this time. Like they should both be honest (an important aspect of healthy relationships), to build clarity and to avoid confusion. Like the needless drama in NY could have been avoided if Adrien didn't ignore Ladybug and actually TRUSTED her by telling her the truth about him going somewhere instead of complacently lying to her, then losing her trust. Both could have told each other that they are going to NY "for personal reasons" without giving too much detail. To prevent suspicion, the writers could have included the American superheroes hosting an event inviting them or asking for their help to defeat that Micromonster guy. LB and CN could have both then collectively made a decision that if anything were to go wrong in Paris, they could quickly use the Horse Miraculous to transport to France in time (like Marinette was advised to do in "Startrain") or use the Rabbit Miraculous to travel back in time/manipulate events. There was no need to make Marinette suffer for the sake of needless lovesquare drama.

However, I love the animation for the special. It is mesmerising and beauitful and the graphics look superb. The atmosphere looks so clean and the nature-aspects (Hawk Moth's hideout) are intricately detailed. The lighting also complements the charactrrs and the settings' colours. A huge round of applause to SAMG for their excellant hardwork for animating this special despite the pandemic!

If you have any worries about the special, free free to do so! I want to conclude my message by thanking you so much for being such a lovely, kind, confident and resilient person. You always confidently express your opinions and strcture your essays clearly and legibly. I always look forward to reading your posts. I know I can always count on you to express our frustrations with the show's writing on our behalf and speak up for Marinette's mistreatment and inustice! 😊

Firstly, thank you! I gotta defend Marinette because we know the show won’t!

Anyway, I agree with basically everything you said. My biggest comments on it are like--

- I’m already tired of places just being used as set pieces for specials. I actually have a history of disliking specials/movies for shows because its purposes is usually just to get people hyped up, but that means big plots with big stakes and I end up thinking, “okay, but why can’t we have that in the show?” That’s always the issue I take with it; movies/specials prove that they can come up with high stakes plots, but we can’t have equivalents in the show because...?

- I officially tune out now anytime Marinette’s crush on Adrien is mentioned. It gets tiring and it just makes me feel bad for her and simultaneously angry at the writers for treating her this way. Add that onto the “Marinette always makes mistakes” rule and it’s clear that they’re creatively bankrupt and needlessly restrict themselves for the sake of making Marinette suffer. I’m just insulted that Gabriel is going to Shanghai for his fashion business but Marinette being into fashion is ignored.

- The animation is nice but whenever I see it, I’m reminded that we couldn’t have much SAMG in Season 4+5 because they were busy working on the special. The show should always take priority over some lame special/movies. I won’t judge the special for it but I’m salty about it regardless.

[mahvaladara]

For the OC questions (Sorry for being so late, been a busy.. gaming wise, weekend!) 90-100 for Mal 1-10 for Annika 20-30 for Maeve 40-50 for a teenage Syra perhaps?

[Ga]Mal[l] Sullyvan

90. What is their occupation?

Gamall is a full-time Wanderer, which is a type of Valasyr who specializes in wandering between cities, countries, planets, and even universes seeking to harness as much knowledge and power as possible. They are also often called knowledge and power devourers.

Currently, Gamall is a full-time Biologist and freelance Gardener.

91. Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them?

Depends. His family respects him dearly. From where he came he was respected out of utter fear. But those days are in the past and he is living a new life and earning respect by hard labor.

92. If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say?

Gamall once was in this position, and he had wanted back then to see his former wife Caitlyn and former son Seimei before disappearing. He went and got a few last minutes with them, but he didn't die. He wished he did. For time came to claim Caitlyn eventually, and as for Seimei, he killed the boy when he came seeking "revenge" for the death of his father.

He now has come to the conclusion that if death ever comes for him, it's not like he can prepare for it. So he lives every day as if he only had minutes to live, seeking to amass as much fulfillment as he can, rather by the form of material goods, personal knowledge, spiritual power, hedonistic pleasure, or life experiences.

93. How do they deal with stress?

Gamall is already quite the shittalker and blabbermouth, but when under stress that becomes worse. But he is paradoxal and it mostly depends on the type of stress, it can either be met with agression or silence and either of the two are always foreboding.

94. Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type?

Versatile personality. Gamall adapts well to the people around him, but he is not a pushover and he despises whoever tries to dominate him by force. He does enjoys playing the sub as much as the dom and though Gamall can actually be very manipulative, it is not on his interests to dominate or command others, usually his manipulation only working to make sure people don't bother him.

95. Do they have a pet?

Currently no. But they'll have a lot of chickens and a lot of cows.

Gamall used to have a horse called Eggplant, but there's a running gag that if he gets a horse it'll die, so... yea, that happened.

96. Do they have a stash of weapons?

Pffft. They don't exactly need too, they can kill you with their mind alone, but this is the type of asshole who will kill you with a duck if you tell him he can't.

97. Where do they live? Who do they live with?

The farmlands. Gamall isn't keen on big cities or places with a lot of people around because it usually means trouble and pain for him and he'd rather not.

98. How do they calm themselves down?

Depends. He has found out that addressing a fireball to whom it may concern is a great way to calm down, but he can't exactly commit capital murder everytime someone annoys him. Gardening currently has been providing him a lot of calm and quiet he needs.

99. Are they co-dependent?

No.

100. Are they a day, or night person?

Night person, it helps that he doesn't need sleep.

1. How do they present themselves to others?

Anika comes off as a smart, kind and fun girl, your level-headed rich girl who's always had everything she needed.

To her dad however, she's a rebelious teenager finally breaking free from a sheltered and controled life. She is finally learning magic rather he wants her to or not and continuing on his footsteps trying to find a way to return Apollo's heart and find a way to save Arlo.

2. Do they like animals?

Yes. Anika had a cat as a child, but due to her mother's illness she had to give away the cat. After her mother passed away, Anika and Apollo adopted a dog. Anika ended up being the one to keep the dog, since Arlo hurt their dog when they tried to take it to Apollo's home.

3. How do they dress?

Anika dresses in a very sporty rich way. She prefers wearing high end sports clothes, leggings, crop tops and track suits, anything she can move well in and exercise in. Sometimes she pairs them with fishnets and accessories that give her a more sporty witch feel.

4. How many languages do they know?

Anika speaks english and spanish.

5. How big is their family?

Currently it's just her and her father. Her mother used to be around but she was killed by an unknown dragon who her father refuses to name.

6. What is their purpose in the story?

Anika is Apollo's best friend and girlfriend, she is also a witch and a dragon hunter, who is currently aiding Apollo in finding a cure for Arlo's rot the same way her father before sought her mothers. After her mother's death, Anika decided she had a duty to Apollo to help him save her brother, as it was Anika who lured Arlo to the trap.

7. Do they know how to fight?

Anika is petite, but Anika can kick your ass. Her father taught her kickboxing.

8. What is their back story?

Anika is the only daughter of Isaiah and Melantha Lorenn, she moved with her father to Windenburg when he was offered a position as a principle at the school. She lived a pretty uneventful life despite her father's side work as a dragon hunter and spellcaster. Anika herself was a powerful spellcaster but her father kept her away from the major things he was doing. Eventually, Anika fell to a trick to capture the two child dragons, her best friend Apollo and Arlo.

9. Why is their name, their name?

I really liked the sound of Anika, and since Isaiah and Melantha also had unique names, I wanted Anika to have a name that would feel like she's a girl born into the 1%.

10. Do they have any nick names?

Ani, by Apollo, Queen B(itch) by Arlo. Princess by many of her school peers.

20. What do they look like?

See thee above.

21. What are their hobbies?

Maeve's hobbies include watching football and baseball games, writting research law papers, cooking and working out.

22. What are their ticks?

Their what?

23. Do they like children?

Maeve has five children, her eldest twins Arlo and Apollo, her middle daughter, Syracusia, and her youngest twins Talia and Dimitri.

24. How do they react to being around wild animals?

Maeve is pretty brave and adventurous but as most people she tends to avoid wild foxes and other animals.

25. If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work?

It would be Mal and it would be the yelling "I feel good!" prank when he was busy spraying bugs, doing the laundry or when he's vacumming.

26. Do they have any survival skills?

Yes, she can pitch a tent, filter water and cook most wilderness food. She also knows how to hunt, since her father enjoyed hunting pigeons, ducks and rabbits. She knows how to make a snare trap.

27. Are they more book smart or street smart?

50/50. She's very book smart when it comes to education and law, but has a lot of street smart when dealing with her clients, and the cases she has. She knows what the jury are more likely to simpathise with and usually builds her case defense around this.

28. How do they get out of a difficult situation?

Usually by trying to solve it. If she can't solve it, she asks for help, but she is not one to run away from a situation.

29. Do they use their body, mind, personality or force to get what they want?

Personality and smarts.

30. What music do they enjoy?

Maeve enjoys rock, old school rock and roll.

40. How do they become who they are?

Syra is the lucky three. She has a very calm and uneventfull life despite what luck befalls are siblings, and she is lucky to get two younger siblings, so she never got very cotroling parents breathing over her shoulder, so she was allowed to be herself. She has a very supporting father in Mal, who supports her every decision, and a big brother who loves her and whenever he is well, Arlo will go with her to do whatever she wants.

41. How was their childhood?

She had a happy childhood. Though they moved when she was a kid, she was young enough for it to not cause a negative impact on her growing up. At the contrary of her older siblings, Syra wasn't forced to go to a private school, and being in public school allowed her to be a regular girl without the pressure of being examplar.

42. Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over?

One of her friends is a mooch, who's only around her to get good grades and to steal her stuff, she doesn't know this yet.

43.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all?

Syra adapts pretty well to her surroundings and situations. She's a versatile girl who knows she has parents and siblings who will help her if she needs.

44. How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot heated, vulgar

Syra is soft spoken, quiet and calm.

45. Are they opposed to violence?

Very much. Syra grew up watching her two older brothers getting into very violent altercations, especially when Arlo was feeling well. She usually would get in the middle of the two. She now knows why they'd fight.

46. When is their birthday?

Syra was born in Autumn, I think.

47. Are they quick to judge?

Not really. Syra is very empathetic.

48. Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others?

No.

49. Do they act different around different people?

No.

50.Do they enjoy the arts?

Syra enjoys theater, film and music.

[witchbitchheadedtoaditch]

Ptahhotep's Maxims

Ptahhotep's Maxims are indisputably one of the most influential works of Egyptian literature that still survives today. It is a large part of our Maatian ideals and our sociocultural understandings of Maat and Kemeticism as a whole.

These Maxims, as most commonly translated, are listed below. I'll write my interpretations and other interpretations specifically in later posts :)

Do not be haughty because of your knowledge, but take counsel with the unlearned man as well as with the learned, for no one has ever attained perfection of competence, and there is no craftsman who has acquired full mastery. Good advice is rarer than emeralds, but yet it may be found even among children* at the grindstones. *the most common translation is "women," but I have also seen girls or children. I use children because it makes the most sense to me, personally.

If you come up against an aggressive adversary in court, one who has influence and is more excellent than you, lower your arms and bend your back, for if you stand up to him, he will not give in to you. You should disparage his belligerent speech by not opposing him in his vehemence. The result will be that he is called boorish, and your control of temper will have equaled his babble.

If you come up against an aggressive adversary, your equal, one who is of your own social standing, you will prove yourself more upright than he by remaining silent while he speaks vengefully. The deliberation by the judges will be somber, but your name will be vindicated in the decision of the magistrates.

If you come up against an aggressive adversary, a man of low standing, one who is not your equal, do not assail him in accordance with his lowly estate. Leave him be, and he will confound himself. Do not answer him in order to vent your frustration; do not alleviate your anger at the expense of your adversary. Wretched is he who persecutes the inept. Things will turn out in accordance with your will, and you will defeat him through the censure of the magistrates.

If you are a ruler responsible for the concerns of the populace, search for every opportunity to do good, so that there may be no shortcoming in your actions. Great is Maat, and its foundation is firmly established; it has not been shaken since the time of Osiris, and he who violates the law must be punished. In the eyes of a covetous man it goes unnoticed that wealth can be lost through dishonesty, and that wrongdoing does not result in success. He says "I will procure wealth for myself." He does not say "I will procure wealth through my diligence." But in the long run it is Maat which endures, and an honest man may state: "This is my ancestral property."

Do not stir up fear in people, or the Gods will punish in equal measure. And a man may live thereby, but he will eventually be lacking in bread for his mouth. A man may decide to become rich, and he may say, "I will snatch for myself whatever I see." A man may decide to cheat another, but he will end up by giving his gains to a total stranger. It is not what men devise that comes to pass, but what the Gods determine comes to pass. Live, therefore, contentedly, and let what they give come of its own accord.

If you should be one of those sitting as guests at the table of someone who is greater than you, accept what he serves when it is placed in front of you. Look only at what is right in front of you, and do not stare at him constantly, for to force yourself upon him is an irritation to his spirit. Do not speak to him until he invites you to do so, for one never knows what may be annoying. You should speak only when he addresses you, and then what you say will be of interest. You should laugh only when he laughs, and this will be very pleasant to his heart. As for a nobleman when he is at the table, his demeanor is determined by his mood. He will be generous to the one whom he favor, for such is the way once night has come. It is his mood which prompts him to be generous; a nobleman may give, but an ordinary man should not presume upon him. The eating of bread is under the governance of the Gods, and it is only a churl who complains about it.

If you are a man entrusted with responsibility, one whom one nobleman sends to another, be meticulous in your duty when he sends you, and deliver his message exactly as he dictates it. Resist doing anything offensive by making a comment which could cause one nobleman to be annoyed with the other. Observe the truth; do not surpass it, although one should not repeat an angry speech. Do not speak against any person, be he great or small, for this serves only to arouse the temper.

If you engage in agriculture, and your field prospers, and the Gods cause it to increase under your hand, do not talk about it incessantly around your neighborhood, for it is important that one should practice with discretion appropriate to the prudent man. It is the man of integrity who is the possessor of true wealth, and in the court he conquers like a crocodile. Do not praise him who has no children, neither speak ill nor boast about it, for it is common that a father may be in misery, and as for a mother who has given birth, another may be happier than she. It is the lone man of whom the Gods take care, and the head of the family may pray for someone to succeed him.

If you are humble and the servant of a well-to-do man, let all your behavior be flawless before the Gods. If you should learn that he was once of low estate, do not be disdainful toward him because you have learned about his past. Respect him in accordance with what he has made of himself, for wealth does not come of its own accord, but it is the ordinance of the Gods for one whom they favor. As for his possessions, he has gathered them himself, but it is the Gods who have made him respectable and watch over him even when he sleeps.

Follow your heart as long as you live, and do not work beyond what is allocated to you, do not waste the time of following the heart, for wasting time is an annoyance of the spirit. Do not lose the hours of daylight beyond what is necessary for keeping your household in order. When wealth has been amassed, follow your heart, for wealth brings no advantage when it is a burden.

If you are a well-to-do man and beget a son who pleases the Gods: if he is upright and follows your disposition, if he listens to your teachings, if his conduct is worthy within your household, and if he manages your property well, then do every good thing for him, for he is your son, begotten of your very being; do not withhold your love from him. But one's offspring may cause grief; if he goes wrong and disregards your counsel, if he does not do as you instruct him but disobeys everything said to him, if his mouth prattles on with vile talk, then reject him, for he is not your son, and for certain he was not born to you. Punish him for all his talk, for he who has extended his arm against you is hateful to the Gods. Surely evil was fated for him from the womb, for he whom the Gods guide is one who cannot err, and he whom they leave stranded is unable to cross the river.

If you are in the audience chamber, stand and sit in accordance with your position which was given to you on the first day. Do not exceed your duty, for it will result in your being turned back. Be attentive to him who enters bearing a report, for he who has been summoned has complete freedom. The audience chamber tends towards strict etiquette, and all its affairs follow specific rules of conduct. It is the Gods who promote one's position, and that men should force their way is not done.

If you are with the people, gain for yourself supporters who are trustworthy. One who is trustworthy is one who will not spread talk around the community; he will himself become an official and a man of means due to his good performance. As for your good reputation, you should not talk about it; provide for your body, but turn your attention toward the people, and men will boast on your behalf without you being aware of it. But as for him whose heart obeys his stomach, he invites scorn for himself instead of respect. His heart is morose and his body wretched. Great of heart are those whom the Gods have established, but he who listens to his stomach is his own worst enemy.

State your business without concealing anything, proffer your opinion in the council of your lord. If he can speak fluently and easily, it will not be difficult for an agent to give his account, and no one will answer, 'what does he know of it?' Even an official whose property has fared poorly, if he thinks about reproaching him concerning it, will be silent saying only, 'I have no comment'.

If you are a leader, take responsibility in the matters entrusted to you, and you will accomplish things of note. But think on the days which are still to come, lest some misdeed should arise to destroy your favorable position, for an occasion of hatred is like the entrance of a crocodile.

If you are a man of authority, be patient when you are listening to the words of a petitioner; do not dismiss him until he has completely unburdened himself of what he has planned to say to you. A man who has been wronged desires to express his frustrations even more than the accomplishment of the justice for which he came; but concerning him who dismisses petitions men say, 'Why ever did he reject it?' Not everything about which he has petitioned will be done, but a sympathetic hearing is a means of calming the heart.

If you desire that friendship should endure in a house which you enter as a lord, as a brother, or as a friend: in any place which you enter, avoid approaching the women, for there is nothing good in any situation where such is done. It is never prudent to become overtly familiar with them, for countless men have thus been diverted from their own interests. One may be deceived by an exquisite body, but then it suddenly turns to misery. All it takes is a trifling moment like a dream, and one comes to destruction through having known them. Pricking the jealousy of a rival is a nasty piece of business; a man may perish because of so doing, if the heart becomes ensnared. As for him who is ruined through becoming embroiled with them, no venture will ever be successful in his hand.

If you desire that your way of life be blameless, keep yourself far from every evil. Guard yourself against the blemish of greediness, for it is a grave affliction of an incurable disease, and those who fall into it cannot recover. It creates dissention among fathers, mothers, and maternal brothers; it embitters beloved friends; it alienates a trustworthy man from his lord; it isolates a wife from her husband. It is an embracing of every evil; it is a combining of everything which is hateful. The man will endure who is meticulous in uprightness and who walks in accordance with his proper station; he will make a testament thereby; but for the greedy there will be no tomb.

Do not be selfish in the division of an estate by lusting for more than your rightful share. Do not be selfish with respect to your relatives, for greater is the claim of the good-natured man than that of the assertive. He who forsakes his relatives is truly poor, for he lacks the compassion to respond to their entreaties. Even a little of what one yearns for can calm a distressed man.

If you are well-to-do and establish your household, be gracious to your wife in accordance with what is fair. Feed her well, put clothes on her back; ointment is the balm for her body. Rejoice her heart all the days of her life, for she is a profitable field for her lord. Do not condemn her. But keep her far away from power; control her, for her eye is quick and sharp. Watch her carefully, for thus you will cause her to remain long in your house. If you are too strict with her, there will be tears. She offers sexual favors in return for her upkeep, and what she asks is that her desire be fulfilled.

Gratify your friends with what has come into your possession, for what has come to you is a boon from the Gods. As for him who fails to gratify his friends, people will say that he is a selfish individual. No one knows what will come to pass when he considers tomorrow, and the righteous individual is he by whom men are sustained. If deeds deserving of praise are done, one's friends say 'Well done!' One cannot bring satisfaction to an entire town, but one can bring happiness to friends when there is need.

Do not repeat slander, and do not listen to it, for it is but the prattling of a churlish man. Repeat only what is seen, not what is heart, or forget it and say nothing at all, for he who is listening to you can discern what is trustworthy. When taxation is ordered and carried out, there arises against the tax collector the same resentment as against the decree itself. Slander is like a nightmare; divorce yourself from it.

If you are a man of trust, one who sits in the council of his lord, direct your attention toward excellence. Your silence will be more profitable than babbling, so speak only when you know that you are qualified to do so. It is only the proficient who speak in council, for speech is more difficult than any craft, and only the competent can endow it with authority.

If you are influential, you should establish respect for yourself through knowledge and through courtesy in speech. Do not be domineering except in official matters, for the aggressive man meets with trouble. Do not be arrogant, lest you be brought low; do not be silent, but yet be cautious of causing offense when you answer a speech angrily. Turn away your face and control yourself, for the flames of the quick-tempered spread quickly; but the affable man, when offended, treads carefully. One who is dour throughout the whole day will never have a happy moment, and he who is frivolous throughout the whole day will never establish a household for himself. He who aims for full control is like the one who guides the helm at the time of landing, but another moors the boat; but he who obeys his heart will keep everything in order.

Do not attempt to upstage an important official; do not irritate one who is laden with responsibility, for it may happen that he will be annoyed at the one who opposes him, while his mood will be lightened by one who is loyal to him. He and the Gods are the ones who bestow favors, and what he wishes is what should be done for him. His face will be kindly toward you even after anger, and your well-being depends on his mood. There is hostility with an enemy, but it is good will which increases favor.

Inform an official of what is beneficial to him, and see to it that he is accepted by the people. Cause his wisdom to be recognized by his lord, and there will be an abundance for you from his generosity. A person of good disposition is for your good, for your back will be clothed by it. His approval will be upon you for the support of your household under your noble master to whom you are loyal. Support him thus, and he will also provide excellent support for you. Moreover, affection for you will endure in the hearts of those who respect you. Behold, he who is gracious to listen is highly esteemed.

If you should function as a noble official of the court, appointed to settle disputes among the populace, nurture in yourself ignorance of partiality. When you speak, do not incline toward one side. Be careful lest someone voice his opinion to the magistrates: 'He turns the matter upside down.' Then your action will turn into censure of yourself.

If you feel merciful concerning a misdeed which has happened and feel favorable toward someone because of his honesty, pass over it and do not recall it, since he was silent before you from the very first.

If you are wealthy after having been destitute, and have amassed riches after poverty in a town where people know about you, do not boast of what has come to you in the past, and do not be too confident in your possessions which have come to you as gifts of the Gods. Thus you will not lag behind another like you to whom the same thing has happened.

Bow respectfully to him who is superior to you, your senior from the royal palace, then your household will be firm in its possessions, and your rewards will come at their proper time. But wretched is he who opposes a superior, for one enjoys life only during the time when he is kindly disposed, and the arm bared to salute him will not break. Do not despoil the house of neighbors, do not steal the property of one who is close to you, lest he complain against you until you be brought to trial. A plaintiff is lacking in compassion, and if he learns of it, he will prosecute. Wretched is he who stirs up adversity in his own neighborhood.

Do not fornicate with an effeminate boy. Be well assured that such debasement will only arouse his lust, and the desire which is in his body will not be cooled. Let darkness never come for the performance of such lewdness, so that he may be quiet after he has satisfied his desire.

If you are investigating the character of a colleague, do not make inquiry of someone who is close to him. Conduct your business with him alone until you are no more ambiguous about his personality. After a while you will become familiar with him. Examine his heart at the time of speaking with him. If he talks too freely about what he has seen, or if he does something at which you are taken aback, nevertheless be amiable with him and remain silent. Do not turn your face away from him, but be cautious about revealing anything to him. Do not answer him with an act of hostility, do not withdraw from him, and do not assail him. He will eventually get what he deserves, for there is no escape for anyone from him who has determined his fate.

Be generous as long as you live, for what goes out from the storehouse does not go back in, and men are eager for bread which is freely given. He whose stomach is empty is an accuser, and such an opponent becomes a bringer of woe; do not make of him a friend. Compassion is a man's monument throughout the years which follow his tenure of office.

Acknowledge your assistants when you have wealth, and do not be of mean disposition toward your friends. Such is like a riverbank which floods; it is greater than one's wealth. The property of one man may pass to another, but the integrity of a gentleman is always beneficial to him, and a good character will be his monument.

Punish soundly and reprimand thoroughly, for the restraint of evil will reinforce morality. As for a court case which is not concerned with criminal action, let him who has the complaint act as prosecutor.

If you take to wife one who is silly and frivolous, of light-hearted disposition, and known to her townsmen, she may continue in her ways when at any moment it strikes her fancy. Do not send her away, but allow her to eat from your table. A light-hearted woman at least provides amusement.

If you give heed to these things which I have spoken to you, all your affairs will be successful. If their truth is effected, this will be proof of their worth, and the remembrance of them will continue on in the speech of men because of the goodness of their percepts. Men will cling to every word, and they will never perish in this land for ever. They have been recorded and spoken for good, and noblemen will utter decrees in accordance with them. This treatise is a means of teaching a man to speak to posterity. Let him who would be a recognized authority give heed to it. It is good to speak to posterity, and it is the duty of posterity to give heed to it. If a noble action is done by one who is in authority, he will be of good reputation for ever, and all his wisdom will be for everlasting. The learned man takes care of his ba by assuring that it will be content with him on earth. The learned man can be recognized by what he has learned, and the nobleman by his good actions; his heart controls his tongue, and precise are his lips when he speaks. His eyes see, and his ears are pleased through hearing of the repute of his son who acts in accordance with Maat and who is free from falsehood.

Hearing is beneficial to a son who willingly hears, for when what is heard takes root in the hearer, he who has heard will become one worthy himself of being heard. It is good to hear and it is good to speak, but he who can hear possesses what is advantageous. Hearing is beneficial to the hearer; hearing is better than everything, for through it good affection comes into being. How good it is that a son should accept what his father says, for ripe old age will come upon him thereby. He who listens is favored of the Gods, but he who is hated of the Gods does not listen. It is the heart which causes its possessor to be one who hears or who does not hear. The 'life, prosperity, and health' of a man are his heart. A hearer is one who gives heed to what is said, and he who is willing to listen is one who does what has been said. How good it is when a son heeds his father, and how joyful is he by whom it may be said: 'My son is pleasing, for he is skilled in obedience.' As for him who heeds what is said to him, he will be self-sufficient and respected by his father; he will be remembered in the mouths of the living, both those who are on the earth and those who will be.

If a nobleman takes to heart what is said by his father, never will fail any endeavor of his. Educate your son as a listener, one who will be esteemed in the hearts of the nobles, one who guides his speech in accordance with what is said to him, one who acknowledges him who is to be obeyed. It is such a son who is superior and whose actions are distinguished, but error is ingrained into him who does not listen. The education of a wise man leads to his success, but as for the fool, he will labor in vain.

As for the fool who will not listen, he never accomplishes anything, for he discerns knowledge in ignorance and something beneficial in that which is baneful. He does everything that is loathsome, so that men are furious with him day after day. He thrives on that whereby others die, and the falsification of speech is his food and drink. His disposition is known to authorities; he is a picture of living death day after day. Men disregard his stupid deeds because of the many griefs which fall upon him every day.

A son who listens is a true follower of Horus, for his fortune is good because he has listened. He will attain ripe old age and will be honored, and he will speak likewise to his own children, handing on the instruction of his father, for every man teachings according as he acts. He will converse in the presence of his children, and they in turn will speak to their children. Build their character, do not instill in them anything offensive. Strengthen Maat, and your children will live. As for the first one who succumbs to evil, men will gossip about what they have seen, for such is the way of the world; and they will gossip about what they hear, for such is also the way of the world. Take heed of everyone, and try to keep people quiet; wealth does not amount to much otherwise.

Do not say something and then go back on it; do not put one thing in the place of another. Beware of relaxing self-restraint within yourself; give way to the speech of a wise man, and listen well, if you wish to be secure in the speech of those who hear when you speak. First attain to the status of an expert, and then you will be able to speak with complete success, and your every undertaking will be in order.

Suppress your impulses and control your mouth, and then your advice will be welcomed by the officials. Be totally precise to your master; behave so that men say to him, 'He is the son of so-and-so,' and that those who hear it may say, 'Fortunate is he who begat him.' Be painstaking all the time that you are speaking, so that you may say things of importance. Then the officials who are listening will say: 'How excellent are the words of his mouth!'

Behave so that your master may say of you, 'How well he was brought up by his father by whom he was begotten of his body. Surely he spoke to him while he was still completely within the womb, for what he has accomplished is more than what he was told.' Behold, a good son who is given by the Gods is one who exceeds what was told him by his master. He will perform Maat, for his heart will have controlled his actions.

[drwcn]

Discordance!verse part 2: there are consequence to loving someone you shouldn’t. 

in which wwx is lxc’s husband through political alliance, and there is an affair. 

[8] | [7] | [6] | [5] | [4] | [3] | [2] | [1] [synopsis]

Objectively, massacre was not the correct term to describe the sight before him, but it was the only word that came to mind as Lan Wangji stepped dazedly across the threshold into the courtyard of Songfeng Shuiyue Pavilion.

At some point during the hour before Nie Huaisang arrived and broke him out of jingshi, it had begun to rain. 

The swoosh of the discipline whip being wrought through the air howled louder than the easterly wind, and like lightning it came shooting down, delivered with a thunderous crack as it made contact with a young man’s back. 

Two ninety nine. 

Technically I’m your brother too now... Let’s be friends!

But there was no light, no brief moment of wonder in the aftermath, just the echo of a sickening splatter. The cotton under-robe between whip and skin, once pristine white, had been reduced to strips and tatters. Drenched red, it was nearly indistinguishable from the raw overturned flesh.

“Er-gongzi!”

We can’t - I can’t... I’m your, we’re - Lan Zhan, mm, Lan Zhan please - 

In the periphery of his awareness, Lan Wangji heard disciples yelling his name, ghostly hands pulling at him from all directions, but it was beyond his capacity to heed those warnings now. Transfixed, he gravitated towards the man under the whip, who made not a sound even as his body convulsed with every merciless stroke. 

Three hundred.

I’m not afraid. The future doesn’t frighten me. I have you. Nothing else matters.  

Wei Wuxian laid face down along the surface of a flat long bench, stripped of his outer robes and deprived of his guan. His hair, swept over one shoulder, dipped into a puddle of rain water, cloudy and pink from the blood that dripped down his chin. 

Inside the dry refuge of the pavilion hall, Uncle and the Elders sat in witness. No one showed any inclination to stop this insanity.

Three hundred and one. 

Don’t panic, let’s not panic. We will explain ourselves. Everything is going to be fine. Lan Zhan, look at me, do you trust me? 

As he drew close enough, Lan Wangji saw the thick strip of leather clenched between Wei Wuxian’s teeth and bound back at the base of his skull. But it was hardly the gag that kept him silent - Wei Ying was barely conscious. 

There was water running down Lan Wangji’s face. Whether it was rain or tears, only the gods knew.  

The whip sailed through air again, cutting off raindrops in their paths, but -

Clang! 

Nie Huaisang’s saber swung into the disciplinary weapon, knocking it out of the hands of the disciple.   

“LAN WANGJI!” 

I’m not afraid. 

I have you. 

I have you.

You do have me.

That single thought thrust him back into the present, freed from that far away place suffocating him inside a thick fog of utter hopelessness. 

“You cannot wield my saber. Your meridians are locked. Your core is muted. But take it anyway. At the least, it’ll intimidate. But remember, if you really try to use it without spiritual energy, it will damage you.” 

So be it. 

The rain pelted down around them, and Lan Wangji found himself surrounded by eight senior disciples pointing their swords at him and at the saber in his hand. Without his cultivation, the early spring downpour felt like ice against his skin, and Qinghe’s first class spiritual weapon weighed more than gold. 

"Lan Wangji! Remember yourself!" 

His uncle had stepped out under the eave, along with five other Elders. 

“Stop this.” Lan Zhan demanded, as if he had any rights to make demands. As if he hadn’t been defiling the sanctity of his brother’s marriage behind his brother’s back, as if he hadn’t broken the trust of the one person who had always, always been there for him. 

His uncle was so angry he couldn’t speak, but Elder Zonghui beside him, the most senior and respected of the thirty-three did not have such a reactive temper. 

“Put down the saber, Wangji. Your sense of righteousness is misplaced. Nothing is happening here that isn’t deserved and agreed upon.” 

“Agreed upon by whom?” Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, seething. 

“By all parties involved, of course. Requested even,” said Lan Zonghui, his unaffectedness towards the violence being committed before his very eyes chilled Lan Wangji to the core.  

“Wei Ying requested to be whipped three hundred times?!”

“Four hundred times,” corrected Lan Qiren, cutting into the conversation. “Your actions have violated a dozen precepts of our clan, but for the four most salient transgressions we issued fifty lashes each, totaling two hundred. As you are both participants, you were both to receive them, but Wei Wuxian offered to bear the entirety of the punishment.”

At his uncle’s words, the pain that tore through Lan Wangji was akin to being gutted by his own Bichen. 

“Take Lan-er-gongzi back to his room. He is not in his right mind."

“Do not move!” Lan Wangji commanded, as loud as his nature allowed. “I am not leaving without Wei Ying.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Nhn....” 

Wei Wuxian clung perilously to the edge of consciousness and pleaded at him through hooded feverish eyes. From where he clutched at the front edge of the bench, a trembling hand reached out and tugged on Lan Wangji’s robes. 

Just like that, like a taut string on his guqin plucked with a force too great, the tension inside him snapped, and all the fight that kept him going melted from his bones. Lan Wangji lowered his arm. Qinghe’s saber slipped from his grip and landed on the ground with a splash. 

“Wei Ying...” He fell to knee, uncaring of the eyes judging them as he smoothed back Wei Wuxian’s wet, matted hair and caressed his face, undoing the gag in the process. 

The rain had stopped, but Lan Wangji continued to cry. “Why...”  

Wei Wuxian reached for his cheek, brushing the teardrop collecting at the groove of his nose with his thumb. He smiled, a chasm of crimson red. 

"Lan Zhan...”

“I’m here, I’m here. You have me.” 

“No, no...shouldn’t be here.” Wei Wuxian shoved at him weakly. “My penance... I deserve it." 

But Lan Wangji could not stand another second listening to such words, such lies. He removed his outer robe and laid it across Wei Wuxian’s ruined back. Then, as carefully as he could, he rolled the other man over and into his gentle embrace. 

Strengthened by resolve, he turned to the mixture of faces that watched him with anger, mortification, and disgust, and said, “It takes two for a sin like this. If Wei Ying is culpable then so am I.”

"No.” gasped Wei Wuxian, struggling in protest. “Go, go -” 

“Three hundred and one. There are still ninety nine lashes left, aren’t there? I am here, and I submit before the ruling of the Elders and the Lan family precepts.” 

His Uncle shook his head, sweeping back his sleeve and sighed long and loud, as though all his anger had been defeated by a sense of profound disappointment and resignation. 

Lan Zonghui stepped forth, down the steps towards them. His eyes cut like frozen glass as he examined the spectacle. 

"Even your mother knew decorum,” he said, glancing from Lan Wangji kneeling the on wet ground to Wei Wuxian cradled against him. His gaze lingered there. “Or, perhaps not. The fruit does not often fall far.”  

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if Zonghui had meant his mother the murderess, or Cangse Sanren the sectless wanderer, but in his arms, Wei Ying seemed to hear the connotation behind those callous words. He took shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and turned his face into Lan Zhan’s chest.

The fist that grasped at the front of his lapel trembled, tight knuckles blanched as white as his robes. 

Lan Wangji felt ill. What could Elder Zonghui have possibly insinuated for Wei Ying to hide himself away like this? As if what was said was too cruel for him to brave, as if the three hundred or so lashes he endured were nothing compared to this carefully chosen insult. 

“Words are unnecessary. You know what you know. We have nothing further to say.” Lan Wangji curled around Wei Wuxian, covering him as much as he could. 

“I’ll take the whip.”

“Your meridians are locked,” countered his uncle, a trace of worry lacing his tone. 

But Lan Wangji could not be dissuaded. “The whip, if you please.” 

Too weak to protest further, Wei Wuxian stared up at him despairingly, dark doe eyes brimming with tears. He was frightened, despite having shown no signs of fear just moments ago. Releasing Lan Zhan’s robes, his cold hand curled around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing him closer. 

Lan Wangji went willingly, eyes falling shut, and let the press of their foreheads together anchor him to what was real, what was true. 

He heard the whip before he felt it, and when he did -

He always knew the discipline whips were painful. They were created for such purposes, charmed by the most clever and fickle of their spells. It did not kill, but it tortured. And now he understood. 

Excruciating. 

The pain was excruciating. 

The second hit followed soon after the first, and when the impact exploded along the column of his back, he felt Wei Ying quiver against him and heard the sob strangled in his throat. 

Lan Zhan did not envy his position, for he understood completely now that although the discipline whip hurt, it would hurt him more to know that it landed not on himself, but on the man he loved. 

The third hit never came. 

“That’s enough!” 

All eyes turned to the source of that outraged bellow, a seldom phenomenon within Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen stood under the courtyard doorway, the wind at his heels, long hair flying about him, seemingly descended from the sky. Behind him, Nie Huaisang peeked out nervously, pointing to the saber on the ground.  

“Uhm - if I could just -” 

“Xichen -” Elder Zonghui started. 

But Lan Xichen did not allow him to finish. “When has it become acceptable at Cloud Recesses to abuse the Sect Master’s heir and husband without the Sect Master’s knowledge or consent?”

He stepped up to Wangji and Wuxian and physically put himself between them and the congregation of clan elders who had all come out to greet him upon his arrival. 

Uncle sighed, for what seemed like the umpteenth time that afternoon. “This is not abuse, this is punishment.” 

“Oh?” Lan Xichen tilted his head, eyebrows rising innocuously. “For their sexual relations, I assume?”  

This was perhaps the first time ever in Gusu Lan history that a Sect Master had rendered the Elders so utterly speechless. 

Lan Xichen turned to the senior disciple still holding the whip in mid swing. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.” 

"We have not told them to stop,” objected one of the Elders in the crowd, as though he was unable to fully process what was happening.

The glare that Lan Xichen cast over his shoulder was cold and pointed. Without raising his voice, he said, "But I have. And the last time I checked, Wei Wuxian is still my husband and I am still the Sect Master of Gusu Lan and the head of this family."

“Xichen-” Uncle interjected then. “You don’t understand -” 

“On the contrary I understand perfectly. Each year, I, as Sect Master, am granted one allowance to veto the council’s decision. I have never in my life used that privilege before, because I have trusted in the wisdom and guidance of my Elders. However today, forgive me Uncle, Elders, for saying that you are all mistaken.” 

Not waiting for a response, Lan Xichen knelt down beside the two young men.

Lan Wangji stared at his brother with wide, anxious eyes and held Wei Ying closer. He could face his uncle, he could face the Elders and all the world, but for his brother Xichen, the subject of his betrayal, he did not know how to begin to atone or what he would do next.  

“Xiong-zhang, I -”

“How is he?” His brother’s brows were furrowed tightly as he scanned Wei Ying up and down. 

Of course, thought Lan Wangji. Of course his focus would be on Wei Ying. Xichen was not like Uncle, not like the Elders; he knew better. He knew Wangji. And because he knew Wangji, he would know that the one to blame in this wretched situation was not Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Wangji hung his head. His whole face felt hot with shame, and he could not bear to look at his brother anymore. 

“Not good.”

Nestled against him, Wei Ying swayed in and out of consciousness. With the adrenaline of Lan Zhan’s punishment fading, the effects of the freezing rain and his earlier punishment were quickly catching up to him.

“How many?” 

“Three hundred and one.” 

Lan Xichen cursed under his breath. 

A stream of pale blue light flooded into Wei Ying’s left temple. Lan Wangji let out a breath of relief. His brother was strong, of cultivation and of heart. He was kind and forgiving, and undeserving of all that Lan Wangji had done to him, but at least...at least he could forgive Wei Ying, if not his little brother. That was mercy enough. 

The infusion of spiritual energy jolted Wei Ying awake. Sucking in a sharp breath, he grabbed onto Lan Xichen’s wrist. 

Lan Wangji watched with twisted pain and guilt as Wei Ying turned those doe eyes on his husband, “Zewu-jun -” 

“Wuxian, conserve your energy. All can be said later.”  

"No, no, Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Don’t save me. If you do... Please...don't send me back to Yunmeng. I can't go back like this. Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang - I can’t. I know what I have done. I know I deserve everything - anything - but please I beg you, I am willing to die, but let me die here at Gusu. Please the disgrace on my family, on Yunmeng -"

Lan Xichen dabbed his clammy forehead with the edge of his sleeve. "Shh, enough of that. You're delirious, A-Xian. You know not what you speak. No one is going to die, and I will not send you back to Yunmeng." He laid the back of his hand against Wei Wuxian’s temple. “Heavens, he’s burning up - Wangji!” 

Lan Wangji did not realize he had faded off to that hazy place again until his brother shook him by the shoulder. A cool hand pressed against his forehead. “Dear gods, you too. What - what happened to your -”

“It’s been locked,” piped up Nie Huaisang, clutching his saber. Amidst the chaos, no one seemed to be questioning his presence and what he was still doing there. “I tried but I couldn’t -” 

“No, you wouldn’t be able to. The spiritual seal of Gusu Lan can only be undone by the natural momentum of the cultivator’s core. It’ll take time. Come help him, Huaisang.” 

Nie Huaisang threw an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder as Lan Xichen lifted Wei Wuxian into his arms. 

Together, they rushed towards Hanshi. 

Update:

[part 3]

[birdsaesthetic]

First impression

Summary: Post-series, Jeller and parenthood—not something perfect or shiny or promising. It’s troublesome, but it’s so realistic. 

A/N: This idea is inspired from a similar experience I had with my nephew whom I had to take care of the majority of my time back in the days—worst memories. So I know how that exactly feels like; only the brave ones can get through it... I hope this makes you feel something, whatever that feeling might be. On fanfiction

----

As she kept pushing, Jane thought that nothing could be any more painful than this, not whips or chains, not even gunshots, all of which she'd been put through before.

Moments later, newborn cries filled the labor room, and Kurt bursted into tears of relief and joy. He immediately turned his glossy eyes to his wife who was still catching her breath, and in a voice that was almost broken and shaking he told her that they had the most beautiful baby boy ever. Through her exhaustion Jane grinned at him, then she let her eyes leave his to take in her baby that was being carefully put on her bare skin. In that very moment, she couldn't help but cry the sweetest tears she'd never known, all the pain of moments before melting away. He might be only minutes old by now, their baby, but as his tiny mouth widened, he continued crying along with his mother, though his cries were much louder despite his tiny body in comparison to his mother.

All their friends visited later that day, brought gifts, and offered help when needed. And Bethany, with her mother, flew the hundred miles to New York only to see her brother and give him the softest of kisses.

The first two weeks for Jane after having given birth to Peter went so quiet. Peaceful. She spent most days either sleeping, snuggled in bed with her newborn baby pressed so close to her chest she could feel his soft, wet breath, or laying down in a rest position with her newborn baby being still close within her hand reach to anticipate his every need—though he didn't need a lot. Breastfeeding and changing. That was all.

As for Kurt, during those first two weeks, he took a vacation from his regular work to be willingly spending all his time and effort on nursing both Jane and his newborn baby.

"That's the least I could do," he told Jane one morning, as he brought her a fresh meal all the way to bed, to which she smiled before dotting kisses on his hand, that was big, almost the size of his newborn baby.

Peter seemed so quiet, often asleep and would flutter his eyes open maybe twice a day. And during these rare times his parents would circle up around him and gaze down with all smiles, making comments regarding his looks. "He's got your eyes!" Jane chuckled, and Kurt smiled then said, "It's such an honor to acknowledge that."

"For me, it's such a pleasure to acknowledge that I'll have another set of beautiful eyes resembling yours to look at daily," she said with a smirk, and Kurt blushed for a fraction of a second, then kissed his wife, then his son. Alternatively, the two planted soft kisses on the tender skin of their newborn baby, and slid their pinky fingers into his open hands and watched as he responded and curled his little hands around them.

They were the happiest little family, until those first two weeks passed, then they saw hell on earth...

Though healthy, good taken care of, and clean, Peter decided to erupt in prolonged, ear-shattering cries, completed with clenched fists, and flailing legs and an unhappy red face.

They checked his diapers and temperature every hour. They tried direct breastfeeding and got out the thermometer. They cuddled and cooed. They did everything that came to their minds that any newborn baby would need—except if their baby wasn't a normal one and had a supernatural power therefore had special needs or something!

Babies his age cry and fuss sometimes, it's known and normal. But the way their baby did it, never seemed to be anything near normal. It was as if he wanted to suffocate himself and die—for hours he'd cry and resist every effort they make to soothe his tears until his little face was red with his mouth stretching wide and the cries became unbearably louder.

It was stressful, overwhelming, and tiring daily, for Jane and Kurt. They—both of them, adults—couldn't even do anything that seemed to please him. Jane, already having afterbirth pains, had multiple breakdowns a day because of it, and sometimes she covered her ears with a pillow or cried along with him, out of hopelessness. There was a sense of shame and sadness and just those deep emotions that she was very not familiar with when her baby cried like this, nonstop. It was as though he was telling her that he needed help, that he was hurting, but she wouldn't even know how or what to begin with...

And Kurt, every time he tried to hold his crying baby close, bobbing and swaying to unheard music, humming a lullaby, quite composed, quite serene, he could swear his baby's cries got louder at all these attempts. He then would lay him down and make funny faces to get him to laugh, to simply make him feel something different, but still...

God, how could a four-kilo creature make such loud noises? It sounded like the screeching of an angry cat, only growing harsher and louder as Kurt tried his best to subside him.

Just recently, while Kurt alone stayed up the night to accompany Peter as he cried, the bell rang, to which Kurt cursed under his breath, having some ideas of who might be at the door this late hour. This time around, it was again their neighbor, a college student in his twenties who seemed impatient and annoyed as he complained about their baby's loud cries and how it was like listening to nails on a chalkboard.

"I have responsibilities and shit to do and classes to prepare for! I need to get some sleep. I need peace!" He rumbled and rumbled, because it was his right as a neighbor to be given that. Peace.

"Sorry. I know, sorry. He's just...a little sick," Kurt tried to explain himself, and his baby boy, fumbling in his words. Huffing in the other side of the doorway, their neighbor walked away then, and before Kurt closed the door, the urgency he felt was tremendously overwhelming. He wanted to sprint, speed, and hop into the car to zoom with his baby in his arms to the nearest pharmacy and find just the right medicine to cure the problem within him. What the cure was called and how much it'd cost mattered the least to Kurt.

Christ, he had to do something. There must be something serious with him, or else what would trigger this sort of crying? The noise the little one made included a falsetto trilling that did something to him. It seemed to reach into the skull through his ears, to grasp his brain stem, to shake the inner core of their being. Kurt looked down at his son, and although he seemed apoplectic as he cried and screamed, Kurt hugged him tight and promised that he'd do everything to help him as soon as possible.

This Monday evening, after having settled Peter down in his bed and gazed into his angelic, relaxed face as he finally slept, Jane sighed in relief. It was so quiet now, save for his breathing that was merely audible, which sounded nice, knowing he was breathing. Alive. She felt tempted to bend down and kiss each cheek, but she feared it'd make him fuss. Then, as she made her way to the living room, she got a call from Tasha, who'd been calling her every now and then these days, chatting and sharing motherhood tips and tricks.

"Hey! How is it going?" Tasha shouted in enthusiasm. And from the end of the line, Jane's voice came as a sigh, low and sad. "Not good."

"Is everything okay? Is Peter okay?" Tasha worried.

"No, he's...not okay. And we don't even know what's wrong with him. But we've already booked an appointment for him tomorrow's morning to see his doctor."

"What's it with him?"

"We don't even know! He cries a lot. All the time." Jane was at the edge of crying at this very moment, before Tasha rushed to say, "Ohh, your baby is probably colic, Jane."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your baby cries a lot as you just said!"

"But that still doesn't explain why!"

"For no reason, really! He just wants to cry, right?"

"Yeah, exactly! That's all it seems. But how do you know that? Is Scott—or was Scott like that?"

"No, I wouldn't say he was, but I know some parents struggle with that."

"Do you know what they would do to ease their babies? Kurt and I would literally do anything and everything only to..."

"Oh, Jane, listen. Every baby seems to be different. Don't worry about it! He won't stay forever like that! But you should still get him to the doctor to make sure he's actually and physically all fine, and if he was, you may feel relieved, because thankfully he'd only be colic."

"Thankfully?"

"I mean...that sucks, still. But you know that's better than something else. Sometimes serious!"

Jane was silent for a long moment, her mind working fast, and her body started sweating at the thought of Peter seriously sick, and his crying had been indicating something permanent.

"Hey? Are you still there?"

"Hey... yeah,"

"You okay? Or need company? I just snuck out of my place after Scott slept only to get some groceries, but if you need company, I'll be heading to you instead!"

"No, no. Thank you, Tasha. Kurt is actually coming within minutes. And honestly, we haven't had some quiet time together for—I don't even remember for how long! But judging from that, it must have been for a while... Anyway. Sorry, I forgot to ask you about Scott! How is he doing?"

"Ugh, he's fine. He's just addicted to sugar, loves chocolate and candy so much! That's why I don't bring him with me grocery shopping anymore—he knows where to find the chocolate there by now!"

Jane smiled. "At least it makes him happy."

"It actually makes him energetic and annoying at nights. But anyway, I should let you rest. Bye for now, and good night. Also, don't worry much!"

"Okay. Good night."

After some time, the door was opened and there was Kurt emerging through it with many bags of groceries hanging in both hands. "Hey," he greeted, stumbling on his way to the kitchen so he could put the groceries away. Jane watched him do so as she greeted him back with a low voice that he didn't probably hear.

Then, panting, Kurt approached her with easy footsteps. "It's quiet, rarely!" he commented, after having seated next to her on the couch.

"He's asleep."

"Good." Sighing, he shifted here and there until he was lying down, using Jane's lap as a pillow. She looked down at him with a frown as he closed his eyes. "Are you sleeping?"

"I had a rough day..." he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"Get up, and tell me about it. I'm sure it's much more interesting than mine that I spent it literally just listening to your kid cry."

"When he cries, he's only my kid, huh? Also, don't forget that his appointment is tomorrow morning!"

"I didn't. And, um, I might know what's wrong with him,"

"What's it?" Kurt opened his eyes to the fullest now to look up at Jane. "Um, I was just talking with Tasha before you came, and when I told her, I almost thought she wouldn't believe me, but then she said that Peter might be colic."

"What does that even mean?"

"Meaning that he cries, a lot!"

"Why?"

"I don't know. For no reason? Or maybe it's something phenotypic?"

Kurt winced. "His doctor will know better."

They slept feeling hopeful that night. Ever since they booked that appointment, they had this promising sensation of hope, that they'd know, for sure, what was the problem, therefore fix it—well, or so they thought.

The hope continued to the next day while the doctor looked over their son and examined him carefully. Peter was awake and strangely calm at the time. He didn't have a fever nor had any other sign of illness, the doctor said.

"Just colic," The doctor then added.

Ha! Oh, colic. Great.

The doctor's casual dismissal contrasted with the parents' urgency. "So how do you cure it?" Jane asked impatiently, and she had to cover her mouth and grip then regrip Kurt's hand after the doctor said a cure might not exist, and they'd have to get through it.

The doctor further explained that, statistically, this happens to about one in every five babies in the world, most often in the evenings and nights than mornings in babies aged three weeks to three months. It happens more in countries that are developed than those that aren't, and no one really knows as to why—though at this point they were hardly listening, their inner voice screaming overpowered anything else around them.

They took their baby, went home, and spent the rest of the day listening to Peter wail while the earth spun and the sun set and rose on the other side of the world and wars were won and lost and revolutions happened.

The reality was tough to adapt to, however they were patient, put the maximum effort to give more and have less, of course. Though every time they looked down at him, hushing, his face was unrelaxed, his fists were clenched tight and his abdomen was tense from the discomfort he was undergoing all alone, a four-kilo infant. He really seemed like a very sad baby; there was no light in his eyes, only tears, which reflected on Jane and Kurt's souls, and made them sad parents, too.

They went to ask more pediatricians and friends for help, knowledge. They read more about Baby Colic, seeking any useful tips and tricks. They tried alternative treatments—Kurt swaying all around the apartment to unheard music while holding little Peter to his chest as he wailed, Jane messaging over his back with care and holding him with his bare skin against her own so close to allow him to feel contained, loved. Safe. And yet, it didn't stop. He didn't stop crying, deploying this tool of weaponized sound that was truly like listening to an alarm going off that could drive someone sane and resilient like Jane and Kurt crazy.

In the peak of it it affected their lives: Jane stopped her working-life completely, though she'd, in fact, intended to do so for the first few months of Peter's life only to be spending such a pleasant, lovely time with him in these early stages, and to witness every little change that'd happen to him—but she never had ever thought this would feel like a burden, and the most stressful thing imaginable. After all, she was the one to have mentioned wanting a baby first, not Kurt. What felt like years ago, she'd told him that she wanted a baby with him, that it was the perfect time to do it now, and Kurt didn't really say much in response. Instead, he exchanged loving gazes with her, brought her closer to him, kissed her so deeply she could still feel the staying power of it till this day, and then he made love to her right away. No protection for the first time. It'd been only her and him and pure desire but nothing else. And they'd kept doing the same thing until one day they got what they wanted.

It affected their daily routine: One slept at nights while the other watched after him in another room. They took turns and shifts, not even once they had the slightest sympathy toward each other when they interrupted each other's sleep in the middle of the night to begin handling Peter.

It affected their relationship: They needed each other right at that hard time, Jane and Kurt. But when Kurt came home from work and Jane was wrung out from listening to it for hours, needing hugs and back rubs and words of encouragement, support, instead, they fought. They fought because something horrible was happening to their son and they lacked the power to stop it. They fought because they were frustrated and exhausted. They fought because they were frightened and tense all the time.

More than once Kurt hated the idea of returning back home after work, which went against his every instinct as a parent. As a husband, too. But sometimes—such as this time on Thursday—he felt like, if he went home after this long, unbearable day at work, he might lose his mind. He seriously might. So he called home and explained to Jane that he had some extra pepper work to do and so he might come a bit late. Jane wanted to argue. She wanted to disapprove—because she needed him at home and needed his help immediately. But she wasn't in a position to do so, since Peter's crying voice overpowered hers though she was shouting on the phone as if she were calling from an outdated device from decades ago where the connection was primeval only so that Kurt could hear her...

She just snapped then, after a full minute of trying, hung up and let go of it. It was no use; she'd scream and Peter would scream even louder and Kurt would also scream that he couldn't hear anything of what Jane was saying and it would look as though they were all in a contest...

And then, Kurt, feeling like an asshole driving the car, went to a quiet place and had a few drinks on that Thursday evening, one after another until he felt light-headed, carefree. Of all places nearby he'd chosen a place that was so far away from home, as if trying to get away from his little son's screams, or maybe he was afraid of getting busted by Jane at any given moment.

When he eventually drove home, several hours later, and as he approached the front door, he could hear his own son's howls from outside. His own heart clenched to that, and he wanted to run away already, or close his ears, or simply just sit there at the doorstep and not have to face it.

He unlocked the door and, almost running, he followed the cries to his bedroom. He was stunned for a moment to see both of them crying, Peter hysterically, Jane quietly. What he did next, and without asking what was going on, was take them both in his arms and cry along with them, repeatedly whispering his sorrow in Jane's ear, that he was gone enjoying himself out there while she lived in this chaos all alone.

When Peter ultimately calmed down under his father's repetitive and soothing strokes, both Jane and Kurt had already calmed down. But they didn't say a word afterward. They didn't look at each other, either—she didn't want to see his face and he couldn't look at hers. Instead, they just stared down at him, their little baby, sleeping now. Snoring, even. After all that hysterical crying he let out, now he seemed somehow in ease, his cheeks rosy, his forehead unclenched, his fists open, and his chest rising and falling in a way that was so reassuring.

They kept admiring the rare, beautiful sight of him like that for a while, having almost forgotten about what just happened mere minutes ago, that they, the parents, were both crying along with their baby, that they were completely hopeless. And then, slowly but surely, Peter smiled the tiniest of smiles in his sleep. It was an unconscious smile, they knew, but it put a similar smile on their faces, to have captured that exact moment in the middle of the madness. It spread hope in the air between them, that genuine, small smile of his.

Still silent, still staring down at sleeping Peter, they await another smile to appear on Peter's tiny lips; it'd been something unmatched. But then he didn't. Jane ran a feather-like hand over his head and brushed his soft hair to fix its pattern to one side instead of being flipped in every direction. Kurt, then, reached out for the same hand of hers and took it to him, which made her look up at him, finally, dark circles under her eyes from the same exhaustion daily. It was an unwilling or rather angry look she gave him. But she had to flutter her eyes before shutting them close as he started kissing her on that hand, and inhaling it, and scraping his own growing beard against it.

As much as Jane wanted to withdraw from his touch, and as much as she was truly upset with him now, she tried to find some comfort in this approach. She couldn't remember the last time they had a quiet, intimate moment like this together, and doubted if Kurt could remember. They'd been giving more and having less. They'd been fighting each other and discouraged. They'd been waking up in the mornings to the sound of Peter's cries, and at nights sleeping to the same sound, Peter's cries, and in the hours in between barely catching their breaths. That'd been going on for months now.

She pulled her hand away, after a moment, not aggressively, just about reluctantly. And then she lifted Peter and gingerly forced him into his father's arms. "Go settle him down in his bed, and spend whatever remains of the night there with him," she ordered, her voice low yet demanding. Here, she'd absolutely meant to sting him and trouble him and bother him. Also, she thought, if he was about to say one word of protest, or simply just groan, or if his face twisted the slightest in displeasure, she would take a deep breath, gather her strength, and smack him hard enough on the face to leave a permanent damage there so when Peter would grow up one day and ask why did his father have this injury mark, Jane would dryly say, "Because once, when you've needed your father the most, he failed you, honey—and me."

But then he was calm, as he looked at her and simply nodded. "I will."

He departed then, and did, indeed, spend the remaining of the night with his little baby, the one he'd just failed, the one he'd also just promised that he would never fail again even if it'd bring his life to an end.

What really was so cruel about their baby being colic was that it was part of the first impression, and just from that they were tempted to infer that the rest of it, being a parent, was going to be even harder—that this was how difficult it is to be a parent!

But with a combination of patience, time and effort, the unexplainable, unceasing crying went away—it stopped. It was hell on earth—oh, God only knows—and then it was over. One night as winter approached, when Peter was four months old, he fell asleep and they got to talking and realized that he hadn't cried! Not tonight, nor the night before. A week went by, then two. It was a month before they really believed things changed. Just like that, it was over. That would've been great to be reminded of when they were in the middle of it—the fact that colic was temporary!

Now, Peter, five months old, smiled and giggled and only fussed when he actually needed something. He was responsive, too, when his parents brought him toys, or sang for him, or made funny faces to him as they fed him. Everything went back to normal, their lives, their routine, and most importantly their relationship. And with Peter in a perfect condition now, he bounded them together even stronger.

A/N: If you made it this far, please let me know what you think of it!

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

I promise

Fandom: Harry Potter

Specified gender: Female

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

TW: violence, insecurity, umbridge being umbridge

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Word Count:3.3K

Request:  Would you write about George Weasley dating a Slytherin girl? I love the idea since he's the softer twin and he would never judge. With the family and friends being rather sceptical thinking she is maybe just pranking him, but they actually love each other a lot :)

Masterlist

A/N: I’m kinda proud of this but also not, so I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. Hope you enjoy. Also this is my favourite gif of Fred and George.

(Y/N)'s heart was thrumming aggressively against her chest as she made her way along the long stone corridors. Several students whispered as they watched her pass. News spread quickly in Hogwarts, just as it does in any school and this news was no different. A Weasley and a Slytherin were like water and oil - they never mixed. Yet a Weasley and a Slytherin were wandering down the halls together, hand in hand. Not just a Weasley either, one of the infamous Weasley twins, who were notorious for their pranks against Slytherin in particular.

(Y/N) couldn't help but hold onto George's hand a little tighter, her other hand clutching her luggage. This would be (Y/N)'s first time visiting the rest of the Weasley family, though she was well aware of their opinion of her. George tried his best to lie to her but nothing slips past a Slytherin. She knew very well that Ron and Percy cared very little for their relationship, they were very hesitant, quite understandably so. Slytherin's had been doing them dirty from their first day so (Y/N) couldn't exactly blame them. Fred was, well, Fred. As long as his brother was happy, he couldn't care less. And at first, Molly and Arthur were ecstatic upon reading George's first letter about the couple, but after learning of her house, you could say they were more than a little sceptical. Ginny was especially unsure of their relationship, following her mother in being furiously protective of her family But George, he was everything she'd ever wanted. Respectful and kind, loving and gentle. Who knew the boisterous prankster was such a caring soul? Many couldn't tell Fred from George or Forge from Gred, but (Y/N) was one of the select few. George had a small crook in his nose, he was a few inches taller (despite Fred's constant denial of the fact), while Fred a scar on his left eyebrow and his voice was just a tad bit higher. Barely noticeable things but when you spend as much time with them as (Y/N) does, you learn to tell the difference.

The main thing that split them apart, however, was their personality. Fred was always the first to speak, the one who often suggested the more disruptive, ruckus pranks and the one who took longer someone's emotions. While George, he was the more sensitive of the pair, he would discard any pranks that could hurt anyone involved and he usually was second to speak.

(Y/N) and George's hands remained linked until they reached the train, the pair brushing off the fake gags and teasing comments from Fred with a chuckle and a roll of the eyes.

"How are you and Angelina not together yet, Freddie?" George shot back to one of Fred's comments, barking out a laugh as Fred's cheeks dusted a red that practically matched his hair. Fred huffed indignantly.

"Don't think we didn't notice the googoo eyes you were sending each other at the Yule Ball," (Y/N) added playfully, nudging Fred's arm and he sent them a teasing glare.

"Suprised you guys noticed us since you pair were goggling each other like two idiots," Fred defended weakly, the red of his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears. (Y/N) and George simply shrugged with a laugh, knowing exactly they had been looking at each other. The Yule Ball had been a, for lack of better words, magical night for them and they had the time of their lives.

"Oi, lovebirds, I'm heading to the trolley, d'you want anything?" Fred asked, pushing himself up from his window seat. The couple shook their heads, mumbling thanks anyway. "Alright, suit yourself. Don't have too much fun while I'm gone."

"He's so going to find Angelina," (Y/N) commented as soon as Fred was out of earshot. George hummed in agreement, lazily throwing his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders.

"Oh definitely," He agreed with a snicker, before pulling her closer and looking out the window, a contented look gracing his pale, freckled features. Seeing him so peaceful made (Y/N) feel bad about the topic she was about to bring up but her palms were clammy and her heart wouldn't stop pounding in fear.

"Hey, Georgie?"

"Yes, love?" George turned his face to look at, who he saw as, the light of his life.

"What if your family don't like me? I know Ginny, Ron and Percy aren't exactly my biggest fans, but what if your mom hates me? Or your dad?" She'd been yet to share any of her insecurities with the ginger but he knew this conversation had been coming for a long time. Any time he brought up meeting his family, she'd change the subject. It took two weeks and nearly all of Fred and George's effort to convince her to even come this time around. George took (Y/N)'s clammy hand into his own and squeezed it tightly.

"Darling, they're going to love you. I know Ron and Percy don't like you much but Percy's a stuck up snob and Ron can be a twat sometimes," The insult made the girl snort, and that alone caused George to grin "And, well, Ginny is very protective. And she scares me and Fred. But they'll come around, they haven't time to get to know you like me and Freddie. Once they see what a sweetheart you are, they'll love you as much as Fred does."

"Why not as much as you do?" She asked, waiting for some cheesy joke.

"Because no one can love you as much as I can."

"God, you have gone soft, haven't you, Weasley?" (Y/N) giggled teasingly, absentmindedly running patterns on his hands. George tugged her closer resulting in her letting out a small screech of laughter.

"Careful, (L/N), your Slytherin is showing," He said, in his typical joking fashion, gently tapping her nose "In all seriousness though, love, my family won't care that you're a Slytherin, it's all going to work out. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Just as George leant down to press a kiss to his girlfriend's lips, Fred came bursting back into the compartment. And though he was holding onto some sweets from the trolley, his hair was ruffled and out of shape and there was a clear lipstick smear around his mouth.

"Got the sweets," Fred stated, slightly breathless, stumbling in and plopping down opposite the pair.

"And then some," (Y/N) replied, a sly smile sliding onto her face, and George nudged her with his shoulder despite his obvious agreement.  

"Alright, alright. I get it," Fred muttered sheepishly, as he began to open his chocolate frog. (Y/N) and George exchanged a look before deciding to let it go. Just this once.

"Oh, dear, it's so nice to finally meet you!"Two arms latched around (Y/N) in a bear hug before she could even register the voice. Something, however, in the famously tight hug gave her the inkling of a feeling that this was Mrs Weasley. Fred and George had warned her of their mother's python-like grip, and how hard it was to breathe, but until that moment, she'd never believed them. Molly pulled back from the hug and held (Y/N) at arm's length with a beaming smile. But she could see the hesitant past her eyes.

"It's lovely to meet you too, Mrs Weasley. Fred and Georgie have told me all about you," (Y/N) responded politely, returning a kind smile that made Ron and Harry, who were stood behind Molly, do a double-take.

"Oh, now what have you boys told this poor girl?" Molly called over her shoulder to Fred and George, both of whom let out boisterous laughter.

"Didn't need to tell her anything, mum," Fred began, folding his arms, eyes raised playfully.

"She's heard all your howlers," George finished, wrapping an arm around (Y/N) shoulders. (Y/N) gently smacked his chest, berating him for his teasing.

"Don't worry Mrs Weasley, I've been their mother away from home," (Y/N) reassured and George rolled his eyes,

"She's right, our ears are sore from all her bloody tugging and yelling," Fred said, leaning his elbow on (Y/N)'s head.

"Alright, alright, that's enough. Come on, let's get home," Mrs Weasley urged with a warm smile.

The Weasley household was just as hectic as the twins had described. There was constant chatter and shouting and laughing. Even more so with Fred and George's eldest brother, Charlie, visiting. But it was warm and homely and (YN) instantly felt welcomed by the house, even if not so much by the family yet.

"You must be (Y/N)," Mr Weasley said, standing up from the couch as the family entered and offered the girl his hand. (Y/N) shook it firmly and George shot her a reassuring smile.

"You must be Mr Weasley," She returned with a raised eyebrow. Arthur chuckled, already liking the girl's attitude. Percy and, who (Y/N) presumed to be, Bill came down the stairs at the sudden commotion, knowing the family were home. "Ah, Percy, a pleasure as always."

Percy only gave her a curt nod, looking very much like he'd swallowed a lemon. After settling in and meeting Bill, with whom (Y/N) got along with like a house on fire, it was soon time for dinner. The large family all positioned themselves around the table, (Y/N) with a twin on either side. Everyone around her was engaged in conversation but she was quite happy digging into her meal.

"So (Y/N) how are you enjoying Hogwarts?" Arthur questioned, and suddenly all eyes were on her. (Y/N) swallowed her mouthful of food and glanced at George nervously.

"I love it there, Mr Weasley. It's like having a massive family. Well, apart from Malfoy," There was scattered laughter amongst the family, but Ron just gave her a sour look.

"What, even though you're a Slytherin yourself?"He snapped harshly, stabbing some of the food on his plate.

"Ron!" Five voices sounded, belonging to Fred, George, Bill and Mr and Mrs Weasley, narrowing their eyes at the young ginger.

"We're not all that bad Ron, Malfoy and his gang just give us a bad rep, I suppose," (Y/N) said quietly, brushing off the tension. Ginny raised her eyebrows slightly at her comment, always taking Slytherin for those starting arguments, not diffusing them. "The Malfoys have always been stuck up rats who care about their worth and little else."

"I can agree to that one," Fred and George mumbled in unison, both taking a swig of their drinks.

"How did you guys meet (Y/N)?" Bill questioned, changing the subject quickly before anything could escalate.

"The same way anyone meets the twins," (Y/N) muttered sarcastically, and Harry let out a hum in an understanding manner.

"A prank, if the boys' history says anything," Ginny commented, hesitantly including herself into the conversation.

"You'd be quite right, little sis," George nodded, a boyish smile on his face, that reflected Fred's in almost every way. (Y/N) grinned up at her boyfriend and subtly laced their hands under the table.

"Georgie it's freezing up here!" (Y/N) whined as George tugged her up onto the roof of the burrow. He laughed softly and sat down, pulling her with him and wrapping the blanket he'd brought around them.

"I wanted some time with you away from my beyond crazy family," (Y/N) curled herself closer to her boyfriend, resting her head on his shoulder. He placed his head on top of her own, and she giggled as his long ginger hair blew in front of her nose.

"Your Mum and Dad are lovely. I don't think your siblings are too fond yet though," It was true, while George's parents, Fred and Bill had taken a liking to her, instantly softening when she was around, Percy, Ron and Ginny were still very stiff about her and her house.

"As I said, they'll come around. And anyway, who cares? You're the love of my life and I don't care about what house you're in," George turned his head to press a kiss to her forehead. (Y/N) let out a small sigh.

"I know I just... don't like the little biting comments. Or the glares. Reminds me too much of my house back at Hogwarts," George had been made aware of the comments a lot of Slytherin's made at Hogwarts, comments that only intensified when they had started dating.

"Do you want me to talk to them?" He asked sympathetically, running his hand up and down her arm.

"No, no, it's okay. They'll just have to get used to me," (Y/N) eventually said, after a long, pregnant pause. George slid his hand down to hers and squeezed it firmly.

"It'll be okay, I promise."

And it was. Granted, it took the remaining Weasley's a long time to trust (Y/N) but slowly, Ginny began talking to her more, Ron stopped blaming her for things and started to open up a bit more, though he was still very iffy with her and Percy, well, was still Percy. It's hard to tell whether he ever liked someone or not. Everything was going perfect, just the way George had promised.

Until Umbridge that is. It was their last year. The last year they could have fun at school before they left and joined the world of adulthood. But the second her toad-like, pink wool wearing face stepped in front of the great hall, they knew it wouldn't be so. All of a sudden, Defence Against the Dark Arts was changed, Quidditch was cancelled and an insane amount of stupid rules were brought into place. Including a rule stating that boys and girls must remain six inches apart. Of course, (Y/N) and George didn't listen, in the pure Weasley fashion.

George was the first to get a detention with Umbridge, though not for breaking the six-inch rule. Fred and George had pranked Snape and Umbridge, swapping the colours of their offices around entirely. Initially, they had expected to be cleaning Snape's cauldrons without magic, but they ended up coming out of detention with fresh wounds on the back of their hands. And livid couldn't even begin to describe how (Y/N) felt about what had happened.

"Georgie, what's wrong with your hand?" (Y/N) had asked as soon as he came back from his detention with a bandage wrapped around it.

"It's, uh, nothing. I don't want you to worry about it," George shrugged, putting his hands in his pocket with a wince. (Y/N), however, was having none of it, storming straight over to him and tenderly pulled his hands out of his pockets. (Y/N) began to unwrap his bandage. A soft gasp escaped her as she saw George's hand.

"' I must not disrespect or humiliate my teachers'?" (Y/N) read in a hushed voice "This is Umbridge, isn't it?" Her eyes narrowed and George knew what was about to happen. (Y/N) pushed past him, but he both grabbed her with his non-injured hand.

"(Y/N), I'm okay, just leave it alone," George reassured, pulling her back but she just shook her head angrily, folding her arms.

"No, George! I'm not letting that toad hurt my loved ones! Fred has the same thing, I'm guessing?" (Y/N) asked, giving him a look that just dared him to argue with her further. George sighed in defeat.

"Yes, yes he does. Love, I really wouldn't worry. If you tried to defy her you'd just get the same thing. I'm okay, Fred's okay. I promise," George gently tugged her forward and into a tight hug, resting his chin on her head. (Y/N) huffed against his chest.

"She hurt you and Fred, though, Georgie. She can't get away with this," She grumbled in annoyance. "She'll get what she deserves, definitely from me anyway."

Dinner in the great hall was quiet. Eerily so. It was never this quiet. Teachers were beginning to get fidgety at the lack of noise from the students. The Weasley twins were missing, as was Ron and (Y/N). The main causes of noise. Harry and Hermione couldn't help but wonder where most of the Weasley's had disappeared to. It wasn't uncommon for George and (Y/N) to miss dinner, or even Fred for that matter, but Ron never missed anything to do with food. The two doors to the great hall suddenly burst open and a red-faced Slytherin came charging in, with three Weasleys hot on her heels, trying to stop her. But nothing could stop her.

"You absolute toad! A rotten, little snake! How dare you?!" A few teachers stood up at the disturbance, but (Y/N) couldn't focus on them, all she could see was the pink toad she was pointing her finger at. Umbridge stood up and moved around the table to the front of the hall, a smug smile on her face. (Y/N) had nearly reached the front when the Weasley's finally managed to grab onto her, one hand on her one arm and two on the other.

"Miss (L/N), Mr Weasley's, what is the meaning of this?" Umbridge asked in her normal pompous voice. McGonagall moved around the table as well and stood in front of the students.

"That's enough, you four. Back to your tables," She ordered, and reluctantly, Ron and Fred moved back, but since (Y/N) had yet to move, George declared it not safe for him to move yet either. "Mr Weasley, Miss (L/N), now," Gradually, George and (Y/N) began to move back to their tables

"Not you, Miss (L/N)," Umbridge spoke, and she saw several of the teachers, Snape included shift uncomfortably. McGonagall squeezed her arm, knowing she no longer had control of the situation and walking back to the table. "I believe you require punishing, bursting in like that and disrupting our lovely meal."

"No, you listen here, you cockroach, you can do what you like to me, but you leave everyone here alone! You may be the headmistress of this school, but the use of a black quill is illegal! It's torture! And you've been using against students who defy you!" (Y/N) yelled, and students began whispering and the teachers exchanged looks of surprise and shock. George's foot was shaking under the table nervously and Ron and Ginny were gaping at her

"What nonsense," Umbridge commented simply, in her normal girlish manor. "I think you shall join me in detention, so you can see how wrong you are, tomorrow evening."

(Y/N) let out an indignant huff, glaring at her, knowing she could say little else. Malfoy let out a snicker, along with Crabbe and Goyle, and Snape shot them a glare.

"You're going to get what's coming to you," She mumbled, turning around and rushing back out, furiously stomping back to her common room, her fist hitting one of the walls on the way, splitting the skin of her knuckles.

"What the bloody hell happened back there?" Ginny requested as soon as she and her brothers had gotten back to the common room. Fred and George both flopped onto the couch as Ron sat down on one of the armchairs. Harry positioned himself on the floor between the twins and Ron.

"(Y/N), uh, she saw this," Ron lifted his hand to show them the cuts from his latest Umbridge detention "And she just lost it. Started shouting about how she was going to kill Umbridge, then she sprinted. We had to go after her, she was chuntering the entire away, we tried to stop her, George was trying to calm her down. She was bloody terrifying."

"I've never seen her that angry before," Fred stated, slightly shaken about it all, and mildly confused, his eyebrows furrowed. George shook his head slightly.

"Me either."

"Wait, you're telling me she got angry because Umbridge hurt Ron. Why would she care?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms.

"She's fiercely protective of the ones she loves. She'd die to protect them," George explained, rather harshly, disliking Hermione's tone.

"I thought she didn't like us," Ron murmured, slightly embarrassed.

"You're my family. Anyone important to me is important to her," George snapped back, narrowing his eyes a little, suddenly getting very protective. Ron and Ginny both went silent, awkwardly running their hands through their hair and looking away. Maybe (Y/N) wasn't as bad as they thought.

Not bad at all.

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[personasintro]

My Tiny Secret | 02; Secret

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 02; Secret

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: toxic relationship, mistress au, mentions of sex

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

You’re trying really hard not to let out a huge “aww” to fall out of your mouth as you take a blue onesie with rabbit ears on hoodie into your arms. It’s so tiny and for a moment, you wonder if it’s even possible for a baby to be so tiny. The hell, you never even held a newborn, not even a toddler. Can’t such a tiny baby just slip out of your hands? Your minds start to race, like every day, and you start to panic inside while staring at the onesie in your hands. And you thought that you are far past that ‘panicking stage’. You wish you could enjoy this, you wish there would be someone by your side, experiencing this moment with you. The moment which will change your life forever.

“It’s so adorable, isn’t it?”

Your wild thoughts are interrupted by a feminine voice and you look at the woman, standing not so far away from you, holding an identical onesie in her hands.

“Ah, yeah.” you nod, glancing at her huge bump covered by the white T-shirt.

“They make such a cute clothing nowadays,” She tells you as she puts it back to its place and taking a orange tiny jumper with ‘mummy’s boy’ written on it. The font is made of fluffy material, causing the jumper look more interesting and eye catching. You nod towards her, not being able to say anything instead of just simply watching her. “If you don’t mind me asking, how far along are you?” She asks, her bright eyes looking at you and than glancing at your swollen belly. It’s more visible today, since you’re wearing a black tight dress which hugs your figure nicely, showing how pregnant you are. Your denim jacket buttons are opened, not hiding your belly at all.

“Ah, no it’s okay. Six months,” you answer with a smile looking down, hand caressing your belly for a few seconds. “What about you?”

“Nine months.” she answers and you widen your eyes at her. Is that how big you’ll be when you’re nine months pregnant? You already have too much trouble with sleeping, your belly is not allowing you to sleep on your stomach comfortably, like you were used to. You’ll have to sleep on your back for the rest of your pregnancy! You can’t imagine that.

A giggle comes from the woman, who noticed your petrified eyes looking at her and then at her belly. “I know that look. I used to look at every pregnant woman like that. But there’s nothing to worry about. As soon as you’ll see that small baby in your hands... just trust me, it’s worth it.” She sighs with happiness, smile not leaving her lips.

This probably isn’t the first time she’s pregnant, from the way she talks, but of course you might be wrong. You don’t ask, although there is a curiosity in you to ask her more. But the curiosity isn’t that big, so you just simply smile, praying she’s right. You know it’s worth it, you know all of that. But there is still fear inside of you. How you will be able to raise a kid on your own? What if you’re going to fail? The baby isn’t even born yet, but you can’t help but think about it every day. The woman waves at you when, what you assume is her husband, calls to her saying something about he finally found what they needed. You wave at her back, watching them intertwine their fingers as he places a soft kiss into her hair. You watch them walking away, your heart clenching when you wish you could have something like that.

With a deep sigh, which is probably the most depressed one today, you toss the onesie into your basket. There are already a few stuffs you grabbed, knowing this would happen when you got to the baby section. You always loved it, way before you actually got pregnant. Despite your lack experience with kids, you always wanted one. You couldn’t wait to be a mother. But you still wish it would be on different circumstances. However, there is nothing you can do to change it, so you add the cute onesie you admired to the collection of pacifier, bib and tiny white hat for newborns.

Slowly walking along cosmetics aisle with a basket in your hand, you don’t even think about going there to check the new products. You already bought too much, probably will pay way more than you can really afford. So, you decide looking at the aisle on the other side, is a better idea. You get captivated with toys section instead, only admiring from afar, of course. You’re so intrigued by the large cat plushie, that you don’t notice someone else coming from the aisle on the other side. Luckily, you notice them in the last minute, almost bumping to a taller woman. Her black hair are long and curled, obviously not natural, but they still look well done. She apologetically smiles at you and apologizes when she notices your small bump.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking.” she says, her voice sweet. She’s probably too overdressed for a shopping, wearing a skirt with white blouse and high heels. Or maybe you’re just underdressed. Who are you to judge anyway? She’s gorgeous and you’re a pack of potatoes compared to her. Your face is make-up free, not bothering to do it. You rather go and satisfy your pregnancy cravings. You don’t even believe to Hoseok, your best friend, who says that you have that ‘pregnancy glow’ which apparently, every pregnant woman has. You don’t see it anywhere, not even when you stood in front of mirror for five minutes two days ago, desperately searching for it when you felt ugly. It ended up with you sobbing in front of your mirror like a baby, causing Hoseok to come there and laugh at you, while he pulled you into a hug.

‘Awh, you’re so emotional when you’re pregnant’ He said, not budging when you slapped his back, causing him to laugh even more.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t looking either.” you tell her, eyes awkwardly shifting elsewhere. She seems awfully familiar but before you can dwell on that feeling, there is another voice booming not far away from the both of you.

“What’s taking you so long? Come on, I need to be somewhere.”

That voice. That fucking voice which haunts you every night with nightmares, causing you to wake up in the middle of the night. You hear footsteps causing you to panic, but before you can move your body into action, it’s already too late. There is Kim Seokjin frowning at the woman standing in front of you, his perfect eyes focusing on her. He stands tall like you remember him, wearing a white button up with black pants. You stand there frozen, your mind screaming at you to move and ran away as quick as possible. And when you’re finally ready to take a step, not minding how rude it must be towards the woman, you don’t care. Not when he doesn’t noticed you yet, but then his sharp dark eyes advert to you and his mouth – his plump juicy lips – falls open.

“Y/N?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so taken back. His voice doesn’t sound so cold and distant how you remember it. The last time you’ve seen him was a couple of months ago, when you made yourself clear that you won’t be coming back. He was so sure you would, back then. Even telling you. ‘We both know you’ll come back, you always do.’ That’s what he said back then, you remember his smirk. He was so confident you would come back to him like a lost puppy whenever he would call you. But instead, you dodged every call from him and changed your number shortly after. You even moved out from your small apartment when you couldn’t afford it anymore, having to move to Hoseok’s place. You didn’t want to. You don’t want to be a bother to him, and you know you are. Despite of how many times he told you he’s glad you’re there. Nobody wants a pregnant woman in their home whom is desperate and a ball of depression. It’s been even worse with all your hormones.

“You know each other?”

Lastly, your widened eyes focus on the woman and then it clicks. You remember where you recognize her from. The pictures all over their home, you tried not to look at whenever you were there. It felt wrong, it made you feel wrong. It made you feel disgusted with yourself, it still does. You notice the shiny ring on her finger and you bite the inside of your cheek. It’s his wife. She’s completely oblivious, not having a clue how many times you’ve been in their bedroom. How many times Seokjin had you sprawled there where he fucked you roughly. He had you everywhere. On their huge sofa, shower, bed or even the carpet in their living room. You feel like you’re going to throw up, the feeling of disgust coming back.

You don’t answer, not when you have the huge lump in your throat. It’s not like you would answer her in the first place. What the hell are you even supposed to tell her? She wouldn’t be smiling at you, if she knew the truth, you’re sure about that. And then, Seokjin eyes slowly trail down your body, his face neutral as his eyes stay on your swollen belly. His facial features are sharp, his jaw staying locked when he looks back at you. You feel like you’re caught under his gaze and you look away, thinking about your escape plan. It doesn’t help that your heart is beating too fast and you’re doing everything in your power not to shake.

“Give us a moment.” His words aimed at his wife, but his eyes stay on you, not moving an inch causing you to gulp. Fuck. You forgot how his stare can get intense.

“What?” she breathes out an awkward chuckle, her eyes sharpening at Jin who only clenches his jaw.

“Go, wait for me in the car.” he tells her, his tone awfully calm and quiet. There is a huge tension in the air, you’re sure everyone can feel it and you wish he would just go with his wife, leaving you alone.

“I have to pay for this.” She frowns, wiggling with the basket in her hands slightly. It’s filled with mostly make-up products, her features sharpening suddenly making her seem like a different woman. Was her kind attitude only facade in front of strangers? Seokjin never really talked about his wife with you, not that you wanted to. You definitely didn’t want anything to be added to the guilt and shame you’ve felt ever since the beginning.

You watch him sigh frustratedly, pulling out his wallet from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls it with a harsh movement, giving it to her and she smirks, grabbing it from him and disappearing just like that. You watch her dumbfounded, completely thrown off by her sudden change of attitude.

“How is it living with that friend of yours?”

It comes out cold and bitter from Seokjin’s lips, as he chuckles bitterly. Friend of yours. He’s talking about Hoseok.

“How do do you know–“ You don’t even have time to finish your sentence, when his dark chuckle interrupts you.

“Sweetheart, you probably forgot who I am. Do you honestly think I didn’t know that you moved out? I got it checked ever since you didn’t open that fucking door to me.”

You’re not surprised by the amount of coldness in his voice and the fact, that he calls you out on ignoring and avoiding him. You told him you were done with him. What did he expect? In the begging, when you found out you’re pregnant and that you can no longer live in your old apartment, you thought he will find you. But he never made any contact with you. His last attempt of contacting you was when he knocked on your door furiously, while you silently watched through the peep hole, sobbing into your hands. The new information has to mean, that he knew all along. He knew about you moving in to Hoseok’s place. Does that mean he knows—

“Is it mine?” he asks, eyes coldly glancing at your swollen belly which seems too exposed right now. You wish you’d wear the largest hoodie you own, although, you know it would be still noticeable – but not as much.

You suck in breath, not allowing your emotions to take over your appearance and show him your weakness. He had control over you for too long, you can’t allow him to do that again. His question meant that he doesn’t know. So you muster all the courage and confidence, and straighten yourself up with a light cough.

“No.” It comes loud and clear from your lips, as you watch his expression. It doesn’t falter when he simply watches you.

“Is it that jerk’s?”

Again, he’s talking about Hoseok. He always had that stupid suspicious that there was something going on between you and Hoseok. No matter how many times you’ve told him he’s just your best friend, he would spank you and fuck you right after, while telling you that you’re his. He couldn’t bare the thought of you being with someone else, even you knew that. He was possessive and he showed you that every time he caught you talk to a different men. You wouldn’t be able to sleep with other men, not when you were sleeping with him. You wouldn’t be able to cheat on him, which is bitterly funny, because he did cheat on his wife with you. And you knew it. You figured that the second he brought you to his home. He didn’t even seem phased about you knowing. He always had his special ways of making you come back to him. For a moment, you felt like a slut. And maybe that’s what you were for him. He would provide you with money, so you could pay your rent and have some money left to buy yourself something. But it never was about money for you. You actually fell for him. How fucking stupid of you. How could have you fell in love with him when he never treated you differently than just a hole he could stick his dick into? He never showed you an ounce of love. The only affection he showed you was during sex, the only time you actually felt like he liked you. At least, you naively believed that. So you decided to end it with him. It probably hurt his ego that you were the one doing it, and not him. You knew you deserved so much better than him. You deserve someone who will love you and not only fuck you just to toss you when he’s done. It never was about pleasure for you. But he was toxic, and still is for you. That’s why you decided to protect yourself from him. But now, you’re not the only one who you need to protect. That’s why you lick your dry lips, looking into his cold eyes peering at you. He looks furious, but still manages not to show it. But you know him. You know that he’s beyond furious when he clenches and unclenches his jaw, the vein popping up under the skin of his neck.

“Yes.” It sounds bitter on your tongue, mentally apologizing to Hoseok for saying such a thing. But surely, he would understand. The only thing you can think of is to confirm his assumption. It’s the only way how you can protect yourself and your baby.

You feel uncomfortable under his sharp eyes, as they watch you like you’re his prey. You were sure than he couldn’t see right through you, he never knew you that good to know that. He never knew the true you to even begin with. But you’ve doubts when you see the corner of his mouth twitch, as he looks away with bitter chuckle, that he’s doubting you. He doesn’t believe you. Remembering all the times you’ve promised him, that you are not seeing anyone else and that he’s the only one who you’re having sex with, you never thought that he actually believed you. He still had doubts, ending it with jealousy sex while he marked you as his. Like you were his cattle. That’s how you felt every time his lips sucked your skin everywhere, leaving a purplish slash red mark, other than the pleasure you felt that time.

“You’re lying.” It’s not a question and it comes out as a statement instead. You feel like an open book under his dark cold eyes, as they watch you with anger in them.

Your breath hitch in your throat as you look away, gripping the basket in your hand so tightly, that your knuckles turn white. “Why do you even care? It’s none of your fucking business.” you snap at him, thankful that there’s no one around you to hear your unpleasing conversation.

He was used to you having a big mouth, a set of curses leaving your mouth whenever he would kick you out of his luxurious house, after he got what he wanted. He would just laugh at your attempt of offending him, making sure you get your punishment the next time he would see you. But now, he doesn’t laugh and frowns at you instead, almost like he realized something.

“It is, if you’re carrying my baby.” he says through his gritted teeth, his both fists clenched tightly to his body. Your whole body shivers at the sight of him getting so furious. Why does he even care? He definitely isn’t family type. You can’t imagine him having kids, nor showing love to someone. But to be fair, you never knew him that well. You wished he would open up to you, so you could figure out why he is constantly so cold to everyone. You wished you could save him somehow, as stupid as it sounds. But you soon figured out, that there’s no way you could save him. This is who he is. This is not some romantic movie where you can save him and live happily ever after with him, no. Because the man in front of you isn’t capable of love, even you learned that after a nine months of knowing him. That’s why you can’t let him get into your life again. Your lives again.

“It’s mine, not yours.” You’re the one who says it through clenched teeth this time, eyes looking at him furiously as you step closer to him. The faint scent on his cologne fills your nose and you’re taken back to the times when your bodies where pressed to each other, his scent printed on your skin, but it’s just for a few seconds before you’re brought back to reality.

You feel sick to your stomach when you both talk about the baby as it is someone’s property, but you have to make it clear that there’s no chance the baby is his. At least not the certain way. There’s no way you would let your baby grow up with him, as a father figure in its life. You can’t even imagine him doing that and as far as you know, he can’t imagine it himself. But then, you don’t know him at all.

“As far as I know, there are always two who creates another life. If there’s a chance that I’m the father—“

“Then you what? You are going to take the care of the baby? You? You couldn’t even treat me like a human being! There’s no way I would let our ba—“

You stop yourself, shutting your mouth right after. Fuck, how could you’ve been so fucking stupid! And when you look back at Seokjin, something flickers in his eyes.

“I knew it, it’s mine.” he says harshly, letting you know that there’s no need for you to tell him otherwise. You couldn’t shut your stupid mouth in the right time and now he knows.

You don’t confirm it again, your heart cracking as you purse your lips instead. “There’s no way I’m letting you into its life, not when you can’t treat anyone with respect.”

“Sweetheart, I have my own rights.” he chuckles, mocking you like he always did. He treats you with no respect even after almost seven months of not seeing you. You wish there would be Hoseok by your side, to protect you like he always told you he would. It’s your fault that you even met him in the first place. You should’ve wait for Hoseok to buy all those stuff with him. But you didn’t want to because you knew he would pay for everything, claiming that he’s taking care of you.

“And I have mine.” you tell him back, not budging. No, you’re not going to be the weak Y/N, you always were when you were with him. You need to stand up for yourself and not letting this man to destroy your life again.

“Yeah? And how are you going to take care of another human, when you can barely take care of yourself? Hm?” he asks, his tone awfully sweet as he speaks to you with venom behind his eyes. It’s like nothing changed, he still treats you like his property and someone who is way lower than him.

You gulp, knowing he hit the nail on the head by saying that. You’ve been struggling with money and anxiety naturally coming with it, about how you will be able to take care of a small baby. Sure, Hoseok is helping you as much as he can. He doesn’t ask for your part of the rent and even gave you his old bedroom, which is bigger. He already sacrificed so much for you. You can’t expect him to help you with raising your child.

“As I said, none of your fucking business. Now leave me alone.” You speak lowly as you say those words, brows arching at him.

And with that, you are ready to walk out of whatever this was just to be stopped by a grip on your forearm. It’s not harsh, but still enough to let you stop in your tracks. You’re surprised by the softness of his touch, but you don’t allow to show it and glare at him instead for touching you. His eyes flicker to the basket in your hand, noticing the small blue onesie. “Is it a boy?”

If you haven’t showed your surprise a seconds ago, you certainly do know when you hear him ask it with the softest voice you’ve ever heard him. He looks uneasy as his eyes flicker to yours and all the baby stuff in the basket. You want to snap at him, tell him that it’s none of his fucking business again, but you know he wouldn’t let you go. You know how demanding he can truly be and you really want to leave as much away from him as possible.

“Yes.” you answer him with no anger laced in your voice, instead a desperation and sadness in it. He knows. He knows it’s his baby, you can see it the way he’s looking at you. It’s hard to describe it but you’ve never seen him so out of place and uneasy. And when you finally reveal the gender of your baby, you don’t wait for any reaction and quickly walk towards the cashier, to pay for all the stuff. You need to get away as quick as possible and thankfully, there’s no one in the line.

You don’t know what comes over to you, but you take a quick glance to the spot you both were standing just minutes ago. You’re surprised to see him there, his eyes watching your every move and you shiver under his stare. With a quick turn, you get out of the shop as soon as possible, hopefully not seeing him ever again.

[thompsborn]

Can I get 👉👈 a Flash centric one shot 👉👈 for the song shuffle thing 👉👈

you were good to me by jeremy zucker, chelsea cutler

leavin' isn't better than tryin'

growin', but i'm just growin' tired

now i'm worried for my soul

and i'm still scared of growin' old

you were good to me

and i'm so used to letting go

but i don't wanna be alone

you were good to me

god only knows where our fears go

hearts i've broke, now my tears flow

you'll see that i'm sorry

'cause you were good to me

you were good to me

[send me a character/ship/dynamic/etc. and i’ll put my music on shuffle and write a drabble/one shot based on the first song that plays!]

actually i’m gonna wait to take more shuffle song requests until after i finish the ones i still have in my drafts!!

-

i was debating how i wanted to approach this and then earlier today @peachy-keener sent me messages about flash x harley which i already lowkey shipped before but now,,,,,,,, But Now,,,,,, they live rent free in my brain. but this is flash centric!! this is less harleyflash and more PRE-harleyflash. also post endgame.

the ending is abrupt and not good but i genuinely cannot figure out how i want to move forward so that’s the end! that’s it!

(it isn’t stated explicitly, but peterxnedxmj)

-

tw: rough childhood implications for harley, descriptions of neglectful parenting and verbal abuse, cycle of abuse, getting kicked out of the house, loneliness. it’s a hopeful ending though!! even if it is abrupt and not very good!!

-

Flash meets Harley Keener after the worst morning of his entire fucking life.

They’re going back to school, because of fucking course they are—barely two weeks have passed since Flash reappeared on the steps leading up to MoMA, tripped over his own two feet in his haste to get a grip on his bearings, and prompty slips on a step and lands nose first into the concrete, a crunch filling his ears. The public hasn’t even gotten a full release about what the hell happened—just a basic press conference, where Steve Rogers, clad in stained sweatpants and with bags under his eyes, a side of him that the public has never seen, handed his shield over to a teary eyed Sam Wilson and promised transparency and honesty, the entire story from start to finish with nothing held back, as soon as they recovered enough to give it all.

Flash doesn’t want to go back to school, except for the fact that he definitely does, if only for the chance of semblance of normalcy.

Everything is different now, after the snap. Or, the re-snap—second snap, the return, the blip, whatever the hell people are calling it. He doesn’t care about what it ends up being called. He just knows that nothing is the same, now.

His sister wasn’t one of the ones who lived those five years, crumbled to ash (dust?)just like Flash did, and he despises the meer idea of Jesse staring down at her hands in terror while watching them disappear and him not being there to at least offer comfort, or something, but he’s selfishly grateful, as well. He didn’t miss a second of her growing up. She’s only thirteen to his sixteen, after all—had she lived, he would have come back to his baby sister being a year older than him, likely a completely different person, like all the shells of people he’s seen on the streets, shells that only ignite with life when they find the person they lost. Christ, Jesse could have been one of those shells.

Thinking about it makes shivers run down his spine, his stomach churn.. He hates it. He hates how close he was to losing that.

God, he hates them—his parents, or the sorry excuse of parents that they are. He hates that he’s coming back from being dead for five years to a step-mom and a step-dad, both of whom clearly despise the fact that they’re expected to help raise these two kids who are just lost and terrified and trying to adjust. They both moved to bigger houses—that are, at the very least, still in the same neighborhood and no more than a ten minute walk apart, making it a bit easier to handle when, inevitably, Flash gets shoved into his father’s care while Jesse is lovingly enveloped into their mother’s arms.

Their mother, who seemed to care at least a little bit beforehand—always kept bandaids and juice boxes in stock, just because he had a tendency of scraping his knee in elementary school and always wanted a juice box when he got home. Sometimes, she would brush fingers through his hair and promise that she loved him, even if she knew she was awful as showing it—even if she, willingly or not, would always love her daughter more. She had not loved him like a mother, no, but like someone who at least gave a shit about his general well being.

Something—well, again, everything—has changed since before, because his mom never even looks at him anymore, barely manages a glance in his general direction whenever he happens to be nearby, which has been a lot, because the custody battle—which, of course, his father paid great money to make a priority in the courts, and then blamed Flash for because of how far he had to dip into his wallet to make it happen—has taken most of the two weeks, even though it was that first day he was shoved into his father’s house, like they knew what they wanted, like it wasn’t going to be a battle until Flash and Jesse themselves spoke up about how much they didn’t want to be separated.

Of course. More things to blame Flash about.

Which his father—and his wife, Trudy—both do. Something they like to flaunt in his face at every hour of the day, like it isn’t bad enough that he put up a fight and still ended up separated from Jesse, like he isn’t about to go back to school with a still-healing broken nose and living in a house he doesn’t know in a room that was clearly never supposed to be his and—

He wakes up the day he’s supposed to go back to school and stares at an unfamiliar ceiling and none of the posters that he had up before he disappeared, an alarm clock that must have been invented while he was gone blaring obnoxiously in his ear. It immediately sets his teeth on edge, makes his shoulders tense.

Maybe, he hopes, school will be familiar.

But everything has changed.

The school, itself, isn’t completely different, of course—classes are where they’ve always been, even if the names on the desks have changed; bathrooms are still pretty gross and have that high school bathroom smell that, for the first time in existence, he’s kind of glad to come across, if only because it makes him feel like it’s still 2018 and he’s going to walk out the door and see faces that he actually know.

He opens the door and a tall blonde guy walks into it—nose first, of course, whips his head back with a yelp and brings a hand up to poke at his nostrils, looks down a moment later and frowns at the crimson shining on the tips of his fingers, and then looks up at Flash.

Instead of anger, he grins, all crooked and boyish, and says, “Hey, we match!”

“We...” Flash trails off, confused; this guy doesn’t even sound like a New Yorker. Has the normal New York accent changed, too? The dude sound souther, for fucks sake. “What?”

Bloody fingers point at Flash’s face—actually, really, at his nose, still bandaged. “That. Noses, y’know? Pretty sure that just broke mine, so—”

“Oh, god,” Flash groans, head dropping to his hands. “Please tell me you’re joking, man.”

Stupidly, the guy pokes at his nose again—this time, at the slightly noticable crook towards the end. He sucks in a sharp breath, winces, and says, “Well, it ain’t feelin’ all that great...”

Flash groans again. “Of fucking course I just broke someone’s fucking nose. Of course.”

“Uh...” The guy frowns, glancing down as a drop of blood falls on the tip of his shoe. “S’alright. You didn’t do it on purpose, so—”

Instantly, Flash chokes on a stupidly bitter laugh. “Not like that’ll matter,” he murmurs.

“So,” the guy goes on, either not hearing Flash’s interjection or choosing not to react to it, “I don’t see what the problem is, here.”

“Of course you don’t,” Flash says, laughing again. “No one—” he stops, brows furrowing as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, shouldering his backpack with a sigh. “C’mon.”

The guy doesn’t follow when Flash starts walking. When he looks back, the guy is visibly confused. “Why am I following you to a random place, and why are you looking at me like I’m the one who’s being weird right now?”

“The office,” Flash says, instead of providing, like, a real answer. The guy looks even more lost, even looks over his shoulder like Flash is talking to someone else entirely. Flash sighs. “I just broke your nose, man. We have to go to the office so you can get it checked out and tell them what happened. Call home, too, probably, since you’re pretty sure it’s actually broken.”

The guy tilts his head. “We?”

Flash’s frown deepens into a grimace. “Yeah.”

“I think I’m a bit confused, here...”

Groaning once again, Flash gestures down the hallway, in the direction he had been trying to walk, and says, “We need to tell them—”

“That I walked into a door?”

“That I broke your nose!” Flash exclaims.

The guy crinkles his nose before immediately flinching and smoothening it out. “You opened a door. The door that broke my nose because I walked into it. That’s not your fault.”

Flash stares at him, beyond confused and borderline incredulous, but he’s also tired and he doesn’t know this guy or most of the people currently attending this school and his dad married a woman who hates him and his mom also apparently hates him now, too, and he’s living in a guest room that he knows was made specifically for Trudy’s parents to visit them and Jesse doesn’t like mom’s new husband (Flash doesn’t know his name; he wasn’t introduced to the guy and was always lost in his head whenever the judge occasionally brought it up during the custody ordeal) and she misses living together but she’s becoming less and less bitter every day, gushes about how much mom spoils her and peppers her face with kisses and cries while blubbering over how much she missed her and, Christ, no one missed him!

No one. No one wanted him to come back.

“Whatever,” he tells this stranger, no longer seeing the guy, no longer caring.

He doesn’t look back when he walks away.

-

Harley Keener—as Flash later learns, since he apparently has fifth period with the guy—is, of course, friends with Parker.

Parker, who Flash will never admit to admiring, will never vocalize how jealous he is of everything that Peter has, greets Harley with a small smile, and maybe, if Flash hadn’t instantly scoffed and looked away, he could have noticed the look of understanding and grief that the both of them wore.

Though, he can’t deny, seeing someone he actually knows makes things easier. Or, at least, it does for a few seconds, until he sees the way that Leeds is quiet, staring down at his hands a lot, looking at Parker like he’s looking at a gravestone, glancing at Jones, who is damn near stoic, with pain in his features. Until he notices all the ways that they’re different, too.

He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, tastes copper, and doesn’t pay attention to the teacher—who he doesn’t fucking know.

Nothing is the same, he thinks.

Not a single god damn thing.

-

Flash finishes his junior year with no friends, bimonthly weekend visits with his sister, and so much anger burning in his veins that he spits insults at anyone who crosses his path, people who don’t get it, who will never understand.

“You’re a fucking hick that’s probably here on scholarship,” Flash snarls when Harley tries to interfere a verbal beating of a random kid who looks like he isn’t old enough to drive just yet.

Harley’s eyes harden, and his nose—not as straight, now, as it once was, a constant reminder of the break that healed just a little bit wrong—crinkles. He looks conflicted about the situation, and Flash knows that Harley has, for the past few months, been nothing but a kind stranger that tries to talk to Flash in the halls, who always asks how he is and how his day is going and doesn’t even deflate when Flash acts like it’s a hinderance, because Flash doesn’t know how to accept kindness, to react when someone seems to give a shit about him.

Jesse cares—loves him, of course. But Jesse is making friends at her school, and she’s adapting in a way that Flash can’t seem to do.

Harley is a person, a random person, who shows interest whenever he has the opportunity to talk to Flash. Who acts like, maybe, he might kind of care, too.

“Do you think anyone gives a shit about you?” Flash asks—seeing Harley’s face in front of him, sure, but his words are directed at only himself, unable to accept the idea of a stranger caring about him. “You’re nothing,” he says. “You don’t fucking matter, alright? No one fucking cares!”

And then, Parker—in a blur of motion, something awful and protective battling on his face—is standing between them. His teeth are bared like an animal, eyes burning, as he spits out, “Do not talk to him like that.”

“Peter,” Harley tries, voice weak.

Having none of it, apparently, Parker ignores his protest, tells Flash, who is shellshocked by seeing Peter genuinely furious for the first time since tripping him in the halls as freshman, “I don’t give a shit what you say to me, Flash, I’ve put up with it for years, but you do not talk like that to—to anyone else, but especially not to one of the only family members I have left!”

A wounded noise rumbles from Harley’s throat, but Flash—Flash is furious. Because, really, at least Parker has people—he has an aunt who is a better parent than either of his have ever been, friends who are so loving and protective that it feels like they’re in love with the guy ninety-nine percent of the time, and Harley, too? Harley, who has tears in his eyes and Flash doesn’t know if it’s because of his words or Peter’s, who reaches forward and yanks Peter back towards him. “Peter,” he says again, more forcefully now. “It’s fine, dude. Let’s just go.”

Parker sets his jaw and glares at Flash like his life depends on it. Flash, of course, decides to open his fucking mouth and says, “Sure, just go back to people who probably hate you—”

He doesn’t know where he’s going with that, but he doesn’t get the chance to before Ned fucking Leeds steps in front of him and swings.

He starts summer with another broken nose.

Sure, he deserves it—but it sucks, nonetheless.

-

At the start of senior year, Harley approaches him and, for some reason, apoligizes

“What?” Flash says—the only that that comes to mind, sometimes standalone, sometimes followed by an even more incredulous the fuck?

“M’sorry,” Harley repeats. “Pete shouldn’t’ve yelled at you like that, and Ned—Christ Almighty, he’s a sweetheart, but him and Michelle would do anything for Pete, and when they thought you were sayin’ that shit to him, there wasn’t nothin’ that could’ve stopped ‘em.”

Flash frowns. “Dude... what the fuck?”

Harley mirrors his frown, tilts his head to the side. “What? Am I not makin’ sense?”

“You’re apologizing,” Flash says. “To me.”

Slowly, Harley nods. “Yeah, I am.”

Flash shakes his head. “Why?”

“‘Cause you weren’t sayin’ that shit to me and Pete, that’s why,” Harley answers, almost matter of fact and simple. “I know it.” All Flash can manage to do is shake his head again, not understanding what the hell Harley is talking about, until Harley glances away, brings a hand up to scratch nervously at the back of his neck, and murmurs, “I mean... I get what it’s like, saying somethin’ about someone else that you really mean about yourself... y’know?”

He doesn’t have any semblance of control when his features go blank, when his shoulders are drawn up, defensive, disbelieveing. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Harley smiles. He smiles. “Yeah, I know what it’s like to play stupid, too. Seriously—I get it.”

No one gets it, Flash thinks.

He doesn’t say it. Or anything, really.

All he does is walk away.

-

He walks away later that day, when Harley tries to approach him. He turns tail and bolts the second he sees blond hair in the distance, whether it’s Harley or not—does this for days, and then weeks, and then—

And then Harley stops trying to approach him.

Flash doesn’t get why that fact makes him heavy, his brain a taunting repetition of knew that no one cared, knew it, knew it, knew it.

Oddly enough, it hurts more than usual.

-

He graduates.

No one is in the crowd for him—his mother planned a vacation with her husband (still nameless, since Flash doesn’t care enough to learn it anyway) and Jesse that just so happened to line up with graduation. Trudy and Harrison stopped acknoledging him entirely a few months after he came back, unless out of absolute necessity and usually with scathing commentary that burn every single time.

A few people clap for him—and he knows, once he sees that it’s Harley and Peter and Ned and Michelle, that he doesn’t deserve it.

Too nice, all of them. Acting like they give a shit.

Always too damn nice.

-

It hits him, after he gets kicked out.

Hits him, suddenly, how badly he fucked it all up. How he took an opportunity that he didn’t deserve and pushed it away. Harley had wanted to be friends, had cared, whether Flash understood why or not, and Flash had been awkward and unsure and ruined everything.

He sits on the curb with a suitcase. Only one, because it’s all he had time to pack before being shoved harshly onto the streets.

Though he wants to, he doesn’t cry.

-

It’s a miracle that the number hasn’t changed.

It’s an even bigger miracle that Harley, apparently, never deleted his number after what happened, after obtaining it only because he had prompted Flash about wanting to join the Decathlon team and asked if he could text him questions about it later that day, before—

Well. Before, but after. Before Flash destroyed what he didn’t even gave, but after everything shifted, changed, began to hurt.

Miraculous doesn’t even begin to describe the slightly hopeful tone when Harley answers and, without hesitating, asks, “Flash? You there?”

Doesn’t deserve it—god, Flash should be getting spat on right now—but he needs it, now more than ever. Holding his phone tighter, he stammers out a shaky, “Y-Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

Maybe his voice gave it away. Maybe the fact that he’s reaching out at all. Maybe Harley just knows. Flash isn’t sure the how about it, only able to focus on making his tongue cooperate with him as he breathes out a broken kind of, “I���m sorry, I—about everything, but I—I have no one else to call and you were—the only one, y’know, who was—who was nice to me—”

There’s a faint jingle. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Flash whispers, trying to blink through the tears that suddenly fill his eyes, swallowing roughly. “I just—I started walking, once it hit that I didn’t know where I should go, and I—fuck, I shouldn’t have called.”

“‘ey,” Harley says, tone—firm, angry. “I dunno what you’re thinkin’, but I’m the best person you could have called. I’m on my way, okay?”

Flash closes his eyes. “You shouldn’t.”

“Well,” Harley says, “I’m not turnin’ around.”

-

He doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t, untill Harley steps out of a car wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt that’s inside out. Then, of course, he sobs.

Then, of course, Harley cares, like he never should have, and hugs Flash.

Jesse is the only person who has ever hugged him. His mother, almost, when he was really young, but—but no one else. No one.

In Harley’s arms, he melts.

[extremeviki54]

If you haven’t watched “Stateless” yet, make sure you do because there is a lot to be learned from that amazing tv show.

 1. This is the first tv show I’ve ever watched that explores the life of immigrants in immigration detention centres. It’s heartbreaking to see how many men, women and kids live apart from their families and spend years in these centres. Some of them never see their families or even get old there. 

2. It’s utterly disgusting that millions of people are forced to leave their countries and run in order for them to live peaceful lives. So many men and women are killed and raped due to dictatorship. Imagine what it’s like to run from the place you are born because you constantly live in fear, poverty and you have no future.

3. Another side of the immigration detention centres that the tv show explores quite well is the way lots of people abuse the system, especially the ones that need to make sure these people are helped and their cases are solved. One of the saddest part of the tv show was the way most of the guards were physically hurting and torturing the immigrants. Moreover, the tv show clearly shows that most of these places consists of a circle of abusive trashy people, who gladly make life more difficult for the immigrants in the immigration centres. 

4. The other sad part of the tv show was when Javad asked Sofie for her to be their voice. Just another proof that immigrants feels like no one cares about them because of their skin colour, nationality, etc...  They feel discriminated by society and have no one to hear them out. It seems like no one cares about their needs, struggles and pain. 

5. My other favourite part of the tv show is probably the way the writers explored the different characters and their struggles based on their experience in the detention centre. 

6. This tv show is also a very good example for the fact that following the law doesn’t always mean that you are doing the right thing. Sometimes, in life you need to follow your heart and help people, despite that this might be against a specific authority. In this aspect, Cam’s character is a pure example. In the beginning, he was helpful and caring for the people in the centre. However, due to unfair decision making by his superiors, he felt like nothing can change the place and in the end it changed him as a person. This also shows us that we as human, are always one step away from becoming monsters. Therefore, sometimes it’s better for us to take decisions based on our ethical laws than on the written ones.

7. Sofie is another quite complex and amazing character. Her parents constantly pressure her by constantly comparing her to her sister. They criticize her and damage her mental health because they don’t approve the way she lives her life and they are constantly trying to completely change her. Now, this was one of the reasons why Sofie started to mentally lose herself and get even more into the idea that she totally needs to erase her identity. The other reason was the fact that she got into a cult that she thought was her escape from reality and the place where she can find herself. Instead, she was sexually and mentally abused. This pushed her completely over the edge and she totally tried to erase her identity. In the end, the only one that didn’t give up on her was her sister. Despite that families aren’t perfect and quite often they judge, misunderstand and criticize you, in the end of the day, they will always be the ones to never give up on you. So be careful who you trust and remember, not everyone that offers you help does it with good intentions. 

8. Ms. Kowitz is like the necessary opposite of Cam in the tv show. She starts as someone who will do anything to prove herself worthy of the position. She constantly struggles between doing the right thing and doing what her superior tells her to do so that she keeps her job. This is a pure example that the system is just corrupted all over the world. The system consists of snakes because of whom, it’s really difficult to change it. In the beginning, Ms. Kowitz makes horrible decisions in order for her to cover what is actually happening in the centre. In spite of knowing deep down that what she does is wrong, she keeps on being a tool of her superior. Ms. Kowitz is an example that we, as human are always one step away from doing the right thing and make a change. No matter who is against us and what pressure we face, we should always do the right thing and I am happy that in the end Ms. Kowitz exposed everything to the media.

9. The most heartbreaking part of the tv show was the journey of the Nasseri family to Australia. Their journey is a pure example of what hell all the immigrants go through when they decide to immigrate. They sleep in unknown places, meet dangerous people and have no choice but to trust them cause they have no other option. The uncertainty of not knowing whether you are going to arrive alive or dead. The fact that you might see your family for a last time. The uncertainty whether you are going to be brought back to your country forever and be prosecuted or stay in a immigration centre where they barely pay attention to you. His daughter tried to harm herself by the age of twelve, she watched her mother and sister drowning and couldn’t do anything about it. In the end, all she had left was her father and him letting her go totally broke my heart. Sadly, this isn’t just a tv show! It happens every year to millions of people trying to escape from the horrible countries they live in. 

10. To conclude, I love everything about this tv show. The plot, the characters, the complexity, the way each and every character was explored and how their story was told. This tv show really opened my eyes for a lot of stuff going on in our society and also for lots of disgusting things happening in the system. The one who is supposed to help and protect people. 

[antihero-writings]

Stolen Sunlight (Ch4)

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Fic Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her. She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

(I'll put links to the other chapters in a reblog!)

Character focus: Arianna & Varian 

Notes: It's finally here!!

Sorry it took so long, and my dearest apologies to anyone's comments I have yet to respond to. This chapter needed more editing than the others, plus got started on a couple of zines and it took over a lot of my focus for these past few months.

I really hope it was worth the wait!!

FYI When I wrote this it was before season 3, when I didn't know he shared a cell with Andrew. After I did know, I didn't want to add him in because I felt it messed too much with their interaction.

Right now what I'm thinking is that this is supposed to be set early in his imprisonment, and that perhaps he started alone, and then they later realized he needed a cellmate.

Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, they really really do help me have motivation to continue things like this, I'm so happy you guys are enjoying it. <3 <3

I'd really appreciate if you could comment again!!

Chapter 4: Passing Glances, Lasting Words

Varian’s blue eyes are questioning, almost glowing behind his fringe, like shards of ice holding prehistoric monstrosities just waiting to thaw.

She clears her throat, her tongue searching for where to begin. Options flare behind her lips;

The anger returns; she could tell him what he once was, and how he’s changed too much, and it breaks all their hearts.

She could lecture him about how hurting people is wrong, and she disapproves of all he did.

She could turn around, and say nothing at all; give in to the fear bubbling below the surface, run far away, and leave him wondering why she even came, thinking he won, without quite knowing what game they were playing.

She could demand why he did what he did, and for his apology. She could demand for him to bow before her, and beg for mercy.

But, if she lectured him, he would not be receptive to her words. If she asked him questions, he would surely put the answers in a magician’s box with swords in it and tell the audience to watch carefully. If she was angry, if she yelled at him and demanded he see her as his queen…she’d never be able to sleep.

But he is not a child for her to order around. Nor was he a villain for her to condemn.

None of that would matter. None of that would work. None of that is why she’s here.

“The truth is”—where to begin? How to set the tone?—“I don’t approve of what you did.”

She starts with something disciplinary even so. Something queenly. Something motherly, but stern. Her intention was not to lecture, but she thought it best to start from a place of principle. Sympathy is best given by those whom you respect—best given by from those whom you think it’s worth being given. It was somewhere to begin at least.

He gives a small smirk. “You came all this way to tell me that?” He inclines his head. “How sweet.”

She tries to ignore the venom in his voice.

Even in this cell, he believes he’s in the right, that he can control her, make her afraid. But he does not. Will not.

She is not doing this for him.

Now she can move her pieces on the board; her words are pawns, which can move only forward, step by step.

“I think it was harsh, and cruel and in some ways, I still don’t understand why you did it.”

In a lot of ways.

But what would she have done to get Rapunzel back when she was gone? And wouldn’t she have spat in Mother Gothel’s face, had she known, had she met her? And what did Frederic do for her when she was dying?

He is not some monster, not something she can’t understand. She has to remember they are not so different.

“Glad I’m still a mystery.”

His tone makes it harder to remember what he is. Just a boy, locked in this cell. And the difference between them is that while she may have to line her words up in the right order; put them in neat little ribbons and bows, building up her case, or everything will come crashing down…words are all he has. He will use them to hurt her, because he has words…and nothing left to lose.

“That, however, is not why I’m here.”

His eyes flick up before he can hide the surprise in them.

...But they darken, and he stands up, his raccoon hopping to the ground, chittering, as if he could feel the tension bubbling below the surface.

“Oh, really? Then what, pray tell,” he mocks, lifting a hand, “are you here to tell me, your Majesty?” The words are the scorpion’s sting.

This is how he is, how he was then, how he’s going to be. …But she knows this is not all he could be.

And this is how she is.

She wraps her free hand around one of the bars, holding onto it like it’s her own resolve, and if she doesn’t hold tight it will turn to sand and slip through her fingers. She is going to get as close as she can, she will prove to him that she is unafraid, though everyone else treats him like a beast.

Even though she is. She is—

She’s afraid of a fourteen-year old boy.

These words won’t get through the bars to him; they are destined to topple. For they are the same as they were that day. The same tone, the same message, though they may be kinder, they still look down upon him, they scorn his goals and treat them as childish. And if they didn’t get through to him in his lab, they won’t reach his heart now that its had time to harden in this cell.

She hates that; knowing that it is their fault, her fault, in some way, that he is like this—

That is why she must forgive him. In a way, she is setting herself free from her own prison.

And she wants this to work. She wants him to realize there’s more to him. She doesn’t want him to be like this forever. She wants to set him free too.

Speaking to him as the Queen, judging his actions, starting from a place of truth, but disapproval, will not get through. Appealing to lofty ideals like the good of the kingdom, the good of the king, and of his own soul won’t matter to him. Lofty ideals mean nothing to a boy grieving for his father.

This is not for him. This is for her. It doesn’t matter what he says, what he thinks. In the end, all she can do is try to reach him, knowing it is ultimately his choice to take her hand through the bars. But the success or failure of this mission is measured by whether it helps to heal the fear ingraining itself in her heart, whether it helps to heal the way she thinks of him.

So, in light of this, what can she say to gain some amount of closure? To heal her heart? Her fear?

She takes a deep breath.

It isn’t easy to say aloud, to anyone, especially to him. But she knows the truth will save them both.

“What you did…” Her words now gain a far-off quality, more ragged themselves.

The words tasted like anger and fear. They are not the queen’s lofty proclamations…they are Arianna’s real feelings. Her grip tightens around the cold metal of the bar as she whispers darkly, “It scares me.” Her eyes dart to him, her own resolve tightening in coils inside her, becoming something more than the fear. But, despite the still-present anger, there is something very sad in her voice; “You scare me, Varian.”

At first he wants to sneer—she can almost taste the poison on his lips.

But something about these words catches up to him, reaches the mainframe; the edge in his blue eyes falters, and for a moment, a mere moment, he is a boy again. He is the kindness, the Oh I’m so sorry! the Did I do something wrong? and he is realizing that there is something about her words that makes him sad too. But he pulls the plug, hits reset, the venom replenishes itself, and he is the villain again. He folds his arms over his chest, turns his head, and scoffs, his tone becoming blank of anything that reached him;

“So what? You expect me to be sorry?”

“No.” She answers immediately. “No Varian,”—she is going to say his name as much as she can, calling to something deep inside him that is still Varian—“I don’t expect you to be sorry, nor do I expect that you’ll care about anything I have to say.”

Because she doesn’t.

She wants him to be. She knows from that single look that that boy is in there; the one who does very much care, who would care if his friends got hurt, who knows there is more to life than just making his father proud, and who would care if the Queen was afraid of him, for whatever reason. She knows that that boy is sorry, even now.

But she doesn’t expect to see that boy.

She knows he will hide him, shove that boy and his kindness to the side—(just like they all did, once upon a time)—push him down into the pieces of his shattered heart where there are monsters, and little oxygen, and black rocks growing like thorns.

If she expects him, she will never see him again.

If she doesn’t, she will see him in every passing glance.

He takes a step forward.

He is, so unbearably small. He is weak, and dirty, and she can tell he hasn’t been eating well. Yet he’s so tall in her eyes, even here—like he was that day, when she was on the ground, and he on the ladder, his heart is incased in living metal, his motions wound to the tune of a sad music box. He seemed so tall then…though he’d fallen so far then.

“Then what are you expecting? What do you want from me? Why did you come here, your Majesty?” He gets close to the bars, too close, but she isn’t letting his words get so close to her heart. “Did you come to gloat? To condemn me? To lecture me?” He pauses. “Don’t bother,”—His voice becomes a quiet breath—“I’ve already heard them all.”

At first she wonders where he’s heard them, who told them to him—if she was wrong, and Frederic came after all, opted for lectures, instead of accusations. Then she realizes, Ah, of course. Quirin. And that thought, the way he mentions his father, the hopelessness hidden in the midst of the intense sadness…it makes her thoughts falter, reshuffle.

“I don’t think you yourself even know why you’re here.” The sting still hides in his tone, slithering in the background, and it will latch its fangs onto her conviction, a parasite, stealing it away, if she isn’t careful. She can almost feel his breath now, he is so close, so horribly close. “Do you? You’re…scared. So why come before the object of your fear?” His lip curls as he mocks, “You must think you’re so brave.”

Anger ignites in her gaze. She can’t believe he’d talk to a queen like this. She grips the bar tighter, the imperfections in the cold metal digging into her palm.

Her fear makes her feel like a little girl before him. But if he’s weaving fear into the little girl in her heart, she will sow doubt into the little boy in his.

And from now on she will speak simply to him. Without the judgment, the lectures, the threats. Not as a queen, but as a mother. She will sit down with that boy as he cries in the dark, bring down a drop of sunlight, stolen from the outside, to the boy who doesn’t believe he deserves it.

“You want me to—?!”

“Listen.” She breaks though his words.

“What?” he takes a step back.

That’s all it is. All she needs to heal her heart. All he needs for a chance at redemption. It’s so much simpler than they all thought, than she thought at first.

“I came here because I want to talk to you. Forgive me if it sounds like a lecture,” She laughs a little, sadly still, “I’m afraid I don’t have much practice. But I don’t pretend to have all the answers either.”

At first he grits his teeth, trying to fight her request, but he turns away, his hand to his chin like when he’s doing serious calculations. He pauses for a long moment, then his eyes tick back to her and scan her.

He shrugs. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” The words are not kind, but the snake in his voice curls up quietly.

She releases the bar at last.

“I don’t approve of what you did.” She takes a step back, assuming a more reserved position. “I don’t like it, I don’t understand it, and at times, you still scare me. But this,”—she stops and gestures to the bars—“this cell…” Her eyes fall upon him. She is not afraid to meet that blue now, now that the electricity has calmed slightly, now that he is at least willing to listen. “It won’t change that. It won’t change what happened, or how either of us feel about it.”

She is meeting him where he is now, in this cell, not standing above him and calling him villain.

“Locking you up …I thought it would give me some peace of mind, and while it might mean that you can’t hurt Rapunzel anymore…” She shakes her head a little and murmurs. “I don’t think it helps either of us sleep any easier.”

He pauses, looking down.

“I don’t want our happy ending to mean the unhappiness of yours.”

What? The boy in his eyes whispers as he jerks his head up.

“This is not where I want your story to end.”

She can see it. That drop of sunlight she stole for him taking root in his eyes.

“So what are you going to do?” The snake in his voice lifts its head, hisses. “It’s not like you’re going to let me out.”

“No.” She gives a small smile. “It’s not much, I know…but I have made a decision.”

“And what’s that?”

“I have decided to forgive you.”

The fear is gone from her voice now. And at last, she means it. She has done what she came here to do.

Surprise, sunrise, flares behind his eyes for a moment. Then he folds his arms, turns away and scoffs,

“Is this some sort of joke?” The snake has moved to his hands, curls them into fists at his sides, rattling noiselessly in warning.

“It’s not a joke, Varian.” She answers simply. “Would I go this far for a joke?”

“I didn’t ask for this.” The snake raises its head, bares its fangs.

“No, you didn’t.” She gives a small tinted smile, and she can tell at once just how angry her kindness makes him.

The snake shoots at her.

“I don’t need your pity, your Majesty! Or your—!”

“No, you’re right, you don’t.” She cuts him off. Her voice is completely calm and collected. She can feel the snake in her own heart, slinking away. “Nor am I intending to give it. I didn’t come here for you, Varian.”

He looks up at this thought.

She has no reason to hide the truth from him.

“I came here for me. For my own presence of mind. I wanted to forgive you. Nothing more. No one made me do it. It’s not a joke, or a lecture, or a new form of punishment.”

“I get it,” he sneers. “Just like the royal family to forgive for the sake of yourself, or your precious kingdom…never for me. Never for the poor boy who just needed a second of your time!

“What would your beloved family think of you if I told them you came down here to see me? If I told them—!”

“Tell them if you want to. Frederic may be angry, but what’s done is done. This was my choice. That’s not what this is about, and you know it. I came here for my sake… because I knew if I came here for you, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. So thank you, Varian, for listening. That is all I needed.” She bows slightly. “Think whatever you want, after I’m gone. It doesn’t matter to me.”

He isn’t looking at her, the rattling his spread to his body.

“I have one last thing for you, if you will except it.”

His eyes flash to her like lightning.

“Again, I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I could do.”

In lieu of an explanation she lifts up the journal and quill, smoothing her hand over the cover, and holds it through the bars for him to take. She knows putting even her arm through the bars is risky, that it might leave her with serpentine venom in her veins...but this is her act of good faith

He tsks his teeth, folding his arms, turning away.

“Its not for you.” She says simply.

He raises an eyebrow. Oh? Then who is it for?

She smirks.

“It’s for that boy I met the day of the science competition. You know, the one who cleaned the library? Do you think you can give it to him for me?”

That makes him angrier, but she isn’t leaving till he takes it.

“Don’t call it pity.” She smiles, seeing the look in his eyes as he takes a step closer. “Call it revenge, if you that makes things easier.”

At first he simply stands there, dark hair covering electric eyes, glancing up every few moments to see if she’ll go away. Then he sighs, walks over to her, snatching it from her grip.

“I gave Rapunzel a journal just like this one.”

His hands shy away from the pages, like they’ll bite him, at the mention of her daughter. She knew the name would not help, but she needs him to know what this means; that she is treating him the same way she treated her own daughter.

Threats flare behind his eyes, but quell themselves. He returns to the journal, flicking through it roughly.

“I thought you might need something to do.” She explains lamely.

It is a feeble excuse, but a true one nonetheless.

What will he fill it with? Not drawings, like Rapunzel, or flowery interpretations of his adventures. He will likely fill the pages with calculations, like the ones that littered his desk and the walls of his lab, the ones he put the withered sundrop flower on, the ones surely detailing the plot that put him here in the first place.

The fear is all but gone from her by now. In its place is growing something akin to a flower; hope, the sunlight she intended to bring to him, the seeds planting in her heart too. That’s what forgiveness does, after all.

His eyes scan the empty pages.

He starts at the back, and ends up at the front cover. Upon seeing the inscription, he holds the notebook up in one hand, trying to decipher the words. Unlike her daughter, he doesn’t make some ill-attempt to pronounce the foreign language, instead his eyes pivot to her, demanding an explanation.

“Plus est on vous,” the translation rolls off her tongue, “It means ‘there’s more in you.’”

He slams shut the journal with one hand, closing his eyes. He runs his finger along the spine as if trying to give it chills. Then he pulls out the quill, thumbing through the feather, likely checking that they wouldn’t give him anything too sharp.

“You honestly believe that, don’t you?” His words are dull now. Not sad, not spiteful either. Still grey.

“What can I say?” Her smile is entirely genuine now, it contains that stolen sunlight. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

“Even for someone like me?”

“Oh, especially for someone like you.”

He smirks. “You really are a fool.”

“Better a fool than a cynic, right?”

The smile fades, and his eyes lid as he pauses, thinks, then murmurs, “...How do you know I won’t use this to plot against you and your precious kingdom?”

“I don’t.”

(Though, from the softness of his tone there, she is almost certain he won’t.)

“So why would you—?!”

“I told you, I didn’t come here for you. I don’t care what you do with it after I’m gone. That’s your choice.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” The turmoil, thinly veiled, boils over. “Why would you come here?! Why would you act like everything’s okay?! Like I’m not the guy who kidnapped you, and chained you in his lab?!”

And at last she knows she has reached him... because behind every word she can hear that little boy crying out for mercy.

As the sky bleeds into navy she knows the last drops of day that guided her down the stairs to him have been planted in his heart.

She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. “Oh? I thought you’d heard all the lectures.”

His eyes widen.

“Goodbye, Varian.” She turns and begins to leave. “I do hope to see you again, out free. And when I do,”—She stops to look back his way—“Maybe you can teach me that home alchemy after all.”

She catches one last glimpse of the boy she met that day before she exits the dungeon, sure, after all this, she will at least be able to sleep.