#her mother taught her to fight for her dreams no matter how many humans she bothers in the process

[hedgehog-moss]

Pampoldine acts genuinely offended when you don't let her kiss your cheek for a selfie. She's like, way to ruin my brand.

#crawling along #her mother taught her to fight for her dreams no matter how many humans she bothers in the process #pampérigouste is baffled by but supports her daughter's tame innocent hopelessly law-abiding dreams

[fanartka]

I love so many different ships with Strange and each relationship develops so differently. I like Clea Strange because she is always Strange's equal, she is not a damsel in distress, but in the same way studies magic and fighting and can take on the responsibilities of protecting her world or Earth.

I don’t know in which country what the habits are, but here in Ukraine, on March 8th, men usually congratulate women something like “you are such gentle and beautiful flowers, thank you for decorating our lives so much, inspiring us so much, take care of us. We wish you to always remain so beautiful, we wish you to find true female happiness (this means finding a man and getting married successfully), etc. " Then they give us a frying pan or some household item, as if this is exactly the one thing that every woman dreams of, flower and sometimes husbands take the responsibility of cooking on this day. Wow.

Of course, this is not done out of malice. None of them, or almost no one, I’m sure, wants to somehow offend a woman with such behavior, but just think about this.

March 8 is the day of women’s solidarity in the struggle for equal rights, for the right to be not only a muse and “hearth keeper,” but also for the right to simply be human. for the right that women, those who literally create and raise humanity, throughout the history of mankind, did not have, except for small historical moments of relaxation in some societies, and then very weak ones. And in many countries they still don’t. And it’s incredibly wild and painful.

This is the right to be not only a flower and decoration of a man’s life, but also to decide your own destiny. And all we hear in this day is "be kind as spring, be gentle as flower, here's a pan, isn't it everything you wish?"

I am so happy to live in a time when I can live my own life and earn my own living. My father could not marry me off against my will, and, knowing his character, he would have done so if he had the opportunity. I have the right to manage my property and have received an education. Such simple joys of a free person that many women did not even dare to dream about a hundred years ago.

I would like to thank all the women who made this possible for us, suffragettes, feminists, who demanded equal pay, demanded to reduce the working day from 16 to 10 hours, demanded voting rights. They were beaten and thrown into prison, barbarically force-fed when they went on hunger strike. Society hounded and mocked them, just google the caricatures of those years.

The most offensive thing is that women themselves were part of the bullying society, those who were taught to be obedient and comfortable and who taught this to their daughters, spreading from century to century the ideology of second-classness, which is very destructive for women. And even now in many countries, when terrible stories happen like a father and his sons trying to kill their daughter because she married whoever she wanted, the mother supports the killers, and not her own child, because the shame is on the woman. Always on the woman, no matter what they do to her. Being raped is a shame, being childless is a shame, giving birth out of wedlock is a shame. She left her husband who beats her - it’s a shame. She wore pants instead of a dress with a corset - well, you get the idea.

So many unfortunate broken flowers throughout history.

And just imagine how much faster humanity could develop if not only one half of humanity were allowed to create and learn! Look at the fandom artists and writers, most of them are girls. Now remove all the girls from the list of all fandom artists, leaving only the guys, and you will understand what humanity has been deprived of for thousands of years. Guys, your work is also wonderful, I have nothing against you. But I just see how many artists there are women, it’s just 70 or 80 percent, at least of those whose work I see on social networks or on Pinterest. We had frightening losses that we did not even notice, and many beautiful drawings and many wonderful stories withered and decayed in home notebooks and albums in attics, because women were not published. Only children's books, that's all you're good for.

I like living in this time.

I like to see how younger couples around me are gradually getting used to the fact that household responsibilities are not only the woman’s business, but also the man’s. And really, how weird it was. When a man worked at work and a woman at home, this could still be dealt with. But when both work, to think that after work a woman should bring groceries, cook food, clean, do homework with the children while the man rests after work - this is nonsense! But our women have lived like this for almost a hundred years, and many still live by this ingrained habit and teach their daughters this, “otherwise the husband will leave for another, a better and more comfortable housewife.” When will this end?!

I see many film studios, including Marvel, trying to be on trend and in line with the spirit of the times, but doing it so ineptly and without the slightest understanding that it causes more frustration than gratitude.

It’s the same as if you asked for bread in a store, but they covered it with cream and glitter, wrapped it in pink packaging and didn’t let you carry it yourself, otherwise it would suddenly be too heavy and you wouldn’t be able to handle it. And we just need simple, honestly earned bread.

Often in films they try to show a strong female character as some kind of Mary-Sue, an imba, a standard Superman, but in a skirt. And to emphasize this, such heroines are shown as almost super-cool, emotionless robots against the backdrop of stupid, weak men.

But this is not what we would like to see, not what women and humanity need.

I can't speak for all women, but I think we don't want to be the strongest males. We want to be able to become as strong as our character will allow, if we want to. We don't want to be stronger than anyone, we don't need to surround ourselves with weaklings to feel strong. We want an equal partner who will never say something like "I'm a man, so I'm in charge. You're a woman, so submit and don't talk back."

It's scary to think how many women still live in a world where they are forbidden to live their lives the way they want; where they are tortured and no one, not family, not the state, will protect them, because this is “the norm and traditions.”

So on the holiday of March 8, I wish all women that they live in a world where their equal rights with men will become such a common thing that they will never think that it could be otherwise. and men, knowing that a woman can divorce and leave him if he offends her, will become less aggressive and more understanding. I’m not saying that all men are like this, but, unfortunately, very often practice shows that as soon as a woman becomes dependent on a man, for example, while caring for a baby, husbands begin to take advantage of this and behave... as they should not there would be.

So, congratulations with March 8, girls. Remember the millennia that we lived without rights. Appreciate the rights we have now. Help those who still don’t have them. And be happy living your life the way you want.

P.S. I may make mistakes in English, I will be grateful if you point them out to me if you notice them.

Also feel free to write anything, share a thought or story if you wish.

#many words post #some thoughts #march 8 #was yesterday but better late then never #feminist #feminism #doctor strange #clea strange #clea #fanart #art #pencil drawing #colored pencils #traditional art #traditional drawing #clea fanart #clea art #sorcere supreme #fanartka art

[melxhunter]

A WARRIOR’S VOYAGE

"With the sins of the sun and the sadness in the sky, you shall wonder why the universe never loved you back."

— In a world overrun by the corrupt and mad, driven by lust, greed, egoism, desire and obsessionalism, having a sweet and innocent nature always ends with death. Being honorable and having a strong moral compass is viewed as something ethereal one can only dream of.

That being said, her chances were slim. But she wasn't going to let that stop her.

It was winning or dying.

And Fiyona Mormont was not ready to die.

SCROLL DOWN FOR MORE…

HOUSE MORMONT of Bear Island is a vassal House which holds fealty to House Stark of Winterfell, to the Warden of the North. They had always been a small House – it was no secret. But somehow, that alone just made them even prouder.

It didn't matter how many overlooked the island's inhabitants and failed to see the whole picture. For even if most didn't fully realize it, House Mormont was fearsome enemies but also excellent allies. Even if they indeed are a very small house.

Their ancestral home of Bear Island is an island far to the northwest of Winterfell, its location and densely forested areas with a large bear population the main reasons to why it's the home to mostly woodsmen, crofters and fisherfolk. Despite that, Bear Island was one of the places within the Seven Kingdoms known for their skilled warriors. Known for how impeccable they were at sword fighting.

Not only that, but Bear Island was also one of the few subcultures within Westeros with an tradition of female fighters. You see, over the age of time, there had always been dangers of imminent attack from ironborn raiding ships while the men were out at sea which eventually led to the women of Bear Island being expected to defend their homes from attacks. Sometimes it even was attacks from wildings who avoided the wall completely by using boats to cross the bay from the Frozen Shore.

Thus people who hail from Bear Island are mostly strong, hardy, loyal and deep down compassionate and kindhearted. When they know what needs to be done, they don't hesitate to take action.

Fiyona Mormont was no exception. The young she-bear was taught to be a warrior from an early age, and she had always known the true horrors of the world, known about the monsters hiding in the shadows since the early stages of her youth.

Fiyona was no stranger to death either, for she had watched the life leave disappear from the animals which she hunted, even watched the life slip away from her father's eyes. It was horrible, but she knew it was a part of the harsh world she lived in.

Nothing could ever change it. It was the way it was, the way it always had been and always would remain.

What Fiyona was a stranger to, however, was love. Not the kind of love you receive from your mother, a sibling or a dear friend. No, Fiyona was a stranger to the kind of ethereal love which exists between two souls. Between two hearts which ignites in such a heated flame whenever they're near one another.

Not even in her life as Mia Nordin had she ever experienced it... not that she remembered that life...yet.

As the Seven Kingdoms seemed to hold its breath while preparing itself for yet another war, completely amid the world where greed and power reign supreme, Fiyona's life collides with a another's...under arranged circumstances.

Thus began the story of Fiyona Mormont and Robb Stark. Two young humans who would change the course of the game itself.

The future Warden of the North and the former heiress of Bear Island.

The Young Wolf and the She-Wolf.

The King and Queen in the North.

As brave as the dusk & as fierce as the storm.

Fiyona Mormont's tale is filled with broken pieces, terrible choices, betrayals and ugly truths. In spite of those parts indeed being heavy and literally true, they are nevertheless misleading. For the tale is also filled with happiness, heroism, love, humanity, kindness and peace in her soul.

It's an entangled tale in which a black bear is forced to run with the wolves only discover she was one of them all along.

A tale of the wild wolves and the black bear.

Interested to read more? Then check out the story A Warrior’s Voyage on my wattpad profile melxhunter!!

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #a song of ice and feels #arya stark #sansa stark #jon snow #i stand by daenerys #tyrion lannister #winterfell #lyanna mormont #theon greyjoy #cersei lannister #ned stark #catelyn stark #mother of dragons #the young wolf #robb stark imagine #robb stark fanfic #the red wedding #house stark #asoiaf #got imagine #got #got fanart #grrm #asoiaf fandom #bran stark #rickon stark #robbstarkedit

[karume-everything-else]

That's good

I was wondering if you can do a Canon x oc story nothing romantic but as more of a San acting like a big sister of sorts and if your wondering yes it does take place after the film

So the story is about a young girl named Rose who runs away from Irontown after she feels like no one in her family takes her seriously as when she tells them she wants to be a warrior but her family dismiss her dream as they are farmers and its a family tradition to become one

So she decides to run away to the Cedar Forest where she wants to be like San as she sees her as the greatest warrior of them all however she bites off more she can chew and very large animals begins to chase her before she is saved by San and her wolf family San then asks why she's in the forest alone which Rose tells her everything and how she hates humans for letting her be who she wants to be and then san gives her some advice and tells her that family is important even to a wolf girl like her before helping her get back to her family

While yes San hasn't completely forgiven humanity I would feel like she has soften up to them a bit and it would be interesting to see her as a big sister of some sort

You like this story request?

This sounds so fun <3 I made up names for the two wolves, Chie which roughly translates to wisdom and Yoku which is the second half of dynamic power (Dōryoku).

"No Rose, we're farmers." Her mother sighed again, "Warriors don't serve much purpose in our society. A farmer can thrive no matter what."

Sitting back with a huff, Rose looked out the back of the caravan. This forest was so pretty, so much to explore. It was all she really wanted, to wander and discover and not be bored doing the same things every day. But her Mama and Papa were stubborn people who insisted that she become a farmer like them, that she be just like them.

Rose knew she wasn't like them, not really. And moving to a new place, getting to be somewhere that wasn't the dusty old field she'd known since she could waddle around. That was so exciting. Especially when they passed through other towns, seeing the different people all dressed up in shiny metals. The different types of clothes that people were wearing... the big shiny swords, spears, and especially the pretty bows and their arrows with the cute little tails that tickled when the guard allowed her to hold one.

It all excited Rose. That's why she wanted to be a warrior. So she could go and see the world, see what was out there.

But she wasn't allowed. After exploring the new farmland, Irontown, and every corner of every building she was allowed into, Rose found herself bored once more. The life of a warrior felt like it was so much better, especially as she was allowed to follow Lady Eboshi most everywhere.

So many of the ladies Rose met were so loud and fun and nice and taught Rose so much about things. Just not about actual fighting, she was shown how to point a gun thingy. But her mother quickly told them off and made her go back home early. It wasn't very fun for Rose, having to hear her mother talk about the same thing all day. Even though they were making cookies the whole time.

So when Rose heard the big bangs from outside, she had to force her way outside with the rest of her family. It had been a couple days since another new guy came to town. He called himself Ashitaka and Rose had followed him around so much that her mother joked about him being Rose's boyfriend.

But right now he was holding back both Lady Eboshi and a weird girl Rose had only heard stories about. It excited Rose to see the weapons shimmering in the firelight. The way the crowd jeered, only bits of what was being said made sense to Rose. She couldn't figure out why the wild-looking warrior was deemed bad, why she didn't stay in the village at all.

Ever since that night, Rose wanted to go meet this girl. Ashitaka didn't come back either, but every attempt that Rose made to go explore was cut off by her parents or the ladies saying it wasn't safe anymore. But that was why Rose wanted to go explore. She wanted to see what was happening for herself. And yet she simply wasn't being allowed. Either kept in the house or on the farm, being told that it was too dangerous outside, all while so many things kept happening.

Things that Rose wanted to understand.

Especially after being woken up in the middle of the night by her mother. Being cradled, Rose could feel the tension, the fear. Nothing made sense, no one was explaining anything. But everything was dark and Rose could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck. How afterward Mr. Ashitaka became the leader of Irontown instead of Lady Eboshi. And now Rose was being told how much more she needed to become a farmer, that she wouldn't have a choice in the matter.

And Rose hated it.

It was a couple days after her seventh birthday, her mother and father were completely asleep when Rose slipped out of her bed. Tiny feet hitting the floor as she pulled her favorite teddy bear with her. A cute little dog-like plush her grandma made when she was smaller.

But Rose would need her puppy to go with her. That other warrior was with massive dogs after all. Dogs must be able to keep people safe, even Mr. Ashitaka was friendly with the big dogs that the warrior girl traveled with. So clearly dogs were good travel partners.

Rose couldn't help but wonder how anyone could see when it was so dark out. Though she knew having a torch or something would help, she didn't know how to make a fire or a torch. Not to mention how easily she'd be spotted by the grownups and taken right back to her parents. And who knows what they would do after that.

But the forest itself was quiet, so many things to see and discover. Until Rose's eyes fell on a small, white creature. It was so cute looking, little holes made an almost face and when it tilted its head, it sounded like a toy noise maker. Kneeling down to be eye level with the little creature, Rose gasped when it vanished.

"Hey! Come back!" She sat with her little plush in front of her, "I just wanna play!"

As if it heard her, the little creature reappeared. At least, she thought it did, but looking closer this one had different little eyes. Rose couldn't help but reach out for it. Though it only disappeared on her as soon as she was too close. Pouting, Rose stood back up. If these little things wouldn't play with her, then she'd go find something that would.

Despite the darkness of night, Rose quickly found an adorable raccoon. One that instantly hissed and spit at her for interrupting its meal, Rose only just backed up.

"Oh c'mon." She tried cooing, "I just wanna play. I'm friendly, see?"

But the raccoon didn't care, stuffing it's food hastily in its mouth before scampering away. Leaving Rose to once again pout that nothing in this forest wanted to play. How was she ever going to become a strong warrior if nothing in the forest would play with her?

Maybe if she just wandered around something would want to play with her. After all, that would prove that she's very friendly to the forest creatures. Looking all around the forest, Rose started off in a random direction. Unable to keep her eyes on anything for more than two seconds, Rose tripped over several tree roots.

The way her puppy plushie was getting so dirty and damaged with the wigs and leaves made Rose so upset. She didn't know what to do about it though, it wasn't as if she knew where there was water to wash the dirt and leaves off. Even as she wandered further and further into the forest, she didn't know where to head at all.

Stopping to listen to something rustling the leaves, Rose knew whatever this was wasn't just wind. But all the rustling stopped when she did. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and yet Rose took a step forward. Hopefully looking at the darkest center of the underbrush to see what was going to come out of it.

As the ground shook, Rose was knocked backward into a small bush. Her puppy plushie went flying off to the side as a massive bear towered over the area. Large nose sniffing around for where Rose had landed, its front paws landing heavily on either side of the bush.

Rose attempted to stand up, but her coat was caught on a tree branch, effectively pinning her to the ground. Yelling out only made her problem worse as the bear's muzzle broke through the bush and for the first time, Rose felt the severity of the situation. Staring up at the fangs the size of knives and doing what little she could to scoot away Rose screamed. Throwing what sparse leaves and twigs she could at the gaping maw she was staring down.

It was all Rose could do, until the jaws were ferociously ripped away for no reason. All the loud barking and a sudden loud yell from an almost familiar voice. The adrenaline pumping through Rose's small body had her trying to slap at the sudden hand reaching for her.

"Hold still!" The female voice commanded, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Being pulled from under the bush, Rose looked up at the woman. Her fear dissipated instantly and replaced by excitement. While she didn't know the name of her rescuer, Rose knew who she was. And if anyone could help her become a strong warrior, Rose just knew it.

But San was not impressed. Grabbing the young girl's wrist a little too roughly and pulling her along. Having heard of a small child who ran away from Irontown, San was asked to find her and return her to her family. A group of admittedly respectful farmers that had relatively recently moved to Irontown.

"C'mon, I'm taking you back to Irontown."

Realizing her chance was slipping away from her. Using her free hand to latch to the nearest tree branch, Rose struggled. Tugging as hard as she could against San as the wolf princess attempted to march Rose right back home. A struggle that resulted in several broken tree branches and a pair of small trenches in the ground.

"I don't wanna!" Rose cried, her grip on the tree branch starting to slip, "I don't wanna go back to Irontown!"

"Listen here you little brat! You don’t get a say in this. You're going back before you become something's meal, got it!?"

"Nooooooo!" San continued to struggle as Rose stomped her feet and made every effort to pull away, "I don't wanna! I wanna be strong and go see things! I don't wanna go back! I'll just come back here!"

"Why won't you listen to me?" San grit her teeth all but yanking the little girl's arm out of socket, "You can’t stay here! You'll die and become somethings meal. What don't you understand about that!? Huh?"

"But I wanna be strong! I wanna be strong like you! Strong like Mr. Ashitaka!"

San's grip slackened a little, giving Rose just enough to slip away. Clinging to the trunk of the tree as best she could and looking up at the brown-haired woman.

"Strong like Ashitaka, huh?" San asked after a moment, "That's why you ran out here?"

Rose nodded, never taking her eyes off San. It was a cute little trick all things consisered but...

"Its getting late anyways." San moved to walk past Rose and her tree, "You can cling to that all you want, but if you're smart you'll follow me. I'll let you stay with me, at least for tonight. But tomorrow morning we are going to Irontown."

Dropping her voice in hopes that Rose wouldn't hear, even as the young girl fell in step just behind San, "Ashitaka will know what to do, the best way around this."

Scooping up the mostly whole remains of her beloved puppy plushie, Rose found that she had to jog to keep up with San. Even when the young girl caught up with the seasoned warrior, Rose still found she'd have to jog to keep up as San wasn't going to slow down anytime soon.

At least until they came upon a large-ish cave. To Rose, it looked so massive, but to San, this was just a cozy little home for her and her wolf siblings. One of them already knew to stay here with Rose, both of them knew how San could be if followed or pestered.

"Miss! Miss!" Rose was quick to latch onto the other end of San's spear, "What's your name? Where are you from? Can I come with you?"

"No." San lifted her weapon, shaking it to and fro gently, "I have things to do and you must stay here. Chie will stay here with you so you can rest."

"But Miss!" Rose tried tugging the spear back down, "I wanna go with you!"

Striking the ground sharply caused Rose to topple over, "I said you have to stay here! It's for your own good! Don't try your luck girl."

"My name is Rose." She pouted, slowly getting up and clumsily dusting herself off, "And I'm tired of grown ups always treating me like I'm just a little girl! It isn't fair! I wanna be a strong warrior like Lady Eboshi was, like Mr. Ashitaka is! I wanna-"

Slumping over the butt of the spear, Rose fell deftly to the cave floor.

"Keep an eye on her Chie, she shouldn't get up for a few hours yet." San turned on her heel, "Come on Yoku, we still have to guide the other humans out of the forest."

It was far later than San would have liked, but she still managed to return home. Seeing that Chie had somehow readjusted the young girl into a more comfortable position and was very nearly asleep himself.

"She seems harmless enough San." Yoku nudged San's arm gently, "A couple days wouldn't hurt. Give her a look into what you go through."

"No." San sighed, propping her spear against the wall of the cave, "She needs to be around other humans, she just doesn't know that yet."

"Then shouldn't you as well?"

"I visit Ashitaka in Irontown enough. But this girl is too young to make any kind of decision for the rest of her life. She'll do better in Irontown than out here."

"Perhaps you should work out a small deal then." Yoku followed San partially, "You heard her, she'll only keep running head first into the forest. Regardless of how dangerous it is, this young one seems determined to be out here as often as possible."

"I know. But she can't stay here. It's far too dangerous for one as young as her."

"That was once what Mother said about you."

San stopped, "I'm aware. But this is different. The forest is far more dangerous at the moment. We've only just begun calming the beasts and getting the mines shut down. If the apes were to find her..."

"Then you should guide her." Yoku sat in the door of the cave, "As Mother guided all of us."

San looked between Yoku and Chie, and then her eyes fell on Rose. The young girl was so trusting, so small, and yet she had gotten so far into the forest on her own before meeting trouble. Perhaps training her would be somewhat acceptable. But San still thought she should go back to the humans, for her own sake.

Settling down next to Rose, San nuzzled against the wolf's warm fur. Unable to stop the young girl from snuggling up against herself, San exhaled deeply. Giving in to the instinct telling her to wrap an arm around Rose, San refused to make eye contact with either wolf before falling into a deep sleep.

San thought she woke up early, but the first sign of trouble was the absence of the young girl. Instant panic found San on her feet and reaching for her spear...

Her spear which was also missing...

Racing out of the cave, San found Rose trying to tug the spear away from Yoku as he stood there. The desperate struggle was very one-sided as Rose only managed to dig up the ground at her feet.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing with my spear?"

Having toppled over at the first shout, Rose sat up and turned to look at her human companion. Taking the spear from Yoku, San inspected the wooden handle for any kind of splintering.

"You shouldn't take things that aren't yours kid." San sighed as Rose finally stood, "Especially not a weapon. This isn't a toy, you could get seriously hurt or hurt someone or something else."

"I know." Rose bounced over, "I wanna learn how to fight and stuff. That's part of being a strong warrior, right?"

San glanced at Yoku, then back at Chie, "That's only part of it. But you don't know the first thing about what hurting someone else even means. You couldn't even understand you were in danger before it was too late."

"So you can teach me right?"

"No. Now let's get moving."

Scooping Rose up and placing her on Chie's back was easy enough, but getting her to sit still was a problem. Leading to San having to ride Chie as well.

"Where are we going Miss?"

"Don't call me that." San grumbled, children weren't a strong suit, "I'm taking you back to Irontown. Your family is worried about you."

"But-!"

"No buts! The forest is dangerous and not a place for children. How many ways can I say that?"

Pouting hard, Rose couldn't hold back the tears, "But I'll be good... I just wanna be a warrior."

"A warrior needs to know how to survive."

"So teach me!"

"I can't!" San shouted, "I don't teach humans how to survive! I keep them out of the forest so we can all live in peace."

"I just wanna be like you. I wanna be a strong warrior."

"You don't even know what that means." San leaned back, "Being a warrior doesn't mean going into dangerous situations. Most of us want things to be peaceful and calm. You don't even understand the first thing about what warriors go through."

"But I wanna learn!"

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"No, I'm telling you. You don't want to know what me or Eboshi or Ashitaka go through as warriors."

"So teach me!" Rose whined, "I wanna learn. Why won't anyone take me seriously?"

Sighing deeply, San looked off to the distance. The forest brushing past had a certain allure to it. That wasn't hard to see, but this little girl could only see the surface.

"SAN!"

The lurching stop caught San off guard more than the shout. Throwing her right off as Rose got up and ran off into the forest. Punching the ground, San gave chase on foot while Chie and Yoku ran around to cut off the small child. But Rose was a little craftier than she let on as she ducked under Yoku's belly to run off in a direction that would take everyone a moment to regroup.

"Maybe if you'd just-"

"Not now Chie!" San snapped, "She doesn't belong out here and you know it."

"If you gave her half a day out here to see that..." Chie mumbled.

Growling slightly, San just took off after Rose. She knew that the girl just wanted to explore but that wasn't good for her in the slightest. All this was getting to be too much, San wasn't the most patient person after all.

"Kid!" San yelled, "Stay right there!"

Rose looked back for half a second before Yoku Scooped her up by the back of her jumper. Struggling and trying to get herself free, Rose cried and kicked and screamed with all her might. Unfortunately it did nothing.

"Look, you gotta go back home." San stood there with her hands on her hips, "There's no way around it. You're way too young to be roaming anywhere."

"But-!"

"No buts! You're going back home to Irontown. You're not even able to understand how dangerous this is."

Even San couldn't ignore the thick, blobby tears as Rose cried. Despite the young girl's attempts to keep it under control, the hard sniffling and deep gasps only served to make her seem more pathetic.

Softening her voice, "Look, right now you're too young for all this. You don't know what's going on. You have to go home today. But maybe Ashitaka can talk to your folks and get you some actual training."

"T-t-training?" Rose hiccupped loudly, "W-wh-what for?"

"So you can learn how to use weapons and survive in the forest." San lifted Rose by the arms, "But you have to behave yourself until we get you back home, okay?"

Nodding quickly, her miserable face turning very bright from under the grime, Rose coughed from trying to speak through a runny nose.

"Alright, just... behave alright?" San climbed up on Yoku's back with Rose settled right in front of her, "And maybe we'll get you out here in a few months or something. Training takes awhile before you'll be ready to do anything."

"Okay!" Rose's watery voice was so cheerful, "I'll make sure to train really hard Miss!"

"It's San."

"Hm?"

"My name is San."

"Okay San!"

Having seen how Rose's parents were, San did worry a little about whether they could convince them about this training. Even though Ashitaka said something about satiating Rose's curiosity so she would be able to choose a life she wants and would have enough information to work with.

But as San looked around her little cave, she noticed the strange plush toy that Rose had brought with her. It looked strangely like a dog or wolf, just dirty and tattered. Making quick work of patches, tucking a little shed fur from both Yoku and Chie to make up for the lost mass, San set out for Irontown. One last time just before the sun would set.

Wandering right up to the farmstead where Rose lived, San knocked on the door as politely as possible. The person who San assumed was Rose's mother seemed deeply concerned with who was at the door.

"I believe this belongs to Rose." San held up the plush dog, "I found it out in the forest."

"Oh, yes." She nervously reached out for it, "I'll make sure--"

"I'd like to return to Rose myself if that's okay." San retreated half a step, "It won't take more than a moment."

"O-o-of course." She stepped back, reluctantly waving San inside, "She's just in her room upstairs."

San's footsteps were completely silent as she ascended the stairs. Instantly spotting Rose's door as it was decorated with cute little animal decorations and knocking. Rose opening the door instantly lit up, hugging San around the legs.

"I found this in the forest." San smiled a tiny bit, "You dropped it and it got pretty dirty and torn. I tried to fix it up for you."

"Thank you San!"

Rose beaming up at San was just a little too sweet for her. Though it would be short-lived, as San had to return to the forest. She just hoped that Rose's parents would accept this offer...

#ask #princess mononoke #princess mononoke x oc #post canon #tim-ribbert-56

[honeygrahambitch]

Very important question for my mental sake:

How do hannibal & will raise a kid? Family headcanons ? Pls?

Brilliant ask, i fell asleep thinking about the thousands of words i could write about this headcanon cause i genuinely love it.

So first thing first they would adopt or find a surrogate mother to carry their kid. That means that the kid would have genes from one of them. I usually headcanon them to have a baby girl and no matter whose dna she got, she still takes after both of her dads.

Some headcanons:

- she is extremely intelligent. Maybe a prodigy even. She is predisposed to autism or other mental disorders but she is so much her fathers' daughter.

- Hannibal packs her lunch every morning

- Will teaches her how to fish and even how to fix boat engines. She is a prodigy so it's not really hard for her

- her dream is to become a doctor but she takes her empathy from Will so she would de good as a profiler like her dad. At the same time she would make a great psychiatrist like her other dad. It's hard for her to choose

- she basically grows up at the fbi headquarters so everyone there is like an aunt or uncle for her

- she takes her darkness from her fathers. At 17, her boyfriend cheats on her and before her dads can take care of the asshole, she brings the dead body on the table with a casual "i did some groceries for tonight"

- of course she has a meltdown when she processes the fact that the asshole cheated on her but her dads are there to comfort her.

- the school headmaster often calls Will and Hannibal to report the fact that their daughter punched another kid. The reason is usually "they were being rude". Her daddies are so proud of her. She often defends her friends from bullies

- both Hannibal and Will taught her how to fight and defend herself

- every boy she had ever brought home had to go through questioning from both Hannibal and Will. Hard to tell which is worse. It's more like "if you make our pup suffer, we will make sure you suffer more, understood?"

- she changed many schools because she always fights a lot of kids. Will and Hannibal always made sure she knows how proud she makes them

- they spoil her. A lot. At any age.

- she takes after her dad and often brings home strays. Hannibal has to agree because both her and Will put a lot of pressure on him and use the puppy eyes.

- just like her dads, she is not very comfortable with human touch when it comes from people who are not her dads. She loves hugging them.

-one day she comes home with blood on her face and both Will and Hannibal are shocked and she is like: it's not my blood

- they raised her with the spirit of "i don't struggle with mental health, mental health struggles with me" and both Hannibal and Will are surprised she is the best version of themselves and they love her so much and she is their weakness. It's fun when she tries to manipulate them cause they are all great manipulators and sometimes it takes them hours to reach a consensus

These are some of them! Let me know if writing fics about it would be a good idea!

#send asks #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #hannibal nbc #hannibal series #hannibal fanfiction #mads mikkelsen

[el-michoacano]

I Saw the Dead, Small and Great

It’s finally posting day for the @tltbb and I couldn’t possibly be more excited! What a great time this has been! Shout out to the event hosts, and also to @queensabriel and @melli4uhbees, who have been the best artists a girl could ask for! 

Summary: Once upon a time, many, many years ago, Harrowhark's great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, told her that their family was descended from that one wicked snake that haunted the Garden of Eden, that the family Nonigesimus were more serpent than man. At the time, Harrow had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales. She knows better now.

Trigger warnings: Suicidal thoughts, lots of talk of death.

READ ON AO3

1 Is your soul prepared?

Harrow isn't sure how the sign got onto her property. It's been there for years and years, the nails rusting, the white paint chipping, the wood rotting beneath it. The sign is as tall as she is, and double as wide as she can stretch her arms. It's sinking into the mud, though, like everything else in this damned place, standing crooked enough that it might just topple over in a strong breeze.

Is your soul prepared?

The words were wrought in bright, angry red once, but they're an ugly brown now, the color of old blood. It's oddly fitting.

Hooligans, Harrow thinks, but she can't be sure. The sign is large, and its post is set deep into the soft earth. Would just any rowdy local boys be able to do such a thing? Would they have any inclination to pass on such a message? She'd been the target of their little pranks before, but such an effort from boys who hadn't the cleverness to not wet the front of their trousers when they took a piss? It seems unlikely. They’ve always been more the type to leave dead animals hanging on the gates. The sign is too civil.

It was the church that planted the sign, she's sure. The Ascension Parish Southern Baptist Church had been after her for years, all the way up until it had caught fire and burned to the ground in 1912. Fingers had pointed at her for that, too, and even now, she occasionally wakes to find God is watching or Repent now! or Open your heart to God! painted across the front gates.

Removing the paint gives her something to do, she supposes. Is it really so bad?

Is your soul prepared?

Harrow has considered removing the sign more times than she can count, but it's not as though any other living soul sees it. Why bother? It's not as if her family's sinking home is the only site of such signs. There are others like it scattered all over the bayou, ones of this seemingly standard size, smaller ones tacked to chain link fences, even huge billboards. God sees all, they proclaim. Jesus saves. Hell is real.

Of course Hell is real, Harrow thinks with a roll of her eyes. She lives there, after all.

Hell's End is the name of this area, a name given by her great-great-grandmother when the family had first arrived in the States all the way from New Zealand. It was to be the end of their long and dangerous journey west, the start of their Heaven on Earth. How wrong she had been. How wrong they had all been.

Harrow is one of the very few who dare to come near this part of the swamp now. The brackish waters part around her feet, and the heels of her elegant boots leave no prints in the mud. The gators go scurrying away at her approach, and high in the moss-draped trees, the cicadas fall silent.

The snakes, though, make no move to flee. They watch her with their bright, slitted eyes, and they bow as best as they can. She is one of them. She offered an apple to Gideon, and another to Alecto, apples of forbidden, carnal knowledge. She is the snake in the Garden of Eden given human form, and she is the mistress of this particular bayou.

Once upon a time, her great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, had told Harrow that their family was descended from that one wicked snake, that they were more serpent than man. At the time, Harrow had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales.

She knows better now.

This wickedness is in her blood. Her parents had tried to fight it, but Harrow has long since given in. There's no use in trying to deny who she is.

The wickedness is as much a part of who she is as the swamp is.

The Nonagesimus family have always been the masters of this bayou, back since the 1750s when the house and its great iron gate had sprung seemingly overnight from the mud. That was centuries ago. Harrow isn't sure of the year anymore, but she is certain that it's high summer now. The children should be catching fireflies and the old biddies should be sipping sweet tea on the porch while their husbands talk about the weather, but Harrow is the only Nonagesiumus left in all the world, and the sinking mansion sits quietly in its watery grave, waiting to claim her as it has all the others.

Her family is long gone.

Harrow, with her twisted magic and her unnatural tastes, is all that remains of her once-great, once-powerful family.

The irony of it is enough to choke her, to send her hundreds of dead relations a-spinning in their graves. Or spinning in their coffins, at least. There are no graves here.

2

Though the closest towns are lively and New Orleans isn't terribly far away, there is no music in Hell's End.

There was, once upon a time, a lovely harpsichord in the parlor, but Harrow used it as firewood ages ago. Her mother had been an accomplished player, and she had taught Harrow to play, too, but Harrow couldn't bear the sound. Even in dreams, it breaks her heart.

There was an old gramophone once, too, but it met a similar fate. One too many times, it had come alive in the night, likely by Pelleamena's hand, and Harrow had thrown it from the top gallery. She still steps on its splinters from time to time.

The closest thing Harrow can bear to a song now is Ortus's low humming, though she's not sure it's a hum at all. It's a purr, almost, like that of a cat, a soft, comforting sound. It's the sound of his aura, she thinks, gentler than ever in death.

On occasion, she joins in on the hum, letting it rattle its way up her throat and down through her chest. It's a tender, deep sound, and she worries sometimes that it will shake her apart if she lets it.

Sometimes she thinks she wouldn't mind shaking apart. She could sift her way down through the warped floorboards, down into the manor's sunken foundation and even lower, drifting down, down, down.

Maybe she'll sink all the way into Hell. Maybe Alecto will be waiting for her there, her dark, dark eyes full of longing and anger. Gideon won't be there, though, Harrow knows. Hell is the last place Gideon belongs.

Harrow, though, belongs there. A witch, a homosexual, a murderer. Where else would she belong?

3

The wicker chairs set out behind the house are sinking and rotten, but the ghosts don't favor the back, and so Harrow often finds herself sitting there in the low evening light. Her legs are crossed at the ankle, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a book resting open in her lap, though it's too dark to read it now.

The mosquitos are a choking cloud this time of year, buzzing thick in the air, carrying diseases on the wind. They have taken too many of Harrow's kind already. She swats at them with her lace-gloved hands, but they're never deterred. Stubborn things, she thinks. They're the only swamp creatures that don't seem to fear her.

It has to do with her blood, she's sure. There was wicked magic in her veins from the day she was born, and they can smell it, even now, long after she's been bled dry. Though they hover around her like a plague, there's nothing left in her for them to drink. She used it all up trying to bring back her parents, her family name, her old life, her dead lovers.

But they're all gone now, and her magic can't bring them back. Not in any way that matters.

Her parents are gone, interred in the grand white marble mausoleum out behind the house. It's sinking into the swamp, like everything else is, a few centimeters every year. The doors can barely be opened now. When Harrow dies, there will be no way for her to join them in the tomb. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe she doesn't deserve to be with them. They certainly wouldn't welcome her, not after all her disastrous attempts to bring them back.

She doesn't deserve to be with Gideon in death, either, though no one to this day seems to know exactly what became of her. For all Harrow knows, Gideon is in some gator's belly. Had been, anyway. No one has seen her in decades. No one is even looking anymore. Not even Aiglamene is looking anymore. Gideon was murdered, Harrow is certain, likely by the church itself. The worst things always happen to the best people.

And then there was Alecto. A predator, yes, but Harrow's predator. There isn't a day Harrow doesn't regret drowning her, but there was nothing else to be done about her. She was mad. She was inhuman. She was everything Gideon wasn't, and Harrow had taken comfort in that for a while. But Alecto had ripped poor, sweet Ortus limb from limb in a fit of rage, and her drowning was a far easier death than she had deserved.

Alecto sits on the fence at the edge of the property most days, her dark, empty eyes staring off into the distance.

On particularly gloomy days, Ortus joins her. Even dead, he can't bear to be alone. He's more a great mass of shadow than a true figure, weak even in death, but Harrow would know him anywhere. Her heart aches when she sees him. The sad, tremulous smile he gives her makes her want to die.

But after all she's been through, is there anything that doesn't make her want to die?

Is there anything in the great, wide world that makes her want to live?

If there is, she hasn't found it.

At this point, she doubts it exists at all.

She doesn't live now, anyway. She just survives.

4

Slowly but surely, the Nonagesimus house is sinking into the mud.

It's been sinking for years, of course. It started the day Harrow's parents died.

Died.

It's too gentle a term. They didn't pass away in their beds, old as the hills, their souls well-prepared, as parents should. They didn't go peacefully. They didn't just die.

Pelleamena and Priamhark hung themselves from the high branches of the cypress tree that had been growing just inside the gates since before the gates had even been erected. Harrow had been the one to find the bodies, the one to cut them down, the one to lay them to rest in the family mausoleum.

Her being the one to read their note was by far the worst of it.

You bring shame on us, it had said. It had been scrawled in her mother's elegant handwriting, and her father hadn't even bothered to sign it. Harrow often finds herself wondering if he even read it, or if he had found Pelleamena's body before Harrow had and followed his wife to the grave of his own volition.

It was Harrow's fault either way, and to this day, after all these decades, she carries the weight of it on her back. It weighs so much that she can barely stand upright, hunched like an old woman in her wanderings. She would be an old woman, were it not for her magic. This eternal life is her punishment, and she deserves every single second alone.

Her parents were ashamed of her, and probably had been for most of her life. Even as a child, there was something wrong about her. They had tried and tried for more children, but alas, she was the only one to make it to birth. Their only daughter, they whispered, the blood witch. Their only daughter, the necrophiliac. Their only daughter, the homosexual. Their shame had driven them into the arms of Death, and their precious child had played witness to it.

She should have seen it coming from a country mile away, but she hadn't. She had been too busy trying to resurrect Gideon and kill Alecto to notice their downcast eyes and trembling mouths. She hadn't noticed how they had wasted away until she was cutting them down from their twin nooses.

Harrow supposes it doesn't matter. Even dead, her parents are with her now.

They stand silent most days, pacing the sinking house's top gallery, staring out over the swamp with their dark, sunken eyes and their sewn-shut mouths. Dead men, after all, tell no tales. She's made certain of that.

Though they can't reply, not in words, she does talk to them sometimes.

Today, though, she's more focused on the foxfire darting through the trees. This is no swamp gas, she's sure. She's intimately familiar with that particular sight. Instead of the usual blue, this light is violet, and it moves slowly, ambling through the trees without a care in the world.

There's someone down there, Harrow realizes.

The question is, is this person living or dead?

5

It isn't alive.

Harrow isn't sure if it's human, but certainly is not alive.

She meets it outside the iron gate, her hand resting against the metal, as if its narrow bars can somehow protect her from this strange half-dead girl.

"Hello," it says. Its smile is sharp and fanged, its voice a rasping whine, like dead tree branches scraping a window during a storm. It takes Harrow's hand in its golden right one, presses its soft, bluing mouth to her knuckles, and Harrow can feel the coolness of it through the lace of her gloves. It's prettier than it has any right to be, despite its wasted appearance and its pallid skin and the deep, dark shadows beneath its eyes. "Have you been waiting long?" it asks, catching her eyes with its own.

Waiting? Harrow doesn't wait. She takes. The only thing she's waiting for is death. Perhaps, she thinks, this is Death. "Who are you?" she asks, slowly, stupidly. Her voice is rough from lack of use, the croak of a frog more than the voice of a witch. It's oddly fitting.

The other woman, tall and pale as a ghost, laughs at her, and the sound is the knell of church bells ringing on a foggy morning. They're funeral bells.

Hear the tolling of the bells -- Iron bells! Harrow thinks. She pulls her hand away, wraps her arms around herself. What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!

It asks, its voice low and seductive, "Who do you want me to be, Harrowhark?"

Harrow bristles. No one has called her by her name in years. She doubts anyone even knows her name anymore. Only old Aiglamene would remember, if she even remembers anything. This time, Harrow asks, "What are you?"

The eyes roll. They're a ludicrous shade of purple, striped with blue and brown, deep-set and heavy-lidded. They're inhuman. "I'm no one," it says, then approaches her, reaching a hand toward her face. Harrow doesn't flinch, even when the soft fingertips and sharp claws brush her cheek. "And yet everyone knows me." It moves closer, and Harrow can smell it: Musty, powdery, with something sweet underneath. Something terribly, deathly sweet. "Everyone faces me."

It's the smell of rot, Harrow realizes. "You really are Death."

It leans closer, brushes its mouth against hers. It agrees in a voice like shattering ice, "I really am."

6

"I've been waiting for you for years." Harrow feels strange saying it, but she can't take it back now. She feels stranger still letting this creature into her home, but she can't take that back, either. Why would she want to? Death is the first physical guest she's had for decades. It's been all ghosts and vermin for far too long. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Death says, its eyes roving as it steps into the manor, stepping gingerly through the puddles in the foyer, its feet bare. It's dressed all in white, its long skirt trailing on the floor, the hem damp and muddy. It wears only a camisole on top, the straps thin and hanging off its bony shoulders, short enough that it leaves a few inches of its midriff enticingly bare. Harrow startles at that: She hasn't been enticed in decades. She startles again when she realizes how utterly human it is to feel enticed. Perhaps she's still human after all. "I keep a very busy schedule."

Harrow has the distinct feeling that that isn't true, but she doesn't dare say so.

Death itself has come to her.

It's hard not to feel special in the wake of it, and she swallows down a wave of pride. Pride. She hasn't felt that in ages, either.

"You really live like this?" Death asks as it steps into the parlor, the damp rug squelching obscenely under its bare feet.

This room had once been grand, but now, it's little more than a shadow of its former self. A ghost of itself, like its mistress. The walls are lined in ceiling-high shelves full of moldering books and pretty little treasures, the Persian rug unwinding at its edges, the lovely chaise discolored and misshapen from years of sweat and sitting. All the furniture in the house is in such a state. Harrow can't find it in herself to be embarrassed by it anymore.

Death takes a seat on the chaise, kicking its bare feet up onto the far end, its delicate ankles crossed one over the other. Its skin is so pale that the worn navy velvet makes its veins all but glow.

It's otherworldly, and Harrow comes to sit in front of it on the warped wood of the floor. She arranges her skirts carefully, keeping her tattered slippers hidden under her equally tattered hem. Had she known Death was finally coming for her, she would have dressed better. "Why are you only here now?" she asks, an unfamiliar desperation in her voice. Of course she's desperate, she thinks. She's been waiting since before the turn of the century. She's been waiting longer than most people get to live.

"I told you," Death says, picking at a loose string on the arm of the chaise. A bit of the piping comes off with it. "I've been busy." It glances up with its ludicrous eyes, meets Harrow's gaze, holds it fast. Harrow feels caught in their depths, like a fly in a glass of sweet tea. Sweet it is, though. "And I thought you would have come to me on your own by now."

7

The following morning, Harrow wakes alone, still dressed and still exhausted.

She's disappointed, but she can't bring herself to be surprised. She's poison, after all. Even Death itself can't bear to be around her. She can't say she blames it.

She's still on the floor in the parlor, the chaise empty, but it still has that smell clinging to it: Musty and cloyingly sweet. Like violets, Harrow thinks again. Death has eyes like violets. Who would have guessed? Certainly not her.

She had always imagined Death as a skeleton wrapped in a black robe, a scythe at its side, its eyes empty black pits in its skeleton face. Death didn't look like a girl, but an ancient being, rotting away from the inside. She had had a nightmare, once, that Death had come to her in the guise of her long-dead aunt, Glaurica. In the dream, Harrow had very nearly taken its hand.

She had never feared Death. Even now, having met it in person, she doesn't fear it.

Death was the first real companionship she had felt in ages.

She thinks this even as her mother crosses the room. Pelleamena is dressed in the same long, trailing black dress she wore on the eve of her death, her long black hair pulled into a braid that hangs heavy down her back. It looks eerily like a rope. She's reaching for a book on the ceiling-high shelf, but her hand goes right through the spine, and she pulls back, staring through her transparent fingers as if it hasn't happened a thousand times over.

Harrow watches her, silent as a stone.

Even in death, they barely acknowledge each other.

Priamhark, as much as the ghostly thing that wanders the house is Priamhark, is less dead. When Harrow watches him, he watches her right back.

"Father," Harrow says to him as he paces the gallery.

He doesn't speak, Harrow has made certain of that with her postmortem sewing, but he looks at her, and his dark, dark eyes are gentle.

They stand together, his lighter-than-air hand over hers on the gallery's splintered railing, and this night, the swamp is dark.

8

When her parents killed themselves, Harrow called the police.

Hours passed.

No one came.

Pigs, Harrow had thought.

She's been alone ever since, save Death and the ghosts. Even Aiglamene has stopped visiting.

Harrow doesn't mind being alone most of the time. It's the peaceful nights that get her.

In the quiet, under the singing of crickets and the rumbling of the gators, she can hear Gideon's voice. Gideon, asking, You really gonna wear that? Gideon, calling her baby. Gideon, begging for her touch.

From time to time, it's Alecto's voice in her head, whispering songs and poetry and utter nonsense. Too much of her voice, and Harrow is certain she'll go mad. For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee, Alecto sings in her whispery, water-logged voice, and the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

Now, though, it's Gideon's voice nor Alecto's she hears.

The air is hot around her, humid, and Harrow loses herself in the fantasy, her black eyes slipping closed. Her chewed-down nails rake against her skin, and she imagines a golden hand in their place. She imagines bluing lips at her neck, too-sharp white teeth sinking into her neck. She imagines the cool, meager weight of Death above her. It's Death's voice she hears, and in its creaking hanging-tree voice, it whispers, Come.

Harrow does.

9

You bring shame on us.

Though her mother hasn't spoken in half a century, Harrow can still hear the words in her voice. She had a lovely voice, Harrow's mother. It was elegant and soft, almost musical. Her words always came slowly, carefully selected before they passed her lips. The note was probably exceptionally well selected. Short and sweet.

The note is tucked into the neckline of Harrow's gown, the paper tucked against her heart and tinged yellow from years of sweat and tears.

Harrow can't bear to be without it.

It's her cross to bear, and she must bear it alone.

10

It's a full week before Death shows itself again. Harrow finds it in her room, stretched out on the molding canopy bed. The canopy is less lace now than Spanish moss, the covers mildewed and practically falling apart. Death doesn't seem to mind. It looks perfectly at ease, its hands joined behind its head, its right leg bent, the other tossed over its knee. It was humming to itself, its pale foot bouncing along to the rhythm.

Harrow can hardly believe that it's back.

Death's voice is an undignified whine when it asks, "Did you forget about me, Harrowhark?"

How could I? Harrow doesn't say. She does say, "I tried to." It's not entirely true. "I thought you'd abandoned me again."

"Abandoned you?" Death looks almost offended, its golden hand coming to its chest, clutching invisible pearls, but its laughter is high and sweet, bouncing off the crumbling walls like birdsong. Harrow represses a pleasant shiver at the sound of it. "Harry, my love," Death says, smiling with blue lips and too-sharp animal teeth, "I have been beside you since the day you were born."

My love? Harrow's cheeks go warm, but she ignores it, asking, "Since I was born?" It seems impossible. It also seems impossible that Death exists as a person at all. She's been surrounded by impossibility for as long as she can remember. This shouldn't be so surprising. "How could you possibly have time for that?"

"There are half a million Deaths," says Death with a wave of its hand. It wears lacy, threadbare gloves, and its cuticles are bluish, its nails chewed short. "This is just the area I chose to cover," it's saying, though it doesn't sound at all interested. Harrow wonders if it's even capable of interest. "There are fewer people here, less work. I can just hover most of the time."

The dark cloud of Death follows us, Harrow's grandmother had once told her. It seems she was right. Harrow can't quite believe it, even now. It's a curse, her grandmother had told her, and we deserve it. "Why me?" she asks.

"Why not?" Death shoots back. It holds out its arms, and against her better judgment, Harrow climbs into bed beside it, letting it enfold her. The gold of its skeletal right arm is chilly through the worn lace of her dress. "You Nonagesimus types are my favorite. You always come to me so willingly."

Harrow props herself up on her elbow, meeting Death's eyes with her own. "You know my family?"

"All the dead ones," Death says with a shrug that sends the strap of its camisole slipping off its shoulder. The veins just beneath its icy-pale skin are especially visible there, and Harrow lifts a hand to trace them. They have a green tint to them, and she wonders if there's blood in them at all, or if this iteration of Death has algae and swamp moss in its veins. "I gave the kiss of death to your father, and to your mother, and to Glaurica, and to sweet Ortus." Death ticks off each name off on its spidery fingers. Then it looks down at Harrow, one colorless brow lifting. "And then there was Alecto." Harrow feels the blood drain from her face, the breath fleeing her lungs in a single second. "She wasn't one of you, was she?"

"She could have been," Harrow says, softly, "eventually."

"You sent her to me gift-wrapped, didn't you?" Death doesn't sound at all bothered, and it slips its fingers beneath Harrow's chin, forcing her to look it in the eye. "It had been so long since I received a sacrifice like that. Your people don't offer tribute like they used to."

"Our magic isn't what it used to be," Harrow says.

"I wonder why," Death says. Its smile fades, though, when it asks, "You're how old? I'd say your magic is working just fine."

Harrow's lips threaten to smile, but it never comes. She says, "It's impolite to ask a lady's age."

Death itself laughs at her, songbird-sweet. "All you want is to die," it says, sounding bemused, one brow lifted in a match to the corner of its mouth, "and yet you'll live forever."

"For far too long, anyway," Harrow agrees, shivering when Death's golden hand slides into her hair, carding carefully through choppy black locks.

The silence that falls then isn't silence at all. Outside, the wind is in the trees and in the water. The cicadas are singing. Birds call to one another. Harrow's heart is beating a mile a minute, pounding in her ears. Death's heart isn't beating at all.

Softly, its voice almost a purr, Death says, "Did you know you've been dying your whole life?"

Harrow scoffed. "Isn't everyone?"

11

"Where did you go?" Harrow's voice is soft and plaintive, and she hates it. She's straddling Death's waist on her bed, its pointy hip bones pressing into the backs of her thighs. It feels like too much too soon, and it's far too intimate, but she has no intention of pulling away. She could stay like this forever.

Death presses its fingertips, both the flesh ones and the golden ones, into Harrow's hips. "Someone needed transporting," it said with a shrug of its narrow shoulders.

"You do that?" Harrow asks. Her hands are resting against the flat plane of Death's stomach, her fingertips tucked just beneath the hem of its camisole. "Transport people?"

"I transport souls," Death says. Its eyes are on Harrow's, searching for something in her black gaze. "This one was the last one in the area, save you."

Harrow's unkempt eyebrows draw together, her eyes flittering off to one side. As far as she knows, she's the only person still living in the area. She asks, "Who was it?"

Death, strangely, hesitates. "An old woman called Aiglamene," it says, and there's a strange weight in its voice, as if it knows how much Aiglamene meant to Harrow once upon a time. "Must have been a hundred and twenty years old." Its hands slide down to Harrow's thighs, its thumbs coming to rest in the creases of her knees. "Maybe even older than you."

"By a bit," Harrow agrees, doing her best to keep the sudden numbness out of her voice. "I didn't know she was still here."

"Keeping an eye on you," Death says, "from what I can gather."

And now she's gone, Harrow doesn't say, but the words fill her chest. It hurts.

"You should have seen her automobile," Death is saying, sounding almost mystified. Its hands are joined behind its head now, its eyes distant. "Such an incredible machine!"

More to herself than to Death, Harrow says, faintly, "I've never seen an automobile." Gideon had one that she was immensely fond of, but she hadn't trusted it on the marshy roads of the swamp. Alecto, old-fashioned thing that she was, chose to simply walk. It had made her disappearance so much easier.

"You're so behind the times, Harry," Death chides, though there's amusement clear in its voice. "You should come to town with me." It gives her a sly grin, looking very much like the fox that managed to break into the chicken coop. They're both foxes, Harrow realizes. "The things I could show you..."

"No." Harrow says it far too quickly, and her eyes dart off to the side, embarrassed. "No, I belong here. My magic ends here. I would age fifty years if I ever left the swamp."

"Shame, that." Death doesn't sound particularly bothered. Instead, its hands come to Harrow's thighs again, pushing the fabric of her skirt immodestly high, up past the tops of her stockings. It takes everything Harrow has to keep from pushing her hips into the touch. "But there are so many things I can show you right here."

12

The next time Harrow wakes, she isn't alone.

She's on the great bed in her room, Death's arms wound tight around her and holding her close. Her chest is pressed to Death's side, its skin bare and cool to the touch, devoid of breath or a heartbeat. It's eerily still. It's not Harrow's first time in such close contact with a corpse.

Outside, through the thin curtains over the balcony doors and the windows, the light is thin and greyish, either dusk or dawn, but certainly overcast. There's a storm coming. Harrow wonders if Death will simply sleep through it.

Death, unsurprisingly, sleeps like the dead. All through the night, it didn't move even once.

Was it only all night? It could have been years, for all Harrow knows.

As she lays quiet in Death's arms, she's surprised to find that she doesn't mind that idea. Let her dream her life away in the arms of Death. There are worse fates.

13

Just inside the door of the sinking manor is an antique dark wood table. On top of it is a crystal vase filled with flame-orange roses.

They were a gift of Aiglamene, given shortly after Gideon vanished in a rare gesture of comfort.

They are the single thing in the house that isn't rotting.

Harrow stands before them, staring, willing life through them.

Death stands beside her, watching quietly, its arms crossed over its chest, its head tipped curiously to the side. "I can feel their age," it says, its voice soft and thoughtful. "How long have you had these?"

"Decades," Harrow says. She plucks one from the crystal vase and tucks it behind Death's ear. Immediately, the life leaves the petals, and even when Harrow touches the petals, she can't revive it.

Death says, softly, "Are you afraid, Harrowhark?"

"No," Harrow says, and is surprised to realize that she means it.

"Good." Death steps behind her, wrapping its arms around Harrow's waist, resting its pointed chin on her shoulder. Its skin is soft and chilled. "With old Aiglamene gone, my attention is all yours."

The smell of violets mingles with the scent of roses, and Harrow realizes there's nothing she wants more.

14

"How do you do it?" There's something like awe in Death's voice, its head tipped to the side, a chipped tumbler half-full of decades-old scotch in its golden hand. "I'd lose my mind if I had to stay here all the time."

There's no derision in its tone, and Harrow says, "Maybe I have."

"Suppose you wouldn't know if you had," Death says, taking a long sip. "You could be dead right now, couldn't you? Would you even know the difference?"

She isn't dead. She may be dead inside, but she still feels. Harrow feels the chair she's sitting on, threadbare and creaky as it is, feels the warped wood beneath her bare feet, feels the coolness of Death sitting beside her. She would know, she tells herself.

She doesn't quite believe it.

15

Death goes out sometimes, wandering through the swamp and into the towns.

Harrow watches it leave from the iron gate, Ortus at her right, Alecto at her left. Her parents keep close, too, sewn-lipped and sullen.

Even with the ghosts, Harrow is alone, waiting.

Her life has become a waiting game, and she finds she doesn't mind, because she knows she'll never be alone for long.

Death always returns to her, sometimes with a man to sacrifice or a woman to seduce, sometimes with a butchered gator or a pot of jambalaya it found God-knows-where. It rarely comes to the manor empty-handed.

Death is courting her, Harrow realizes, and for the first time in decades, she smiles.

16

The courting is gentle. Death often is, isn't it?

It comes softly, like sleep, darkening the edges of the world and drawing it all in close.

Death steals the very breath from Harrow's lungs, pinning her flat against the wall. Its blue lips are pressed to her nape, its golden hand resting lightly around her throat, its spidery flesh hand at her hip.

Its voice is soft when it says, "You were made for this."

Made to be used by Death itself? Made to cater to Death itself? Made to be a lover to Death itself? The answer is obvious. "I was," Harrow agrees, her voice nearly lost in her heavy breathing. "I am."

17

Harrow spends her time in the arms of Death itself, now. But is that any different from how she lived before?

At the end of a long day, she waits beside the rusting gate, waiting for her deathly love to return to her.

The branches of the too-familiar cypress shake above her, Spanish moss swaying in the breeze. She presses a hand to its rough bark and wills it to live. Like the roses, it must live. It's a monument now. This tree is her old friend, known all her life.

As is Death, approaching through evening fog, violet eyes shining in the dark.

Being in the company of Death is better than being alone, Harrow supposes as Death's arms wind around her, pulling her close. Death's lips are blue and chilled against hers, but she melts into the feeling of it, as she always does.

As they walk back toward the sinking manor, they pass the old sign. Is your soul prepared?

Death trails its golden, skeletal fingertips along the top of the sign as they pass, and the wood is immediately overtaken by mold and mushrooms, the paint flaking off in great chunks.

"Is my soul prepared?" Harrow asks as they walk in the dark.

"Oh, Harry," Death laughs. Its glowing eyes turn to her, hypnotic and bright as lightning bugs. "Your soul has been ready for me since you were born."

#harrow nonagesimus #ianthe tridentarius #harryanthe #harrianthe #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #the locked tomb #the locked tomb Trilogy #tltbb 2021 #tlt big bang 2021 #my tlt

[thewriterowl]

some headcanon about Luke childhood and adolescence on Tatooine?

Oh sure thing! Now, I’d definitely use a lot of what is talked about already.

Luke was sort of exiled from most people, especially any of those who are close to his age. 

Now, Tatooine is a hella lonely planet. I recently reblogged an amazing chart that has so many planets, their systems/rims, stats, etc. and it provides so much info. Like how it is estimated only around 200,000 people live on all of Tatooine. The clumps of population are sort of spread out and hopping from one town to the next is not just something you can just get up and do. So Luke has almost no opportunity to even find friends.

I pictures that Biggs actually didn’t like Luke at first when they were kids. That he followed the group and that his family maybe urged for him to stay away from that boy, something just wasn’t quite right to him. The Lars were a rather respectable sort but they were still...odd. His father Cliegg was a pretty good man who saved and married Shmi Skywalker after his wife died, and Shmi was a good soul too...but there were so many rumors about her and her son who she claimed did not have a father. The son that won a race, threw a lot into chaos, and disappeared with cloaked figures. Lars claims this boy is the son of the missing child of Shmi, who had died when all that dramatics happened in the Core Worlds.

It was just...odd. And Luke was odd. Yes, there have been kids born with blond-ish hair and blue eyes before...but the colors were always darker. Their eyes would be such dark blue that they probably could look brown in some light and usually when they reach the teenage years the hair was already starting to darken. It was just a sort of normal thing on the planet. Pretty much everyone grew up too. Even the most measly of slaves had to have girth and strength on them to be of any use on this planet.

Luke just was always slightly off. His hair remained this pretty gold, his eyes were such a strange hue of blue, his face never took on a tough or quite masculine appearance, and he was just small. He was lanky and awkward and just never jumped in height like most kids. He was pathetically weak looking which is enough for most to keep their distances because if you’re around someone weak you could get drug down too.

Then there was those weird things that happen around him. Creatures that normally stayed hidden in the depths of the Tatooine desert and never inched close to towns would be found skulking and whimpering around the Lars’ property, always clawing at the wall that surrounded Luke’s room. The kid always knew where to search for a new well. He could sense when a seller is not being quite honest. He picked up blaster shooting quicker than any other child and could always find his target.  He knew how to use a speeder masterfully when he was ten. Beru’s plants sprouted with Luke nearby and gave them vegetables even during the drier months. He could predict things. And, as a child, when he had his rare tantrums things seemed to move. Then there was the fact that mysterious old Ben could be seen, only just, in the background, watching over the kid.

So, yeah, Luke was not seen as a welcomed sort.

But he was so stubborn and so eager for attention and to make friends that Biggs had a hard time fighting him off. The kid just managed to always find him so he just sorta gave up. He wasn’t about to bash a kid built like a twig’s nose in. That wasn’t exactly honorable. And well...Luke is actually pretty fun. He was always excited to go on adventures. He said yes to most anything. He was up for any dare. No matter what happened, he would always smile about it, just happy to be included. Biggs found he had far more fun with this kid than most anyone else so he just took him under his wing. Biggs was probably one of the more popular guys growing up so a lot of people left Luke alone after that, just primarily ignoring him or a cruel name tossed his way and or there.

Luke got kidnapped at least once in “cannon” but I believe that the Hutts would’ve tried to get him for the slave market. Maybe he wouldn’t sell for too much on Tatooine but he was clearly growing up into something pretty and different and that could be a lot of credits for them. Obi-Wan put a stop to it the moment he realized Luke had their attention and no one looked for Luke after that.

He tried to run away once, because he just felt so drained and empty on Tatooine, but Owen found him and dragged him back and scolded him so bad that Luke’s early stages of guilt-complex really ignited. He didn’t mention leaving for a little while after that. But he clearly was desperate to leave.

Luke had a lot of weird dreams. Sometimes even when he was awake. He could see and hear things that were there but...not. Sometimes it was foggy and blurry but he could make out a tall man who blinked from human to a black mass, breathing like a monster. Sometimes it was a man with white robes and long hair and a beard who would smile at him and give him a pat on his head, his expression calm and knowing but always gentle and comfortable. Sometimes the man would blur and Luke could see a hole in his stomach. Sometimes he would see a tall woman who glowed and had glowing green hair who would hold him close, calling him the Light’s child. Other times there was this odd pull to...someone...his mirror. Not his reflection but...yet she, as he knew it was a she, was. This other part of him. And sometimes he swore she felt him right back. He could sometimes hear a little thrum, it sounded like someone like him, but maybe younger...or maybe older, asking for the dark to please leave. He could hear another boy, someone Luke was connected to in some way, full of so much anger and kindness as he donned himself in armor. And sometimes he saw a pale monster, cackling in the shadows, with glowing yellowed eyes and who felt like decay.

Most times, he just never felt quite alone. Like there was something, or multiple somethings, always there. This pull, this connection, to everything. When he focused on it too much it made him very tired so he didn’t do it too often.

He didn’t talk about these things to his family either. 

Luke asked about his parents a lot but his aunt and uncle always refused to tell him much. They claimed to only have a little information on his father and knew nothing of his mother. He never gave up, trying to get as many stories from them as possible but it was always the same four to five stories each time.

Luke felt, or at least believed he felt, that his parents did love him and didn’t abandon him. They just died, which was sad but quite normal on Tatooine. He still wished he could see their faces and hear their voices. He usually just called them Mother and Father in his head, as a slight way to detach himself from the pain, cause Luke would be the sort who would call them mommy and daddy when he was young and then mom and dad when he was older. Mother and Father was just this...title he had for two strangers he wished he knew.

Luke still loved them very much and liked to pretend they would show up on the doorstep one day and pull him into a hug, holding him tight, and promising to never leave him again. That they would all stay together.

Luke thrived off of fairy-tale like stories and could never get enough speed in his life. Politics were never something he understood. He had plans on joining the Imperial Academy the moment he was able to become a pilot and travel across the galaxy. He could probably earn credits and get his own place and maybe take care of his aunt and uncle. He often wondered if he could be a hero.

He caused mischief but mostly on accident. He did not need much to keep him occupied and Owen realized he was very good with building, taking care of, and communicating with droids than most.

When he was seventeen to eighteen, folks who were a lot older or a very unsavory would approach Owen to try and get a deal to marry Luke.  He was still small and lanky, but people were beginning to notice he was prettier than some girls. Even some from the Hutt’s circle came in with offers to marry Luke into their protection--he could even live at the palace. Owen always rejected every proposal and kept Luke even closer to home after that, rarely letting him leave unless he was with Biggs. After Biggs left, it was always a battle to let Luke leave the farm. It made Luke smothered and a bit exhausted and whiny. He was nearing twenty and he was still treated like this delicate child.

Luke did have a massive crush on Biggs but never acted on it. Other than that he was far more interested in other things. 

He was good in picking up most languages by ear, he seemed to know Binary from the start, but he could never do well with speaking. it always sounded awkward to him. Beru taught him to read and write and she found if Luke only had a few texts, after a few lessons he would start to pick things up. Before he leaves, he is fluent in understanding Basic, Binary, Huttese, Jawaese, and Tusken sign. He can’t speak a lick of anything outside of Basic. 

Luke was always very kind and apologetic to whoever he met. He always felt he was something wrong and broken and would try to not bother anyone if he could. If something happened he was quick to blame himself (picked up from a lot of his interaction with the people of Tatooine and, unintentionally, from his aunt and uncle who did appear fearful of him at times). He puts other people first and has a hard time seeing other having faults but rather he is so broken that he makes them have faults.

He loves sweets but for savory, his was a big fan of things like rice and bread (I swear, in a Modern AU Luke would almost live off of Japanese rice and would be someone who could actually cook it (cause i can’t and it breaks my heart) and could just eat it as is or he just has it as the foundation for every meal) with some vegetables. He did not grow up with seasoning so he has no idea how to really use it...but would grow to enjoy it after some time.

Luke loves anything dog-like. He probably won over some Tusken’s because their dogs adored Luke.

Luke is amazing at engineering...but ask him what 6+6 is and he’ll probably go blank. Don’t make the poor boy think. He runs on instinct and can easily short-circuit his brain if he tries to think about what he is doing (cause often he shouldn’t really know it as he wasn’t taught it, he just somehow knows what to do)

Just cause of how Tatooine is...it is possible Luke has rarely been hugged and potentially rarely told he was loved.

[silvysartfulness]

Omg I saw that you used to write for the assassin’s creed fandom and honestly what a throwback 😭 are they on livejournal?

Aahhh, this is the part where I have to admit, I don't think I ever put any of those drabbles online! It was more a fun thing me and wife used to do, writing very very short 5 minute one-shots based on single word-prompts.

Oh, wait! Apparently I actually still have them, in an old folder of mine! Will post under a cut. These are AC 1-3-brotherhood, primarily focused on the latter.

La Volpe/Cesare post the fall of the Borgia was my main rarepair ship in that fandom, so that's the main (if occasionally only implied) focus for a lot of these. (CW some dubcon/non-con under the cut, so be warned.) 😊

1 Unwillingness

It goes against everything he is, a greater challenge than any battlefield taken on. Snarling, eyes blazing his defiance, Cesare submits for now.

2 Memento

”Something to remember me by,” murmurs Volpe softly against the sensitive skin of his neck, and it's all Cesare can do not to yelp as those vicious teeth leave a bleeding gash in his ear.

3 Baseline

He still doesn't trust Machiavelli, Volpe muses, and it's equally clear Machiavelli doesn't trust him. Perhaps their shared love of secrecy is the one dependent thing about their relationship.

4 Sniper

He has shot guards from rooftops, towers, horseback, beams and the treacherous crumbling tops of ancient stone pillars. So why was it, muses Ezio afterward, that he hadn't even thought of pulling crossbow or gun out as his sworn enemies held their short council in the courtyard a few measly yards below his feet?

5 Birthplace

It is in Masyaf the order of Assassins was born into what it is now. Searching for answers Ezio sets out on the longest journey of his life, back to the beginning of all.

6 Denunciation

It is hard to remember what it was like to have faith, Cesare thinks, but easy to remember when it was lost. What God could ever work through the instrument that was Alexander VI, his father?

7 Distaste

”Volpe, you didn't!” Ezio exclaims, his face a mask of distaste. Volpe smirks.

”Oh, it was not at all bad. Cesare is well trained.”

Ezio shudders. ”That is exactly what bothers me!”

8 Elimination

Constantly, frustratingly one step behind, it is little Cesare can do as his allies are meticulously taken out by the Assassins one by one. And yet it is not until the last of those on his side willingly turn their backs on him that he realizes this battle is lost.

9 Bluntness

”You can do as I say,” says the master thief matter-of-factly, turning the vial of antidote over in his spindly fingers, ”or you can spend the night dying slowly while vomiting your innards all over the floor. The choice is yours.”

Pale with fury Cesare chooses to live.

10 Turf

The Assassins had been myth, legend, bed-time stories to frighten a young boy already afraid of the dark. But as they dealt an all but deadly blow to his father inside the Vatican itself, Cesare grimly declares war. Roma is his city, and all who oppose his rule must be swiftly and mercilessly dealt with.

11 Assassination

He burns for the ideals, fights the fight with passion and utter devotion. But when Shaun's shaking hands lower the suddenly impossibly heavy gun he knows something he'dnever even thought about (Innocence? Compassion? Humanity?) has perished as surely as that very first body at his feet.

12 Apprentice

He remembers a gangly youth skidding across slippery roof tiles, trying so hard to keep up and even harder to hide his inability to do so. La Volpe silently studies Il Mentore and considers he's no longer sure who would lead the way across the rooftops.

13 Debris

Ezio swears as the ceiling collapses over the bed he shared with Caterina until moments ago – his armor and weapons are buried in the rubble and will be hard to replace. He does not yet know they will be the least of his losses this day.

14 Scolding

Altaïr has never been one to accept blame or criticism for his actions, but something about the way Malik's not-there left arm twitches as to shake a not-there fist in his face as the man speaks makes him look away in hidden shame.

15 Torrent

The rain pours down over the city, making roofs and cobblestones alike wet and slippery. Volpe tugs his collar tighter around his shoulders against the biting cold and idly contemplates if a trip to the Castello would be worth the trouble.

16 Anchor

He cheats and steals and tells honeyed lies with the ease of a snake. But his eyes can be oceans and his touch velvet – sometimes Ezio wonders if his always restless, inspiration-ridden friend keeps Salai around just to remember what it's like to be human.

17 Truce

”It would be nice,” says Machiavelli evenly, ”if you would not so readily name yourself judge, jury and executioner the next time you fall victim to unfounded suspicion.”

”Fine,” mutters Volpe, frowning. ”It would be niceif you were not so secretive. And stop trying to steal my spies. Get your own.”

”Fine,” Machiavelli replies with a minute smirk.

Fellowship is knowing just when your brother-in-arms is lying.

18 Nook

There are many unknown and unseen hiding places among the rooftops of Florence. On his back, hair plastered against his face and hot breath against his ear, Giovanni concludes it's very handy that La Volpe always knows to find one when you need it.

19 Orgy

These parties are more to his father's tastes than his his, Cesare firmly tells himself, perhaps letting his eyes linger thoughtfully on the multitude of courtesans a moment longer than intended. Then a familiar slender hand grazes his thigh and he is reminded that the only person even close to matching his own schemes, cunning and skill is the woman on the throne next to his.

20 Scoff

”I spend all my time in the Animus,” Desmond frowns, ”Lucy's keeping an eye on Abstergo and Rebecca... hacks and stuff. What do youdo, really? Anyone could use, what, Google and Wikipedia?”

Shaun grins or at least bares his teeth.

”You mean Templar Central One and Two? No, it's called obtaining knowledge, Desmond - sifted like little gold nuggets of fact from the vast sands of ignorance you're so fond of burying your head in. Google can't help you there, I'm afraid.”

21 Scolding

At the time, Ezio always figured Giovanni's constant nagging and pleading with him to stay out of trouble was only the worrying of an overprotective father. Only later was he taught discretion was part of the ancient Assassin's creed. He never got very good at it, even so.

22 Bonfire

No-one is entirely sure why Julius II has tempered justice with mercy for now and opted for his enemy's imprisonment rather than death sentence. As far as la Volpe is concerned, the way Cesare goes pale whenever the topic is brought up is at least good for entertainment.

23 Nakedness

Being exposed holds no particular shame for him, but the walls and floor are freezing to the touch, draining precious warmth from his aching body. Now would be a prudent time for an accursed thief to show up with a blanket to bargain for.

24 Arbiter

It was funny, Machiavelli drily noted in his notebook, how God and Divine Justice so often were on the side of the biggest army with the sharpest swords.

25 Purgatory

The land burns, smoke choking the sky and tinting the sun a sickly shade of blood. It is with a cold and unfamiliar sense of foreboding Cesare hurries through the flames toward the towering walls of the fortress to escape this hell on earth – one way or another.

26 Fingernail

Ezio has more than his fair share of scars adorning his hardened body, some remembered more fondly than others. He would never dream to ask Caterina to trim her nails, or use them just a touch more carefully.

27 Slavery

The Creed dictates freedom of thought, and in his reckless youth Altaïr would use it as justification for any rash impulse. But the older he grows, the more he comes to realize freedom and all its crushing responsibility can be the harshest master of all.

28 Carnivore

When confronted on his nasty habit of biting, Volpe only grins and quips something about foxes and their nature. Cesare is tempted to snap he's often seen dirty foxes prowling the back streets for garbage, but can see where Volpe would go with that, and so holds his tongue.

29 Bluntness

Ezio is too flustered after his mother's blunt request he find other outlets than vaginas to realize the enthusiastic young artist at his side seems more than eager to offer a few suggestions on the particular subject.

30 Vow

He will live, Cesare vows. He will live, he will regain his freedom, his power and his army. At any cost. And then they will. All. Pay.

31 Blending

It was simply not fair, thought Machiavelli, that no matter how solid your acting, no matter how meticulousyour disguise, Volpe would immediately spot you in a crowd and grin at you. Clearly spying on the sly old fox called for more cunning means, he conceded as he made his way to the Rosa to shamelessly bribe Claudia for information.

32 Misconduct

“Not that we are in any particular hurry to the Castello,” Orsini says, the knuckles of his war-gauntlet quite pleasantly buried in Cesare's face, “but things would just be easier all around if you would stop squirming and came quietly.”

33 Ultimatum

“If you don't stop hogging my mp3-player,” Rebecca whispers softly in Shaun's ear, “I'll tell Lucy exactly whatyou and Desmond used her yoghurts for last night.”

34 Takeover

“Stop!” Lucrezia commands as the soldiers feed the paintings to the fire – already the image of a swan is crackling and fading to black amongst the flames. Such a waste of beauty. She hasn't even realized Cesare is standing behind her, fierce and bloodied after the battle, until he speaks.

“You like them?”

She nods, and he touches her cheek with a smile, careful not to stain her hair.

“Then they are yours. A memento of the day the Assassini fell.”

35 Afterlife

“I blame you for this,” says Cesare flatly as the imps re-heat the lake of boiling tar. Again. “There is no God, you said. No heaven and no hell, you said. Stupid old bastard.”

Rodrigo mutters something about Hell being other people, but will have to concede that in this trifling matter, yes, he was mistaken.

36 Distaste

He would rather be hated than forgotten, Cesare sullenly thinks, rubbing his stiff hands for warmth. Bony, filthy, with the matted long hair of a hermit falling into his face, he has to settle for the guards' contempt. At least it's better than pity.

37 Slavery

He isn't really paid, Leonardo thinks, merely kept alive, yes. Not really compensated as such. And so the construction of the intricate war-machines is really on the consciences of his masters, not his. Sting of guilt quenched he returns to the blueprints with renewed fevered enthusiasm.

38 Probation

“What's the catch”, asks Cesare with deepest suspicion.

“No catch,” Volpe assures, looking innocent. “Just a reward for your recent good behaviour. Keep it up and there may a meal and a hot bath in it for you, too.”

Cesare does not for a moment believe they are just going out 'to stretch their legs', but a meal does sound inviting. He follows.

39 Adversity

Ezio strongly disapproved of the idea of his little sister taking over the Rosa in Fiore, and he frankly can't say whether he is more disappointed or proud when it flourishes under her care.

40 Bluntness

“You are a thief,” Machiavelli growls, piqued into a rare display of anger. “A liar and a cheat and an honourless thief!”

Volpe grins.

“All those things. And I'm still better than you.”

41 Scheming

Ezio gave the Apple to Mario, who had it stolen by Cesare, who gave it to Leonardo, who found it plucked out of his helpless hands by the Pope and his daughter. He ponders life was easier when he was just a painter. The Apple is a thing of awe, but the intrigues in its wake make his head hurt.

42 Favorite

It wasn't that Cesare particularly hated his older brother. It was just that while he no longer childishly sought his father's approval, the position as the Pope's favorite son came with several practical perks. Unfortunately for Juan, that meant he simply had to go.

43 Truce

When things are civilized, they can be bearable, almost even pleasant. The food is good, the wine plentiful, and Volpe's skilled fingers all but gentle. An unspoken truce, no matter how temporary. But neither man ever forgets the truth, which is war.

44 Scour

They answer to no-one, self-proclaimed executioners beyond all law. Too much blood on their hands now. Just before sunrise Cesare gives the command to attack. The cleansing of Monteriggioni has begun.

45 Extrovert

To hold his own council and play his cards close to his heart has always been his way, and he knowshe is a master at his game. And yet, Machiavelli can grudgingly admit to himself, it isn't until the boisterous chaos in human guise that is Ezio bursts in on the Roman scene that he begins to see how they will win this war.

46 Protagonist

“I will avenge the cowardly, treacherous plot against my father,” he thinks. “I will root out all those involved, every single one, and I will kill them and all they stand for.”

No-one ever sets out to be a hero, only to do what is right.

For Cesare, the path ahead is clear.

47 Willpower

It is never easy. Every time Altaïr visits his (his!) bureau in Jerusalem, Malik has to struggle with himself not to slay the man in his sleep. On many a moonlit night, only a lifetime of discipline stays the blade in his white-knuckled hand.

But strangely, it does get easier over time.

48 Esacalation

At first it had been mere proof of his ability to go anywhere in Roma as well he pleased, the taunting and impotent rage in response a given bonus. After some time, forced still-furious intimacy gained through blackmail had appeared a logical step. Then force turned out redundant. As Cesare clings to him, nails biting into his arms and teeth bared with need, Volpe admits to himself he would never have suspected the caged Borgia would so willingly use him to sate his desires – nor the other way around.

49 Torrent

Raw grief fades over time, a broken heart healed into a dull ache. The thing that keeps Claudia from sleeping at night is not all she has lost, but her screaming frustration at not being able to take her fate, and that of those responsible, into her own hands.

50 Danger

The peaceful life he had envisioned just the evening before will have to wait, Ezio grimly decides, pressing a hand to his wounded shoulder and focusing on not falling off his horse. And despite the shock, grief and pain, it somehow feels right. He has lived this life so long, he isn't sure he remembers how not to.

51 Splattering

Leonardo likes to buy birds at the market and set them free, watching with dreaming eyes as they take to the endless sky. Once, Ezio surprises his friend with twenty white doves. Much belatedly he wishes he'd remembered that stressed pigeons prefer to lighten their load before taking off.

52 Ramification

“It is time you take responsibility for your actions,” Rodrigo snarls, and Cesare struggles with the impulse to scream, childishly, “But father, younever did!”

53 Concession

“I'm not sure we should...”

Lover and Thief, silhouettes in the dark, alone. A light touch.

“Come now. It will be good, I promise.”

“But, what if...”

“Ssh. Are we not both Assassins? Everything is permitted.”

His honed thief's nerves tingling with foreboding warnings, La Volpe allows Claudia to persuade him in the end, knowing Ezio will probably kill him, and that it will no doubt be worth it.

54 Leer

You can't even seehis face in the shadows beneath the cowl. And yet, Volpe just standing there outside the bars, nonchalantly leaning one hand against the wall, makes Cesare want to scream. Or punch him hard. Preferably both.

55 Whisper

Ezio reflects that there are few other voices he would instantly recognize by just a short, urgent uttering of his name. His hesitation to turn around stems not from uncertainty, but the childish wish to postpone the trial of his oldest friend's rumored treason just a few moments longer.

56 Absurdity

At first Ezio had felt confused, then worried and finally terrified. But as they've fled Florence and the man introducing himself as uncle Mario tells him that his family belongs to an ancient clan of legendary assassins, relief washes over him. Finally is clear it has all been an insane dream. He can't wait to wake up.

57 Experimentation

Leonardo da Vinci is a true genius, his brilliant mind always seeing the world through a lens of wonder. Nothing escapes his never-sated curiosity – but that a small poseable wooden mannequin could be used like that? Cesare is a man not easily impressed, but will have to admit the artist rarely fails to amaze.

58 Farewell

It is with uncharacteristic kindness Volpe kisses him, between shared gasps for air after their final tryst. A last goodbye before the approaching dawn will see Cesare on his way to exile in Spain.

”Growing sentimental, old fox?” the younger man scoffs at him. ”No need. I shall return soon enough, and repaint the walls of Roma with Assassin blood.”

Volpe just smiles. He has already helped Ezio prepare his own journey and knows with certainty that Cesare will never again return to Rome.

59 Turf

”Maybe Giovanni could get away with doing paperwork all day over in Florence,” Mario says, and his tone clearly states what he thinks about his brother's choice. ”But arround here we train Assassins, not accountants or delivery boys.”

Ezio's body has never ached as much in his life as it does after his first day of training with his uncle.

60 Smoothness

When she smiles her deep red lips are like tantalizing rose petals, framed by sun-ray golden hair. She is smooth, flawless, perfect. But every rose has its thorns, and Lucrezia's are laden with poison.

61 Kneeling

Every fiber of Ezio's body strains desperately to regain control as he jerks like a puppet on golden strings of light.

”You are lucky,” breathes Rodrigo in a low, husky growls, leaning hard on the staff after the battle, ”So verylucky, little Assassin, that I am in a hurry.”

As the dagger sinks into his guts, Ezio briefly thinks that indeed, it could have been so much worse.

62 Purgatory

The imps don't know whether to feel amused or put out that the screaming, flailing argument between father and son has by now escalated to the point they don't even seem to register the lake of boiling tar anymore. A bit of respect for good solid workmanship, is that too much to ask?

63 Lick

It has to be said in favour of Machiavelli's assassin reflexes that the unexpected lick at his ear out of the dark earns Volpe neither a jump or a shriek but a rapid fist to the nose.

Only half an hour later, safely home in his bedroom, does Niccolo allow himself to contemplate what might have otherwise transpired.

64 Bonfire

It is a sad thing, reflects Ezio in hindsight, older, wiser, that compared to all the priceless art and knowledge fed to fire during Savonarola's mad reign of Florence, the mere loss of a human life that ended it is remembered with little sense of loss or revulsion.

65 Last

After Mario's death, Ezio has felt the weight of being the last Auditore Assassin ever heavier on his shoulders. But as he watches Claudia fearlessly take her leap of faith, he wonders how he could ever have been blind enough to think himself alone.

66 Well

The guards in hot pursuit yell and stab at wells, haystacks and dark alleyways. From his perch on a rooftop Ezio smiles. He always did prefer to take to the sky.

67 Wrongdoer

As his support falters and the opposition grows ever bolder, Cesare becomes increasingly frustrated with their attacks and accusations. He would prefer to answer only for his own sins, not those of his dead father.

68 Deliberate

It really is getting unnerving, decides Machiavelli, the way Volpe has taken up the habit of commenting on his every observation with a frosty ”Indeed” or ”Yes, quitethe coincidence”. He wishes he could believe the man isn't doing it on purpose.

69 Counter

When he first arrives in Jerusalem, Altaïr can't quite shake the feeling that the only thing between him and certain death is a rather narrow, map-strewn desk.

70 Bribe

Cesare has always been good at striking a profitable bargain. Unfortunately Borgia as a currency is bitterly deflated, and these days he often have to sell himself too cheap for comfort. Even though it isa warm, snug blanket.

71 Chess

Cesare knows he is a brilliant strategist – not so much because of the expected praise from his subordinates as from the satisfactory number of pins currently adorning his map of Italy. He would like to believe himself modest in this, careful not allow hubris to cheat him of a victory. And yet he never knows whether to frown or laugh helplessly as the absent-minded artist all but appologetically check-mates his king time and time and time again.

72 Feel

Leonardo never knows how to feel when Cesare enters the room. At first he is apprehensive, but as weeks turn into months and he realizes he's not only allowed but encouraged to dream up grander designs than ever before he is thrilled.

In the end, seeing the Assassins' plans put into motion long before Cesare even knows the final battle has begun, he can only avert his eyes in regret.

73 Mister

”Outside the kingdom of God is the realm of men,” Salai says, leaning just an inch too close. ”You worship there, Messere?”

Only years of training his clueless look on Leonardo helps Ezio keep a straight face as he blankly waves for the boy to follow him.

74 Fine

There are simply too many guards around for a discreet kill, so Ezio grudlingly counts the florins and hands them over. How was heto know he wasn't allowed to park his horse there? Time to liberate another stable from its Borgia-tower shadow, he decides. Burning them all down is easier than keeping track of territories anyway.

75 Dog

If La Volpe is the fox and Ezio the bird of prey, Pantasilea ponders, then Bartolomeo reminds her of a large, lumbering dog. Faithful and loyal unto death, but with a booming bark and a vicious bite for those who threaten those dear to him.

76 Forgotten

When Volpe appears he is the first person Cesare has seen in days. He greets the thief with his usual brazen curses, careful not to let any trace of relief shine through. Of all things he is most afraid to be left alone to die; not slain out of hatred or need, but simply ignored and forgotten.

77 Changed

Had Ezio been the kind of man to think upon such things, he might have noticed the Cesare facing him atop the towering walls is not the self-assured young general he met a handful years previous in Roma. Tired-looking and hunched over he looks defeated even before the battle has begun. But Ezio is here for one single purpose alone, and has never been the kind of man to think of such things anyway.

78 Gondola

Antonio assures Leonardo that only from an extensive tour with his private gondola will the artist truly get to know his new home town. As it happens, a rocky two-hour boat ride later, Leonardo still hasn't really seen much of the city. But that's quite alright, as he happily agrees to repeat the endeavour soon again.

79 Casino

It never hurts to try to win Fortuna's favour when gambling is one of your favorite pastimes, Salai knows, but in this particular case divine intervention is quite a bit closer at hand. As long as you have La Volpe's favor, the dice at the Sleeping Fox will never let you down.

80 Soup

The first bowl of watery gruel ends up thrown in the guard's face with enough force to break his nose. The next morning the second splinters against the wall. Nearly a week passes before he forces himself to eat the fifth, to preserve his strength.

Cesare closes his eyes as he quickly raises the bowl to his face to wolf down the hundredth, before the reflection in the dull surface can show him what he has become.

81 Carrot

”Tell you what,” murmurs Volpe in the starving prisoner's ear, dangling the vegetable in front of his face, ”If you give me a good enough show I'll even let you keep it for supper when you're done.”

82 Madame

Volpe has to admit himself impressed – Claudia is shrewd, ruthless and horrifyingly practical, and stillmanages to be praised a good businesswoman rather than cursed a thief.

83 Kilt

Yes, Ezio decides as he flexes his body inside the unfamiliar weight of Romulus' armour, there is definitely a draft around his nether regions. Whatever the old Romans may have thought, a skirt of leather belts does notconstitute proper clothing.

After some swearing and creative arranging of his spare cloak he considers it may well look even moreof a skirt, but at least this cut preserves his manly dignity when he jumps.

84 Theft

He has stolen valuables, information, people and lives. La Volpe draws in a deep breath as he surveys Roma in the first light of morning, then exhales in satisfaction. She is the greatest city in the world, and she is all his for the taking.

#asksilvy #blast from the past

[writing-frenzy]

Care to Make a Wager? (SVSSS Fic)

Summery: No System AU: In which Airplane finds he has a new lease in life, but of course it would have a cost. Of course, being the creator of this world gives him quiet the price cut. Not to mention the untended bonus content.

Still, he did not expect the direction his life would go.

(Warning: mentions of death, violence, and most stuff you could find in SVSSS Canon. You should be good, but here is a just in case.)

---

When one Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was reborn, he really wanted to curse his lot in life. Sure, he had been born into a rather well off Merchant Family, but when the Lord of the Family has two Official Wives and a crap ton of Mistresses on the side, things were bound to get crazy.

Luckily one Shang Huan had one hell of a Mother; in another life, Airplane might have described her as a ‘killer queen or a ‘boss ass bitch’, but as his mother, he just thought of her as the most amazing woman on the planet. As it was, She alongside a whole bunch of tutors taught him everything he needed to know about the world and then some. 

(Sewing was a bitch to get right.)

But with those lessons, it didn’t take long for Shang Huan to realize he was in his own fucking novel; it had not been a happy realization, making him break out into a truly childish tantrum, filled with screaming and tears that only calmed after he was given some delicious melon seeds.

(Luckily it had been attributed to wanting a snack after a morning full of lessons, otherwise he probably would have gotten the switch for it...)

But with all this knowledge of his place in life now with him, Shang Huan needed to start planning; good thing that was one of his specialties.

Noting down every bit of information he could, Shang Huan mapped out as much items and cheats he could afford to take from the Protagonist, as well as places he could and couldn’t go, hazel eyes narrowed as he messily scratched out his plots with his trusty quill and journal. The many lessons he Mother made him go through only helped to sharpen him, as well as learn the world’s common sense.

He was having a good go at it, building himself up as much as he could before something completely from left stage truly changed his course.

“There is a legend of Dreaming Glory, said to be a treasure to ensure great health and excellent rest. Though be cautious, for it is guarded carefully by the spirit of a Felled Divine Beast, angry and resentful of the betrayal it had faced.” was a tale a wandering storyteller spun, a group of children ooooing and awwwwing at the right places, even as Airplane felt his jaw drop at the information, focusing more on those words then the candy his mother allowed him to buy at one of the festival stalls.

See, while the Legend of the Dreaming Glory was definitely right at home with this world, it actually hadn’t been anywhere in Proud Immortal Demon Way; it had been in one of his earlier short stories, where Airplane had been practicing with the Xianxia/Xuanhuan genres (and didn’t need to rely on it, dreaming more of the theater then writing). (Until a mugging gone wrong and dreams cut short-) 

This... opened a few more roads then expected, especially if all his fantasy stories came into play, as there had been a lot of experimentation with plots and ideas until he hit his cash cow with PIDW. After all, taking something from the protagonist was always going to be a risk of somehow getting his attention, no matter how much the man wouldn’t actually need it.

(After all, showing off had always been a part of Luo Binghe’s character; showing that he was no longer the penniless street kid, no longer the weak disciple, no longer the one who was always pushed around, but now the one who can take.)  

It also meant more research; thankfully, his Mother was one to always encourage more in the way of learning, thankfully humoring all the ‘trips’ he wished to take.... In hindsight, he probably should have questioned why she was always willing to take him and go, but at the time was just thankful that he could indeed confirm places he would need to visit later and squirrel away items that were within his reach. (An actual legit Cultivation Manuel, even if it was only directed for growing crops and alchemy, was still his most proudest find, only needing a riddle to get and easily hidden in his pouch with his other learning books. Being an Author only got him so far, as every little detail was needed to ensure one stayed on a steady path, though did provide it’s own little boosts here and there.)

------=------

One day, when Shang Huan had been 13, sneakily already past the first part of Cultivation Qi Refining and entering into the first stage of Foundation Building, found his Mother to be ill, no Doctors seeming to be able to cure her (or willing too as he saw a servant of the Second Wife slip a few gold; he got his revenge in the end), Shang Huan took a deep breath and buckled down, doing all that his Mother said to do with the time she had left, learning as much as he could before it would no longer be open to him. 

(Like he could stay here in this den of vipers, without his Mother’s protection and love; there was nothing else for him here after all.)

In that time as his Mother stubbornly clung on, he listened as she mourned his chance to enter into the prestigious Cultivation Sect of Cang Qiong like the First Wife’s Third Son, Shang Shaoqing. She apologized greatly that she could not fight for him to get that chance, like so many of the other Mistresses did for their own children.

‘Huh,’ Airplane couldn’t help but think, ‘looks like I just dodged a arrow.’ though it was good to finally know just what the timeline was for the story; Shang Shaoqing was to be a certain traitorous Peak Lord after all.

As it was, his Mother showed her determination and spirit greatly, lasting till he was 16 before she finally past away, a smile on her face as she did, her son long gone with his inheritance and her blessing of broken ties, carrying her name meaning of Shang instead of his Father’s.

(If the night before, Shang Huan had decided to tell her of his other life, told her how this was a story he had happened to read, showing her a few of the treasure he had gathered, how he cried when Shang Wenyan had only smiled with a few too many teeth, her voice fierce as she praised her son with all her heart, hugging him close with what remained of her strength as she told him her last words.

“Live life however you want my child, live and dream and hope, do not be afraid to destroy any your way, and know I will love you always my greatest pride and joy.”

Well... no one needed to know about that.)

But with this new freedom came it’s cons as much as it’s pros. As he was stuck at a bottleneck in Foundation Building at Middle Stage, there was still a number of things outside his reach until at least Core Formation First Stage...

------=------

It was during his wandering, selling talismans he could make at his level, along with tales he made up that he finally got his big break.

He first heard tales of a powerful Resentful Spirit that was residing in a broken land near the Borders, no one from Demons to Humans wanting the land as it was deemed useless for all the resentful energy there, and no one bothering to pay a sect for what they considered a waste of money and time.

Shang Huan saw this, and wonder if it was what he recognized... Taking in more details and scoping out for any information, Airplane couldn’t help but wonder how lucky it was; this was indeed a spirit from one of his very first stories in fact. He knew exactly what to do.

Instead of fighting the Resentful Spirit, Shang Huan brought it pure cave water and incense, smelling of ash and jasmine. 

This certainly got the Spirit’s attention.

“What do you want Rogue?”

“I want for many things to be honest.” the brunet Cultivator smiled, not showing any teeth so as to make it look falsely gentle, “But for now, I admit I do desire your land.”

That got a huff for his efforts, the spirit a mass of negativity and ire, but actually still listening.

“You have provided the right offering, so I will give you a chance; bring me wine of the Soothing Jade Flower, the Broken Sword of Chun, and a branch of Deathly Yew... You get me these three things, and the land will be yours.” And with that shopping list given, the spirit was gone, even as the energy seemed thicker then before, the incense and water gone.  

And with an absolutely evil grin, Airplane was off; he had already remembered the Wine and branch, had even gotten them first as he had plans for them, but he had not remembered the broken blade.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too hard to find; he had written that the blade had been struck with a heavy stone in a battle between Demons and Cultivators on the borders of the land, where it would lay forever. And lo and behold, there was only one ancient battlefield it could be abandoned in, as this was PIDW.

There weren’t many left over from the borders after all, most of them being purified already. And as he thought, the Bloody Sword Grave was still around, a testament to just how much the resentful energy had soaked into the ground, demons and cultivators alike avoiding the place like the plague, even as bloody rusted swords stayed stabbed into the ground, their thirst and hatred still felt even to this day.

Couldn’t be compared to Xin Mo of course, but for being swords on the surface they sure were impressive. Ignoring all these deadly, intact blades stabbed into the ground, Shang Huan covered his face with a scarf drenched in purified Qi infused water, even as the talisman he sewed on for defense and purity glowed the more he traveled through.

He finally stopped at a blood splattered rock, digging carefully around it as he did, before he managed to pull out four broken pieces of what had once been a beautiful blade, but was now nothing but shambles and rags.

Having what he needed, Airplane made his way back to the spirit and their lands.

------=------

(This deadly spirit of a truly terrible Cultivator, who had been feared and revered for being a monster on the battlefield... cried as they saw the items laid out before them.

“Ah, no my Han-Er, my beloved figher... why you stupid, loveable fool...” The Spirit sobbed, easily using his energy to clean and reformed the blade, manipulating the energies of the other two items to aid it, ensuring the sword would still be pure, hugging it close even as it seemed to damage them.

“... He tried, to come back to you; his fellow soldiers betrayed him... He loved you so much... still does.” Shang spoke, watching as the spirit that laid resting in the blade finally came out with this truth, purifying the other as they did, along with most of the land around them.

The brunet had to look away from their reunion, their emotions a bit too much for him... This had been one of his first tragedies he had written, a solider and their beloved separated because of jealousy and hate, doomed to wait for each other forever, the solution to be so easy to have, if someone had given them a bit of kindness, to discover the truth of their separation, though never given the chance in the end... He never mention just what the Beloved’s gender was, made it ambiguous, but had in his mind of minds always thought of them as a man...

Maybe he shouldn’t have put too much of himself into his work, but a habit is so hard to break.

“... We truly thank you; as promised, the land is now yours to do with as you see fit; all you need to do is put your name on the deed and your blood into the ward stone. All the treasures inside are now rightfully in your ownership, so mote it be.” was announced, making Shang Huan turn to see two beautiful and handsome men smiling at him, before they bowed seeing they had his attention.

Airplane could only bow back, biting on the words of how he owed to them to do this at least.

And with that, they were gone, to enter finally into the cycle of reincarnation, together at last...)

------=------

Having his own place was wonderful; a lot of work, but wonderful all the same.

The wards around his land ensured no one with malice could actually enter it, along with protections against thieves and robbers like most noble Sects had. Shang Huan even went as far as to make sure he owned the plot of land in the official records, having everything stamped and recognized, even as he made sure no one actually looked too closely at what land it actually was.

He even made sure to pay his yearly taxes to the Emperor on time, making sure everything was nicely recorded and logged. (And seeing as he didn’t live in any town or such, he didn’t have to bother paying anything to any Lords for protection! How nice was that?)

But having a base of operations, one with land rich in Qi and perfect for Cultivating on, it not only gave Airplane security, but many other advantages as well.

He now had a place to securely put all the treasures he had gathered, which was a lot considering it was a variety of weapons, valuables, and even priceless seeds to plant. He could be completely self-sufficient as he cultivated, the spirits on the land easily convinced to do chores in exchange for sweets and treats (And being able to live in such a energy rich place). Not to mention how his Cultivation not only went up, but combined with other manuals that were treasures of the home, Shang was set on his way to being a powerful Cultivator in his own right.

And if he was feeling a bit cooped up, he could always go on journeys around his world, exploring and treasure hunting for odds and ends as he saw fit.

Soon enough, Shang Huan had managed to reach 34 years old, entering the Peak of Nascent Soul stage in his cultivation when, in a bit of boredom and interest, he bought out a debt ridden gambling house on the border of his territory, that rested in a ghost-like town on the border of the Human World and the Demon Realm.

It was, quiet frankly, just something to do to pass the time. It wasn’t too hard to fix the place up, and warding it had been a fun challenge of his skills, but he honestly hadn’t expected anything much of it, just putting a few of his lessor needed or easily replenished treasure up to be won. And making it to where anything bet could only be what one had to bet, alongside making sure others would have to honor it had been a fun spell to create, as he really didn’t want to be bothered by liars and braggarts and then having to chase them down. He even just made up some Golems and bargained with a few willing natural spirits to help run the place.

This was just suppose to be a fun little venture; he never expected it to blow up like it did.

------=------

It started slow; a trickle, with a whisper, a simple rumor.

There is a place where priceless treasure could be won; if you’re willing to bet for it that is. But be careful to not bite off more then you can chew, for it might be more then a bit of blood and coins you lose.

Some poor sods have even lost their very souls to the place, even now working where screams and laughter flow so freely to the terrible click the dice, the gentle flap of the cards.

It is a place no Mortal is safe, where no Demon has promise, where a Cultivator is honor bound to accept what is due; after all, no one has to enter the place, no one needs to keep coming back, no one has to bet their all, not all all. 

But oh, how they come; even those who dare not darken the doorway of that gambling hall come, filling what was once an empty town into one practically bustling with life. Funny, how it came about because of such a deadly place.

And oh, do not even bother messing with the Gilded Plane Gambling Hall’s Owner, a man who at first seems so weak and stumbling, so gentle and busy with their hard work, who at first couldn’t hurt a fly even as he smiles so prettily.

He’ll smile that same smile even as you sell your very soul at his tables, those gorgeous hazel eyes amused even as the crowds pant at his feet, screams all around from both terror and ecstasy.

(Shang Huan can’t help but sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he is once more offered someone’s entire being; if he’s said it once, he’s said it again, betting is at the tables, not at his feet.

Just another day it seems; hopefully there will be no explosions in the kitchen again.)  

-----------------------=-----------------------

0.0 huh, I did not expect this when I started writing; I just wanted to have Airplane have some fun in the world he created, maybe opening up a few businesses to make money on the side. I did not mean to make him into an oblivious Hua Cheng of the PIDW verse (Yes, in this verse, he will be as terrifying and pretty, I will not take criticism for it.)

Also, I was greatly inspired by Nighthaunting, though instead of ballet I have SQH as a theatre kid whose dreams got cut short due to bad luck and assholes. I love how they have built their world, and how they say that writing was probably a side thing for Airplane, which just makes so much sense. Also, I am all for Airplane being scary and fully taking advantage of his author knowledge, so haha! Hope you all enjoyed this story~

#SVSSS #Scum Villain Self Saving System #Scum Villain Self-Saving System #Shang Qinghua #Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky #Wager (SVSSS) Verse #SVSSS Fic

[novelconcepts]

Your ficlet about Dani leaving was so goood! It broke me, really. I know it's such a depressing concept but if you're still in the mood for angst, can you write something like the film "a ghost story"? It's from the pov of a ghost, he watches his wife dealing with his death and then just watching more life happening while he is dead.

Time is unstable now. It’s almost the same as those last few months, really--the instability had become the only thing, the only certainty to a day. Hours had blinked back to moments; moments rushing forward to days. She’d closed her eyes on a Tuesday, woken on a Saturday, had been dimly aware of moving and speaking and managing all that time without ever feeling its fingers on her skin. 

Time is unstable now. It’s almost what she’s used to, almost the same--except it goes backwards, sometimes. Goes all the way backwards, sometimes. She opens her eyes, and she’s watching herself move in slow motion across these very grounds, her eyes blue, her skirt long, stumbling across a girl and a song at this very lake. 

No idea. She’d had no idea. 

Time is unstable now. It twists and it bends, and she thinks she could learn to control it, as the hours turn to days turn to years. How long has it been already? There’s no telling. There’s nothing to hang onto, no handhold, no markers along the miles. She moves, and it’s like being awake, sometimes--there is sun, and there is shadow, and there is moonlight. There is a life once lived--well lived--well loved--beneath her skin. She knows it, somehow. Knows it, the way you know a dream even as it dissolves in the shower as you prepare for--

School.

Work.

Life. 

Time is unstable now. It builds and it skews and it stumbles sideways into itself, and she’s seeing it all. A boy with curly hair stepping out of a car into the path of a casket. A girl in a sundress with a father, a mother, a home chipped and broken and pieced back together with desperation. A man who thought he loved her; a woman who couldn’t love him back. A plane. A backpack. Hands belonging to strangers, smiles crooked on her own lips, a resume offered in a neat office. A job lost. A job won. A pair of glasses in the mirror. 

Time is unstable now. It spins and it wheels, and she remembers it all--remembers walking into this lake, remembers walking beside this lake, remembers a child being carried to doom in this lake, remembers arms around her waist in this lake, breath on her lips, shh, shh, it’s okay, Dani, it’s okay--

Time is unstable now. It shuffles and it dances and she’s trying to center herself. Trying to remember how long it’s been since she stopped being entirely her--years, she thinks. Decades, she thinks. A night a million miles away, a choice made, words spoken. She said the thing, and she became something new. Something half Dani Clayton-half Viola Lloyd. Something half woman, half ghost. Someone who hadn’t known, even then, what she was giving up--or what she’d fight so hard to keep for as long as she could. 

Time is unstable now. It cavorts and it cartwheels, and how long since she stopped breathing? Since she stopped being that half-and-half, that slow-fade, that peace-becomes-fear, and became instead: this. This version of herself who holds no weight, who leaves no mark behind, who does not possess skin or mass or footprint, and who is, still, somehow...here. Here. More here than she ever thought she’d be again. 

Why is she still here?

You are, the voice says in her ears, hopeful, hopeless, you are still here. 

Her hand, she thinks, and she’s gripping the ring. The ring. The ring. The--

Time is unstable now. It jolts and it jounces, and she is in a kitchen making a proposal, and she is in a kitchen watching a woman wash her hands, and she is in a kitchen shattering a plate while Jamie holds her, holds her, repeats, “We could have so many more years. Dani. Dani. We could have so many--”

Time is unstable now. It ricochets and it roils, and she is standing here. Standing here. Waiting for something she knows is coming. Waiting for something she knows still needs her, still pulls at her, still forms its own insistent gravity--

Time is unstable now. 

Jamie, as she has always been, is not. 

Jamie, out of that cab in the same shirt she’d slept in. In Dani’s jeans, and sneakers that had really belonged to them both. Jamie, shoulders rounded and back straight, dragging breaths. 

Don’t, she thinks. Don’t, you don’t want to see it. Knowing it won’t be real until Jamie does. Knowing it won't be real for Jamie--and maybe not for her, either. Time is so unstable. Time is so unbound around her, casting her into a grove of moonflowers--once in a blue goddamn moon, I guess--and into a hallway--there will be other nights--and into a bedroom--are you sure, Dani, I only want to if you’re sure--and into--

The lake. Jamie is in the lake. Up to her waist, up to her chest, drawing a deep breath and diving. 

It becomes real only when Jamie looks it in the eye. When Jamie sees her--what was her--what can’t be her any longer, because it belonged too much to the Lady, Jamie. It belonged too much to the spell. It couldn’t last, because nothing does, because there is no forever for flesh and blood, Jamie. You taught me that. You told me that, that it’s so beautiful that we can’t last, that it’s so gorgeous that we can’t hang on forever. You said it. You meant it, then. 

Jamie has been under too long. Jamie has been under too long, and time is unstable, time is unreliable, time is a twisting net tossed over her--but Jamie has looked, now. Jamie has seen, now. And if it’s enough to solidify the thing for Jamie, if it’s enough to let her fall over the cliff, it’s enough for this, too. For her to follow Jamie into the water. It’s easier this time; she doesn’t have to worry about the burn in her lungs, the ache in her head, the terror and the peace trading hands like a kid passing baseball cards. She follows Jamie down, and Jamie is reaching, Jamie is screaming, Jamie is saying those words, those hated, magical words--

She wraps both arms around Jamie. Pulls her toward the surface. Feels Jamie go limp, letting herself rise as the horror and the shock set in for real. Time is unstable now, but Jamie isn’t--Jamie is a real, living, breathing human being who must still abide by certain rules. Who must still kick her way to the surface and break, gasping, as Dani hugs her close. 

She doesn’t see, it’s clear. Can’t feel Dani, it’s clear. Can’t know, as she collapses on the bank, her hair sopping, her face streaked with tears, that Dani is behind her with arms around her shoulders. That Dani is bowed over her, breathing with her, urging her back to reality with every slow inhalation. 

Dani, holding her, does not sink in. Does not vanish beneath Jamie’s skin. Does not close her eyes here and open there, seeing what Jamie sees. Jamie is still muttering--you, me, us, goddammit, Dani, please--and still, she does not allow herself that cruelty. Not for an instant. 

You are not mine, she thinks with everything she has, and knows Jamie doesn’t understand. Can’t possibly, not yet. Knows Jamie has no sense of the gravity she maintains, that Dani couldn’t deny the pull of that gravity even if she wanted to. 

Her body remains behind, as all bodies must--and it will break, over time. She understands there will be the natural passage, the natural flow of time and water and organic degradation. It doesn’t matter. Her body remains behind. 

She is with Jamie in the cab. 

She is with Jamie on the plane. 

She is with Jame in their apartment. 

She is with Jamie every step of the way. 

You are not mine, she thinks every night, as Jamie begs the mirror, as Jamie pleads with the bath, as Jamie slams a fist down on the countertop and closes her eyes and sinks into grief. You are not mine, Jamie, you have to understand. 

She doesn’t. She can’t. Maybe someday, Dani thinks. Maybe someday, she will allow the truth to take root in her bones: that no person can ever own another, not with all the love and well-meaning the world can muster. That to love someone is to let them go, no matter what they might demand in return. 

Time is unstable now. It burns and it bleeds, and Jamie walks through it in horrible, painstaking chronology. Monday becomes Tuesday. April becomes May. Each year falls in line, and Dani wishes she could show her. Wishes she could explain that she is here--she is ten, and she is thirty, and she is forty-two, and she is in love with Jamie in all the ways that extend beyond clock and calendar. That she is in love with Jamie before she even knows her, and she is in love with Jamie long after time has forgotten them both. That she is here, and she is here, and she is still here. 

Time is unstable now. She can see how it all will unfold, a tablecloth shaken out: Jamie swearing over tattered roses, and Dani kissing her in a greenhouse, and Dani offering a ring, and Jamie saying, I’m actually pretty in love with you, it turns out. 

Jamie, telling a story at a wedding. 

Dani, taking in a story in a moonlit grove. 

Jamie, falling asleep with her head on Dani’s chest. 

Dani, waking slowly with Jamie in her arms. 

It’s all the same, she wants to say. It’s all falling around us, moments, memories, in an endless sweep like rain. It’s all the same, she wants to say. You are here. I am here. We are here. 

Time is unstable now. Jamie is sleeping in a chair, Dani’s hand on her shoulder. Jamie is sleeping in a bed, Dani inspecting her scar for the first time. Jamie is sleeping in a greenhouse, decades of life behind her, never to wake again. Opening her eyes at Dani’s knock on the door. To Dani, who has been waiting a second, a year, an eternity to welcome her home again.

Time is unstable. 

Dani settles in for the ride. 

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #dani clayton #this is not quite what was prompted but it IS something I'd been batting around in my head for a few days #there is another ghost!dani story in me somewhere that is considerably lighter but uhh this is the one you get today

[loveisnotadagger]

Love Is Healing - Chapter Six

Chapter 6/?

Rating T

Arianna's life went on undisturbed by the fact that Loki was in it. She still took trips to hospitals to heal the wounded, and she didn't hate the fact that she was living in the same building as Natasha. Tash was her best friend, but they didn't usually get to spend a lot of time together because they weren't usually called on the same missions. The Manhattan fiasco had been an exception. They usually weren't called to do anything so large scale as that had been.

Aside from Natasha, the other Avengers were good company as well. Steve kept to himself mostly, but he was nice and polite when he did talk with Arianna. He sometimes treated her like a kid, but she chalked that up to the time jump he'd had to deal with after being frozen for seventy years. Bruce spent most of his time with Tony in the lab in the basement. Natasha and Clint spent their time together with Arianna unless she was with Loki, though they remained nearby when Arianna was with the Asgardian.

On this particular morning Arianna was in the kitchen making herself some toast and a fruit salad to go with it. She was making enough fruit salad for everyone, actually. She'd been the first one up and had made a pot of coffee. The aroma had pulled Tash out of bed as well as Steve. Arianna almost grinned at the mess that was Tash's red hair. She hadn't even taken the time to brush it.

Steve's hair wasn't in place either, but it didn't matter. It was so unfair that people with short hair looked okay even if their hair was a mess.

"Jarvis, can you tell Tony and Bruce that there's coffee if they want some?"

"Yes, Miss Grace."

Arianna smiled, remembering the first time Tony had spoken to Jarvis in front of her. She hadn't known what to think when Jarvis had responded. She'd basically praised Tony's genius after he'd explained what Jarvis was exactly.

Over the few weeks that she had been there, Tony had taken to treating Arianna as if she were a kid sister, which basically meant that he teased her constantly but was also protective. In fact, he was protective to the point of being almost paranoid. It didn't really bother Arianna at all, so she let him get away with it. If knowing she was safe gave Tony Stark a small amount of security in his mind, she would allow him to do what he deemed necessary.

"Is Clint still asleep, Jarvis?"

"He hasn't left his room, Miss Grace."

"Okay. Thank you."

"You know he likes to sleep in when he can," Natasha said.

Once the fruit salad was prepared Arianna took some of it and her toast to the living room where she sat on the couch and began to eat. After she was done, she took a medium sized bowl of fruit to Loki's room. He had yet to come out and socialize with the others, though he did leave the room at night when most of the others were sleeping.

He barely talked to anyone who wasn't Arianna. She didn't know what to make of that, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Loki seemed not to trust anyone else but her – if trust was the right word for what he felt for her.

She knew that he at least enjoyed her company. ----------

Loki was reading when Arianna brought him his breakfast. The Man of Iron had bought him a set of books that would help Loki learn more about Earth. He had to admit that Midgardians were adept enough, considering they didn't know magic existed. From how many wars he'd already read about, it was probably a good things humans couldn't do what Loki could – or what he'd been able to do before he'd been made mortal.

It seemed Midgardian leaders would fight over anything. It reminded him of the time Thor had raced off to Jotunheim to declare war on them. It would've caused war against all of Asgard had Thor's antics worked. Loki had played his own part in getting Thor to go, but he had hoped he'd be able to talk his way out of a fight. Thor had been impulsive then and quick to anger, quick to fight, and words were said that Thor had reacted badly to. That was when the battle had begun.

He looked up from his book when Arianna came in. She gave him a small smile and came over to the bed to sit on the edge. She offered him a bowl of fruit, which he accepted and began to pick at. Some of the fruit he recognized because they were also grown in Asgard, but others he had to ask about as he came across them.

For instance, he had no clue what a banana was.

"We're going to have to get you acquainted with the kitchen so you can learn to make what you want and not just what I make."

"I like the food you make."

Arianna never made any complicated meals, but they always satisfied. Besides, as a prince, Loki had no knowledge of cooking.

"Be that as it may, you still need to know. And it's okay to come out of your room when the others are awake. It isn't meant to be a prison cell."

"I'm under constant watch," he reminder her. "And I am still not at my best."

"Well, no one's going to attack you," she said gently. Then with humor, she said, "I think everyone is afraid of what your mother would do if something were to happen to you here."

Loki shook his head. "It would depend on whose fault it was."

Arianna stayed long enough to let Loki finish eating and then she immediately stood up. Before leaving she said, "In all seriousness, you should come out. We could watch a movie or something."

Loki had read about movies – moving pictures – but hadn't yet watched one. Maybe he could try just once. If he didn't like it, he would just say so and he wouldn't have to watch another one.

Loki carefully got off the bed and went to his closet to pick an outfit. Arianna had ordered him clothes the first day he'd agreed to stay with the Avengers. He had to admit that Midgardian attire was easier to get into, but it left Loki feeling vulnerable and exposed. How did Midgardians feel safe without armor on at all times? On Asgard, the only time Loki's armor came off was at night when he was sleeping or when he was bathing and, even then, he took precautions to ensure his safety.

He decided on a dark blue sweater and a pair of black jeans, which he had to admit he looked good in. He went without shoes and found the sensation not unpleasant. He'd seen Arianna go around barefoot at all times of the day; many times she had visited fully clothed aside from her lack of shoes.

She'd definitely made herself home in Stark's Tower. ---------- Arianna had just put a movie in the DVD player when Loki came into what would be the living room in a normal home. The room had since been fixed from when it had been destroyed by the war that had been brought to Manhattan.

Tony had taught her how to use the TV because he had a remote that controlled all the electronics in the room – even the lights. Arianna didn't know why Tony couldn't have just invested in some light switches. When she'd voiced her opinion, he'd given her a sarcastic grin and had called her cute.

"You said I could join you," Loki said as he appeared out of the hallway.

She nodded, not surprised by his sudden appearance as she could feel his presence when he was close by. Side effect of being connected to him for so long even though it had been almost a month now.

The movie she'd chosen was the first Harry Potter movie. She'd chosen it in the hopes of Loki coming out of his room to watch it with her. She hoped he'd like it because of the magic in it, even if it wasn't the type of magic he was used to.

"The type you're accustomed to then?" Loki assumed when she tried to describe the movie without giving too much away. It was about a boy who found out he was a wizard and was allowed to go to a school for magic.

"I can do some of the things in the movie."

"So you can make things float?" Tony asked, suddenly appearing in the room. Bruce was with him. They had just come from the lab.

"Depends on what I'm trying to make float. And I've never actually done it, but theoretically, I know how."

Arianna wasn't surprised that Tony had known what she and Loki had been talking about. There were cameras everywhere in Stark Tower and Tony could pull up the video feed from pretty much anywhere.

"Would you mind testing that theory while you're living here?" Tony asked. "I just wanna know why you can do what you can do."

Arianna knew Tony was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and that he didn't want to use her for anything. She also knew he was asking her respectfully. If she'd been anyone else, he probably would've mentioned that he was letting her live there for free while also having her every need met with his money, but he hadn't said a word.

"I don't mind furthering your research," she said. "Better you than Fury and the science team at SHIELD."

"And Banner? He'll want to take your pulse and check brains waves and such."

Bruce looked uncomfortable for a slight moment. He'd obviously known nothing about Tony's request until just now. It was kind of cute and ironic that the guy that could turn into the Hulk was so bashful when he wasn't green and smashing things.

"It's fine," Arianna said. "I have a few conditions, though, because I've heard about how excited you get when you start a new project. You act like a kind with a new toy."

Tony looked as if he agreed with that statement, so Arianna felt confident enough to continue.

"I am not a toy and I'm not a machine. I have limits, so . . . I guess these are my conditions. One, I want to know what we do before we do it, and two, no pushing if I say no."

Tony agreed almost immediately and then said, "What exactly do you think I want to force you into? I gave up my dreams of world domination years ago."

Arianna rolled her eyes at Tony's joke and responded with, "Just covering my bases." ---------- After Arianna and Tony came to an agreement, which didn't take too long. Arianna was finally able to play the movie. Natasha watched the movie with them, even though Arianna knew Natasha wasn't much into movies – especially ones like Harry Potter. She didn't know why Natasha was being so protective when Loki really wasn't a threat at the moment. If he'd had his powers, Arianna would've completely understood, but as it was . . . even Arianna could beat Loki, and she couldn't fight to save her life.

By the time the movie ended, Arianna had decided to get Loki the Harry Potter series for him to read. She knew he liked to read because he had responded well to the encyclopedias she'd gotten him already – or that Tony had gotten him, at her suggestion.

After having been inside Loki's head, she'd found out more than he'd probably be comfortable with, but she couldn't help that. It had helped her decide how to approach Loki. Helping him understand the world he now lived in would make him feel less helpless.

He could learn their culture and try to fit in if he so desired. She could introduce him to other movies, her favorite ones and ones she thought he would like. She could bring him music, see if he liked it. She didn't even know if Asgard had music, but she knew music helped her relax. It could settle her when she felt anxious or it could help her have fun if she felt like dancing around. She'd even hopped around to Tony's music a few times when she'd stumbled upon him jamming out.

That night before Arianna went to bed, Natasha stopped her and asked to come into her room.

"Sure, Tash. What's up?"

"Loki."

"What about him?"

The two women sat down on the bed and Arianna gave Natasha her undivided attention.

"Loki is better now, right?" the red head asked. "I mean, there's nothing more you can do for him. He has to build up strength himself."

"Yeah. I mean, I could share energy with him, but there's no need. He's awake and able to eat and drink. It would sort of be a waste of time."

Natasha smiled slightly. "Yes. It would be."

"What's this about?"

If Natasha was taking the time to have this conversation, it meant she had something to say. Tash wasn't one for idle chitchat.

"Aries, you are good. Loki is not. He killed eighty people in two days. He didn't blink; he didn't flinch. That's not counting the people that were hurt during the battle."

"You mean the battle where the people we worked for were going to bomb the city? That would've killed a lot more than eighty people. And correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't those eighty people that died the ones that were buried beneath the rubble that Fury himself decided to bring down?"

"To try and keep Loki from getting away."

"I know that. The point I'm trying to make is that we're responsible for some of the blood that was spilled."

Natasha didn't say anything to that, but she looked as if she'd had the same thoughts go through her head at least once.

"Besides, it's not like I like him or anything."

She didn't trust many people enough to get close to them and Loki was no different. Arianna had known Natasha for a long time. It had taken Arianna two years to get close enough to consider her a friend and not just a co-worker.

"All I'm saying is . . . don't coddle him. He's not a pet."

"I'm not coddling him."

"You bought him books. You're watching movies with him."

"I didn't buy him anything. Tony did. Besides, Fury said I needed to help Loki acclimate to life here. He needs to know things about this world."

Natasha sighed and her body deflated from losing its purpose for being in the room.

"All I'm saying is be careful, okay? I've been alone with him. He can get in your head."

Arianna smiled. She knew her friend was coming from a place of love and that Natasha was only looking out for her.

"Tash, I think you're forgetting the fact that I can get inside his head too." ---------- Over the next few days, Arianna and Loki spent time going over things he would need for everyday life

He had learned about the shower within the first few days he'd been strong enough to stand on his own. Loki preferred baths, and until arriving on Midgard he'd never taken a shower. No such thing existed on Asgard. Loki had always had servants to draw his bath for him. On Midgard there was plumbing and they had knobs that controlled the temperature of the water.

It was practical and convenient. It beat having to boil water to pour into a tub and then having to wait so one wouldn't scorch oneself.

Loki had also been introduced to an invisible person named Jarvis – or at least he'd assumed the voice had belonged to a person until Arianna had explained what exactly Jarvis was. It was brilliant. Loki didn't like the fact that Tony Stark could pull up an image or video from anywhere in the Tower, but he did appreciate the genius behind it.

This particular day, Arianna was showing Loki around the kitchen. Mostly she was just letting him know where everything was, so if he needed something, he would know where it was located. That was easy enough to remember.

On Asgard there wasn't anything remotely like an oven, a microwave, or a refrigerator, but they were all brilliant inventions. Loki was used to a pit of fire for cooking – not that he knew how to cook, but he knew what was needed – so the oven was a nice touch. One was able to control the heat by setting the degree one needed for a specific dish.

The refrigerator was practical and kept things from spoiling when left over. Asgard should invest in such things in the future.

He wasn't sure about the microwave. It was brilliant, of course, but it didn't seem healthy. He didn't understand how it worked, so he didn't trust it.

As it was, Arianna had shown him how to use the toaster and they were both slathering butter and jam over the toasted bread.

"Is there anything you want to do today?" Arianna asked. "Maybe watch another movie or something. I have to go down to the lab, but I can set you up before I go. I can show you how to use the DVD player and the TV. Or I can show you how to use the computer."

Loki didn't really want to do any of those things. He didn't mind movies or TV, though he thought people needed to be careful in choosing what to watch. Some of the things he'd seen could only be called moronic and probably lowered the intelligence level of the people who regularly watched them.

He didn't mind reading, but it seemed to him that the only thing he'd been doing was reading.

"Do you mind if I come with you? I'm interested in what Midgardians consider science. Maybe you could teach me the computer later."

Arianna smiled softly. Loki's gaze fixed on her face when he noticed that when she was genuinely happy her green eyes would dance with light.

He didn't know why she was still being so nice to him. He'd heard her arguing with her red-headed friend. He knew Agent Romanoff didn't agree with Arianna treating him as kindly as she was, but Arianna hadn't changed despite knowing how her friend felt.

Loki didn't know what he would've done had Arianna begun to show hatred or indifference towards him. She was the only thing making his stay on Midgard bearable. He didn't really miss Asgard, but it was his home; it was what was familiar to him. His mother was there, and he did miss her.

Arianna was what was familiar here. She was what he clung to so that he would not be completely alone.

"I'll teach you the computer. Will you teach me about you and your people? I mean, you're from a different realm."

Loki could see the obvious curiosity Arianna was expressing. She was sincerely interested in learning for the sake of learning.

"How about you let me come with you and I'll tell you more about Asgard."

"I don't mind you coming with me. You probably should explore the building a bit. Although the lab is usually off limits when Tony is working."

Loki did want to explore, but he wasn't up to his usual strength yet. He didn't know what his usual strength was anymore. He would no longer have the strength of a god. He would have only human strength. He wasn't sure what that meant. He knew he would probably be one of the weakest ones there.

The patriotic one had the power of science making him strong; Dr. Banner became a green beast when angry enough; Agent Barton was an excellent archer and a fair fighter; Agent Romanoff knew how to fight and could probably wield any weapon one put in her hands; Stark had his suit of metal that he could call on in an instant; Arianna had her powers even if she didn't know how to use them to her advantage.

Loki could fight, but he'd always had his strength and magic to rely on. He'd told Arianna once that he'd preferred magic to fighting, and he hadn't been lying. Most of the men on Asgard were big and burly like Thor. They had their build to work with, whereas Loki was tall and lean.

He was brought back to himself by hearing the cling of dishes being put in the sink. Arianna was done with her breakfast and she was waiting for him now.

Without a thought, he took a large bite of his toast. It wasn't polite to keep a lady waiting. ---------- The first thing Tony did when Arianna and Loki got to the lab was attach her to a heart monitor. He was also going to scan her brain waves so he could record activity while she did whatever it was she could do.

Tony explained what everything was before getting started. That had been one of the conditions of their arrangement, and he didn't mind upholding his end.

The first thing he said was, "Why's Reindeer Games here?"

Arianna mock-glared at him. "He wanted to come see the lab, and that's not his name."

"Right. Loki. My bad."

Loki didn't seem offended in the least. Tony was sure Loki didn't care what anyone thought of him, let alone what Tony thought. In fact, Loki seemed uninterested in anyone that wasn't Arianna Grace.

"I am here to speak with you, Man of Iron," Loki said. "If you had directed your question to me, I would have more than happily answered."

Tony was shocked, to say the least. Loki had barely spoken to anyone aside from Arianna, and now he was requesting a conversation with Tony.

"It can wait until you are through with this . . . session of experimentation."

"Research," Tony corrected. "Not experimentation."

None of it would be documented. Tony was just curious. Plus he didn't want to risk SHIELD hacking into his database and stealing information on their littlest Avenger. He wouldn't endanger her that way.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Dr. Branner, who was in a lab coat. He stepped forward and quietly greeted everyone, even Loki.

"Is it all right if Bruce takes a blood sample?"

"Sure, but I can already tell you I'm A positive."

"That's good to know if you're ever bleeding to death," Tony quipped. "That's not why I want a sample, though."

Tony gestured for Bruce to begin. All in all, Arianna was only in the lab for about thirty minutes. Tony was only testing her normal responses at the moment. He wanted to know what her heart rate and brain activity were when she was relaxed. Only then could he compare it to results he hoped to get at a later date.

"You're all set," he said.

"That's it?" Arianna asked, a cute and confused look on her face.

"Yup. We can do other tests later."

She hopped off the hospital bed she'd been sitting on, looked at Loki, and raised her eyebrows a bit.

"You don't have to wait for me," Loki said. "I'll find my own way back."

She nodded and sent them all a quick smile before heading to the elevator. Tony found the bond between Loki and Arianna interesting – troubling, but interesting nonetheless. Arianna hadn't given voice to her question, but Loki had understood her facial expression. He'd known her a few short weeks and whether Arianna would admit it or not, she'd formed an attachment to the former god of mischief.

Tony didn't know what that meant.

"I mean her no harm," Loki said. Apparently Loki was just good at reading people.

"Good. Because if you hurt her, the kid gloves will come off and you'll be given to Fury so fast you won't know what hit you. And you're not immortal anymore."

Loki nodded soberly. "That's why I wished to speak to you."

Tony looked at Bruce, who was pointedly pretending to study a drop of Arianna's blood that he'd placed on a slide and onto the plate holder of a microscope.

"Go on," Tony said.

"I am mortal now. I don't know what that entails. I don't understand myself in this form."

Loki stepped forward.

"I'd like to learn. I'll need your help. I need to know my strengths and weaknesses, my limitations." A small grin graced Loki's lips. "Research, Mr. Stark."

Because Tony Stark was ever the curious genius-playboy-philanthropist, he gave in.

@smallangryandpink, @purplekitten30

#loki #loki x reader #loki/oc #Loki/OFC #love is healing #chapter six

[fuckingdeadbutroyal]

Jasonette July-Soulmate AU- Part 6

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 

!Warning! Explicit mentions of death! Read cautiously. 

Meanwhile in the akuma-shelters:

It has been close to a week now. The shelters weren’t properly equipped to supply so many people for such a long amount of time. Luckily it did have enough food and water, with the stocks having just had their yearly refill of canned food and drinkable water coming from the tap. There weren’t enough beds though. The worst thing weren’t the beds though. Ther shelters wanted to lower the risk of specific inanimate objects to function as an akuma.weapon, so the interior designers made sure he shelters kept nothing for entertainment. Lack of entertainment could be destructive to any persons mind, but paired with the ongrowing fear and grieve the citizens had to deal with? It was dangerous.

The people knew how to fill there time though. It was something us humans have always loved to do: Fight for structure and destroy anything in our way to gain control. That’s why some shelters have formed a hierarchy, with either the loudest or the physically strongest standing on top of the food chain. 

One shelter in particular believed the akuma had caused the end of the world, which was mainly because of the alley it was positioned on being isolated by Ladybugs third Lucky Charm. She had used it to try and capture the akuma when he tried to destroy  the shelter he felt personal hatred towards. Hawkmoth knew that it was caused by the now akumatized homeless man being frequently kicked out of it whenever there was no attack. Long story short, now the place was surrounded by large, high pressure fountains of water reaching up into the sky. (Tikki had clearly gotten desperate.) The only way out was either the caved-in tunnel the akuma had suddenly learned how to make, or a yo-yo/ baton/ grappling hook. Of course, none of the citzens had access to those. So they were stuck and afraid, not knowing anything about the outside world, apart from the fact that Ladybug still hasn’t captured the akuma and therefore couldn’t use her cure.

The people in that particular shelter were very diverse. There was an old couple, a few incomplete families who have lost people to the earthquakes, a group of college students, a group of kindergarteners and a few teachers and classes from Collège Françoise Dupont. 

The akuma shelters were opened in the middle of the day. At first they were timed with the akuma-alerts, but over the years the frequency of attacks has risen, which led to the shelters only being opened on Ladybugs and Chat Noirs request. That has become a rarity, since they only asked for it if there was a chance of them not succeeding. Once they were opened though, the citizens knew to follow a strict protocol. Schools for examples evacuated similarly to firedrills, with the slight change of the younger classes using the shelter underneath the school, while the older classes went for the next one in proximity. Usually the akuma-alert app kept them updated on last sightings of the villains whereabouts. Usually that wasn’t a problem, since most of the time the akumas were designed to attract attention and provoke fear. 

The current akuma was making it difficult, though. He was visible, sure, his actions spoke louder than any other akuma ever has. But you never knew where he was, not unless he was preaching his beliefs to one person in particular, who then had to survive so they could warn the other parisians. No, this time it was much more difficult. Ladybug was giving herself the blame for opening the shelters too late. At first the Dirtbag wasn’t destroying the buildings, just rattling them up a bit and keeping the citizens awake. The duo thought they could handle him, were even convinced they could find him in time, using Chats nightvision. I was only when everyone went about their day the next morining when the monster decided to strike. Hurting someone in their workplace so they would try to find shelter in their homes, before getting killed there or being lucky to find a place in the akuma shelters. A devious plan which lead to many deaths. Marinette hated herself for not figuring it out before it was already too late. She could have taken the precaution, listened to her gut feeling telling her to ignore the civilians complaints and just GET THEM TO BE SAFE. It reminded her of people who insisted on not wearing a helmet while riding their bikes. “Nothing bad has happened yet so why the panic? The drivers are going to look out for me.” and then one bad thing happens and it’s suddenly too late. No going back from not having taken the safety precaution while she still could’ve. 

No calling Bunnix or using second chance. You just have to deal with it. 

Dealing with it. That’s something the city will now have to do. Ladybug swore to herself that if.. no when she finishes this battle, she will immediatly take care of mental health programs and the promotion of health care organisations. Everyone will need therapy. It was bad enough to remember having actually died, but now there was more to it. It wasn’t as temporary as it has previously been. It wasn’t a question of one or two people dying for a timespan of about two hours, sometimes even less. No, it was about a third of Paris and a matter of days. 

The heroine was terrified of her magic maybe not being enough. 

She didn’t voice that thought to Tikki, not wanting to insult her abilities. Apart from that the girl knew her Kwami, she knew that if she were to share her fears, the other would shower her with love and support and probably even pity. It mostly wasn’t a bad thing, but Marinette knew she would brake down in tears if she were to let any soft emotions in. She just couldn’t afford to break down, couldn’t afford to give in to her emotions or the pain would ovetake her, numb her and lay her down in an episode that could seperate the parisians from their heroine. No, Marinette couldn’t think of how her decisions led to her parents death, she could not hink of how her decisions led to half her class being killed ~ by their school collapsing onto them the very moment they stepped out of the schoolgates on their way to the shelter. She could not remember Julekas face when she couldn’t free her girlfriend from the rock that was kepping her legs in place. Couldn’t think of how Ladybug went to safe Chat Noir instead of lifting that rock of the tiny blond girl who was bleeding to death in her girlfriend arms. Rose and Juleka did not deserve this.

Oh gods Juleka! She has lost everything to this battle. Mari sincerely hoped she didn’t know about what has happened to her home, didn’t hear or even feel how Luka and her mother drowned in the wreck of their own ship...

Juleka wasn’t there to witness it, she was hiding in a shelter. To be specific, she was hiding in the very one shelter Ladybug has isolated from the rest of Paris. You coul call it the safest one of them all, if it weren’t for the person who was hiding in it. 

They say it’s easier to not cut your hand, if you know where the sharp edges are. Well, this shelters sharp edge was shiny, so how could it be dangerous? 

Lila Rossis’ shiny tears could drown her worst enemy and they would still marbel about that glistening beauty.

They say you shouldn’t pour gasoline in a room you can’t escape, a tiny spark could burn, but breathing it in for too long can kill you. Lilas lies were sprinkling into every direction in a room full of people she didn’t know. Her gasoline could meet a spark and burn... It was day six and for now the only danger for her health were the toxins, the acidity of her lies and attention seeking. It was slowly eating it’s way into the truly hurt, dissolving the hope of the ones who were traumatized. Lila would do anything to reach the top. She had no problem with throwing her friends under the bus, just to feel the temporary relief of the breeze  their fall would bring. 

In this situation getting that breeze meant loads of strategy. Lila was coldhearted, yes. She was a neglected child from a toxic household, yes. She didn’t understand love that didn’t come from lies. But unlike others, she didn’t give up on those toxic lectures her life has taught her. Lila was stoic, which meant she believed in her thesis, not wanting to listen to other opinions. Lila was intelligent, which meant she knew how to make her opinion be the only one that mattered. Lila was scarred, which meant she would try everything she could to keep herself from getting hurt. 

But Lila was also weak, which meant she would hurt others before they could hurt her.

--------------------------------------

“This is nice.”, Mari thought to herself. She felt so incredibly comfortable, not a single limb was hurting from exhaustion, she was warm and safe. Breathing was easy, no pressure was pushing down on her lungs. Upon realising that, she couldn’t help herself but take a very deep breath, which later turned into a heartly yawn. “I haven’t slept this good since...oh shit” Her memories came back in a punch. Her breath hitched and started to pick up on pace. Ah there it was, the constant adrenaline mixed with panic, that was keeping her from getting that oxygen she craved. A grumble suddenly made it’s appearance right next to the girls ear and she shrieked fully awake and scrambled away, only now feeling her body as her own and recognizing the position she was in. That fully woke the man who she has just been sharing a sleeping bag with- a familiar sleeping bag, though she wasn’t about to start to decipher that now. Instead she was staring at the man she had just previously met in her dream. And he was staring back, eyes just as wide as hers. She could practically hear him overthinking while she was just...stuck. Usually it would have been the other way around. Mari would blush, scramble stutter and panic her way into an embarrasing situation. Now though? She could see those emotions in that incredibly imperfectly perfecty looking man in front of her. She could see that tiny scar she wore on her eyebrow gracing his. She was blushing, yes, and she felt the shock sit deep in her heart, emotions overrunning her at a pace she didn’t think were possible. That meant a lot, since Marinette was all too familiar with anxiety and sensory overload. But she didn’t freak out. Instead she felt just felt the uncontrolable urge to comfort him, to make his heart stop panicking and instead feel the safety he had given her. Not even secondguessing herself she just lunged into his arms, hugging the man so closely he would never forget that very moment. Jason was still for just a millisecond before he put his arms around her in a just as energetic hug. It was like finally seeing your little sibling after not having seen them for a month. You see how much they have grown, are overflowing with all the emotions, good and bad, you have felt because of them. Suddenly, though, you are loving every one of them. It was like meeting your best friend after they have just told you they were getting into that school they always wanted to or seeing them safe after something horrible had happened in their area. It was pure appreciation, adoration, love. The meeting of soulmates.

It’s not like they haven’t interacted before, after all. They were THERE whenever something bad had happened to the other. They had felt the other grow up, learned what the other has internalized and thought of each other every. single. day, for years. To Marinette it has been her whole life and even though Jason was two years older than her, he has couldn’t remeber a single day passing without her in his mind. 

“Mornin’”, he spoke up first, though his voice wasn’t more than a whisper. 

“Nice to meet you too”, she whispered back, a smile clear in her voice. 

Hearing her voice he couldn’t help but hug her closer, but upon feeling the pain in her ribs he winced and pulled back. She was confused by the sudden movement for just as second, before realising and shaking her head with a laugh. 

“It’s okay don’t worry, I kind of got used to it, living with you and everything...”

While Marinettes heart was swelling up with warmth from the knowledge that this man did really care about her, his was cramping from the proper realization of just how much suffering he must’ve put her through. He saw her throat covered in all those tiny white lines, the fresh blue bruises on her arms. The pain he felt was the same she did. She did not deserve to suffer so much, not at all. Marinette saw him trembling and took his hands. This was very unlike her, not overthinking, being so bold while in civilian form. She enjoyed it. Even more so, she was happy to be able to act this way, since it was clearly necessary for the situation. Jason on the other hand felt like he was crying, letting out a breath he has been holding for too long, finally breathing in after a long dive. He felt so so damn relieved. Her hands in his where so reassuring, so forgiving and apologetic. 

“I am so sorry”, he mumbled, meaning every bit of it.

“Don’t be, those are mine.”, she smiled. Mari knew what he meant and accepted his apology. He didn’t just mean the scars that were currently gracing her skin. He meant the tiny one on her eyebrow, the several broken bones, the bullet wounds that were gracing her thighs and shoulders, the thick scars left by blades and explosions. He meant the pain. And she understood him. His soulmate wasn’t mad at him. Marinette lifted their intertwined hands to eyelevel, the touch so foreign but so familiar. Her rough fingertips touched his, the cuts she has never learned how to avoid while having her late night sewing sessions having healed again. Jason smiled slightly, remembereing just how annoyed he was to wake up to fresh cuts almost every morning. “I always paid you back, after all.” A grin was now gracing her face, a devious glistening lighting up her already vibrant, aquamarine irises.

Jason let one hand go and subconciously rubbed his upper arm, the one they always beat to get back on each other. Marinette giggled again, now being ready to take in more of her surroundings than just that whole world of a person in front of her. It was cold, dark and smelled vaguely of home. Not a good combination at all, especially considering the latest events.

The latest events... Where was she? Why was it so quiet? And why the fuck was she sitting on her fathers sleeping bag?

“Oh no you didn’t.”, her voice was flat. She remembered Chat having been by her side when she collapsed. He must’ve brought them there. The girl turned her head in every direction, looking for him without success.

“Did Chat bring us here? Has he slept? Has he seen me in my civilan form? Tikki where are you?”, her voice was rising in volume, demand and worry more audible than it had been in a long time. The tiny godess flew out of her hiding spot, face contorted in uncertainty. Before she could answer, Jason chimed up: “Yes, he is okay and promised this place to be safe. He did see you and left shortly after. He wasn’t looking like he was about to do something reckless, just said he’d get back to work, so I let him go.” His reaction was kind of weird, to be honest, but Jason hasn’t thought much of it back then. Now he was quite certain that Chat wasn’t supposed to see Ladybug untransformed. The civilian looking girl just nodded and stood up, her mind obviously racing and her eyes flicking through the room. “I really want to leave this place. Are you ready to go?” 

Tikki looked worried and kind of guilty and Jason did’t yet know why, but they had time for that later. They quickly did what they needed to do, which meant restocking on cookies and drinking a lot of water for Marinette and contacting the team for Jason. The soulmates updated each other on the battle while on speaker with the bats. Loads of uncertainties were answered and ideas on how they could proceed were exchanged. Towards the end of it, when the heroes and vigilantes just agreed to meet up at the Louvre and go further from there, Jason suddenly laughed and over to his soulmate. “I just noticed, we haven’t properly introduced ourselfes.”, he held out his hand, a lopsided grin gracing his features, “Name’s Jason Todd, the scariest Red Hood with guns Gotham has to offer”. Marinette laughed, clasping his hand in a firm grasp. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, also known as MDC and anonymously flying over the city in a skintight suit calling myself an insect.” They shook hands, eyes glistening with humour, both freaked out about the absurdity of that situation. “I’d say I’d wish we’d met under different circumstances, but I gotta admit this-”, the man lifted his other arm, which was currently holding one of his guns, “-is pretty damn epic.”

"It's getting even more epic from here.", she smiled, speaking as if she knew more than she told him. "I have an idea. We need to get an important box from my room. I know It's safe but I haven't moved the debris to retrieve it, yet. Kind of couldn't handle my emotions enough to come here sooner...", realization hit him like a brick. "This is your home? So are those people...this place.. oh Mari I'm such an idiot."

"No, Chat is the idiot. He has been flirting with me in both my forms for literal years and has never once voiced any suspicion on us being the same.” 

“Wait what? He flir-” 

“And now he just takes me to the place we dear but turned out to need most! Maybe he has figured it out and knew I would keep my box here...”, Marinette started rambling and Jason couldn’t help but smile inspite of his irritation. He didn’t understand everything she was saying but she looked so much better than she did on the videos Tim has send to the group. No more exhaustion, way less pain and just such determined hope was seeping out of her every pore. Jason enjoyed her presence, her voice and her words, even though he didn’t understand most of the connections. She was just to lively and cute to stop her. Sadly that vanished pretty quickly. 

Not only has Marinette realised that she has been talking non stop to a man she had just properly met for the first time, but she was already talking about things only she and Chat knew. It was weird, as if he must’ve known them. He was there after all. By her side, in her body, all the time.

They made their way towards her room, passing by a dusty kitchen and a door that probaly lead to some kind of foyer. There was what resembled a living room to their left, but it’s ceiling had collapsed and everything was covered in dust an debris, so it was hard to tell. Luckily Marinette decided to transform before making her way through it, which lead to Jason taking the lead and already going towards the destroyed staircase she pointed out to him. He had turned his back to Mari, not knowing what the transformation consisted of and not wanting to invade her privacy. He saw the walls around him light up pink for a second, but his attention was elsewhere. The closer to the staircase he went, the more rotten it smelled. There was an already dry trail of brownish blood coming from above which lead to...

Jason was happy he was the first one to notice them. He has seen many dead bodies before, has been the reason for some himself. Seeing those people was disturbing though. They were saved as soulmate-knowledge in some deep part of his brain. The fear of her reaction to seeing them was even worse. That’s why when he heard Ladybug approach him he quickly turned around and took her hands and so she would face him instead of the staircase, before she’d gotten the chance to see them.

Marinette, or currently Ladybug, let out a startled “huh” and looked at him questioningly. He only now noticed the slight redness in her eyes and the irritation in her gaze. She was holding back tears and he hadn’t even noticed. What kind of a soulmate does that? “Will you be okay?”, he asked, holding her hand so gently she could pull away without any resistance. It was clear this gesture was meant completly for her and she appreciated it wholeheartedly. It felt so much better, safer than with Chat. She loved her partner and of course she trusted him not only with her life, but also to back off whenever she asked him to. That wasn’t everything that mattered though and Mari was sad she’d only just realised why she was truly comfortable around him. 

Adrien was very touch starved, has been ever since his mother died. So he subconciously tried to prolong every touch he received. No matter if it was when she was handling him something or walking beside him, he was always touching her, constantly trying to hold on, keep her there just a little longer. It wasn’t just clingyness, it was as if he’d zip himself onto her whenever he could. She didn’t blame him for it and often didn’t even mind his affection. As mentioned, he always immediatly backed off whenever she asked him to. Once he even managed to spent a fight protecting her without any physical contact whatsoever. It was much more dificult that way, but she had winced when he jokingly kissed her hand before the fight and he has taken that as a sign to back off. He only allowed himself to come closer again when she’d explicitly allowed him to do so, not wanting to watch him walk around with drooping ears. Still, she rarely enjoyed the contact and almost never initiated it. Not because she didn’t like him, she just didn’t want to get his or her hopes up. Now, looking at her soulmate, she was happy she hasn’t tried anything with Chat. It would’ve only made everything much more complicated than it already was. Of course she could have had a platonic soulmate-relationship with Jason, but considering his looks and his charm Marinette would have considered it a shame not to appreciate who the universe had paired her with. 

“I’ll manage.”, she answered, though her voice was unpleasantly close to breaking. “I’ve got my coping mechanisms, more talking less thinking, though I’m sorry if I annoy you with it I should probably find a new wa-”

Before she could dive into another ramble Jason just shook his head, glancing over her shoulder. She realy should not see them, no coping mechanism is going to delete that image once it’s there. “I’m okay with that, don’t worry”, he tried to smile but gave up when it came out pained. This was not the moment for smiles. Not while he was facing his dead future in-laws. 

“But may I suggest a new coping mechanism?”, he bowed to the girl in front of him, who just tilted her head in curiosity. “What do you suggest, Monsieur?” Once she accepted the invitation he gently pulled her closer, taking his red heltmet that has been previously dangling on his belt, and carefully placed it on her head. She giggled, the helmet was too big on her and she looked incredibly cute. “I think you put it on backwards, I can’t see.”, she stated with a teasing smile in her voice. “Oh I’m sorry dearie, guess I’ll have to help you get up those stairs then”, upon saying that he picked her up and, when he sensed no discomfort from her side, proceeded to carefully climb past the two dead bodies on the staircase. Once they safely arrived in the room above and Jason was sure the Dupain-Chengs were no longer visible, he let her down and turned the helmet into the correct position. ”Feel safer like that?” “Tikkis magic protects me from any possible injuries. But I still like it very much, your air conditioner in this thing is incredible” She turned to him with a smile. “I’ll feel much safer with you wearing it, though.”

Mari took off the helmet and stood on her tip-toes, reaching up to place the red fashion-disaster on his head. “Once we’re done with that Dirtbag I’ll design you a new one. You don’t just look scary, this thing is embarassing me on your behalf.”

“Hey! I designed it myself! But I’ll gladly take you up on that anyways. Tim has only praised you handiwork so far and his face upon seeing me wear an MDC original instead of him is going to be priceless.”

Jasons ear suddenly rung with Tims strained voice asking about MDC and what the fuck he had missed. Jason ignored him, though on the inside he was yodeling with laughter about having gotten Tims favourite designer as his soulmate. 

----------------------------------

Adrien was furious with himself. How could he have brought Marinette to the very home she would have wanted to avoid the most? How did he not notice the intensity of her grieve after her parents death? “I’m such an idiot!”, his scream echoed through the void that once was Paris. He was running towards yet another mansion, the one near the Pont des Arts, and audibly talking to Plagg. For an outsider it would’ve looked like he was talking to himself, or even worse: his suit. Technically he was doing just that, since Plagg had no way of reacting to his words while in this form and Adrien was not ashamed to admit that he liked it much better that way. No moans and dumb jokes while he was talking about important stuff. (He liked the jokes though, Plaggs sense of humour was Purr-ecious, even though admittedly Adrien was the only one to think that.)

“You think so? I think you still being alive is pretty not-idiot like.”, that voice made Adrien stop dead in his tracks, leading to the one who had suddenly appeared running beside him toppling over. Chat took fighting stance, waryily following the person with his eyes. “How the fuck did I not notice you sooner?!” The bright yellow figure, which the cat recognized as the Signal stood up and lifted his hands as if to show they were unarmed, only he was indeed very much armed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m with Batman, so please don’t attack.” Adrien mentally cursed, knowing that the lack of noticing someone as noticeable as the Signal was Plaggs form of revenge on Adriens rambling. “You little shit”, he whispered to the Kwami, who of course did not respond.

“Excuse me?”, Duke was staring at him in slight irritation. “Oh no I’m sorry I was talking to my...suit. It’s a long story. Anyways! It’s nice to meet you Signal! I’m a big fan.”, a smile spread out on the cat, his overall appearance only intensifying the cheshire grin that followed, “My name’s Noir, Chat Noir. I have to say, you look purrfectly nothissable, your suit is pawsomely doing kitts job.”

“Are you a furry?”

“What? NO!”

“I mean there’s nothing wrong with it if you are it’s just the way you speak-”

“I’m not, but thanks for the reassurance, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

The look Signal was giving him was...hard to describe. Adrien was blushing, hard. Of course he would fail at flirting with one of his favourite vigilantes. OF COURSE the Signal would think Adrien was a furry. Marinette had warned him, why wouldn’t he listen?! An awkward silence kept the two boys in place, each looking at the other in uncertainty. Finally Duke decided to break the silence. “So... anyways... let’s get going, I’ll introduce you to the others. We also have some gadgets you and Ladybug could find useful.”

“That’s great, thanks.”

“Just so you know, I’m not judging you-”

“Thanks.”

“- but whenever you’re ready...”

“What do you mea-”

“As Anna from frozen has said: Love is an open door.”

“I get it. Please stop.”

“Sorry.”

With that, the black and yellow pair made it’s way towards the Louvre, with at least something else but the end of the world on their mind.

-----------------------

“How can you be so ignorant? Don’t you know how much Jagged Stones’ son meant to her? You of all people must understand how bad it is to have a loved one die!”

“Alya please, Juleka is still coping, she didn’t mean it that way...”, a crocodile-teared Lila told her servant, though she wasn’t really trying to stop her. Just a few minutes ago they were all discussing the distribution of rations, since the fight has been going on for even longer than they had formerly estimated, which meant a rapidly ending amount of food as well as rapidly growing panic. 

Lila chose that very moment, when everyone sat down, to start audibly weeping. How could she not use such a perfect audience, after all? 

“I’m so sorry I just.... I was trying to keep it together for so long now but then it got so quiet and it all just...”, she wiped her perfectly dry nose on her sleeve,”my boyfriend... Luce, Jagged Stones son you must’ve heard of him...well he died in the first night and I have only just properly processed it...” 

Upon hearing this, a murmur went through the audience. Over 80% of the present people have lost someone to the akuma. Everyone was coping differently, that’s okay. Juleka for example has spent most of her stay either silently sitting or very quietly humming to herself. Whenever someone pulled her back into reality though, her thoughts caught up with her and lead to full blown panic attacks which left her shivering, crying and throwing up in one of the limited toilets the shelter had to offer or outside the doors, which really didn’t help her condition, apart from maybe the higher oxygen rate the street had to offer. 

During the planned meeting, Julleka proceeded to just stay in her corner and humm her melodies, until the words “Jagged Stones’ son” had pulled her out of her trance. Instead of panicking, Lilas claim led to a kind of rage growing inside Julekas chest she hasn’t felt for a long time. 

“Jagged Stones’ son? Are you fucking serious?”, her voice wasn’t loud. Juleka rarely raised her voice. She didn’t need to, it was powerful enough if she wanted it to be. It filled the previously murmuring room with the kind of thunder that left a void behind. Some were holding their breath and for once it wasn’t because they were afraid to provoce the italian girls tears. Not only hasn’t Juleka spoken since her parting from Rose, no, her voice also held the energy of murder, her words intentions promised blood.

The ones who knew her were even more afraid, some held tears n their eyes. Juleka and Rose had a very rare kind of bond. They didn’t have the same abilities or a dependance on each other. Instead their bond was complementary. Where Juleka was darkness, Rose was light. Where Rose was naiv, Juleka was vary. Where Juleka was forgiving, Rose was loud. Where Rose had a voice that could carry for miles, even if she didn’t raise it, Juleka had hearing that could decipher even the quietest sounds. 

It isn’t unusual for a soulmate to carry one of the other ones traits in case of seperation. Some liked the reminder, it made them feel connected to the person they love, even if they were dead. Some couldn’t handle it, not being ready to let go. 

Juleka was somewhere in between when she heard her voice suddenly sound like Rose. She now had both of their complementary powers, she should feel complete, like a full human being. Juleka was happy to hear her loved ones voice again, but she did not in the slightest feel complete. She felt torn. She couldn’t hear her soulmates heart beat anymore. She couldn’t stop thinking of the moment she heard it stop. It stopping was the loudest sound she has ever heard.

Now she had her lovers voice by her side, supporting her in what she was going to say next.

“You are not dating him, shut the fuck up and get your priorities straight.”

That's the very moment all hell broke loose. Of course there were the ones who were smart enough to at least notice that arguing with the musician was dangerous and simply uncalled for, but there were also the already brainwashed ones who believed they had to protect the privileged who just felt like exploiting a situation for fun. Those believers were a few newbies Lila has recruited during her stay in the shelter and most of her classmates. Only Ivan, Nathaniel and Ondine joined Julekas side. The rest was either dead or has succumbed to the overwhelming pressure of the situation.

Alya was in protective mode, but for whatever reason she was protecting the offender.

That brings us back to the very moment:

“How can you be so ignorant? Don’t you know how much Jagged Stones’ son meant to her? You of all people must understand how bad it is to have a loved one die!”

"Yes I do.", Juleka voice rose slightly. The louder she got the more she sounded like herself, so she kept it quieter. Rose had to have a say in this too. "And so does up to everyone else here. But I also know that my brother has been alive that morning and I know that he would never even think of dating you, Lila."

She rose from her seating position, not caring for how her knees were about to buckle due to not taking care of herself for the last few days. The dust in her hair and the dark marks on her clothes made all those who saw her feel the dire of the situation. All but Lila. Lila wasn’t used to loosing and since she has never perceived the “quiet emo” as a threat before, she didn’t give her words any value. A lethal mistake.

“Oh really? What, are you saying your mother, that old lady who thinks she’s a pirate, had a child with Jagged Stone? Bless her soul I know it must be difficult to live with her..I’m so sorry if I sound mean I don’t mean it like that..you can come to me whenever you need me. I’m your friend and you’re right, your grieve is more important than mine, especially with a mother who brainwashed you like that....”

“Do not dare insult my mother. Don’t you dare pretend to know me. Don’t you dare twist my words. Who are you grieving, anyways? Isn’t you mother in Canada, helping the homeless? Or no wait, that was your long lost twin sister who has only just recently invited you to her wedding next month? And wasn’t Adrien your secret boyfriend? How did you bring Luka..no I mean Luce into this?”

“I...I understand you are hurt Jules”, the tall girl winced at the nickname her brother gave her coming out of that demons mouth, “but please don’t drag Adrien into this, wasn’t he always nice to you? Guys please don’t tell on her to Adrien, he would be terribly hurt....he has such a difficult life already...”, she hid her face in her hands. The ones who believed her thought it was to hide her tears, but in reality she was panicking. Juleka had a much better memory than she has expected.

“Stop attacking the girl like that, come here Miss Rossi, she won’t get past me.”, a male voice spoke up. It was principle Damocles, a man who feared the position Lila claimed to have. “You shouldn’t be letting your rage out on the innocent. We understand that your loss must’ve been tragic, but Miss Rossis loss isn’t about you. Let the girl grieve in peace or leave her alone.”

Juleka stopped shaking. Instead she just stood there, fire flaming in her eyes and a scary eeriness in her stance. “I’m leaving then.”, Roses voice proclaimed and the figure moved. No one tried to stop her as she went straight for the exit, climbed over the debris and turned around to look at them for one last time. Lila was about to say something, fake tears already ready to flow, but Juleka just flipped her off and shut the heavy metall door.

Oh how good it felt to breathe.

To scream.

Ladybug heard her scream and she had just the right Miraculous to help her let that anger out.

----------

Hi!

So this took really fucking long! But the next one is almost finished so there will be another grand update soon. I was writing several scenes at once and then took way too long to finish each one and properly connect them BUT I now have loads of action and banter and relationship and characatergrowth and all that funky fluff we love ^^

I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, and I’m slightly sorry for the medium-cliffhanger...

IMPORTANT thank you all so much for your feedback! I love you so much and I’m sorry I haven’t answered most of you even though you absolutly deserve any bit of attention there is. Please just know that whenever I write these “thank you speeches”: I mean you. You are amazing and I hope you are feeling well <3

My tag list has grown! If you want to be added to this pretty ensemble down there, just message me in any way and I’ll be happy to add you!

Tag list \o/:

@maribat-is-lifeblood @lokilex @amayakans @readingismyoxygen @zalladane @sunspritethedestroyer @toodaloo-kangaroo @purplesundaze @yeet-this-bitch @ratherbereading125 @snap-crackle-pop-goes-my-joints @slytherin-batbitch @melicmusicmagic @laurcad123 @violatiger8 @thatonecroc 

Thanks for reading ^^

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#jasonette #jasonette july #jasonette soulmate au #jason todd #jason todd x marinette dupain-cheng #maribat #maribat fanfic #marinette dupain-cheng #batfam #ml juleka #julerose #death trigger warning #soulmate au #soulmate bruises au #ml ladybug #ml angst #ml salt #lila rossi #duke thomas #chat noir #adrien agreste #luka couffaine #if you are reading this i'm sending you a virtual hug

[sssrha]

Imposter

Later, Lan Xichen learned what, exactly, his mother had done. Later, he would learn that the normal punishment was death. Later he learned that his father had married her so she could escape that fate, only to lock her away from the world she loved so much.

But, at that moment, Lan Huan was five and anything was possible, so he told himself he didn’t need to be Sect Leader Lan—he would be A-Huan, travelling the world with Mother (and maybe A-Zhan) and making her smile. That’s all he ever wanted.

Or: When the people spoke of the Twin Jades of Lan, Lan Xichen could never push away the distinct sense of wrongness in his stomach. They didn’t know that he was an imposter, after all.

[written for XiSang Week 2020. read it below or on AO3.]

-

Lan Huan’s mother used to card her fingers through his hair once a month, pulling and twisting the strands into elaborate braids that Lan Huan would spend hours looking at, if given the chance. When Lan Zhan would, inevitably, fall asleep to her quiet humming, she would turn her twinkling eyes upon Lan Huan and Lan Huan alone, and she’d keep on braiding and unbraiding his hair, singing sweet nonsense into the silence.

Afterward, right before leaving, he would quietly unbraid his hair, each movement leaving his limbs increasingly leaden until he was but a human caricature, inanimate and yet still breathing, unable to finish what he’d started. His mother would press a kiss to his forehead and finish for him. “Look at you,” she would whisper, careful not to rouse Lan Zhan, “you’re the perfect Lan. My son—so handsome!”

She’d brush her fingers against Lan Huan’s cheek—she did it so often that Lan Huan memorized every scar and callous on them…and there were many. Lan Zhan had only truly learned how to count after their mother let him count every blemish across her palms. When asked, she would say, “I didn’t always live here, A-Huan.”

That made sense. She probably earned those scars in the same place she’d learned how to braid Lan Huan’s hair—the very same braids that sat atop her own head. It must have also been the same place she’d chipped her front tooth and lost the very tip of her left ring finger.

He would ask her about that far off time which he wasn’t alive to see, and she’d regale him with stories of warriors, of freedom, of ancient forests filled with beasts ready to fight, and many times, she’d tell him about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. It was his favorite story. When he unbraided his hair and felt his limbs turn to lead, his mother would tell him the story, and suddenly, things weren’t as bad.

He should have known that it wouldn’t last.

***

Lan Huan is eight, and he is floating. He thinks he’s cold, too—he must be, sitting out in the snow like this for so long, nowhere near close enough to his brother to share any warmth. He knows that he should go, but he’s floating over his own head and it’s hard to see anything other than Lan Zhan’s form, crystal clear against the rest of the world.

He cannot leave his brother sitting out in the cold, and even if this is a dream, like he’s starting to suspect, it’s still the principle that matters; Lan Huan watches himself stay completely still until his fingers turn so white that it must be frightening. He watches them curl, one-by-one, creaking in protest after their disuse, and he hears himself say, once again, “A-Zhan, let’s go.” Lan Zhan glances at him once before going back to staring at the door—the one that will never open, no matter how long he waits, no matter how much his older brother wants him to be happy—

Lan Huan floats, and he can’t come back down.

He watches himself hunch over and, slowly, feels the dizziness run rampant through his mind.

The first time Lan Zhan moves that evening is after Lan Huan’s body tilts sideways and doesn’t get back up.

“Brother!”

The world whirls away.

***

That should have been the end of it.

It is not the end.

***

The Cloud Recesses’ infirmary stands apart from the rest of it. It’s in its own nook of time, unchanged by the ebbs and flows of the world and Lan Xichen is sure that if he were to trace the lines of the blanket covering his form, it would remain with the same folds and contours as always. He can almost see the world whirl by, the sun rising and setting with the sands of time.

He sees two winters pass before he’s finally back in himself, fingers running through his own hair, unconsciously folding the roots into braids before undoing them. He should most definitely stop—before someone sees, before someone realizes that he’s dared to keep this little part of his mother for himself—and he seizes when he hears footsteps nearing his area.

Briefly, there is hesitation thick in the room, but then a voice quietly murmurs out a greeting. “Brother,” Lan Zhan says, his voice quiet and full of concern.

He said the same thing two years ago, when Lan Xichen collapsed in the cold, but back then he’d been apologetic, asking for forgiveness for letting him collapse. Now, he just hesitantly places his fingers on Lan Xichen’s hair, carefully helping him undo the last of the braids. “Brother,” Lan Zhan continues, “Uncle said you threw up.”

He had, right in the middle of class. He remembers the gasps that had rippled through the room, the plain horror on the instructor’s face, and the pain in his stomach as he retched. “I did,” he responds.

“What did the physician say?”

Lan Xichen says, “Nothing is wrong. She doesn’t know what happened.” He does. He knows exactly why his head started spinning and his breath came heavy and oppressive. He knows exactly how his world turned upside down. It started with his new instructor smiling at his class and saying, “Today, we will discuss a story.”

It was a story about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. For a second, he could almost hear it told from his mother’s lips.

So he threw up.

Lan Zhan doesn’t believe him, he knows, but he doesn’t say a word, still dutifully unbraiding his hair. Lan Xichen lets it happen and wonders, briefly, if he should warn Lan Zhan of this travesty, this complete invasion of their mother’s privacy, but he realizes that Lan Zhan wouldn’t understand. After all, their mother never told the story to him, only to Lan Xichen, unbraiding his hair in the Jingshi. (And, for a moment, Lan Xichen wonders at how similar Lan Zhan is to their mother. Their uncle is always on the lookout to ensure neither of them turn into their father, but…but Lan Zhan really is a carbon copy of her in every way but mannerisms.

And so, Lan Xichen loves him even more than before, surprised at how that’s possible.)

Lan Xichen doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, he asks, “How was class today?”

He asks this every day, and he always receives similar answers: easy, difficult, interesting, uninteresting, etc. Today, however, Lan Zhan says, “Unimportant.”

That stops Lan Xichen dead in his tracks. “Every class is important,” he says firmly, wondering what on earth Lan Zhan was taught to inspire such a response.

Lan Zhan frowns. “You are more important. What happened?”

Ah. Lan Xichen once again finds himself turning away, shame coursing through him at the realization that his little brother is so concerned for him. “I will talk to Uncle about it,” is the only response he gives.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Lan Zhan nods and continues to unbraid Lan Xichen’s hair.

Lan Xichen wonders when his brother got so grown up.

***

Every night, Lan Xichen and his family performs a ritual: their uncle wishes them both a goodnight, gives them a hug, and then heads to sleep. Lan Xichen has learned that, as of late, Lan Zhan has taken to not hugging their uncle, but Lan Xichen still does—it’s a rare bit of his childhood that he does not want to let go of, and his uncle does not mention it.

Tonight, however, Lan Xichen doesn’t let his uncle go without a word. “I have a question,” he says.

Lan Qiren pauses, obviously taken by surprise. “What is it?” he asks.

Lan Xichen says, “Today, in class, Teacher was telling a story. I didn’t get to hear all of it.”

Lan Qiren frowns, contemplative. “What do you remember about it?”

He wets his lips. “It was about a butcher,” he explains. “That’s all I heard.”

“Ah, yes, the founder of the Nie Sect, Nie Fan. He was a butcher that started cultivating, as our Lan An was a monk who began cultivating. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story since you missed it in class. For now, sleep.”

Lan Xichen does not want to sleep. He wants to know why the story was known by others, why it wasn’t special like he always thought it was—why his story was out in the open, like a festering wound that no one let heal. However, exhaustion pulls at his features, dragging him under its spell so effectively that he knows that he will fall asleep soon, whether he likes it or not, so he nods in acceptance and watches his uncle’s form as he leaves Lan Xichen’s room.

Lan Zhan is probably already asleep, and all Lan Xichen will be, too, soon, but—he needs to do something. The endless itch lingers beneath his fingertips, and he finds himself moving before he even realizes what he’s doing. He is sitting in front of a mirror, hands in his hair, braiding and braiding until three long strands sit atop his head. His fingers shake and his shoulders ache, the only thing going through his head being variations of “Mother’s story, my story, our story” until it’s too much and he feels a pressure growing behind his eyes, his shoulders tensing.

He focuses on the chattering of his teeth and the texture of his hair, and by the time he finally stumbles over to his bed—forced into it from exhaustion, no longer quivering—his head is in braids.

That night, he dreams of his mother’s voice singing a song that he will never know the words of.

***

Once upon a time, there was a boy. Every day, the boy dreamed of being a butcher just like his father, so he learned everything he could. One day, his father passed away, but the boy was ready—he used his knowledge to become the best butcher in China. However, soon, his village was plagued by monsters of all sorts. Qinghe was sparsely populated back then, and cultivators were few in numbers, so unless a rogue stumbled upon them, his village was doomed. Nie Fan, seeing all the pain his peers were facing, decided to take matters into his own hands.

Using the very butchering knives he so dearly loved, Nie Fan cultivated until he had a golden core and then saved his village.

This is the story that Lan Xichen knows. What his mother never told him, though, is that there is more.

After becoming the protector of his village, others joined alongside him, cultivating in his manner. Their numbers grew and grew, even past his death, until it became a great sect: the Nie Sect.

Lan Xichen listens to the story with a bowed head, and he wonders what else his mother had kept from him.

***

The forests of Qinghe dwarf Lan Xichen, who is all of thirteen years old. Coming here was never his plan, but his uncle insisted, explaining that Lan Xichen needs to get accustomed to meeting with important people if he’s going to be Sect Leader one day. Lan Xichen nearly hissed back that no one ever asked him if he wanted to be Sect Leader—he doesn’t, not in the slightest, but no one ever asked his uncle if he wanted to rule the sect in the absence of his brother, so Lan Xichen held his tongue.

Now, he wishes he had said something—anything—to stay away from Qinghe, because if he had never come, then he would never have to see the Nie boy.

Gusu and Qinghe are not close geographically, and the GusuLan and the QingheNie are not close politically, so Lan Xichen has never had the (extremely dubious) pleasure of meeting a Nie cultivator until now. Of course he’s taken by surprise.

The boy swept up to the Lan contingent, drenched in olive and gold, saber held tightly in hand. When he bowed, Lan Xichen got a clear view of his head…and of the braids that sat on it. For a second, he was back in the Jingshi on that last day, before everything went so wrong, listening to his mother tell story after story, singing a sweet song.

This boy is like his mother, and he doesn’t understand why.

***

The Unclean Realms sprawl outward, a fortress made for the protection of its inhabitants without a care for aesthetic, but Lan Xichen sees beauty in it, anyway. He sees the thought in every wall, every door, every tile on the floor. While the people in it make Lan Xichen’s heart hammer in his chest, fingers shaking while hidden deep in his robes, the Unclean Realms itself feels like a haven, the likes of which he had never known before.

The meeting with Sect Leader Nie goes smoothly, and Lan Xichen even finds himself unwinding until Sect Leader Nie and his own uncle send him off with another boy. “Play,” Sect Leader Nie had said, and though Lan Qiren had made a face at the phrasing, he hadn’t contradicted him.

Nie Mingjue is broader than Lan Xichen, though a few inches shorter, and he is wearing the same braids as everyone else, broad saber clutched close. It looks a bit too big for his body, suggesting the expectation of future growth, and considering the height of his father, Lan Xichen doesn’t doubt it.

Nie Mingjue drags him around the Unclean Realms, showing him every nook and cranny, an interesting story accompanying every single one of them, chattering on and on until Lan Xichen could recognize his expression by just the dips of his voice.

It’s when they sit beneath a willow tree—a desperate attempt to escape the heat—that Lan Xichen finally asks him, “Those braids…where did you get them?” His voice is so soft, so hesitant, and for a moment, he thinks that Nie Mingjue didn’t even hear him over the rustling leaves.

Then, Nie Mingjue says, “Oh, these? Everyone in the Nie Sect wears them. I’m Sect Heir, so I know how to do it.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t look at him, eyes intent on staring into the horizon and whatever is beyond. He asks, “Can you teach me?” Perhaps they merely look similar. Perhaps it is a different braid entirely. Perhaps Lan Xichen is concerned about nothing.

But Nie Mingjue just laughs. “I can’t teach it to someone who isn’t from the Sect!” As if the mere idea is silly. Then a mischievous look falls over him. “So unless some beautiful maiden sweeps you off your feet and brings you here as her groom, you won’t be wearing the braids any time soon.”

Lan Xichen stays silent.

***

The Lan contingent stays the night, readying to depart tomorrow.

Right before bed, Lan Xichen braids his hair as well as he can, and he stares in the mirror for much longer than is appropriate. He lets his fingers glance over the hardening edge of his jaw, the point of his nose, the skin of his lips. He peers at the warm brown of his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and the paleness of his skin. Then, finally, he looks at the braids, and he realizes that his reflection is more real than he will ever be.

Breaking curfew is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but Lan Xichen isn’t in the Cloud Recesses. So, when he slowly opens the door to his quarters and steps outside, he’s not doing anything wrong. He stays cautious, anyway, looking over his shoulder to ensure that his uncle hasn’t magically appeared to scold him.

The Nie Sect has no official curfew, as far as he can tell—if it does, then it’s much later than the Cloud Recesses’, for disciples are still wandering the halls, attending to duties and chatting animatedly about this or that. They all ignore him, and Lan Xichen feels invisible, like he’s blended into the wall, and he’s all the more grateful for it. After all, the braids still sit on his head and if anyone were to notice him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. (In reality, he is probably not invisible. Instead, he’d slipped on the night robes that the rooms had stored away. He thinks he must look like a normal Nie disciple. He quite likes the thought.)

Lan Xichen is a ghost, haunting these halls without rest until it is well past his bedtime. He is unseen and unknown—until a voice calls out, “Young Master Lan?”

He sees himself turn around, still feeling lost in a dream. His hands go up to his hair, wondering who has discovered him and how he is going to explain his impropriety. For a second, he fears it’s Nie Mingjue, who will take offense to Lan Xichen wearing these braids even after being told they were only for Nie disciples. He thinks of the boy who he’d become rather fond of twisting his face in rage, and shame courses through him, hot and unbearable.

But it is not Nie Mingjue who finds him. Instead, it is a young boy—younger than Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, definitely, though he distinctly has Nie Mingjue’s eyes and nose. Vaguely, Lan Xichen remembers Nie Mingjue mentioning a younger brother who was Lan Wangji’s age. “…Second Young Master Nie?”

Nie Huaisang shrinks backward, obviously startled by Lan Xichen’s recognition, but then squares his shoulders. “Young Master Lan, are you okay?”

Lan Xichen sees himself turn. “I…” How is he supposed to answer that? He doesn’t feel all that here. He’s watching himself, no control over his own body, everything out of focus, and—

He’s floating.

“Young Master Lan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you lost?” Maybe he is. Can you get lost in a dream? “Young Master Lan, can you hear me?”

“I can,” Lan Xichen hears himself say.

“Do…do you want to come with me for a bit?” Lan Xichen doesn’t see a reason not to, so he follows Nie Huaisang without protest. “Oh, good.”

Good? He doesn’t think so. Vaguely, Lan Xichen hears Nie Huaisang talk—about what, he can’t tell. It blends into the background along with everything else, but there’s certain dips and edges to it that pull him closer, even as he floats. Soon, he finds himself in what he assumes are Nie Huaisang’s chambers as Nie Huaisang prattles on. “I smuggled some sweets from the kitchen but they’re new kinds that I’ve never tried before. My tastebuds are delicate—Brother always scolds me about it, but it’s not my fault! Young Master Lan, can you tell me what it tastes like? I need to be prepared.”

Soon, a few pieces of candy are shoved into Lan Xichen’s hand. His head shifts upward and Nie Huaisang encourages, “Go on! Just tell me the taste and texture.”

Okay. Lan Xichen slips the first piece into his mouth and focuses on it as much as he can manage. “It’s sweet,” he says.

“How sweet? Honey sweet? Sugar sweet? Berry sweet?”

“Honey, but it feels like…sand. Gritty. Do you like gritty things?”

“Maybe,” Nie Huaisang allows. “Does it have a bad aftertaste?”

Lan Xichen swallows and then waits. “No. It’s good.”

“What about the others?”

So Lan Xichen goes on, describing candy after candy until he’s actually holding the pieces, not watching himself eat them. He stops abruptly, placing his palm on the table and then asking, “What was that?”

Nie Huaisang smiles kindly. “Are you feeling better now?”

Better, yes. Good, not precisely. But certainly better. Moonlight streams into the room from the open window, clashing with the flickering of Nie Huaisang’s lamps. Disciples are still chattering, doing their duties, and the Nie night robes that Lan Xichen has thrown on are light and freeing despite the terrible pressure creeping up his spine. “I am,” he says. “What did you do?”

“Helped you come back to yourself,” Nie Huaisang explains. He stumbles to his feet and then goes deeper into his chambers, still talking. “It happens to my cousin, sometimes, too, so I learned how to help.” He comes back with a cup of water, sloshing against the opening with each step he takes.

Lan Xichen takes it and drinks. “I apologize for any trouble—”

“No trouble!” Nie Huaisang immediately insists, only to go red. “I mean, helping people is what cultivators do, right? I might not be that great of a cultivator in any other sense, but I can still do this!”

Ah, yes. The Second Young Master Nie who hates cultivating. “Then, I thank you.”

Nie Huaisang’s face flushes even deeper and he turns away. For a moment, Lan Xichen rests in amused silence, but then Nie Huaisang says, “Young Master Lan, those braids…”

Lan Xichen freezes. “Oh,” he says immediately, hands shooting up to his hair, “I apologize, I’ll take them off immediately.”

“No! I mean,” Nie Huaisang backtracks, “you can wear it! The Nie disciples all wear it but. No one ever mentioned that anyone else couldn’t.”

“But your brother…”

“Brother says a lot of things!” Nie Huaisang says. “Don’t always listen to him! You can wear the braids if you want. You look good in them, anyway. And with those robes, I almost thought you were a Nie disciples!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah!”

And Lan Xichen smiles. He smiles when he goes back to his room as well, and he even manages to smile as he unbraids his hair.

It’s the first time anyone has told him that he’s looked good in these braids—not even his mother had said such a thing. Lan Xichen thinks that, for now, everything is going to be okay.

***

The first time Lan Xichen really breaks a rule is when he sneaks into the Cloud Recesses’ weaponry. Only the senior disciples are allowed in—which a fourteen-year-old Lan Xichen very distinctly is not—but he has a question in mind that can’t be solved in any other fashion.

Carefully treading the wooden floors, he enters the side room that not even the senior disciples are allowed into, and he observes its contents. Stacked into neat little rows are hundreds of swords, all belonging to his deceased martial siblings. Off to the side, however, he finds a crypt—wholly out of place.

Slowly, he slides the lid off. Just a bit, just enough to peak inside, and he finds a saber—broad and imperious, to be wielded by a master. Its glare is blinding in the dull light of the room, its sharpened edge pricking him without needing to touch him. Atop the casket, there is an engraving that he will never forget: Nie Jiaying.

“Jiaying.” It’s what his uncle used to refer to his mother on the rare occasions they spoke. “Jiaying.” It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. “Jiaying.” It’s for a wonderful woman with scars, braids, and a saber.

“Nie Jiaying.”

And she’d told him that he was the perfect Lan, but she was a Nie and Lan Xichen had always loved her so much. Lan Xichen bows his head and cries.

***

Lan Huan was five when he found out that, one day, he was going to be Sect Leader. When Lan Qiren told him that, he buried his face into his uncle’s robes and said, “But I don’t want to. A-Zhan can be the Sect Leader.”

Lan Qiren’s face hardened and he spoke, voice sharp, “Don’t forsake your brother when this is your duty.”

Lan Huan buried his face deeper into his uncle’s robes. “But if I’m Sect Leader,” he says, voice muffled, “then how will Mother and I travel around China?” To see all the places she’d told him about, to make her stop looking so sad when she talked about them. He wanted to see them all and…and then maybe he’d pretend to be Sect Leader so A-Zhan could do the same thing, too. Then they could both go with Mother and Mother would get to go twice, because she deserved it.

Lan Qiren’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You will do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“You will be the Sect Leader, and your mother cannot leave the Jingshi.”

Lan Huan looked up. “Even then?”

“Even then.”

“Why?”

Lan Qiren pursed his lips. “Your mother did something very bad, A-Huan. This is her punishment.”

Lan Huan didn’t understand. Whenever he got in trouble, he had to copy lines and do handstands. Sometimes he saw the older disciples get hit with the discipline rulers. He’d never heard of a punishment like having to stay inside all the time. He didn’t think he would like it.

Later, Lan Xichen learned what, exactly, his mother had done. Later, he would learn that the normal punishment was death. Later he learned that his father had married her so she could escape that fate, only to lock her away from the world she loved so much.

But, at that moment, Lan Huan was five and anything was possible, so he told himself he didn’t need to be Sect Leader Lan—he would be A-Huan, travelling the world with Mother (and maybe A-Zhan) and making her smile. That’s all he ever wanted.

***

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue stay in contact through letters, talking about when they’ll next meet and what they’re going to do. As Nie Mingjue’s sixteenth birthday draws closer and closer, they also discuss all the things that they plan to do when he comes to the Cloud Recesses.

Three months beforehand, news arrives: Nie Mingjue’s father has died, leaving Nie Mingjue as Sect Leader Nie. He sends a very formal apology letter, explaining why he can’t attend classes in the Cloud Recesses, and it is not in his handwriting but Lan Xichen keeps silent about it. Lan Qiren heads to the Unclean Realms as soon as news reaches them in an effort to help Nie Mingjue deal with his new responsibilities, and Lan Xichen is left behind.

Lan Wangji approaches him that night. “Brother,” he says, sweeping into Lan Xichen’s quarters and seating himself across from him, “I heard what happened.” Lan Xichen seals his eyes shut. Lan Wangji continues, “You…did not go to the Unclean Realms.” He’s surprised that Lan Xichen hasn’t gone to comfort his friend.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Uncle said that my being there would make things more complicated for him. I’ve arranged to visit in a few months.”

Lan Wangji observes him. “Second Young Master Nie,” he says, “has informed me that Sect Leader Nie would not be opposed to your presence.”

Lan Xichen pauses. “You’ve spoken to Huaisang?”

“He and I have kept up a correspondence.”

Lan Xichen knew that the two were in contact, but he never expected them to talk about these kinds of things. Lan Xichen looks up, staring at the ceiling. “Is he positive?”

“Yes.” He hesitates. “And he mentioned…he would like to meet you, as well.”

This causes Lan Xichen’s head to spin in confusion. “What?”

“Second Young Master Nie wishes to meet you.”

Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang exchange gifts—little, useless trinkets that are technically not allowed, but to which Lan Qiren always turns a blind eye when he visits Lan Xichen’s residence—but they haven’t written actual, substantial words to each other. And why would Nie Huaisang want to meet? The last time they’d met for longer than a few minutes was on that first time he’d visited the Unclean Realms and caused Nie Huaisang so much trouble.

Nie Huaisang was being polite, Lan Xichen decides. And his uncle is right, anyway—Lan Xichen’s presence will only make things worse for Nie Mingjue. Who knows what kind of power struggle is happening within the walls of the Unclean Realms? Having to deal with Lan Xichen won’t be helpful at all.

“I shouldn’t impose, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looks like he wants to protest, but no words leave his lips. Instead, he bows his head and says, “Yes, Brother.” The amount of skepticism and exasperation he manages to pack into those two words is astonishing.

Lan Xichen pointedly ignores it.

***

Lan Xichen expects Nie Mingjue to never again step foot in the Cloud Recesses. It’s unconscious and illogical, but he sees an ocean between them now—an ocean he so desperately wants to cross, even when everyone insists on him making his home on the other side.

That ocean seems a little smaller when Nie Mingjue sends him a certain letter. Its contents are very simple: Nie Mingjue cannot attend class at the Cloud Recesses, but Nie Huaisang most definitely can and he will be when he turns 15. Nie Mingjue came to iron out the details and they sat and spoke as if nothing had ever gone wrong—as if they were still just two Young Masters, hiding from the sun beneath a willow tree.

The day before Nie Huaisang is due to arrive, Lan Xichen receives a letter from Nie Mingjues. “You and that brother of yours better take care of Huaisang,” it says. Affectionate as always, and Lan Xichen’s lips quirk upwards as he passes it over to Lan Wangji. He gives it a deadpan stare.

“Rules are rules,” he intones. “If Nie Huaisang breaks any, he will get punished.”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow. “And when did you start calling him by his name?”

There is a pause before Lan Wangji’s ears flare up, brilliant red. “Brother…”

It’s nice to know that his brother has a friend.

***

Nie Huaisang’s arrival in the Cloud Recesses is marked with all the fanfare that a Young Master of his status deserves, and he delights in every bit of it. It’s nothing material, of course, but there are a great deal of greetings and tours and fawning over the quality of robes—something Lan Xichen had never before taken into account, but now he runs his fingers through his own and wonders if it will live up to Nie Huaisang’s standards. It will, most likely, since his are among the best quality in the Sect.

His robes are special. They’re a cocoon with which he wraps himself, an illusion behind which he hides. These robes say that he is Lan Xichen, the First Jade of Lan, the most eligible bachelor in China. He is none of these things, but it’s easier to pretend when he wears these robes. (Sometimes, though, the robes are not enough. Sometimes, when nothing seems right, Lan Xichen is not even sure if he is Lan Xichen. And at those times, his robes hurt more than they help.)

Lan Xichen makes sure to check in on Nie Huaisang often, just as Nie Mingjue asked him to. He mentions time and time again to focus on studies and get enough sleep, to come to him if he ever needs anything, and every time Nie Huaisang giggles and says, “Of course, Brother Xichen!” And then he never comes.

Lan Xichen almost thinks that Nie Huaisang has resolved to ignore him entirely when, close to curfew, he gets a knock on his door. It’s a bit late for visitors, but far enough from curfew that any visitors can still arrive back at their residence after a decent conversation. He does not expect to open the door to Nie Huaisang in tears.

“Huaisang?” Lan Xichen gasps, ushering him inside.

Nie Huaisang clings to him, sobbing into his night robes. “I can’t do it,” he gasps. “I can’t do it, Brother Xichen. It’s too hard.”

“What are you talking about?” Lan Xichen asks.

“School!” he exclaims. “I just don’t understand! I try and I try but I’m just—just stupid!”

“You’re not stupid,” Lan Xichen says immediately, sitting him down. “Come, Huaisang, let’s—” He suddenly freezes when the smell hits him. “Are you drunk?”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang admits, and there’s so much shame in his voice that Lan Xichen can’t bring himself to be mad at him.

“Oh, Huaisang,” he says. “Is school really troubling you that much?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I don’t know! I just…this isn’t working, Brother Xichen.” He lets his head fall onto the table with a soft thud, and Lan Xichen grimaces.

Carefully, he pries Nie Huaisang up and says, “I’ll help.”

“How?”

“I’ll teach you in the evenings,” he says. “Hopefully, some extra attention can help you absorb the information better.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Lan Xichen blinks. The obvious answer is because Nie Mingjue asked him to look out for Nie Huaisang, but what actually comes out of his mouth is, “Because you’re my friend.”

Nie Huaisang stares, then smiles. “I’m really lucky to have both Jades of Lan as my friends.”

Lan Xichen perks up, delight seeping into him. “Wangji actually admitted that he’s your friend?” he demands.

“Not yet, but he’s getting there! I’ll wear him down eventually…” he says. Lan Xichen lets out a light huff of amusement.

They continue like that, time whirling alongside their words, moon rising ever so slightly higher in the sky, until Lan Xichen has to finally put an end to it. “It’s nearly curfew,” he says. “I’ll overlook your drinking just this once, but you should get back to your room before curfew. The disciples on patrol won’t be anywhere near as kind as I am.” He’s already setting the tea away, rearranging the miscellaneous objects that had fallen out of their places along the way. Nie Huaisang watches it all happen.

Then, Nie Huaisang says, “Do you have a mirror?”

Lan Xichen blinks. “Of course.” He immediately points him in the direction of his mirror, which sits, largely concealed, by his bed. Nie Huaisang ambles over to it with a hum, out of Lan Xichen’s sight. He doesn’t pay it any further mind until he hears Nie Huaisang give off a huff of frustration.

“What’s wrong, Huaisang?” he asks, approaching him.

Nie Huaisang’s fingers are tangled in his own hair, sloppy and shaking as he tugs on the strands. “My hands won’t work!” he says. “They’re all…” he waves his fingers around in an approximation of something Lan Xichen doesn’t quite understand.

He settles for a laugh. “You’re drunk, of course your movement is impaired.”

“I’m not that drunk!” Nie Huaisang exclaims. Lan Xichen merely raises an eyebrow and watches as Nie Huaisang shrinks away from him. “Fine,” Nie Huaisang admits, “maybe I’m a little drunk.” His eyes suddenly widen in an epiphany. “Brother Xichen!” he says. “You do it!”

“Do what?”

“Braid my hair for me!”

Lan Xichen’s world grinds to a halt. “What?”

“My hair! I know you can braid!”

He should not. He most definitely should not. The braid is not for him, it is for an entire sect surnamed “Nie,” and he is not part of that sect. He will never be a part of that sect. The knowledge of the braid is merely a relic left behind by his mother, who had a right to it. It is not for him to indulge in. “Huaisang,” he whispers, “I can’t.”

“You can,” Nie Huaisang insists. “I’ve seen you do it before! Please, Brother Xichen, my fingers are too…too slippery!” He demonstrates by trying to braid his hair. All he succeeds in doing is mashing the strands together. “Brother Xichen,” he whines.

Lan Xichen should not—but Nie Huaisang is staring at him with such open desperation in his eyes, and how can Lan Xichen refuse? So, very quietly, he says, “Okay.”

Braiding Nie Huaisang’s hair is different from braiding his own. Working on the heads of others is entirely new territory for him—he’s never done it before. Not to his mother and not to Lan Wangji. And yet, he finds himself doing it with such ease on Nie Huaisang’s head, carefully untangling knots and twisting them into braids that fall against his robes so neatly that Nie Huaisang marvels at them. “Brother Xichen,” he says once, “you really are good, aren’t you?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t say anything, because lying is forbidden and he doesn’t have the heart to explain to Nie Huaisang that he’s really, really not. So he keeps braiding, long past the grease that crawls up his spine and the terror that sits in his throat, until his own hands are shaking so badly that he can’t braid anymore. He’s done at that point, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

Nie Huaisang marvels at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re the best, Brother Xichen!” he insists.

Lan Xichen turns away and doesn’t say a word, clutching his own robes tighter around him in a desperate attempt to ward off the shivers that wrack his body. Nie Huaisang, too drunk to notice the change, smothers Lan Xichen with a hug from behind, startling him so badly that he immediately turns around to steady him. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang whines, “you’re really going to teach me, right?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen manages through chattering teeth.

“Then I’ll bring my books! I promise!” He bounds out of the room without so much as a goodbye, leaving Lan Xichen clutching at empty air.

He closes his eyes and he’s still shaking. Sleep does not come easy that night.

***

There are good days, and there are bad days. The bad days were getting fewer and fewer, but they hadn’t disappeared—not at all. Two weeks after Nie Huaisang first enlists his help, he has a bad day. He wakes up coated in grease, head too light and too heavy at the same time. His chest aches, his back aches—his very being aches, and he can’t do anything about it.

He does not know if he can help Nie Huaisang today, but he decides to try, anyway.

There is a cup of tea in his hands, scalding hot, when Nie Huaisang bounds through his door, smiling brightly. “Brother Xichen!” he exclaims. “Brother Xichen, I kind of understood what Teacher Lan was talking about today, so I don’t have to take up too much of your time today! I can—Brother Xichen?” He stops abruptly.

Lan Xichen’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

Lan Xichen swallows. That is a very good question. Unfortunately, it only has one answer. “I don’t feel good.” It’s the only way he can think of to describe the claws that scratch down his neck, leaving his jaw clenched and head bowed. Spiders crawl up his spine, fire burns behind his eyes, and through it all he can only manage to sit still and wait for it to leave him alone.

Carefully, Nie Huaisang sets his books on the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We should start doing your homework.”

“But do you want to talk about it?” Nie Huaisang insists.

Lan Xichen takes in a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know, then?”

Lan Xichen’s jaw aches from the effort of keeping it still. Then, very slowly, he raises his hand to his hair and cards his fingers through it, trying to grab hold of a few strands. His hands won’t stay still and suddenly, Lan Xichen knows exactly what he wants. “I want to braid my hair.” He sets his hands down. “But I can’t.”

Nie Huaisang brightens. “Ah, then I’ll braid it for you!”

Lan Xichen bows his head and he can’t find it in himself to turn Nie Huaisang away, so he forces himself to relax as Nie Huaisang places his hands on Lan Xichen’s head, stroking his hair gently. If Lan Xichen closes his eyes, then he can almost pretend it’s his mother doing it for him, instead. Nie Huaisang doesn’t have any calluses on his arms, no scars or discoloration, but he doesn’t need them because his fingers follow the same patterns, do the same dance, and, in the end, he sings the same song.

Lan Xichen’s eyes fly open. “Huaisang!” he gasps. “Where did you hear that song?”

Nie Huaisang blinks, startled. “O-Oh, it’s a common song from Qinghe. Should I not have sung it? I’m sorry if it—”

“No,” Lan Xichen immediately denies. “Don’t stop.”

Hesitantly Nie Huaisang continues. They manage to stay like that for a few seconds before Lan Xichen whispers, “My mother used to sing that song.” Nie Huaisang stops. “She also used to wear these braids and she had a saber and—and her name was Nie Jiaying.”

For a moment, there is silence. Then, “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before,” Nie Huaisang murmurs, lost in thought. “She must have been part of one of the branch families…I’ll look into it, if you want.”

Does he want it? Maybe. He’ll think about it later. For now, he says, “I loved her so much, Huaisang.”

“I know, Brother Xichen. Her loss must have hit you really hard.”

“It was worse on Wangji.”

“But it was still hard on you.”

Lan Xichen squeezes his eyes shut. Then, “I’m still mad at her, though.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“She…she would unbraid my hair and call me the perfect Lan.”

“Is that bad?” Nie Huaisang asks. His head is tilted sideways, genuine confusion resting on his features. “You are amazing, Brother Xichen.”

“But I don’t want to be the perfect Lan.”

“What do you want to be, then?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone so indulging, so willing to talk to him at his worst moments. Lan Wangji would stay a silent guardian at his side, and his uncle would help him get his mind off of bad thoughts, but Nie Huaisang is here and he’s…he’s talking to him about it. So Lan Xichen answers. “I want to go to the places Mother talked about. I want to go to the forests and see the beasts and wear the braids. I—” he swallows— “I don’t think I want to be a Lan.” And it’s true, he thinks. It’s selfish of him to want so desperately to abandon his home for a place he’s only step foot in a handful of times…but it feels so dear, so intrinsically important to his very being, and he wants it so badly.

Nie Huaisang looks contemplative. “You don’t have to be a Lan. You could join the Nie Sect. Brother definitely wouldn’t stop you.”

“But how can I just leave?” How can he leave his brother? How can he leave his uncle? How can he leave his mother’s saber?

“It doesn’t have to be forever. You could visit. You could come back. I don’t think Grandmaster Lan would stop you, either.”

And then he thinks of telling these ideas to his uncle, who will definitely be against them, and a feeling of such complete and utter helplessness enters him that he can’t blink away the tears that gather in his eyes, and he desperately tries to wipe them away as they fall over onto his cheeks. “He’d be upset,” he sobs. “He wouldn’t let me.”

Immediately, he’s enveloped by a hug—this time from the front. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang says, “he doesn’t get to decide for you! If you want to run away and join another sect, then he’ll just have to suck it up! And…and he really does adore you, you know. He’d be mad but I don’t think he’d stay mad.”

“And Wangji?” Lan Xichen whispers, still holding him close.

Nie Huaisang pulls back a bit and laughs. “Oh please, Lan Wangji would cheer you on even if you murdered somebody.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.” He can’t believe any of it. They’d hate him for the rest of his days, he’d never get to see them again, and even though he would be free, he’d have to live with the knowledge that his own family hated him. “I can’t do it.”

Nie Huaisang grabs him fiercely by the shoulders. “You can!” he insists. “You’re strong. Everyone believes  in you, Brother Xichen, I promise. If anyone can pull it off, then it’s you.” He looks frantic, voice stubborn and unyielding, and Lan Xichen can’t think, doesn’t understand—

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang moves and Lan Xichen doesn’t realize what’s happening until Nie Huaisang’s lips are on his own, and the world grinds to a halt as Nie Huaisang grips the front of Lan Xichen’s robes. For a second, Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to do, but then he tugs Nie Huaisang closer, desperate to keep his warmth, letting it chase away his shivers. It’s a chaste kiss, from what he knows. Lips on lips, completely still, moving only with their breathing, but Lan Xichen wouldn’t change it for the world.

When Nie Huaisang finally does pull back, he presses their foreheads together, not moving to escape Lan Xichen’s grip. “I believe in you,” he says. “I always have. Do what’s right for you, Brother Xichen. I won’t let anyone stop you.”

Lan Xichen bows his head onto Nie Huaisang’s shoulder and decides that, maybe, he’ll give it a shot.

***

Once a year, Lan Wangji skips every class he has for a day and kneels in front of a long-forgotten house in a corner of the Cloud Recesses. It’s always in the snow, where he bears the cold—with plenty to keep him warm, of course.

Today, for the first time in eight years, Lan Xichen kneels with him. Lan Wangji does not turn to look at him, keeping his back straight, staring stubbornly ahead. Lan Xichen starts the conversation. “She deserved so much better,” he says. “I didn’t understand it back then, but she did.” Back then, all he’d known was that his mother wanted to travel but she wasn’t allowed to, and that made him sad. That was all. Now, he comprehends the true horror of what their mother was put through. Being locked away in such a small house for the rest of her days—no wonder she died so early. (And he never did learn how she died. He’s not sure he wants to find out.)

Lan Wangji still doesn’t turn to him, but he says, “She did deserve better.”

Lan Xichen blinks, surprised that his brother responded at all. Then, “I don’t want something like that to ever happen again.”

“I won’t let it.” There is steel in Lan Wangji’s voice, the unbending strength that Lan Xichen knows means that he will keep his word. There will be no more prisoners in the Cloud Recesses as long as Lan Wangji has any say in the matter—and long past it, too.

“It would be easier for a Sect Leader to accomplish that,” Lan Xichen says, forcing his voice to level out.

“I know,” Lan Wangji replies.

“You’d have an easier time if you were Sect Leader.”

Now, there is a brief bit of silence. Hesitation, Lan Xichen knows. Confusion, a break to comprehend new information. Then, “Brother?”

“You’d be a better Sect Leader than me, Wangji.”

“Brother, I’m…I’m not good with this.” With politics. With talking to others. With so many things. As if Lan Xichen is any better.

“But you want to help,” Lan Xichen whispers. “And you can only ever do everything you can if you’re Sect Leader.” Lan Wangji’s heart is pure and radiant, and Lan Xichen sometimes doesn’t know how they could be siblings. People call them the Twin Jades of Lan, but Lan Xichen knows the truth: Lan Wangji is the only Jade. Lan Xichen is an imposter hiding in his silk cocoons.

Lan Wangji stays silent for some more time. Then, “What are you saying?”

“Would you be Sect Leader if you were given the chance? Be honest, Wangji.”

The very world slows around them, as if it, too, is holding its breath for Lan Wangji’s response. And then he says, “Yes. What about you, Brother?”

Lan Xichen hums and closes his eyes. “Mother used to tell me so many stories of far away places. Of brotherhood. Of fights and battle and glory.”

“Is that what Brother wants?”

Lan Xichen thinks of Qinghe and its vast forests, and then the Unclean Realms and its unrestrained inhabitants. “Yes,” he decides. “That’s what I want.”

“Then Brother should have what he wants.”

“So should you, Wangji.”

It’s nothing official, nothing definite, but—at that moment—everything suddenly feels so much easier than it ever was before.

Lan Xichen kneels in the snow with Lan Wangji for the rest of the day, just as he had eight years ago, but now he stands tall and he doesn’t float. When he returns to his rooms, there are a few pieces of candy placed on his table and a letter from Nie Huaisang: “So you don’t forget when we first met.”

Lan Xichen pops one into his mouth and he remembers a night spent laughing with Nie Huaisang in the halls of the Unclean Realms, and he smiles.

For the first time in forever, he looks upon the future and he smiles.

fin

#xisangweek2020 #xisang #lan xichen #nie huaisang #lan wangji #nie mingjue #lxc has a bad time yo #but it gets better!!! #and that's what matters uwu #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #my fic #idk what else to tag this tbh #ummm i hope you like it?? #ye that works. #also #sssrha fics

[anigodd]

The Deal

Here it is, the crossover I said I would do like 3 weeks ago. Sorry about that. anyway, first and foremost, I’m a Captainsparklez stan, so he is the main character. Also, if you don’t know anything about Mianite, this aint for you, sorry. 

Let’s get started! It’s super long, but enjoy!

Summary:

Jordan would not consider himself a cruel man, but when he saw that children, especially Tubbo, were being forced to fight in a war? Well, if he made a seemingly harmless deal with JSchlatt in order to...persuade him to end the war, then that was his own decision to justify. After all, what was a war without a little bit of psychological torture?

Most of the time, people forget that Jordan, better known as Captainsparklez or just The Captain, was old. I don’t mean in his 40s or 50s, I mean thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of years old. He’s fought for balance for as long as his lady had accepted him as her Champion millennia ago. Most don’t know simply because they don’t ask.

Most of the time, people forget that he is not entirely human. He’s immortal—it come with the job description—and has spent so much time in the End that it was bound to affect him eventually. His Lady, ever the one to always worry about him, changed him ever so slightly so that he was not susceptible to most human weaknesses: he didn’t need to sleep as much, better stamina, strength, etc. He complained that she did not have to do that, to save her power for something more important than him, but she stared him straight in his eyes and said with such conviction and with such sadness in her eyes that he was stunned,

“You are the most important thing to me, Jordan. Please, never forget that.”

He never did.

Most of the time, people forget that Jordan was dangerous. You don’t remain the Champion of the Goddess of Balance without having a few perks, nor do you simply kill a god and not absorb some of their power. In his dreams, he could see snippets of the future, not like his Lady, but just enough to influence his actions in wars or in everyday life to help maintain balance. Jordan could feel a deep ache in his soul when balance was disrupted. He can travel to and fro from the end without the need for a portal—he teleported like an enderman (he wouldn’t stop scaring Tom with this new-found power for days). He knew how to use a bit of magic, some was taught to him by the Ianite in Ruxomar. Just simple spells, such as small barriers or being able to communicate with endermen. He really had to hone his magic at some point. What was most interesting was his control over some of the Darkness’ domain. He never figured that he gained a little bit of something from killing World Historian all those years ago, he just thought he was mentally prepared for the next years to come.

Turns out he was wrong again.

The Darkness, before their final battle, had brought this to his attention. The deity would always poke into his head and whisper to him, but Jordan would push him out of his head when it got too much for him. After a few times, the Darkness said that Jordan had more power over his mind than he thought. The deity’s voice sounded intrigued by this development and soon worked harder to get Jordan on his side to no avail. However, what the Darkness said lingered in the back of his mind until one day, after the war, his Lady brought it up.

They were quietly sitting in her temple in the End when she spoke.

“Captain, I don’t want to pry, but I know that you’ve been thinking about what the Darkness told you and, if you wanted, I could help you control it?” She hesitantly offered. Jordan froze.

The Darkness told him a lot of things. He promised him weapons of infinite power, nights of peaceful rest, a break from the voices in his mind—a break from fighting. He promised him a peaceful life if he joined him. The Captain composed himself but stopped.

‘Control what?’ he thought. Now he was confused. It must have shown on his face because a smile blossomed on Ianite’s face.

“I wanted to teach you how to control your mind. The Darkness noticed you were able to block him from your mind. That does not come from years of experience, Captain. It’s more of a gift...or perhaps a curse. This power is why, when I was being influenced, I was unable to communicate with you,” she explained.

“Unable to talk to me? Why? I never intentionally pushed you away,” Jordan questioned. He would never ignore his Lady, even if she wasn’t really herself.

She chuckled. “I know you wouldn’t, Jordan. Thank you for that. What I mean is that you subconsciously blocked out all influences if the Darkness, including me.”

She watched as his eyes widened, but he nodded slowly in understanding. He waited for her to continue before he asked his questions; she could feel his curiosity.

“I could either help you control and develop this power, or you could leave it as a sort of unconscious barrier for your mind. There are many aspects that come with this gift, not just protection for yourself. If you wish, we could start immediately?” Ianite inquired.

She hoped he accepted. The Captain was like a son to her and it would mean the world to Ianite if she could finally teach him something as a mother would teach her son to ride a bike. She wanted to see him grow into his power and watch with pride as he mastered magic. Yes, she hoped he would accept.

Ianite watched as he thought about it. He stared at her. She could see his burning curiosity and the look of hope on her face. The truth was, the Captain craved knowledge more than power. He wanted to know anything and everything that he could, and this was something he wanted to learn. It may come in handy in the future.

He nodded. “When do you want to start, M’lady?” he asked with a smile.

She grinned. “We can start immediately.”

Oh, she couldn’t wait to see what he would become. No matter what, she would be proud.

—————— Nobody knew the extent of Jordan’s power or what he was trained to do. Rumors spread of the great hero who learned how to harness old magic from the teachings of the Goddess herself. Others say he went mad with power and tormented her with visions of destruction. Some say he does not look human anymore. Some say he guards her temple in the End and is still loyal to her thousands of years later. Others say he got to live his life in peace after training.

Some of those rumors are true. After all, all myths come from a seed of truth. Nowadays, though, The Captain does live in relative peace. He gets to participate in tournaments, such as the newest one called Minecraft Championship, where he really just plays for fun. He never got to make friends or have fun for his years under the gods, but the Universe has calmed down and his Lady wanted to see him have fun and socialize.

Most of them recognized him or had heard of him. He was always so uncomfortable with attention or praise but thankfully—THANKFULLY—their starry-eyed looks stopped after a while. Unless, of course, he said something that they recognized as one of his catchphrases all hell broke loose but...well...it was pretty funny to watch them yell and laugh good-naturedly when he said something like that.

Some asked him a million questions about his life or his adventures, especially this...child? His name was Tubbo and, apparently, Jordan was his role-model. He was flattered and a bit flustered. Most people that came up to him were older than 16 and usually asked about his fighting tactics or the wars he fought in. But this kid asked about none of those. Tubbo was the nicest kid he had ever met and tried to give him the best answers that he could, even if the were a little vague at some points—he didn’t want to scar the boy.

Tubbo didn’t seem to care. He always stared at him with the most excited smile and genuinely interested expression that he nearly cries thinking about it. Only a few people look at him so kindly it hurts. Tubbo is always bursting with questions and the Captain is always happy to answer. It became a thing for Tubbo to follow him around, prompting Jordan to call him ‘duckling’ in his mind.

He has started to become a bit worried about Tubbo and his loud friend, Tommy, though. The two are usually so boisterous and loud that it was hard to miss them. Nowadays, when he sees them, the two teens are more subdued and they look....exhausted. He’s seen that look. He knows they are fighting a war they cannot win.

Jordan knows he has to put an end to the fighting. If not for Tubbo, then for his own peace of mind. He finds Jschlatt on his own private server and strikes a sort of a deal with the man.

His smile is ice and his eyes are as dark as the Void when they shake hands. Purple tendrils and sparks emerge from their handshake, giving Jordan access to Jschlatt’s every move. The magic let Schlatt know that there was no backing out of this deal.

Their souls were intertwined until the deal was done. —————— Nobody knew that Jordan was a deal maker. Not that he did it much in the first place—there wasn’t anything that he wanted from others and he hated exercising his power over others.

This time, however, was an exception.

He knew what Schlatt had done to Tubbo and the others on Dream’s SMP. He knew that they were hurting. He hated seeing families torn apart and children being forced to grow up and fight. They should’ve had a childhood. They shouldn’t have to be forced into a war, and for what? Power? Glory? Honor? No honorable soldier would endorse using children to fight. No honorable leader or nation would do so either.

He noticed the shadows on the walls growing and harmful magic beginning to swarm around him.

Jordan heaved a sigh. He had to calm down before he did anything he would regret. He looked back at Schlatt from where he was hidden in the shadows. The hybrid was sat at his desk in the White House, languidly drinking from a glass as if there was no war going on; as if he isn’t responsible for the suffering going on in his lands.

He gave Schlatt two weeks to fulfill his end of the deal before Jordan fulfilled his end, but it doesn’t seem like Schlatt was even slightly worried about their agreement.

The Captain watched as he filled out paperwork and discarded peace treaties or ideas for that may improve Manburg. The lack of care for his nation made Jordan’s blood boil.

How careless.

How cruel.

How sickening. —————

Most know that Jordan, at his core, is kind-hearted and humble. He would never attack without a reason, but even before then, he would try to negotiate. It’s why he has been the Champion of Balance for so long: it’s in his nature.

That being said, Jordan is not a cruel or sadistic man. But to him, this deal was important to him. It would bring peace and protection to those in Dream’s land. They have been fighting for too long and are beginning to lose themselves. It had to be stopped.

As another few days went by, and soon, with 5 days left for Schlatt to fulfill his end of the deal, Jordan knew he had to give a bit of an....incentive to Schlatt.

He smiled. While he hated using his powers over the mind, now looked like a good time for some practice. The Captain waited until Schlatt was asleep to enter his mind. Since their souls were intertwined because of the deal, his plan was much simpler. His eyes glowed a deep purple.

After all, what was a little bit of psychological torture on one person if it benefitted the masses?

The Captain left the man to sleep. He had a feeling he’s be hearing from Schlatt in the next few days. And maybe, if Schlatt heard clocks ticking a bit louder than normal and seemed to echo in his mind, well, that was for Jordan to know, wasn’t it? ————————

Schlatt woke up with a killer headache and an unsettling feeling. The hairs on the back if his neck stood up and his shoulders tensed. Was he being watched? He looked around his room with a steady gaze. The room was quiet save for the birds outside and his clock. Had it always been that loud?

No matter. He couldn’t see anyone but that didn’t mean he was safe. Maybe he should have Tubbo stay by his side for the day until his paranoia passed?

Something caught his eye. He could have sworn he saw the shadows grow in his room after that thought. He shrugged to himself. He definitely needed more sleep if he was starting to see shadow demons.

Ha.

He took a deep breath and began to get ready for the day. He had paperwork to do and meetings to plan. If Manburg were to be under his rule, there had to be a few new....rules put into place.

‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘New regulations wouldn’t hurt anybody.’

He walked down the hallways of the White House quicker than he usually does. Why does he feel like someone was watching him? Was Pogtopia planning an attack? The thought made him snort.

‘Right, like they could plan a decent attack,’ he thought.

When he looked outside to where the seats in front of the podium were located, he didn’t see a nice grassy field with a peaceful waterfall. Instead, he saw ashes falling from the sky like snow, a red haze filling the air, and fires burning with. The birds chirping distorted into echoed screams of agony. The podium was blown to bits and Tubbo...oh god....—

He blinked and the scenery reverted to normal.

“Sir?” a small voice asked from behind him.

Schlatt jumped and tried to control his breathing. When did he begin to hyperventilate? Why was he shaking?

He stared into the concerned and slightly wary eyes of Tubbo. Jesus, the kid was quiet.

He let out a breath and put his hand on his chest.

“Christ, Tubbo, you’re gonna give this old man a heart attack one day,” he tried to joke.

Tubbo cracked a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you alright, Schlatt? You were staring out at the lawn like someone died.” Tubbo said.

Schlatt froze. He did see someone dead. But it wasn’t a memory, what was it?

He looked at Tubbo and put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Geez, he was just a kid, wasn’t he.

“Whatever happens, Tubbo, just know that it’s not your fault,” is all he said before walking into his office and closing the door. Tubbo was so confused, but Schlatt has done weirder and so he let it go. He wanted to see Tommy.

The clock in Schlatt’s office echoed in his mind as he worked. ——————

The one thing that Jordan hated was being mistaken for a kind-hearted fool.

He watched as Schlatt worked for another 3 days while enduring the visions of what may become of Manburg.

He watched as Schlatt ignored the shadows on the walls and the ticking of his clock.

He watched as Schlatt jumped in his seat when the whispers of the End began to echo in his ears.

He watched as Schlatt could not sleep for the rest of the 5 days.

He watched as the man slowly broke down. The visions kept him awake, the clocks were too loud, the whispers were in a language he couldn’t understand and the feeling of being watched drove him to the brink of insanity.

The others began to notice his quickly deteriorating health.

Schlatt had dark bags under his eyes that nearly looked like bruises. He was constantly looking over his shoulder and nearly broke all of the clocks in the White House. While talking to someone, his eyes always darted to the corners of the rooms. Most worryingly, he would just stare at something that looked normal, say an open field, and nearly put himself into a panic attack. The residents may not like him but they hated seeing anyone reduced to shambles. They tried to help him but all they get is incoherent mumbles or snippets of what may be Schlatt’s imagination.

Whatever it was, it had to stop.

The first time Wilbur heard of Schlatt’s health, he laughed. He laughed so hard he cried and couldn’t breath for at least 5 minutes. Tommy and Tubbo joined in, though their laughter was much weaker. The times after hearing about it, though, something changed in Wilbur. He could see how it was scaring Tubbo and at the rare times Niki visited, she expressed her genuine concerns over Schlatt.

“We may not like him too much, Wilbur, but you haven’t seen him. The poor man looks like he’s gonna run himself to his grave. We’re all worried about him,” is what she said to him when he asked why they were so concerned about him.

Wilbur wanted to see how Schlatt was fairing. Techno didn’t seem to care too much but he seemed interested in what happened to Schlatt.

“I’ll go along only because I wanna see what he looks like when he walks,” was Techno’s justification to visiting the White House. Okay then, Techno.

Tommy was coming along as well. He was practically dying from curiosity, but he also wanted to see Tubbo. Wilbur didn’t question his logic either.

However, they didn’t have to sneak into Manburg like they had planned to. They received an invitation to an SMP meeting in the community center in 3 hours. Everyone on the server had to attend, including Dream. This surprised Wilbur as he held the letter in his hands. Why would Dream have to attend if Schlatt was calling this meeting?

“Kinda sus of him, not gonna lie,” Techno said from behind him.

Wilbur hummed and turned around.

“Do you think we should go?”

Techno looked at him, practically expressionless. Wilbur stared back--- he was used to waiting for an answer.

“Tommy will complain for days if we don’t go, so yeah, we’re going,” is what Techno said eventually.

Wilbur sighed and crumpled the letter. He looked back at Techno, who was starting to head to the entrance of their ravine.

“Can you wait for Tommy and I before you go off and commit war crimes?” He joked.

Techno stopped.

“BruuUhhhH.”

Wilbur just laughed and went to fetch the blond gremlin from his room.

He just hoped this meeting didn’t go to shit. ———————— Schlatt felt like shit. He didn’t know what was happening to him or why but he just wanted it to stop.

Every corner he turned there was some depiction of an explosion or a massacre in that area. Quiet rooms were too loud with the whispers and the clocks. He kept the lights on at all times.

What was breaking him down the most was the constant feeling of being watched. Even with multiple people in the room, it was like a predator was watching its prey from afar. Waiting to pounce. He was at his wits end, but finally, hours before he called the SMP meeting, he got answers.

He was trying to do paperwork but was really just staring at the same paragraph for an hour. His mind was muddled and he couldn’t form a coherent thought.

He was so tired but every time he closed his eyes, it was another scene of death and destruction. He hands shook so badly that he had to put his pen down and place his head in his hands.

“You seem to be struggling, Schlatt,” a voice said from behind him. That feeling of being watched increased tenfold, causing Schlatt to tense and look behind him.

The Captain was standing in the corner of the room. The shadows obscured most of his figure but he could see his eyes—what happened to his eyes?—and his unnerving smile.

Schlatt tired to summon some of his dignity.

“Captain! Long time, no see. How’ve you been?”

Jordan’s expression didn’t change, but the room darkened a bit. Schlatt noticed.

“Have you been doing that? It’s been driving me nuts!” he angrily exclaimed.

Jordan cocked his head to the side.

“Have you forgotten about our deal, Schlatt?” Is all he asked. Why was his voice suddenly deeper? It rumbled in his ears and was vaguely threatening. His heart rate picked up and he had a feeling that Jordan was not just some guy he made a deal with.

He steeled his nerves. There is no way that Jordan is anything but human. He looked towards the Captain who was impossibly still with his creepy smile.

“No, I didn’t forget about it. I just....had better things to do,” was his defense. That apparently was the wrong answer.

Jordan was suddenly right in front of him, smile gone and eyes staring straight into him. Schlatt’s instincts immediately screamed ‘danger!’ and ‘run!’ but something was keeping him in place. He felt his heart pounding in his chest but he still couldn't move away. Purple eyes bored into his own. 

Jordan placed a deceptively gentle hand on his cheek.

“I don’t like being mistaken for a fool, Schlatt. We made this deal to benefit both of us, yet you exploit my charity,” he patronized. The power radiating from those words nearly had Schlatt tumbling to his knees but he stood firm.

“I’ll give you 24 hours, but,” his hand suddenly gripped his face tightly and forced Schlatt to look at him. What he saw terrified him.

“If you continue to fail to uphold your end of the deal, then, well,” he released his hold on Schlatt, “I hope you’ll be able to get used to the way your currently living,” he threatened. The Captain straightened and gave him yet another unnerving smile.

Out of nowhere, he summoned an intricate clock and began to wind it. It was a beautiful black with purple and gold accents. The outer design of the clock resembled...scales? At the center, there was an ender eye. The numbers weren’t exactly numbers but looked like writing one would find in an enchantment table. How in the hell did Jordan get a clock like this?

He finished winding the clock and Schlatt thought he was going to place it down on his desk. He was wrong once again. A deep purple aura surrounded the clock and it disappeared with a burst of particles. Unfortunately, he could still hear it ticking next to his ear.

“This should remind you of the limited time that you have,” he began to back away before he stopped and turned around with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I’m not a cruel man, JSchlatt. But I do believe in an eye for an eye. I hope you make the right decision,” he said, and he was gone in a flash of purple.

Schlatt shakily sat down—when had he stood up?—and began to draft a peace treaty for Manburg. The writing was shaky and nearly illegible, but it would have to do. Then, he called a meeting for all of SMP to attend.

He sat for 3 hours listening to the incessant ticking. It was becoming more and more distorted in his mind as the hours ticked by. ——————— Once everyone was seated at a round table in the community house, they all looked towards Schlatt for an explanation.

The atmosphere was tense, mainly from Wilbur and Tommy, while the rest tried to sit as comfortably as they could. Dream was practically lounging in his chair.

“So, Schlatt,” Wilbur practically spat his name, “what did you call this oh so important meeting for?” he asked and crossed his arms.

It was his first time seeing Schlatt since his exile and he felt...just a little bit of pity for him. His clothes were rumpled as if he had slept in them, his eyes were red—he looked about ready to fall asleep but always jerked awake at the last second. His eyes were darting to the corners of the room. Wilbur looked around but found nothing out of the ordinary. He could see the others glancing around the room as well, unnerved by Schlatt’s paranoia.

Schlatt, even though he was incredibly shaky and oh so tired, stood up. He was still the President, damn it. All eyes were on him as he cleared his throat.

“I have called this meeting to.....to....” he was having second thoughts. Did he really want to give up his power over Pogtopia and Manburg? He enjoyed the chaos and having control over everything. He wasn’t ready to give this up yet.

He saw the shadows move and the Captain manifested from the shadows. The ticking was nearly deafening. Jordan’s eyes were deadly, his smile nowhere to be found. He looked non-human without his glasses on.

Schlatt was so focused on his appearance that he missed when the Captain drew his sword—a near black blade that looked wickedly sharp. The handle was intricately carved with ancient spells and magic seals. Schlatt noticed too late that Jordan had heard his thoughts.

The Captain rushed at him with his sword raised and cold eyes boring into his soul. HIs smile was nearly feral as he charged. Schlatt shrieked and stumbled backwards into the wall and raised his hands to defend himself from the blows-

But nothing came.

He shakily looked around and noticed that the room was giving him nervous looks. Quakity and Niki were nearly out of their seats while Dream was sitting straight in his chair. Schlatt shakily let out a breath and began to stand.

“Schlatt...” Tubbo began but Schlatt waved him off.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just my imagination,” he easily lied.

Those in attendance saw right through this lie, but decided that once he begins talking, they may get an explanation.

Schlatt took a breath and tried to calm his racing heart. He was so tired. His whole body shook with adrenaline and exhaustion and, god, he just wanted to sleep but he couldn’t. Not with the state he was in now. The Captain’s words echoed in his mind: ‘I hope you can get used to this.’

Schlatt decided that he couldn’t live like this and made his decision. He sat down and took out the drafts of the peace treaty and set them on the table.

“The fuck’s all this?” Tommy quietly mutters while picking up a paper and scrutinizing it. But of course, Tommy’s version of quiet is still decently loud.

“It’s a peace treaty. If you read through this and sign, Manburg and Pogtopia will cease their fighting and hold another election. This time, however, two partied cannot combine their votes,” Schlatt explained. He saw the room looking at him with mixed reactions.

Some looked relieved that the fighting would be over, others were skeptical, and some looked elated at the chance to live peacefully again. Wilbur, however, was not convinced. He was looking at Schlatt skeptically while reading the treaty silently.

‘He’s looking for a loophole,’ was whispered in his ear. It took all of Schlatt’s willpower not to look to his left in fear of what he may see. He could hear the smile on the Captain’s face.

Finally, Wilbur spoke.

“And why should we believe that you would peacefully give up your power? We know that you love the fighting, the wars, the power,” his voice rose as he continued, “why should we trust anything you say?” he finished with a shout.

Wilbur was breathing heavily and glaring at Schlatt. The atmosphere became almost unbearably tense until Jordan finally decided to step in.

He had been silently watching from the shadows, making sure Schlatt stayed in check but also to make sure that the deal was completed. There was mistrust in the air, and to be honest, he was getting impatient. Jordan really wanted to get the treaty over with and go home, take a nap, and preferably not get up for three days.

“Schlatt’s telling the truth,” he says before he steps out of the shadows. He nearly chuckles at the bewildered looks he gets as he steps into view.

A very eager Tubbo is soon clinging to his waist and looking up at him with such relief that he does not regret even the smallest bit of what he’s done to Schlatt. He noticed the boy looked close to tears and was starting to bury his face into his coat.

Jordan placed a gentle hand on Tubbo’s head and he flinched. Oh, he was about to murder whoever hurt his boy. His Lady’s influence reminded him that no, no matter how much it would have been justified, he could not kill someone in this land. He took a deep breath and looked up.

“Does anyone have any questions or will you sign the contract?” he said more as a statement than a question. Tubbo’s arms tightened around his waist. Jordan should really ask him what’s been going on; he wanted to help him and Tommy in any way he could.

Dream, however, had a question.

“How did you get into my server? You’re not whitelisted and I know for a fact that Tubbo doesn’t have the admin power to invite you” Dream said, though he sounded a tad accusatory.

Did he not see what was going on in his server? Did he not care that people were being traumatized? Did he not care that they were losing hope?

The Captain chuckled. The sound caused everyone to shiver and for Schlatt to shrink in his seat. He noticed the clock had stopped ticking and his heart sunk. Fuck, was he too late?

“Dream,” the Captain took off his glasses and his whole visage changed.

His warm brown eyes were now a deep purple that held a small glow to them. His hair was impossibly dark—it looked like of you were put put your hand on it, it would sink right in like a shadow. The outside around his eyes were veins of crying obsidian, a stark contrast to his skin. His clothes floated almost as if he were in water and the pure power of magic that radiated from him was nearly stifling.

“I don’t need your permission to enter your lands when I feel that ethical and moral laws are being broken. I knew something was wrong when Tubbo stopped talking passionately about anything and everything. I knew something was wrong when those from here flinched and loud noises. And I knew something was wrong when you didn’t seem to care,” he spat.

He gently pulled Tubbo from around his waist and walked next to Schlatt. The air around him rippled like water and the shadows grew.

“Now,” he purred. “Schlatt and I made a bit of a deal. A peace treaty that stopped the fighting on these lands that also prohibited future wars in exchange for books on basic magic,” he explained.

The room listened intently.

“But,” he dramatically sighed and Schlatt tried to make himself as small as possible.

“Schlatt here didn’t feel like adhering to our deal very much, so I gave him a bit of incentive,” he stopped there and looked at the room as if that explained everything.

“What does that have to do with my lands?” Dream asked.

Jordan paused. How could he say this as delicately as possible? He sighed and cleaned his glasses in his coat.

“You have to understand that I’m not a cruel man, but I hate being mistaken for a fool. I told Schlatt this when he had five days remaining to complete his end of the deal. If you remember, he may have started acting a bit...differently?” he began.

Niki gasped.

“You were doing that to him? Making him go nearly insane?!” she exclaimed. While she may not like Schlatt, that was cruel of him.

“Yeah, we were really worried for him. What did you do to him, man?” Quakity asked. He was really not liking this side of the Captain.

“I think it was perfectly reasonable, especially when the lives of children were on the line. Honestly, you all should be ashamed of yourselves. Making children fight—who does that?!” he angrily exclaimed.

“They wanted to fight!” Wilbur defended.

Jordan’s dark eyes rounded on him and while he would never admit it, Wilbur was terrified. There was such resentment and disgust in his expression that he almost regretted the war. Almost.

“Have you ever once asked then what they wanted? You’re living in a hole for my goddesses’ sake! Tommy looks like he hasn’t eaten in days and Tubbo is on the brink of tears! Are you so blinded by greed that you can’t see you’re hurting them?” his voice rose as he pointed out the obvious states of the teens.

Tommy was so conflicted. He wanted to defend himself and Wilbur, but he was intimidated by the Captain. He usually never cared for being weaker than other people, but he felt if he used his usual snark he’d be vaporized or something. He looked to Tubbo. His best friend was struggling to keep his emotions in check ever since the Captain arrived, but he knew Tubbo adored the man to high heaven. If Tubbo trusted the Captain’s judgement, then so would he.

Wilbur hadn’t spoken yet, so he did.

“Wil,” he began quietly.

Wilbur turned towards the blond. He hoped he wouldn’t say anything that would confirm what Jordan said.

“Yes, Tommy?” wilbur sounded near accusatory.

The teen but his lip and looked towards Techno, who sat next to him. The pink haired man gave him a subtle nod to continue.

Tommy let put a deep breath. Techno was always right, wasn’t he.

“I.....I want to go home,” he admitted.

Wilbur was shocked. Go home? Why? They were fighting for their country back and Tommy wanted to go home?

“Why would you want to go home, Tommy? I’m so close to getting L’manburg back! If we could just-“

“I don’t want to fight anymore!” he cried. The room went silent.

“I don’t want to fight, Wil....” he said again in a small voice.

Wilbur didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell if he was angry or heartbroken at Tommy’s admission. He didn’t want to fight?

“We can go home if you want, Tommy. Just let me call Phil and we can head over once the meeting is done,” Techno said softly.

Tommy nearly cried in relief. He would get to see Phil again and sleep in a proper bed in a comfy house. He hugged Techno tightly, not caring if it ruined his alpha male reputation.

“Thanks, Techno,” he shakily said.

Tommy looked towards Tubbo.

“Do you want to come along, Big T?” he asked with a small smile.

Tubbo hesitated. He wanted to go with Tommy, he really did, but he just felt...safer with the Captain. Jordan must have sensed his conflict because he immediately changed the conversation.

“So,” he drawled and garnered everyone’s attention, “will you sign or subject Schlatt to some more mind games for the rest of his life?” he asked. It wasn’t a threat, but they knew a promise when they saw one.

“How do we know that you’ll continue to pester Schlatt and not just leave him be?” Quakity asked.

“Please, no, just sign the treaty! He’s legit, he’ll keep going!” Schlatt begged.

He was right, Jordan would have to keep this up if the deal wasn’t finished.

“He’s right. The deal wasn’t just a simple handshake. Our souls are temporarily connected until the deal is completed. Until then, I have power over him,” he revealed.

Quakity’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and immediately signed the treaty. Schlatt nearly sobbed in relief. He knew there was a reason Quakity was in his cabinet.

He passed the treaty to his left and it soon traveled all around the table until it got to Wilbur. He glared at the treaty, then at Schlatt.

“If this is a joke, I’ll kill you myself,” he warned.

Schlatt gave a shaky smile.

“Believe me, I’m really not joking about this.”

Wilbur stared at him a bit longer before signing and passing the paper on. It finally reached Schlatt.

He was about to sign when a pen was in front of his face. He looked at the Captain in confusion.

“This pen will help end the deal. It’s all magicy and stuff, pretty swick,” he explained with a less menacing smile.

Schlatt instantly took the pen and signed his name. The ink glowed red and blue before fading. Schlatt slumped in his seat, unconscious. Some panicked and went to check on him but Jordan stopped them.

“He’s fine, just overtired. He’ll wake up in a day or two with a completely restored mindset,” he soothed.

They nodded but still picked him up and took him to a room with a bed so he could at least rest comfortably.

Jordan clapped his hands together and smile happily.

“Welp, I think that settles everything for today! Unless you have any questions, you guys are good to leave,” he cheerily said.

Some immediately left while others took their time leaving. Niki hugged Tubbo and Tommy before leaving while Techno left to wait outside for Tommy. Wilbur, Tubbo, Tommy, and Jordan were the only ones left in the room.

It seemed like nobody would talk first, so Jordan took a seat next to Tubbo.

“You can go with Tommy, if you want Tubbo. I won’t be offended,” he softly offered.

Tubbo glanced unsurely between Tommy and Jordan.

“Could I...speak with Tommy in private? Please?” he asked.

Jordan nodded and motioned for Wilbur to follow him outside. The brunet hesitated, but with a stern glance he was leaving the room.

Tommy and Tubbo sat in tense silence before they spoke.

“Tommy-“

“Tubbo-“

The tension broke as they laughed with each other. Tommy began before Tubbo could say anything.

“Do you not want to come with me and Phil?” he hesitantly asked. There was an undertone of hurt but Tommy was trying to understand. This was Tubbo, and he trusted Tubbo.

Said best friend looked away as he fidgeted with his fingers and sighed. Tommy felt his chest tighten.

“Come on, just say what you want. I’m a man!” he joked, but it fell a little flat.

Tubbo looked at him.

“It’s nothing against you, Tommy, or-or even Techno or Phil, but, I just....I dunno, I feel....safer? I guess? With the Captain cuz he’s just great and he listens really well and you know how I get sometimes but-“

“Big T you don’t have to defend him,” Tommy cuts him off. It’s not often that Tommy is serious, but he was now.

“I want you to be happy, Tubbo. If you feel safer with the Captain than with us, I guess that’s ok. Just don’t forget about me, yeah? I’ll fucking kill ya, bitch,” he admitted.

Tubbo felt incredibly guilty for leaving his best friend, but he wasn’t staying with the Captain for weeks! Maybe just a few days. He said none of those though and settled for a hug. He buried his face into his friend’s neck and felt Tommy clutch at his shirt.

“Thank you, Tommy, for understanding,” he quietly said.

“No problem, Big T.”

They stayed like that until there was knocking at the door. Jordan popped in with an apologetic look.

“Just wanted to check in. Techno is getting antsy and Wilbur looks ready to demonetize something,” he said to the teens.

Tommy and Tubbo got up from their seats and headed to the door when Jordan stopped them. They looked at the man questioningly but he held no malice on his face. Instead, he was looking at them with some form of understanding.

“Tubbo, whenever you want to visit Tommy, just tell me and I’ll make a portal to Phil’s place. I know you’ll miss him,” he said softly.

Tubbo’s eyes widened and he looked towards Tommy with the biggest smile that the blond couldn’t help but smile back. Tubbo tackled Jordan in a hug.

“Thank you, Captain! Thank you so much!” he exclaimed.

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and stood a bit awkwardly, “Yeah, thanks.”

Jordan smiled. “Of course.”

There was shouting from outside.

“I think Phil is finally here,” Jordan said.

They peeked outside the room and saw Phil hitting Wilbur with his sandal and the desperate attempts to deflect by Wilbur. Techno was cackling while taking screenshots.

Jordan turned to Tommy.

“I think they’re ready to take you home. Take care, kid,” he said as he nudged Tommy towards the group.

Tommy looked towards Tubbo and they shook hands.

“See you in a few, Big T.”

“As always, Tommy.”

They watched as he ran towards Techno and began to take screenshots as well with a growing smile on his face. His signature loud laugh seemed to brighten the area. Tubbo watched fondly for a bit before Jordan’s hand was on his shoulder. He looked up at Jordan who stared at him with a soft smile.

“Let’s go home, Tubbo. M’lady is eager to meet you,” he said. 

Tubbo immediately lit up.

“Does she like bees?! Could you teach me how to do cool magic stuff too?!” he excitedly asked.

Jordan laughed as he made a portal and stepped through with Tubbo.

-----------

There are many rumors surrounding the legendary Captain, but there are a few things for certain.

Even the most kind-hearted people can be cruel, and they can enjoy their own cruelty.

#mianite #jordan maron #captainsparklez #mianitian isles #dream smp #jschlatt #bamf jordan #i made him go a little feral i just love mind games he kinda drives Schlatt to insanity

[crazyclownthanos]

Ace Silva

“A million dreams for the world we’re gonna make”

“All I want to do is to change the world”

“Carrying on the will of Asta? Wow. That’s an honor I hope I don’t mess this up”

Character Information

Ace Silva is a royal from the clover kingdom raining from the house of Silva pacifically the Silva-Ideale branch family. Zora and Nebra’s second child.

At the whooping age of 11 he meets the devil, Helreignn the white devil and a shifting fox named Ruh. Now on an unexpected Journey to gain control of this unknown power he faces challenges that will change the shape of the world.

Ace comes the Latin origin meaning “one, unity”

Alias

Acey chasey

Chasey wasey

Chase

Racey (Magna)

Pupil (Asta)

Title(s)

The white Devils vessel

The future king of the underworld

A hazard to royalty

The will carrier of Asta

The grandson of the dancing princess of the battle Field and the first commoner to become a magic knight

An abusers & criminals child

General Information

Status: Alive

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Affinity: Arrow magic, Nigh Omniscience (not awaken), underworld formation (not awaken), Shapeshifting (Not Awaken), Light manipulation (not awaken)

Age: 11 (at the beginning of White Clover)

Birthday: February 26th

Constellation: Pisces

Height: 146cm

Weight: 30kg (66.13p)

Blood type: AB

Eyes: Pink

Hair: Red

Relatives: Nebra Silva (Mother), Zora Ideale (Father), Josslyn (Older Sister), Solid Silva (Uncle), Nozel Silva (Uncle), Noelle Silva (Aunt), Asta (Uncle), Haskell Silva (Cousin), Liebe (foster uncle), Acier Silva (Grandmother), Zara Ideale (Grandfather), Two other cousins, Grandfather

Appearance

Ace is the shortest among the fearsome three and the lightest some people say he’s underweight though he just hasn’t have the biggest appetite though Charmy solve this by overeating him every time at the black bulls base.

Ace’s has triple bangs. His hair tends to be wavy or curly depending on the shampoo he uses though. Ace’s pink eyes are probably the most fascinating feature about him.

At home Ace likes wearing clothes that aren’t too tight on him and you can usually spot him wearing a black turtleneck, wool cardigan and white pants. In his outdoor wear he wears of cool tones colours of ice blue, white & normal blue. White gloves and a white long sleeve jumper with an upright collar length down to the hips, the king sleeve has a design in the middle of an icy blue eagle and around that eagle is a magic circle of tap representing the Ideale branch On the bottom are white pants on both sides their are 5 leaf blue clovers descending down his pants, for shoes he wears a type of blue toned icy blue heel going up the pants

Personality

Due to the bullying Ace received from the other noble children Ace has beocme an insecure individual gaining a low self-esteem at a such a young age often getting intimidated by nearly anyone. He tends to get clingy in fields of defenselessness one leading example would be at royal banquets, Ace would always hide underneath Nebra’s dress throughout the entire banquet. Always having his guard up he overthinks nearly any of his movements afraid to disappoint anyone and often needs something to fiddle with. A trait Ace holds is determination, according to Asta, Ace holds more determination than he could of had, a case to prove it would be going up against a devil being 11 to protect the clover castle. However Ace starts to change when meeting Helreignn he slowly becomes more confident in his skills.

Traits

Determination

Good heart

Emotional

Kindness

Selflessness

Self Indulgence

Stubborn

Observant

Relationships

Family

Nebra Silva

Nebra has been the closest to Ace’s heart since skin to skin contact. No matter when or what these two would always have ball arts and crafts, bath time, studying time, his mummies arms were the warmest to him. Through the bullying of the noble children they would call him the “abusers child” this would be the time Ace found out about his mummy and Solid abused Noelle for 15 years at first believing this was nonsense to him until he asked the question. Soon Ace accepted that his mummy had change and the two reconnected their bond.

Zora Silva

Zora had introduced Ace to commoner life when he was a toddler and taught him the importance of that money isn’t everything, Ace is grateful for all the important lessons Zora taught him because without them Ace would just be another arrogant royal. The relationship between Zora and Ace is healthy. Zora would always supported Ace when he was in lows and even talk about his glorious adventures of being a supermage until he fell asleep.

Josslyn Silva

The relationship between Josslyn and Ace has its highs and lows. Ace knew from a young age how intimidating his sister could be and due to the bulllying Ace sorta of grew to have be frightened of his sister knowing that she could do the same thing to him. On one ocassion Josslyn saw Ace getting laughed at by other noble children however she did nothing about it, Ace assumed Josslyn didn’t loved him. This was never the case Josslyn had always cared for Ace knowing how fragile he is and feels ashamed to be called a “sister” for never standing up to the bullies

Nozel Silva

Ace never liked Nozel. Ace can remember memories of his mother and Nozel fighting day and night. Ace would always get nervous when interacting with Nozel afraid that he would take out his anger on him.

Solid Silva

Ace dosen’t have a problem with Solid knowing what he had done in the past was not okay he has learned to accept his past. Solid would always make Ace smile and bring out his inner child with his sarcastic humour.

Noelle Silva

Ace thinks of Noelle as an inspiration and often wonders what strength it took to become such a powerful magic knight. At times he would still ponder why she looked so much like his grandmother. Overall Ace adores Noelle and loves seeing her out in the battlefield and is proud to carry the same last name as her. Sometimes Ace goes to Noelle for love advice.

Asta

Ace is the willcarrier of Asta. Being the closest to him in the family other than his parents. Ace loves hanging onto Asta’s arms like a monkey even spending some days sitting on his lap doing cool wizard king duties as well as following him around, one time Ace joined Asta for the magic knight entrance exam. Figuring Ace was a devil vessel Asta couldn’t be more excited to be train him the guy smiled liked an idiot knowing he was following in captain Yami’s footsteps. Starting to train underneath the strongest magic knight Ace was over the moon and couldn’t be more ready. Overall Ace’s views Asta as someone he can relax and be himself, Ace dosen’t know what he wants to be in the future but with the help of Asta he knows he can overcome anything.

Haskell Silva

Haskell is the few among his family members were he doesn’t mind relaxing around, Haskell is someone he can always rely on and tell anything to him. Having an age gap of 9 years, Haskell was in his royal studies but he made sure to visit Ace in the nursery and play games, one of their favourite games was “teacher” when one would play teacher and the other one played “student”. Ace sees Haskell as a kind,funny and warm person who knows his right and wrongs another characteristic Ace liked about Haskell was his magic affinity, Star magic. Star magic was an attribute Ace would of loved to have.

Acier Silva

Fom a young age Ace was sure to know who were his grandparents. Being the grandson of the dancing princess of the battlefield was a huge honour to him. Ace heard stories of his grandmother from the seniors of his family and magic knight would always dreamed of seeing her on the battlefield , fighting, protecting all of it sounded exciting and yet remarkable, yes he did imagine at some stages that Noelle was Acier but he never told a soul.

Zara Ideale

Similar to Acier, Ace would of loved to meet his grandfather though sadly he passed way too early. Despite all the negativity it was good to know that his grandfather had a such an influence on the magic knights and idolise kinghts like them, knights who have a strong sense of justice and pledge thmselves to the kingdom.

Liebe

Ace considers Liebe as apart of the family. He views him as someone he can relate too often going to him for advice though Liebe soon distance himself because of the life energy raidainting of a devil dwelling within Ace.

Fearsome three/Light Traid

Karra Marron

Ace have been crushing on Karra for years the reason behind it haven’t be reavealed yet. These two have been close since diaper days often spending their time playing tag in the fields or talking in general. When Ace started forming a crush on Karra he started turning red and becoming nervous to even be in the same room as her though overall Ace sees Karra one of the toughest girls he knows thinking Karra has the potential to against the world and would risk his own life to protect her.

Mirage Adlai

Mirage is Karra’s only male friend his age and the two have been the best of bros since their first meeting. Ace can’t help himself but laugh whenever Mirage goes into “Grey mode” to him it’s like watching a mirror or so he finds it funny or dissponinting. Both dealing with Karra’s antics Mirage and Ace often teaming up forming the most motherly duo in clover history. Mainly Ace is lucky to have Mirage to stick around with him for so many years he dosen’t nescessarily see him as a rival, well not yet.

Others

Helreignn Lokadóttir

Ace meets Helreignn in his shapeshift form at the start of White Clover at first Ace is intimadted by his phrases thing but overtime Ace grows to be more curious about the man that has been dwelling within him for him for years, having questions about the underworld, the devil king, white devil, why did he choose him, etc, etc.

Genji

Ace can trust Genji with his life. The two of them are really close often in his fox form Genji would provide Ace warmth without thinking he would notice but he did. Ace is amazed by the strength he had to hold on for over 5 centuries grateful for entering his life.

Battle Powers

Magic

Arrow magic: This power allows Ace to manipulate and create blue arrows during conscious and unconscious hours

Abilities

Devil-Possessed: Ace is connected to the white devil, Helreignn, who possess numeral magic affinities with his main one being Arrow Magic, which grants him access to energy

Keen Intellect: Beyond his insecure personality Ace has shown to be thoughtful and intelligent throughout all the challenges he faces. He tends to acknowledge what the circumstances are and understands what’s at risk.

High Observation Skills: Helreignn noted that Ace has high observation skills taking note of the smallest of details and observing others battle tacktics analyzing and apply

Physical Strength 1/5

Magic Amount 5/5

Magic Control 3/5

Magic sensing 4/5

Cleverness 5/5

His love for Christmas 5/5

Trivia

Ace is named after his grandmother, Acier.

Ace and Licita share the same birthday (February 26th)

Favorite food is Avocado

Likes are butterflies, sunflowers, soft sunsets/sunrises

Compared to Asta he is Asta’s pollar oppsoite

Originally Ace was intended to have silver hair but this was changed to red hair saving the silver hair for a later design

Arrow magic was inspired by Aang’s arrow tattoo

Butterflies are attracted to Ace often grazing his face of flying into his hand gracefully no one knows how it happens even Ace

#White Clover #Ace Silva #Character information

[tumbleweed-palmer]

Unexpected: Jimmy Palmer x Original Character Chapter Two

Tony regretted the words the moment they left his lips. He had taken it way too far and he’d done the worst possible thing he could ever do in his eyes. He’d made his baby sister cry. He could see the tears pooling in her eyes as she’d screamed at him to leave her apartment.

He’d hurt her. That was the worst sin he could ever possibly commit. He’d always had that classic big brother attitude of “If you make my baby sister cry, I’ll break your legs.” He had always been the one who protected her and made sure she didn’t get hurt. He’d never considered he’d be the one who hurt her.

He felt like garbage at the moment. He felt lower than garbage. He was pretty sure he was akin to that gross layer of slime and bacteria filled liquid that developed at the bottom of a dumpster on a particularly hot day.

As Tony paced his apartment he found himself agonizing over this entire mess. This was so unexpected. He’d never imagined this would be a possibility.

He was just so angry to see Jimmy Palmer in Olivia’s apartment and to realize just what they’d been doing all this time. Tony felt betrayed even more so as they’d explained exactly what was going on. This had been going on a full year. It had been an entire year of both Olivia and Jimmy lying straight to his face.

He’d worked closer than usual with Jimmy this past year especially during that period of time when Gibbs had taken a short retirement. Tony had stepped up then leading the unit for months and he’d learned to turn to Jimmy for advice on cases more than once. Jimmy was a great confidant and Tony knew he could go to him trusting that the words they exchanged would stay between them. Jimmy had spent all that time working by Tony’s side and letting Tony confide in him, all while Jimmy was betraying him and carrying on with Tony’s little sister. Jimmy had been working with Tony during the day and going straight to Olivia every night.

He had known Jimmy for years now and Jimmy was the last person Tony would ever dream would mislead him. Sure, Jimmy had lied to everyone during his fling with Michelle Lee, but it had been so obvious what was going on to anyone with two working eyes. Jimmy was a terrible liar. He had a guilty conscience and never could keep up a lie. Clearly though Jimmy was a far more proficient liar than Tony had ever given him credit for. He’d kept such a massive secret from Tony. It was such an act of deception. Tony had even asked Jimmy point blank what was going on with Olivia and he. Jimmy had told Tony that there was nothing going on, just a friendship. Tony had thought he’d made it perfectly clear that his baby sister was untouchable.

It was supposed to be part of the bro-code wasn’t it? You didn’t hook up with your friend’s little sister. That was an unspoken rule. Oh, crap, was this how Probie felt when Tony flirted with his little sister? This was so much worse than just a little harmless flirting though.

Jimmy and Olivia had been sneaking around behind Tony’s back all this time. Olivia had left evidence of it along Jimmy’s neck for months now. The thought of his little sister doing that to Jimmy made Tony feel sick to his stomach. He’d spent all that time teasing Jimmy over the hickies unaware that Olivia was the culprit behind all those lovebites. The fact that Tony had made jokes about “lady gremlin being frisky” had made him feel sick. Not to mention Tony had made plenty of jokes about the suggested hotness of Jimmy’s little lady friend and all the experience she must have. The fact that Olivia was the Lady Gremlin made Tony’s skin crawl.

Olivia had lied to Tony’s face more than once over this past year. The fact that his sister who he loved more than anyone on the planet had lied to his face hurt the most.

Tony had definitely noticed that his little sister and the Autopsy Gremlin were occasionally spending time together. He’d not been shy about interrogating Olivia over her new friendship with Jimmy. She’d always insisted that Jimmy was just a friend and that they only spent time together when Olivia needed a second opinion on whatever art piece she was working on at the time. She’d seemed so sincere about it all as she’d spoken to Tony. “Trust me, Jimmy is just helping me out and giving me some feedback on how the anatomy is looking on a few of my paintings. I’m really wanting to turn more of my focus towards painting, but I’m insecure about it. Photography was always my bigger focus back in school. You know getting the anatomy down has always been a weak point for me when it comes to painting. I want to make sure everything looks reasonable and realistic. Jimmy is a really excellent resource to have. He has such a deep understanding of the structure of a human body and he’s actually pretty artistically gifted as well. He’s shown me some of the sketches he’s done. He drew up this amazing sketch of a human heart. It looks so realistic and he really nailed all the fine details. So, he’s the perfect person for me to ask for some guidance. We just meet up for coffee occasionally and he helps me out in exchange for me buying him a pastry and giving him feedback on his own sketches. He’s self taught for the most part, so he really appreciates having the feedback from someone who went to school for art. It’s no big deal. He’s a nice guy, a little awkward, but still good enough company. We don’t even discuss anything but art.”

Tony of course hadn’t liked the idea of Olivia spending time with Jimmy even with her insistence that it was all perfectly innocent. She’d always been so insistent that it was just a friendship and nothing more.

To find out that she’d lied about everything between Jimmy and she was such a betrayal. She’d had so many opportunities to come clean about it all, and she’d taken not one of them.

Tony had been so upset and he’d wanted Olivia to hurt just as badly as she’d hurt him. Tony had always been gifted when it came to really going for the jugular during fights. He could find a weak spot in whoever he was fighting with and destroy them emotionally. He could find your biggest insecurity and use it to break you. Tony guessed he’d learned it from his father. Dinozzo Senior had always had a way of using people’s insecurities to drag them down and Tony guessed that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

The realization that he’d been no better than his father made Tony feel sick. He’d always sworn he’d be nothing like Dinozzo Senior.

Maybe this anger had been building for a while. Tony would be lying if he tried to say that he didn’t feel some resentment for his sister deep down inside.

After all it seemed as though Olivia Sofia Dinozzo could do no wrong in Dinozzo Senior’s eyes. No matter how much she fucked up Dinozzo Senior kept feeding her trust fund and cleaning up her messes at least when it came to situations where he thought the answer was “throw money at it”.

No, Dinozzo Senior hadn’t exactly given Olivia the affection and adoration that most father’s gave their daughters, but he still had never cut her off.

Tony had been cut off from the family fortune for the simple sin of wanting to go his own way. He hadn’t wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and join the family business. Tony had wanted to go into law enforcement in some capacity and forge his own path. This choice had been unacceptable to Dinozzo Sr. After all Tony was his only son, his namesake. Tony rejecting the expected path of following in his father’s footsteps had been enough of an unforgivable sin to be cut off financially and tossed out into the world to fend for himself.

Olivia had never been given that treatment. Even when she’d decided to pursue art Dinozzo Sr. hadn’t cut her off.

Of course, Tony knew that there were different expectations for him and his sister. Dinozzo Sr. had made that obvious.

Tony was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps and maintain the family name. Olivia was expected to be quiet, look pretty, and eventually marry someone of equal social status.

Dinozzo Senior had seen her artistic endeavors as something to placate her and keep her busy until she found a well-to-do man to marry. He’d seen it as a passing fancy and not a serious way for her to make a career.

She was expected to marry one of her father’s friend’s sons and be a some entitled rich kid's wife. She was expected to keep up the Dinozzo family tradition of keeping up one's social status. She was expected to be the pretty socialite who went to charity functions and kept her mouth shut.

Olivia had rebelled against this of course, but her resistance to playing happy socialite hadn’t been met with the same harshness Tony’s choice to go his own way had been met with.

Deep down Tony knew that Olivia had been failed by their father just as much as he had. She may have had the advantage of not being cut off but she hadn’t had the freedom. Tony had been given the freedom but not the security of the family fortune.

Dinozzo Sr. had turned a blind eye to his daughter’s indiscretions and multitude of fuck ups. He’d ignored her cries for help and taken the path of just giving her more money instead of actually addressing the problem.

Tony was always the one who looked out for her. After all, he adored his sister.

He could remember that when she was born he’d been allowed to come home from boarding school for a week, most likely Olivia’s mother’s attempts to merge the family before she’d realized that Dinozzo Sr. wasn’t a family man. Still though Tony had adored Olivia from the moment he saw her for the first time. He’d been almost a decade older than her, but he’d still adored her so dearly. He’d been so delighted to have a baby sister.

He hadn’t acted the way most older brothers had. He may have pestered her but he never treated her like she was a pain or a burden. If anything he’d always treated her like a little princess, always doting on her and giving into her wants

When their father and her mother had divorced Tony had been despondent fearing he’d never see his sister again. After all, Dinozzo Sr. most likely wasn’t the type to seek out visitation.

When Olivia’s mother had died so suddenly and she’d been sent back to Dinozzo Sr., Tony had been left with a feeling of guilt convinced his heartache over the possibility of never seeing Olivia again had resulted in fate deciding to force her back into his life. Perhaps he’d been so desperate to have his sister back in the family home that fate had heard him and decided to “help” him out.

He knew it was irrational to think that Olivia’s mother’s death had been fate tipping in his favor instead of a terrible accident. Tony had been a teenager when it had happened, but he’d still been young enough to fear that perhaps this had somehow been all his fault.

He guessed that perhaps that sense of guilt had made him overcompensate when it came to his relationship with Olivia.

He made sure to include her in his interests, sharing his favorite movies with her and covering for her when she’d gotten herself into trouble.

He’d set a precedent of always emotionally supporting her and looking out for her, almost as though he was her father instead of her brother.

There had been several times over the years where Tony had seriously feared for her safety. He’d dreaded late night phone calls unsure if it would be his scared sister calling for his help or someone calling to tell him she was hurt or worse dead.

Olivia had made impulsive stupid choices and surrounded herself with people who were making far worse choices.

Olivia may have had the security of the family fortune but she’d never really felt secure. She’d never felt peace with herself. She’d always been troubled. Even when she was a child, she’d been so starved for love. She’d always searched for affection and security from other sources realizing she wasn’t getting it from her father.

She found herself clinging to men who didn’t even care about her. They were more interested in getting in her pants than actually loving her. She found herself attaching herself to anyone who gave her even the smallest bit of attention and praise. She didn’t care if the affection only lasted one night. She just seemed so starved for acceptance.

She remained in toxic friendships with people who didn’t actually care about her. She’d figured any company was better than being left alone with her thoughts. She convinced herself that they understood her because they’d come from the same social circles and had the same familial issues. She’d ignored red flags telling herself that it was nothing to worry about.

Tony had been relieved that she’d at least stayed away from anything harder than alcohol and pot. She hadn’t stayed away from her friends though and her friends hadn’t stayed away from much harder substances.

Tony lost count of the nights where he’d gone out searching for her through nightclubs and penthouse parties. He’d lost count of the times he’d dragged her from some house party pretending that he didn’t notice the lines of cocaine her friends were indulging in. He’d pretended that getting phone calls from her where she was drunk and needed him to come get her was just a normal part of his Friday night.

Anytime he’d pressed the issue and confronted her about her friend’s behavior or her reckless choices she’d brushed off his concerns.

The conversation always went the same. She always had the same responses. She’d always been so fast to insist. “I’m a big girl Tony. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself. I’m not an idiot. I don’t touch the hard stuff. My friends have offered but I have no interest in it. I know that stuff ruins you. I only smoke the occasional joint and I drink, but nothing more. Trust me, I’m fine. I know you do it because you love me but trust me you don’t have to worry so much about me. I’m okay. Please, don’t freak out on me and act like I’m some kind of junkie. I’m fine, It’s not a big deal. I’m still young, I’m supposed to be out having a good time. I’m maintaining my coursework and managing my life fine.”

She’d always paused before speaking again pointing out the obvious. “Besides you don’t have much room to lecture me about the company I keep or my indiscretions, especially when we both know you have a revolving door of women in your life and you so aren’t the poster boy for clean living. It’s hypocritical to lecture me about my bad choices.”

There was only so much Tony could do. After all she was a grown woman. Even when she was still a teenager making the same choices his hands had been tied. Dinozzo Sr. had been her guardian and he wasn’t going to do a thing about it. So Tony had been left doing what he could do for her as she’d entered her early twenties and continued to make the same bad choices.

There was only so much you could do for someone who clearly was not interested in changing.

He hadn’t seen it as enabling her. He’d seen it as giving her a lifeline.

He’d made sure she had his phone number programmed into her cell phone and had made sure she knew she could call him anytime no matter how late it was and no matter what situation she was in.

She’d always called him when it became too much and Tony had counted it as a small victory. At least she called him to come get her instead of sticking out bad situations. He was was able to collect her from danger and he knew she was safe.

When she’d finally hit rock bottom it had been a relief.

A friend’s drug overdose had been enough to scare her into admitting she needed to change. She’d admitted that she was scared and in over her head and she needed help.

It had been painful but for the first time Tony felt like he could breathe. She was safe and she was going to be okay.

He’d helped her straighten her life out. She’d started therapy and had kicked the party lifestyle. She’d dropped her toxic friends and awful boyfriends and had gotten her head on straight. She’d thrown herself into her art and had managed to find some freelance work that had allowed her to travel.

Sure, Tony had worried about her traveling but she’d kept in contact with him calling him at least once a week. She’d seemed so much lighter and so much happier. She’d actually been at peace with being on her own. It seemed as though she’d finally dropped her unhealthy coping mechanisms. She’d seemed to be at peace with herself.

When Olivia had announced to Tony that she’d found a local job and would be moving to the Virginia DC area it had been a relief. He’d have her close by where he could keep a closer eye on her.

He had thought having her so close by so near his support would be good for her.

He’d never imagined that having her in the same city would mean having her hook up with one of his coworkers.

What could she even possibly see in Jimmy? Of all the guys she could have gone for she went for the Autopsy Gremlin?

What about him was even slightly appealing to her? When Tony thought of Jimmy he saw an awkward mess of a human being. Jimmy with his tendency to slouch, and his all too large ears and thin lips. Jimmy with the same out of style glasses he’d been wearing since college. Jimmy who had the ghoulish career path and the less than appropriate sense of humor. Jimmy who honestly seemed like a total nerd. Jimmy so didn’t seem like the type of guy Olivia usually went for.

What did they even have in common?

Was this just the old Olivia making a reappearance, going for anyone who showed her affection? This did seem to follow her M.O.

Tony didn’t think anyone could blame him for assuming the worst given what he knew about his sister’s past approach to romance.

Then again Olivia and Jimmy had both seemed so sincere. Jimmy definitely didn’t seem to be the kind of guy to use a girl for a good time. Jimmy seemed to be more the type to be grateful for any kind of female attention. Tony didn’t think this was just a case of Olivia using Jimmy; attaching herself to him because she knew he’d give her all the affection and loyalty on the planet.

If anything, it all seemed to be the real deal. Jimmy did seem sincere in his declarations of love for Olivia. Maybe that meant Olivia was just as sincere?

Maybe Tony had been wrong?

Still though that didn’t excuse the lies. Still though, the lies didn’t excuse his reaction.

A little voice in the back of Tony’s brain told him that if he loved Olivia half as much as he claimed to, didn’t he owe it to her to at least hear her out? Didn’t she deserve a little trust?

Would she even want to speak to him now though? Now that he’d upset her, chances are she wouldn’t want to hear from him anytime soon.

Tony groaned at the thought. He’d really screwed up and he wasn’t sure if there was a way of fixing it.

He made a last ditch effort reaching for his cell, typing up the text message knowing it was better than nothing.

“We need to talk.”

He tossed his cell down on his sofa knowing he had a snowball’s chance in hell of actually hearing anything back, but he didn’t know what to do.

He’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Jimmy could admit he felt so lost. He’d been putting on a brave face for Olivia’s sake. He’d thrown himself face first into soothing her and doting on her, trying his best to make her feel loved and reassured.

He felt so lost though. He didn’t know how to fix any of this. Wasn’t he partially to blame for this entire mess?

He should have manned up a long time ago. He should have reassured Olivia that it was okay to tell Tony about them. He should have put his foot down and insisted that they tell Tony about their relationship a long time ago.

He’d been so resistant to do so though. He’d told himself that he needed to follow Olivia’s lead on this.

Now he had to watch Olivia cry over their failures.

He could have saved her so much heartache had he just insisted that they step up and tell Tony everything consequences be damned. Sure Tony might have freaked out, he may have even punched Jimmy, but at least the truth would have been revealed on their own terms.

Jimmy knew that he should have cast aside his doubts and fears and just told Tony everything. He could have convinced Olivia to come clean and they could have been saved from this heartache.

Jimmy knew it was too little too late though. They had made their bed and now they were lying in it.

That didn’t erase the guilt he felt over this entire situation though.

His head felt like a mess as he laid in her bed Olivia’s sleeping form in his arms. At least he’d gotten her to fall asleep but there had still been plenty of tears from Olivia all day. When he’d thought she might have run out of tears she somehow found more.

He knew her heart was so broken.

Tony Dinozzo had always been Olivia’s hero. She’d admitted that much to Jimmy. Jimmy had always appreciated being able to see Tony through Olivia’s eyes. She’d described a big brother who would give her the world if she asked for it. She’d described a man who fretted over her and taught her to throw her first punch. She’d described a man who had taught her to drive and had snuck her into her first R rated movie. She’d talked about how heartbroken she’d been when their father had disowned Tony. She’d talked about how Tony had still made an effort to keep in contact with her even if he was out of contact with Dinozzo Sr. Tony had never forgotten her even after he’d been cast out into the world by their father with out a safety net.

She talked about Tony with such reverence. She’d described a man who doted on her and shared such a tight bond with her. It had always been Tony and her against the world, or at least Tony and her against Dinozzo Sr.

Tony was the one who had always shown her unconditional love. She’d never been able to expect unconditional love from Dinozzo Sr. Her father was more the type to remind his children that his love had terms and conditions. Tony had never made her feel as though his love for her had any sort of conditions though. The fact that her brother loved her had always been an absolute understanding. No matter what she did, Olivia knew that her brother would always love her.

The words he’d said to her tonight though, had shown her that the love Tony felt wasn’t as unconditional as she’d believed.

He had let out so much resentment for her, so much bitterness for all the times he’d had to rescue her from herself. He had thrown her past right in her face and insinuated that she was just picking back up all her old habits. He’d insinuated that what she had with Jimmy was nothing more than her falling into bed with Jimmy because he gave her some sense of approval. Tony had ignored her insistence that she had changed for the better.

Tony told her she was too much to put up with and too hard to love. He could have shot her and it would have been less painful than hearing those words.

Jimmy was left feeling trapped between rage towards Tony and heartbreak for Olivia.

Jimmy had done the only thing he could think to do for her. He’d taken a good long bath with her knowing that baths were always a place of comfort for Olivia. She’d even confessed to him that the main reason she’d signed a lease on this apartment in particular was the massive soaking tub that had been recently installed into the bathroom.

She’d always loved baths and she’d taught Jimmy to enjoy them as well. She’d had to do very little coaxing to talk him into joining her in a bath the first time. He’d had to admit it was pretty nice. He was pretty sure if anyone ever accused him of being less than masculine for taking a bubble bath then he could very easily point out that he got to be in a warm bath with a beautiful nude woman pressed against him.

He’d adored taking baths with her enough that he’d even requested doing so on his birthday months ago. She’d definitely indulged him; sitting on the edge of the tub and washing his hair before joining him in the tub where she continued to pamper him. It had been the best birthday he’d ever had by far.

Today’s bath had been less of a joyous occasion though. She’d been quiet for the longest time Jimmy holding her against him running his hands along her body attempting to soothe her.

He’d done his best to keep her distracted, his voice soft and gentle. “Did I ever tell you the moment I realized I was in love with you?”

He’d spoken again as she shook her head, her voice soft “No.”

He’d continued to caress her skin, the memory still so fresh. “It was when we went to Virginia Beach. It was so hot, just ridiculously so. I didn’t have the heart to tell you I’m not too fond of the beach and that sand makes me all itchy. You seemed so excited about the beach and I decided I’d suffer through the beach if it made you happy. It was hard to be too annoyed when you looked so perfect. You wore that green bikini and those big sunglasses and that blue sundress. You looked so amazing and I felt like I didn’t look like I belonged by your side at all. I actually had a good time, even though we got way too overheated. We got cherry snow cones and sat under a beach umbrella to avoid the heat. I ate mine way too fast. It gave me an awful brain freeze and I’ll never forget what you did. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was such a silly little action but it was the sweetest thing. I remember thinking I adored you at that moment. How could I not adore a girl whose first thought was to kiss my forehead because I had brain freeze. It hit me that I more than adored you, I loved you so much it almost took my breath away.”

“We hadn’t been dating for that long then. That was only our second official date after we’d confessed that we were into each other.” She spoke her voice soft. He nodded his head, his lips pressing to her neck as he responded.

“True, I was pretty enamored with you long before that though. I’m pretty sure some deep part of me knew that I loved you from the moment you stepped on the elevator that first day we met at NCIS. I don’t know if it was love at first sight, but I think it was a sense of belonging…like my heart knew it belonged with yours as stupid as that sounds. You met my eyes that day in the elevator and it’s like my heart knew that it was going to be you. I thought I was dumb for being so upset at the thought of never seeing you again…I mean we barely spoke that day. I thought maybe I was just lonely and you were so kind to me despite my awkwardness. So, maybe I just felt drawn to you out of loneliness and I’d forget about you before I even knew it….but then we met again at the park two weeks later and it just made me believe that my heart knew it was yours all the more. It was like it was fate pushing us towards each other. I don’t know if I fully believe in soulmates or what have you, but I think that maybe sometime way back before the universe was formed that maybe we were part of the same star or atom or whatever we were before we were us. How else can I explain how my heart knew it belonged to you?”

Olivia felt her eyes water this time for a completely different reason than the sorrow that had washed over her all day long.

She felt even more come as Jimmy spoke, needing to say the words. “No matter what happens with Tony, the fact that my heart belongs to yours is never going to change. I love you Oli, I don’t care what anyone has to say about it. I promise you the fact that I love you will never change.”

“I love you too.” She managed to work out, turning to snuggle a little closer to him despite the awkward angle she had to turn her body in the bath to make this happen.

Jimmy managed to wipe her tears relieved that the bubbles in the bath had disappeared enough to not leave soap behind on his hands.

He managed to speak knowing it wasn’t the first time he’d said the words today but he knew she needed to keep hearing them. “Tony is wrong. You aren’t hard to love. You’ve never been too much for me. I cannot begin to express just how wrong Tony was about everything he had to say.”

She managed to speak her voice so weak. “He resents me. I put him through hell for years. I was a mess and he had to clean up after me. We’ve never really talked about it…I put him through hell and scared him. I never made my amends with him for any of it. I know he already resented me because our dad never cut me off. Senior let me get away with a lot. I don’t know if Senior didn’t cut me off out of some weird form of paternal love or maybe just to keep face with his friends and avoid the shame of having two disowned kids. Either way I know Tony resents me for it. Tony got cut off for way less than I ever pulled. Tony still cleaned up my messes and supported me though. I know he was so scared for me for so long.”

“That doesn’t mean he has the right to throw it in your face as some attempt to hurt you because he’s pissed off. You made mistakes but you’ve changed. I don’t see a trace of the girl he described. Frankly I don’t care that you were that girl. I know who you are now. I understand why you were that girl Oli. I mean, you know we’ve talked about my issues with my own dad…I understand why you did what you did…Hurt people hurt themselves. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’ve been honest with me about that part of your life. Knowing about your past choices has never given me any hesitation when it comes to being with you. You may have given Tony hell but he doesn’t have the right to make you feel awful for it when you’ve worked so hard to do better.” Jimmy insisted trying his best to make her understand.

Why’d she make excuses for Tony? Surely she didn’t think she’d deserved any harshness from him?

He let out a shaky breath unable to stop himself from saying it. “If Tony was here right now I’d tell him exactly what I think about what he had to say to you. It was wrong and he was out of line. I don’t care how upset he was. You didn’t deserve that.”

Olivia spoke knowing she sounded so desperate pleading with him. “Don’t confront him Jimmy. Please, just leave it. I just, it won’t do any good to confront him about any of this. Please, just leave it…for me.”

Jimmy sighed knowing he had no choice. He’d do anything for her. It was his greatest downfall. “Okay, I promise. I’ll leave it.”

Jimmy did intend on leaving it. He knew that he couldn’t betray her request to just leave it be.

He loved her far too much to go against her requests.

It was because he loved her that seeing her so heartbroken hurt him so much.

He thought about calling his mother for some advice, but his mother wasn’t exactly aware of the secrecy surrounding Olivia’s and his relationship. The last thing he wanted to do was explain the situation to his mom.

So, Jimmy did the only thing he could think to do. He left her sleeping form and picked up his cell phone deciding to call the closest thing to a father he had.

He cringed realizing how late it was judging by the sleepy tone to Dr. Mallard’s voice. “Mr. Palmer? Is something wrong?”

Jimmy let out a sigh as he took a seat on the arm of a sofa in Olivia’s living room. He felt the words leave him knowing that there was no point in beating around the bush. “Tony found out about Olivia and me.”

“And I’m guessing by the tone of your voice that Agent Dinozzo didn’t find out on your terms?” Dr. Mallard replied, easily catching on.

Jimmy rubbed his eyes the stress of the day making his head ache. “He showed up to her apartment unannounced and I walked into the room…it was clear by our appearance that we couldn’t just explain away what I was doing there.”

He paused his cheeks flushing, relieved that he had found a way to explain the scene without having to go too in depth. He was sure that mentioning anything surrounding his sex life to his mentor was something he could live without.

He spoke again, another sigh leaving him. “Tony was…angry. I can take him being upset with me…I’d rather he just have hit me…the way he spoke to Olivia. He threw a few things from her past in her face…things she’s ashamed of. She’s so hurt. I just feel so guilty. I should have insisted we come clean to Tony a long time ago. I could have saved her so much pain had I convinced her to let us tell Tony the truth a long time ago.”

“You were doing what you felt was right Mr. Palmer. The woman you love asked you to keep a secret and you couldn’t deny her request. Men in love have done far more foolish things throughout history.” Dr. Mallard insisted.

He spoke again before Jimmy had a chance to respond. “As far as Tony goes, he will have to live with the consequences of lashing out at Olivia.”

Jimmy let out another sigh nodding his head his voice tight. “Olivia doesn’t want me to confront him about it. I feel like an awful boyfriend letting him speak to her like that without confronting him about it. I don’t care what he does to me, I just want him to know that he doesn’t have the right to talk to her that way. I don’t care if he’s her brother, he has no right making her cry.”

“If Olivia has asked you to stand by, you’d be wise to listen to her. Trust me, Mr. Palmer, upsetting the woman who knows where you sleep at night isn’t advisable. Just ask Agent Gibbs or one of his ex wives.” Dr. Mallard pointed out causing a small smile to at least cross Jimmy’s lips.

He nodded his head, a sense of relief washing over him as Dr. Mallard spoke again. “The only thing you can do in the meantime is offer reassurance to Olivia. From the sparse time I have been able to spend with Miss. Dinozzo and you together, I do think it’s very apparent she does love you deeply. She just needs to be reminded that you feel the same for her.”

“I do, I love her so much.” Jimmy admitted not hesitating to say it more sure of the words each time he said them.

“Then keep loving her. Let Tony sort through his emotions. His actions are not your responsibility.” Dr. Mallard pointed out Jimmy nodding his head in agreement.

Ducky was right, Jimmy knew it.

He couldn’t force Tony to make amends with Olivia. The only thing he could do was provide Olivia with the reassurance she needed.

He just hoped and prayed that he could give her enough to soothe her heartache.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Olivia had thought that after a few days she’d start feeling more like herself, but she actually felt miserable.

It had to be stress. She was so distressed that she was making herself sick. It had to be the stress.

The stress was becoming overwhelming enough that she’d been getting sick to her stomach though. This was new. She’d never had stress give her this reaction. Then again, she’d never had a huge argument with her brother either.

Sure, there had been times where Tony had irritated the ever loving crap out of her, but they’d never had a falling out like this.

Tony had texted her once since the weekend, but only once and she had no idea how to interpret his text “We need to talk.”

Hadn’t he done enough talking for them both?

She knew it might be petty, but she’d refused to acknowledge the text message.

She couldn’t force herself to acknowledge it. Responding to it would just lead to more heartbreak.

She’d never dreamed Tony could hurt her. He was the last person she ever believed could hurt her.

He had though. He’d been so cruel. He wouldn’t even shut up for one second and hear Jimmy and her out. Sure, they had fucked up keeping their relationship from him, but that didn’t give him the right to throw every mistake she’d ever made right back in her face.

What had hurt her the most was the implication that this entire thing had just been sex with Jimmy. Yes, Olivia knew she hadn’t exactly always slept with men in the confines of it being within a relationship. She wasn’t ashamed of it.

Tony was completely hypocritical to bring it up though. He wasn’t the poster boy for commitment. He was the one who had a string of never ending sexual partners.

Why was it such a sin for her to have had hook ups in the past? It wasn’t as though Tony had some false belief that she was a virgin.

She resented that Tony would basically imply what he’d implied, even going as far as to ask her why she hadn’t taken McGee to bed while she was at it. If Tony was going to call her a slut, then Olivia would prefer that he had the balls to just come out and say it.

It hurt to think that Tony seemed to think she was incapable of finally finding a stable relationship with someone who loved her so genuinely. Jimmy loved her without any hesitation or fear. Once it had become clear to him that she saw him as far more than just a friend he’d been so unafraid to love her.

Why was that so hard for Tony to wrap his brain around?

Did she really give off the aura that she was so undeserving or far too unstable for love?

Did he really resent her that much?

As the days went on her sorrow molded into anger and back into heartbreak and then back into anger all over again.

She’d at least finally forced Jimmy to go back to work this morning. He’d missed two days of work insisting that Dr. Mallard would understand and Jimmy had plenty of PTO anyway.

She knew he was just worried about her. He’d spent the entire weekend and two days now doting over her and fretting over her.

He’d become even more distressed when she’d puked yesterday and once again this morning. It was just the stress she’d reassured him, but he still seemed so worried.

She was amazed that he hadn’t defied her insistence that he go to work this morning after she’d vomited.

She’d only managed to get him to leave the house with the reassurance that she would call him the second she started feeling nauseous again.

Of course he’d texted her several times during the day thus far until his final text had read that Dr. Mallard was making him stop now but please call him at his lunch break.

Olivia had decided to at least take Jimmy’s ban from texting her as a sign that she should at least try to clean up her apartment a little.

She’d managed to get someone to cover her at work, deciding that teaching kids to make ceramics probably wasn’t advisable when she felt a little nauseous. The concept of going near squishy clay made her stomach turn.

She was a little saddened to miss out on it, after all she loved her job teaching art classes at a local community center.

Most of the time she taught kids and the elderly given that was who seemed to take the most interest in the art classes she’d been hired to teach at this particular community center. It was still an enjoyable job though.

No, she didn’t exactly need to work given her trust fund gave her more than enough money to live off of and focus on her art fulltime, but she loved the routine of having a job. She liked having a routine.

She’d actually come to love her life here after spending a few years constantly travelling with her last job.

It felt good to stay in one place and have one job at the same location. It felt good to have the routine of waking up every morning and knowing exactly what her day would bring.

She had a distinct feeling that Jimmy helped aid into her satisfaction with this period of her life.

He’d definitely made her life seem all the brighter. Even with all the events of the past few days and her falling out with her brother, Olivia was more than sure that Jimmy made her world a brighter place. She loved him enough that she was sure he was worth any amount of stress.

She tried her best to pull her mind from her troubles, choosing instead to focus on cleaning knowing that her apartment had become a bit of a mess over these past few days. Jimmy and she really hadn’t felt up to actually leaving the apartment. They’d been more focused on trying to reassure one another and heal from the events of the weekend.

It was high time to give the place a good deep clean. Besides, cleaning always did help her cope with her anxieties.

She started with the bathroom knowing it was always her least favorite part of the process of housework.

It wasn’t until she was down on her knees sorting through the contents under the bathroom sink that she came across a particular box of items that made her heart drop.

She stared down at the box of tampons in her hand, a sudden realization hitting her. She was late. No, she wasn’t too terribly late, but still late enough to give her pause.

She knew everyone insisted that they ran like clockwork and everyone else insisted that wasn’t possible, but she was pretty sure ran as close to being like clockwork as possible. She had at least some concept of how her cycle ran most of the time.

It would explain a lot a little voice in the back of her brain exclaimed; the nausea, the exhaustion…the late period.

Jimmy and she used protection though…then again hadn’t they occasionally had their little slip ups?

She felt her heart begin to slam in her chest as she tried her best to remember every single sexual experience they’d had over the past few months.

Olivia groaned it hitting her that there was only one way to figure this all out.

She stood up dropping the box of tampons, her mind going on autopilot as she made her way out to the living room searching for her car keys.

Soon enough she would know the truth.

………………………………………………………

Olivia had never imagined that she’d find herself in a bathroom at a CVS with a comically large bottle of lemonade and a plastic bag filled with pregnancy tests.

It would be amusing if it was happening to anyone but her.

She debated calling Jimmy and explaining her current situation but she couldn’t imagine how to even begin to have that conversation over the phone “So how’s Dr. Mallard? How’s Autopsy today? Anything interesting happening because oh, boy on my end things sure have gotten interesting. I’ve peed on three pregnancy tests and I don’t even know where I found the pee in my bladder to manage it!”

She was pretty sure that wasn’t how you were supposed to have the “don’t freak out but we may be pregnant” talk with your boyfriend.

This couldn’t be happening, not now. This was so not the time for this.

Jimmy and she had barely even broached the subject of having kids. The few times they’d discussed it they had been in agreement that it was something they both wanted but it had always been framed as something that would happen in the future.

Hell, they’d not even shared news of their relationship with her brother, so any talk of kids was always framed as some far off idea of what they might want in the future or what they pictured in a future together.

She had zero doubts in her mind that Jimmy Palmer would be an incredible father. He was an incredible boyfriend after all. He was far too sweet to be anything less than amazing. He just had that personality; that gentle heart that had made her fall for him in the first place. The man was a sweetheart. He loved kids and he loved her. Men like Jimmy were made to be fathers.

Olivia would be lying if she tried to pretend that the idea of having his baby didn’t make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

It just was absolutely the worst time possible for this to be happening.

Sure Olivia had met Jimmy’s family and it was clear that their relationship was serious. Things were just so complicated though.

Jimmy hadn’t met Dinozzo Sr…not that that was a bad thing but still…she might be pregnant and her father didn’t even know he existed.

Jimmy and Olivia didn’t even live together.

Where would they put a crib? Their apartments were only one bedroom. Would they have to get a new place?

Oh God, what would Tony do?

He was pissed off enough when it had come out that Jimmy was dating her, so what was he going to do if it came out that Jimmy had knocked her up while he was at it?

Olivia felt her blood run cold when the alarm she’d set on her cell phone chimed notifying her that it was time.

She took a deep breath trying to calm her nerves as she picked up the first test with a shaky hand

She stared at it, her brain suddenly struggling to make sense of the blue plus on the screen in front of her.

She picked up the other test sorting through the instructions trying to make sense of the result on this test her stomach turning as she realized just what it meant.

It meant the same thing that the other two tests were telling her.

She was so screwed.

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