#my cousin's wedding is coming up like in two weeks or less and I despise that guy so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dorefasolsido · 4 months

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37. This past year...

who were your favorite singers, musicians, or bands?

BTS, counting all of their solo releases and projects.

what were some of your favorite foods?

Sushi, always. I also tried Korean for the first time and loved it!

what was your favorite dessert?

Chocolate souffle from my favorite sushi restaurant.

what was the best thing that happened to you?

I got a better job, got two little nieces from my cousins, got into book translating which was always my dream.

what was the worst thing that happened to you?

I mean, nothing particular comes to mind, I think I was just generally having a hard time because existential crisis and anxiety about the future and possibly a sprinkle of depression.

how have you grown as a person?

I don't feel like I've grown that much, but I feel like I managed to care a little less about what other people think.

what have you learned?

That I can get a job even with an interview. I've always despised interviews and avoided jobs that required them (lots of freelance work doesn't), but this year I kind of had to do it, and even though it was awkward as hell, it worked out somehow.

how old did you turn?

28. Ew.

what did you do for your birthday?

I was feeling especially horrible for my birthday, so I didn't really do anything. My friend was moving to Germany around that time, so she had a farewell party on my birthday and I went to that instead of celebrating.

what did you accomplish?

New job, translated a book.

where did you live?

Same place I've lived for the past 9 years.

who was your best friend?

Sam, as always.

This past year, have you….

made a new friend?

Nope. I met a few people though.

lost a friend?

Not quite, but sometimes it feels like that might inevitably come.

made a new best friend?

Nope.

lost someone close to you?

Nope.

attended a funeral?

Nope.

attended a wedding?

Nope.

gave birth to a child? 🤰

Nope.

“came out of the closet”?

Well, to myself, you could say.

traveled?

Yes, Germany, Belgium, Rome and Transylvania.

felt depressed? 😔

Yes.

felt happy? 😃

Yes.

felt at peace? 😊

I think I did a few times, though most of the year was riddled with anxiety.

felt overjoyed? 💃

Yes, and I remember the specific moment. A rare moment this year when I thought to myself that life is totally worth it.

felt blessed? 😇

Probably, here and there.

felt amazed? 🤩

For sure, when I was travelling.

fallen in love? 😍

Nope.

had your heart broken? 💔

Nope.

got a new car? 🚗

Yes! Well, not new, but my parents finally gave me and my sister their old car and got a different one.

graduated? 👩‍🎓

Nope.

experienced something miraculous? ✨

I doubt it.

had a better year than last year?

No, 2022 was definitely better.

had a worse year than last year?

Yup.

been to see the doctor? 👨‍⚕️

Actually no.

been to the hospital? 🏥

Nope.

had a severe allergic reaction? 🤧

Nope.

had COVID? 🦠

Nope, as far as I'm aware at least.

found out someone you knew had COVID? 🦠

Yeah, my dad did for a week in September. And probably a few other people too, but honestly, it's not that big of a deal anymore.

used an epi pen? 💉

Nope.

had a fever? 🥵

Nope.

had a migraine? 🧠

Nope.

gone on a date? 🌹

Nope.

written in a journal or diary? 📔

Well, I'm working on this survey blog a bit more seriously now.

given someone a hug? 🤗

Yup.

cut your hair? 💇‍♀️

Yess, I cut off most of it, now it's shortish. So much easier to deal with.

danced around your living room? 💃

Yes, ahhh I love dancing.

prayed? 🙏

Nope.

worshiped Jesus?

Nope.

read the Bible? 📖

Nope.

discovered a new favorite book? 📕

Tbh, I don't know if I read Convenience Store Woman at the beginning of this year or the end of last. So I'll say maybe.

gone to church? ⛪️

Nope.

went for a walk in the fall? 🍁

Yup.

set up and decorated a Christmas tree? 🎄

I haven't, but my mum has.

threw up? 🤮

Thank God no. Last year was traumatic enough. And by that I mean I threw up once and almost had a panic attack.

almost threw up? 🤢

No no, let's move on from this now.

discovered a new music artist you really liked? 🎤

Dreamcatcher is pretty cool.

discovered a new song you really liked? 🎶

Of course, plenty. I'll go with Like Crazy by Jimin though. Or Amygdala by Agust D.

seen snow? ⛄️

I have indeed.

seen beautiful fall foliage? 🍁

Yesss.

gone to the beach? 🏝

Yes, we went to the beach near Rome. Didn't swim though.

rode a bike? 🚴

I think I did. I wanted to do it more.

rode a horse? 🐎

Nope.

swam? 👙

Yup.

worn makeup? 💄

A tiny bit.

done a craft project?

Nope.

made a scrapbook page?

I think I did at the beginning of the year. I have to get back to that.

written an essay? 📝

Yes.

painted something? 🎨

Nope.

drawn something? ✍️

I doodled here and there. I'm terrible at it, but I love it.

sketched in a sketchbook?

Same answer.

written someone a letter? 📝

Not this year.

been to a concert? 👩‍🎤

Yup, but sadly nothing too spectacular.

driven a car? 🚘

Of course.

kayaked? 🛶

Nope.

gone on a cruise? 🚢

Nope.

made a big purchase?

Well, plane tickets and apartment booking for Rome.

moved to a new home? 🏡

Nope.

got a new pet?

Hmm, well not technically, but we kind of have another cat. She comes to our backyard every day and we feed her, so she mostly just chills there. She doesn't like being touched, though, but she's still always around. We got her neutered this year too.

lost a pet?

Nope.

gotten a tattoo?

Nope, but I'm very much thinking about it.

gotten a new piercing?

Yup, got one and changed the other one.

started a new hobby?

Kind of, I'm finally going to the gym and taking different classes there. My company is paying membership, so I had to take advantage of it.

worn a mask? 😷

Nope.

felt afraid to leave your house?

Nope.

celebrated your birthday alone?

I didn't celebrate it, alone or otherwise.

celebrated Christmas alone?

Nope, family lunch as always.

went for a long walk through the neighborhood?

Oh yeah.

Favorites of this Year (Pick one for each.)

Song:

Gah, fine, Like Crazy by Jimin.

Book:

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata.

TV show:

The Fall of the House of Usher this year for sure.

Youtube channel:

This year I've been back into gaming and discovered the MoreAnt channel, so I've been binging his horror games and other stuff.

Food:

Sushi.

Dessert:

Chocolate souffle.

Drink:

There's this wonderfully delicious strawberries and cream soda in our new K-food supermarket. I'm absolutely obsessed with it. Fruit soju too, but I can't always drink soju.

Friend:

Sam.

Thing you did:

Went on a first proper trip with my friend group.

Place you went:

Transylvania!

Person you spend time with:

My sister, most of the time.

Thing you did for your birthday:

Went to a goodbye party to see off a friend who moved to Germany. It was a fun little picnic.

Celebrity:

BTS.

Website:

Youtube.

Emojis:

I like the teary eyed one, I'm on my laptop so can't be bothered to do it, but yes. Also the deep in thought one.

Colors:

Blue, black, purple.

Restaurant:

Moon Sushi.

Tea flavor ☕️:

Idk, been drinking a lot of mint.

Final Questions!

Would you say this past year has been a good year overall?

Well, not really. I mean, I had plenty of good moments, looking back, it's just that mentally I wasn't doing so well most of the time.

What are your goals for the new year?

Travel somewhere new, maybe try solo travelling. Read more. Write more (not just for work). Keep up with the gym stuff. Try to say yes to more opportunities. GO BACK TO LEARNING JAPANESE.

How old will you turn next year?

Why do these questions like to torture me... 29.

Did you make any big mistakes this past year?

Nothing much comes to mind.

Do you have any big changes coming?

Well, just adjusting to driving the car around a big city and paying all related expenses.

How will you be celebrating New Year’s Eve this year?

I'll be at my favorite cover band's New Year gig with my friends.

What was the best day of this year for you, and why?

I think probably 15th or 16th July. It's kinda silly, but basically, I went to a gig with my friends and we had a ridiculously good time. My friends' brother and I were making up these weird choreographies for songs, everyone seemed to have really enjoyed themselves, the energy was just awesome. Then I was walking home early in the morning as the sun was coming out and just thinking to myself how these moments are what life is all about.

What did you spend the most time doing this year?

Working, probably.

Happy New Year everyone!

#personal #surveys

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onewingedangels · 3 years

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am like the only person who doesn't have a "favorite cousin" or doesn't like most of the relatives you have?

#personal #the thing is i hate literally both sides of my family: mom's and dad's #like they both are filled with shittiest people in it #and im so glad i stopped visiting those people #but my parents. especially mom loves to guilt trip me with that shit #my cousin's wedding is coming up like in two weeks or less and I despise that guy so much #and the wedding itself is an unorganized mess itself #and i just sooooo dont want to go there lmao #i literally telling my family that this event is going to be the last one i will be visiting #im not seeing those relatives ever again #pls do not re/blo/g

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sourholland · 3 years

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A Royal Convienence || Tom Holland

| Series Masterlist |

Part One

Summary → When an alliance is made between England and France, you are sent away to marry the crown prince and heir to the British throne. Except both you and Prince Thomas despise each other at all odds, subjected to the hand of the monarchy and unable to stand each other.

AN → I’m so excited for this, I honestly thought it’d be out a little sooner but whatever.

Pairing(s) → Prince!Tom x Princess!Reader

Warnings → None

Word Count → 1.8k

Word of the royal engagement had spread quickly, not only by mouth, but through the newspapers as well.

Prince Thomas of Wales and Princess Y/N of France would be married in the spring. Only six weeks awaiting the royal wedding where the crown prince would marry the firstborn princess of France. Rumors of His Majesty, King Dominic’s ill health thickened the air, leaving the country to wonder if the reason for the sudden alliance was perhaps in favor of the succession of the eldest prince.

“Your Royal Highness,” the man bowed his head as you stepped from the ship onto the dock.

You lifted your gloved hand to his outstretched fingers, helping you onto the grass. The clouds hung grayly in the sky, droplets of rain threatening to spill. The man guided you to the carriage not far from where you’d disembarked. He was clearly a member of the royal guard, dressed stiffly and talking very little. You couldn’t tell if this was due to your status or the requirements he was to adhere to.

The inside of the carriage was decorated richly, plush bench seats accompanied by satin curtains of gold. You were tempted to reach over and touch them, retracting your hand when the carriage jerked and began to move through the crowded streets of London.

You were exhausted, hardly sleeping on the journey from France. You’d been unable to keep down any food, seasick and lethargic the whole way. You hadn’t been able to freshen up, assuming that your hair which had been pulled back was a mess by now. You also hadn’t been afforded the luxury of taking your ladies with you, some of which had been with you since you were a girl. This was making things like lacing your own corset considerably more difficult.

The whole way to Buckingham Palace had gone by rather fast, the scenery passing you by reduced to blurs in your memory. It was a much different atmosphere than that of France, or at least what you’d been allowed to see of it. You spent most of your early life being taught how to rule a country, being the heir to the throne until you reached the age of fourteen. Your mother, the Queen Consort Marie, had finally produced a son, an heir, a male to take the throne once the king died.

This day, the day when your brother Prince Louis was born, had been one of the most dreadful days of your life. Everything you’d been working towards, learning about, being trained for, was stripped away from you. After that, you’d been reduced to what it seemed every woman was around you, aristocracy or not, an object of marriage.

Some years later, you would be called into the throne room and told by your father that you would be wed to the Crown Prince of England. You’d only met Prince Thomas once before, at the English Duke’s wedding when you were only twelve years old. He had been only fourteen, unbothered and unfazed by your presence. From what you recalled, your encounter with him had been less than pleasant.

You’d made several attempts to speak with the Prince throughout the night, taking your mother’s words of encouragement. He brushed you off every time, once telling you that he did not care for the French, nor your way of approaching the ‘next King of England.’

“Ma’am.”

You were brought away from your thoughts at the man’s words, your head rising from its place at the wall of the carriage. You glanced out the window, the large palace greeting you. You remembered nothing of coming through the gates, or even seeing the Buckingham Palace for the first time.

You stepped out, flattening your skirts with your palms and doing the best with your hair. You couldn’t imagine how improper you’d probably looked, your stomach churning at the thought of walking through the doors of the palace.

The walk from the carriage to the set of doors that led you into the large entryway was short. The walls were covered in rich fabrics, candles lighting each walkway. The guards accompanying you remained silent, the sound of your shoes against the fine carpet in your ears. You remembered your governess, the way she’d always remind you that a princess never slouched. The straightening of your back and extra spry in your step helped you to gain back a bit of confidence.

Through what felt like dozens of twists and turns, the tallest guard was pushing open two large doors. You stepped in wearily, recognizing it as the throne room. You suddenly became very aware of your appearance, the way you must be an absolute mess.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N of France,” he announced to the room.

You walked before the throne and gave a deep curtsy to both King Dominic and Queen Nicola. You met each of their eyes nervously, you knew it was wrong to look for any bit of illness in the king, unable to help yourself from noticing his paleness and sunken in eyes.

“Your Majesties,” you addressed.

“Why, I haven’t seen you since you were a girl,” she remarked. “Of course, then you were to be the Queen of France. And now—well, there’s Prince Louis, correct?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you answered with a twinge of bitterness. “My brother should take the throne some day.”

King Dominic’s eyes scanned over you promptly, looking for any imperfection, any flaw to point out. This wasn’t odd behavior of a king, yet it still seemed to make you stammer over your words.

“You’ve grown very beautifully, I’m glad of this,” she added. “We’ve had portraits sent over, however, I will say that you are a fine-looking girl.”

There was no sign of the Prince, nor his younger brothers. It was only the king and the queen that occupied the throne room. You felt almost relieved of this, not wishing to see any more people in your current state. You also dreaded your imminent fate, a vow of marriage to a man you hardly knew, let alone could stand.

The large doors opened once more, revealing the eldest Prince, behind him were the twins, and next was the youngest. Prince Thomas held a blank expression, his eyes not yet meeting your own as he walked with his brothers to bow at his parents feet.

“Thomas, I’m sure you remember Y/N,” his mother said, motioning towards you.

His gaze fell on you, his eyes dipping from the cream colored skirts that swayed at your feet, to the mess of hair falling into your face slightly. His hair was slicked back and styled, the embroidery on his tunic rich and in season. His eyes darkened, a look of disdain flashing for a moment.

“I do, mum, I quite clearly recall us being introduced at cousin George’s wedding a few years back,” he answered.

He forced a grin, looking to his mother for approval. She went on about wedding preparations, dining plans, and which wing of the castle your chamber would be. It didn’t take long for you to realize how much of a rambler Queen Nicola truly was. You could only blame it on her longing for a daughter, and the fact that this was the first wedding she’d be able to orchestrate for one of her sons.

“Tomorrow you’ll meet me to choose an engagement ring, then to tea where your Ladies in Waiting will be,” she spoke modestly. “It’s far too late to do anything this evening. Though, I’m sure a chaperone could be arranged if you and Tom wished to speak for a time privately.”

“That won’t be necessary, mum. It’s quite late, I’m sure the Princess would rather retire to her chamber for the night,” the Prince interrupted. Good, you thought. You had no desire to be anywhere near Thomas, not now, and definitely not for what was playing out to be the rest of your miserable life.

“Ma’am,” you started. “Do excuse me if I’m incorrect, however, I thought Prince Thomas should have been the one to choose an engagement ring?” You asked, a snort came from Tom, a dismissive look from the Queen following. He grimaced as his younger brother, Prince Sam, you assumed, had elbowed him in the ribs.

“Well—yes, you are correct. Traditionally, if you and Thomas had courted, and then he’d gone to your father for his blessing, he would have chosen an engagement ring once you agreed to have him. This is not a traditional engagement, though. You’ll look through some of our most precious jewels, I assure you, Y/N.”

You felt your face heat up at her words, drowning out the last of her speech and curtsying again as she and the king left the room. The three younger Princes followed suit, Tom stopped at the archway for a moment. A servant most likely waited behind those slightly ajar doors, ready to escort you to your chambers.

“Princess,” your title lingered on his lips.

“Prince Thomas, can I help you?”

“I wish you would not refer to me as Thomas, that god awful name is reserved for my mother,” he said shortly. “Tom will do fine.”

“Prince Tom, then. Is there a reason you’ve stayed back? We shouldn’t be alone in here,” you had only been in the palace a short time and the last thing you wanted was a scandal.

His expression was not endearing in the least, he looked burdened by you. His jaw was set, his eyes malice, the curl of his lip in disgust. You took in a breath, mimicking his body language and going to pass him out into the hall. You were caught off guard by the jerking of your forearm, his hand grasping at it harshly and pulling you much closer to his face than you had been before.

“If this is what I must do for my country then so be it, however, do not think for a second that I would ever willingly marry someone like you,” he cursed, leaning in so close that you could feel his cool breath on your skin.

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” you said, looking him dead in the eyes. The weight of his words stung like a blade, his expression like pouring salt into an open wound.

“Well then, something we can agree on.”

You yanked away from him, brushing off his grasp and looking up at him with narrowed-eyes. He gritted his teeth as you flattened the fabric of your skirts once more before you left the large room in a fleeting motion.

taglist- @justapurrcat @witchyartemis @keithseabrook27 @clara-licht @dummiesshort @username2002 @imaginationisgrowth @nova-sup3r

#tom holland imagines #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #prince!tom #prince!tom x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine

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hlcreators · 4 years

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AUTHOR REC: mediawhore / @mediawhorefics

Be sure to show some love and leave kudos and a comment!

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you think fashion is your friend, my friend (fashion is danger) (27k)

"Louis has one rule, and one rule only, that he simply refuses to break. He forbids himself to be attracted to anyone he might work with. No wanking to models who might wear his clothes! It’s hardly fair, considering he spends 95% of his time working with the most attractive men on the planet, but his career is more important. Besides, in Louis’ experience, it always leads to disaster. Harry Styles makes respecting the rule really damn hard though and Louis is not quite sure why."

the one where Louis is a famous British designer and Harry is the clumsy, most likely straight model that makes his heart race.

the greatest pretenders (in the cold morning light) (41.5k)

undercover cops/the departed au

Louis and Nick are on two different sides of the law and mobster Simon Cowell is not the only person they have in common. The one where Louis is an undercover cop and Harry is the court-ordered shrink who refuses to prescribe him Valium.

#writer appreciation week #1dsource #hljournal #fics #author rec

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Worst engagement AU // on AO3 (though this chapter will only be posted there tomorrow)

The last thing Nie Huaisang wants is to go to Wen Chao’s weddings. The second last thing he wants is having to work together with Lan Xichen to show that their sects’ alliance is strong.

Set shortly after nhs and jzx had sex. warning for some implications of rape, and for alcohol use

In spite of the Cloud Recesses’s anti-gossip policy, the news that Wen Ruohan’s second son is getting married in less than a month spreads like wildfire among the guest disciples. Everyone has a theory about the need for such a sudden union, but Nie Huaisang thinks that Jin Zixuan’s idea is probably the right one when he whispers to him that Wen Chao probably just knocked up his fiancée so he’d get to marry her early. It’s common knowledge that he likes pretty girls a little too much, and that his father lets him get away with everything.

That could be the beginning and end of it for Nie Huaisang, but one morning he is called to Lan Qiren’s office at the same time as Lan Xichen. They don’t stay there very long, but when they exit they’re stunned enough that they linger at the door side by side, forgetting a moment that they hate each other. Of course Nie Huaisang knew this would happen sooner or later, it's the whole reason why they're engaged, isn't it? And still…

"Have you ever been to Nightless City?" Lan Xichen asks, something not quite right in his usually placid voice.

"Once, before my father died. Before our engagement, even."

Very soon before talks started between Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie, actually. Nie Huaisang had been a little young to grasp it at the time, but some years after he found letters about that visit. At the time, Wen Ruohan was looking for someone to marry his second son.

All in all, Nie Huaisang has to admit Lan Xichen isn't the worst spouse he could have been thrown at.

"I've been a few more times than that," Lan Xichen says, before allowing himself a small grimace. "I am not looking forward to going again. Wen Chao might be getting married but he is a horrid lecher, and Wen Xu is… last time I saw him was at a Night Hunt, and he killed someone's spirit dog for barking too loud."

That's a story Nie Huaisang has heard as well. It's not, and by far, the worst rumour going about Wen Xu. And that's without getting into what is said about Wen Ruohan himself.

"Your uncle is right," Nie Huaisang sighs. "We'll have to show that the alliance between our sects is going strong. If the Wens think there's a weakness…"

"That means we'll have to act like we get along," Lan Xichen points out. "Can you even do that?"

"I did a good job of that until I got tired of pretending," Nie Huaisang snaps. "But you… won't it be hard to pretend you don't despise me?"

Lan Xichen gives him a long look, his expression unreadable.

"I don't despise you," he says at last, and it almost sounds believable. It will have to do. "Do you have anything appropriate to wear? I don't suppose you brought anything here for this sort of occasion. If you want, I can try to…"

"Nie Mingjue will be there too, he’ll bring what's necessary," Nie Huaisang cuts him. “Thank you for trying to help,” he adds when he remembers that they’ll need to work together, at least for a bit. Might as well get started already. “But it really wouldn’t do if I showed up in Lan robes anyway.”

“I suppose it’s not appropriate when we aren’t married yet,” Lan Xichen concedes. “Very well. I have a lot to do, I will see you later.”

Nie Huaisang watches him go, a little upset about… everything really. The last thing he wants is to go to a wedding of any sort, least of all a Wen wedding. He also doesn’t want to work with Lan Xichen, and this is an unpleasant reminder of things to come. Lan Xichen will turn twenty in less than two years, meaning their own wedding will follow closely, and they’ve both shown through their actions and words that it won’t be a happy one.

But there’s no choice, not for them.

And at least, Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng too will be there, as well as Nie Mingjue, so he’ll suffer in good company.

If it is important to show a united front before Qishan Wen, it is also important not to seem too united either. To avoid this, both Jiang Fengmian and Jin Guangshan separately pick up their sons to head toward Nightless City, while Nie Huaisang travels with Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren until they are joined by Nie Mingjue and go the rest of the way all together. The evening of their arrival in Nightless City, when they are alone in their room, Nie Mingjue reminds his brother that he is in enemy territory and must watch himself.

“Be smart,” he orders. “But don’t let it show too much either. At this point, they’re looking for any excuse to attack other sects.”

Nie Huaisang nods, thinking about that Waterborne Abyss they fought. Wei Wuxian had said it wasn’t normal for it to be there, and Qishan Wen territory is up the river from Caiyi and…

“There’s really going to be a war, uh?” Nie Huaisang realises. “It can’t be avoided?”

“They’re preparing for it. I think… in five years. Ten at most. I’m trying to recruit more people into the sect,” Nie Mingjue admits. “I’ve lowered the criteria, and I’m taking even adults if they show enough promise. We’re going to need all the people we can get.”

Five years is a frighteningly short time. Nie Huaisang will be married to Lan Xichen by then, so at least Nie Mingjue is sure he’ll have another sect to count on. Maybe he’ll have found a wife too. Jiang Yanli is an option again, and Nie Huaisang gets along with her brothers, while Yunmeng Jiang is always handy in a fight. It’s an option worth mentioning to Jiang Cheng, so he can maybe tell his parents. Anything to make sure that Nie Mingjue doesn’t end up alone against the man who killed their father.

Some of his worries must show on Nie Huaisang’s face. Without warning, Nie Mingjue grabs him by the collar and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Don’t worry about that. When war comes we’ll be prepared. All you have to think about is how to make it look like you and Xichen are the best friends in the world so the Wens don’t start thinking there’s a weakness in our alliance. Just make an effort until that stupid wedding is over, alright?”

“I will, but he’d better do the same!”

“You’re such a brat,” Nie Mingjue grumbles fondly. “Just behave yourself. I know I can count on you.”

In Nie Huaisang’s experience, weddings are boring affairs and this one is no different. There are so many guests that he can’t even see the arrival of the bride, which is a shame because he was mildly curious to see how Wen Chao would deal with having to pretend he needs to prove himself worthy of her. With how proud he and his brother are, that would have been quite the show.

At least, while everyone else is distracted waiting for the bride to arrive, Nie Huaisang is free to escape his brother’s watch to go chat with Jin Zixuan in a less crowded spot from which they should be able to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate girl. Before long Jiang Cheng joins them, ostensibly because he’s bored in his father’s company, but mostly because he doesn’t like to be left out. Nie Huaisang feels a little guilty that he didn’t signal him as well to go chat, but he had assumed Jiang Cheng would be too serious to want to watch and gossip on such a day.

They keep the conversation mostly light at first, complimenting one another on their outfits. Nie Huaisang gets teased a bit for not being quite as well dressed as his friends, and starts putting the blame on his brother who didn’t bring any of his better robes, and only one set of hair ornaments. They only drop that conversation when, at last, the groom and his bride walk by on their way to take their bows. It is the bride, of course, that really gets their attention. Her face is hidden by a richly decorated veil, and her dress is of such a shape that it is impossible to say if she is a thick or slender girl, and yet even like this…

“Definitely pregnant and trying to hide it,” Jin Zixuan whispers in the tone of someone who has seen it often. “Very pregnant, even. No wonder they had to hurry so much. I wonder if she tried to hide it from them?”

“But why would she?” Nie Huaisang asked, opening his fan to help hide their conversation. “You think she was scared he wouldn’t marry her?”

Jin Zixuan shrugs, but Jiang Cheng leans toward them.

“Apparently, she’s from a certain branch of Qishan Wen that doesn’t quite agree with their current ambitions,” he whispers. “They are all mostly doctors, and they’ve made objections against some of Wen Ruohan’s decisions. My father told me several members of that branch have been executed for treason in the last few years, and now it’s being led by a girl who’s only a little more than twenty. The bride is her cousin, and I’ve heard the lady Wen Qing was trying to get the engagement cancelled until recently.”

“You think Wen Chao got her pregnant to make sure the wedding would have to happen?” Nie Huaisang gasps.

“You need healers for a war,” Jin Zixuan remarks in a low voice, his face hardening. “And everyone says Wen Chao would do anything to get his father’s approval… though from what I’ve heard, it mustn’t have been too hard for him to harass a helpless girl.”

“Girls really have it rough with engagements,” Nie Huaisang mutters, feeling a twinge of pity for the bride. “Maybe I should stop complaining about mine so much.”

“I’ll buy you a new fan if you can last a day without saying anything against Lan Xichen,” Jiang Cheng retorts, his voice regaining a more normal volume.

“I’ll owe you a favour if you make that a week,” Jin Zixuan adds.

Nie Huaisang closes his fan and glares at both of them.

“I don’t speak that much about him!”

“Tell yourself that,” Jin Zixuan says, patting his shoulder.

The teasing and the casual touch have Nie Huaisang gaping in mock horror. He’s glad that Jin Zixuan isn’t so formal with him since that afternoon where they were so very bored that they fooled around, but to have that familiarity turned against him is absolutely unfair.

Besides, Nie Huaisang really doesn’t speak that much about Lan Xichen. He has better things to do with his time, and…

“Speaking of the devil,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “Guess who is coming this way?”

Nie Huaisang immediately turns around to look, readying himself to be annoyed that what little fun he can expect today is already coming to an end.

Instead he finds himself stunned at the sight of Lan Xichen walking toward them, his hair done with more care than usual and decorated with silver, wearing pale blue robes that give him a youthful air he normally doesn’t get from his boring white Gusu Lan uniform. Most of the time Nie Huaisang is too busy hating him to see it, but at the moment it is hard to ignore that Lan Xichen is, and by far, the most handsome young master in their generation.

“I’m glad he’s engaged to you already,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “Imagine trying to find someone to marry if he were still free!”

“You can have him if you like,” Nie Huaisang retorts between clenched teeth, before forcing himself to smile at Lan Xichen when he reaches them. “Lan gongzi, were you looking for us perhaps?”

“Yes. I’ve been sent to warn you that the young couple has taken the three bows and the feast will soon begin. It would be best to find out quickly where we are to sit, to avoid bringing undue attention on ourselves by being late.”

“If Lan gongzi leads the way, we will follow,” Jiang Cheng replies with a short bow, which gets him a mocking eyeroll from Nie Huaisang the instant Lan Xichen turns away. Even Jin Zixuan seems amused by how polite Jiang Cheng can be when he bothers.

The feast is conducted in a large courtyard inside the palace. Though it is a large space, there are so many guests that it still feels crowded, which made Nie Huaisang wonder if it is done on purpose, especially since Wen Ruohan’s family gets a large space to itself on a raised platform, so they can tower over the rest of them in great comfort.

Much to their dismay, Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng find that the seating arrangements have them right next to each other. They make great efforts not to complain about it, but Nie Huaisang knows when they’re all back to Gusu, he’s going to hear about that at length from both of them. It’s fine by him, because he’ll have a few complaints of his own. Not only is he seated far from his friends, he’s also going to spend the feast with Lan Xichen at his side, and not too far from where the Wen Juniors are installed. It promises to be a very unpleasant day.

“I can’t imagine how this could be worse,” Nie Huaisang mutters under his breath as they sit down.

“I can,” Lan Xichen replies just as quietly. “Jin Zixun could be here.”

Nie Huaisang snorts, and shivers theatrically.

“Lan gongzi, don’t speak such horror. I don’t think I could survive something so horrible.”

“Hm. This time, I would protect you,” Lan Xichen calmly replies. “In fact I will, if the need arises.”

Taken aback, Nie Huaisang doesn’t say anything. There isn't anybody paying attention to them at the moment, but if Lan Xichen wants to play up the comedy already, why not. It’s better to get in character right away so they’re not taken by surprise when the time comes.

Food has just been served when problems find them. If Wen Chao has retired with his bride after the usual traditions, Wen Xu is still there, going from guest to guest with a smile that says he’s looking for trouble. Seeing him coming their way, Lan Xichen tenses and leans toward Nie Huaisang.

“They’re probably going to try to make me drink,” he whispers. “People always do when there are Gusu Lan cultivators at a feast, and I think Wen Xu personally dislikes me. Can you help me avoid it?”

“If you try to avoid it, it’ll just make it worse. Isn’t it tolerated to drink at celebrations?”

Lan Xichen nods with uncertainty, before glancing toward Wen Xu who seems to have spotted them.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“It’s not just about the rules,” Lan Xichen confesses in a low voice, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “I react badly to alcohol. Very badly. It might create problems if I have any, more so than if I appear stubborn in refusing it.”

It sounds like just an excuse to stick to his precious rules, because nobody can be so weak to alcohol that even just one cup would be bad. But Lan Xichen does look sincerely nervous at the prospect, and it’s unnerving to see him like that.

“I’ll do my best,” Nie Huaisang promises.

Lan Xichen throws him a grateful smile and sits upright once more, just as Wen Xu and a group of Qishan Wen cultivators reach them.

“I hope we are not interrupting you lovebirds?” he asks, looming over them.

“We were not talking of anything important,” Lan Xichen replied politely. “Wen gongzi, it is a pleasure to see you. I hope you are well?”

“As well as a man can be, seeing his little brother marry before him. Not that I envy Wen Chao, his bride looks like a sow. A feeling you can relate to, I’m sure.”

Nie Huaisang bites his tongue at the insult but manages to pretend he doesn’t understand it. Next to him, Lan Xichen blinks innocently.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t you?” Wen Xu remarks with a grin. “And here I had heard Lan gongzi was so smart.”

“At least Wen Chao’s wife is a cultivator,” someone says behind him. “I’ve heard Lan gongzi’s fiancé doesn’t even have a golden core.”

Nie Huaisang’s hands clench on his knees and he struggles to keep smiling. He knew his patience would be tested, and he knows that the Wens aren’t even pretending to respect other sects anymore, but saying something like that so publicly is just…

“I am sorry to hear such rumours spread,” Lan Xichen calmly replies. “Certain people have taken a dislike to Nie gongzi, and amuse themselves with spreading falsehood regarding his person, which I find very regretful. If you can tell me who shared those lies with you, we are trying to find the source so that we might put an end to it.”

“It’s just common knowledge,” Wen Xu retorts. “Didn’t Nie gongzi fail to pass his exams in Gusu last year? Either he must be a very pitiful cultivator, or your uncle isn’t as excellent a teacher as he claims to be. Or both, perhaps? I hear this year too he had such problems with a student that he simply gave up and sent him home.”

“What school can boast of a perfect success rate?” Lan Xichen gently counters. “If every student always passed, it would be truly miraculous. External circumstances can make it hard for some to focus on their studies, and this is what happened to Nie gongzi. As for the other student you mentioned, his guardian decided that it was preferable for him to return home for the time being, and my uncle could not have stopped him.”

Wen Xu smirks. “Lan gongzi, Lan gongzi… you always have the perfect answer to everything, don’t you? It makes it very frustrating to hold a conversation with you. Maybe I’ll try chatting with Nie gongzi instead. I wonder if he has anything interesting to say?”

Smiling as well as he can , Nie Huaisang brings his hands before him and bows slightly.

“If Wen gongzi wishes it, I will do my best to be worthy of the honour.”

Wen Xu looks him over and shrugs.

“I doubt you’ll be, so I think I won’t bother after all. In fact, I think I’ll go check our other guests now. Ah but first… a toast perhaps? This is an auspicious occasion after all.”

Nie Huaisang glances at Lan Xichen who, in spite of having his fears confirmed, looks perfectly calm even as Wen Xu pours alcohol for all three of them. He does, however, hesitate a brief instant to take the cup offered to him, his hand trembling slightly when he finally does so.

“Wen gongzi, I understand you cannot know,” Nie Huaisang says as innocently as he can, stealing the cup from his fiancé’s hand, “but Gusu Lan rules are against alcohol. Let me pour some new tea for Lan gongzi so he may still toast with us to your brother’s good fortune.”

He does just that, placing a fresh cup of tea in Lan Xichen’s hand to replace the wine he stole. Wen Xu glares at both of them.

“Is it really a toast if it is with tea?” he mocks.

Nie Huaisang smiles. “Wen gongzi, I’m sure the heavens will understand that Lan gongzi cannot break his sect’s rules. Adherence to them is key to their cultivation method, as I understand. Please, do spare Lan gongzi. If it is really essential that three cups of wine be drunk, then I will also take his. As we are to be married, it is only normal for me to bear any burden he cannot take onto himself.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Wen Xu retorts. “Fine, Lan gongzi may toast with tea, if he must. To the newlyweds, may they know happiness and prosperity!”

They all cheer and drink. Nie Huaisang allows himself to relax a little, convinced that Wen Xu will leave them alone now, since they’re not letting themselves be bullied by him. When the Wens still linger after the toast, he realises that victory won’t be so easy.

“Lan gongzi, if you won’t drink, then at least try the dishes,” Wen Xu suggests, looking pointedly at Lan Xichen’s bowl. “Or does your sect forbid that as well?”

“On the contrary, new experiences are encouraged,” Lan Xichen replies, still quite calm, “and I am not well acquainted with Nightless City’s cuisine. Wen gongzi, do you recommend anything in particular?”

“I think this one would please Lan gongzi,” Wen Xu says, pushing a dish toward Lan Xichen.

Nie Huaisang hardly dares breathe as he watches Lan Xichen grab a piece of vegetable from the dish and put it in his mouth without the slightest hesitation.

“Wen gongzi, this is very good indeed,” Lan Xichen agrees.

“Of course it is. Lan gongzi, you should try that one as well.”

A second dish is pushed his way. Just like the first, Lan Xichen doesn’t hesitate to eat some, but the instant the food touches his tongue, Nie Huaisang knows something is different. Lan Xichen’s eyes get watery and he drops his chopstick, hurriedly reaching for his tea while the Wens laugh around him. Their hilarity doubles when Lan Xichen’s eyes widen in shock and he stares down at his nearly empty cup.

“Is the tea not to your liking?” Wen Xu taunts him. “I thought it looked a little bland so I asked my friend to improve it a little. I hope Lan gongzi doesn’t mind.”

On cue, a boy at his side shows off a small jar which he shakes mockingly, making their whole group laugh. For a second, Nie Huaisang wants to jump to his feet and punch Wen Xu’s teeth off, politics be damned. The only reason he doesn’t is because next to him, Lan Xichen laughs softly.

“You certainly got me,” he says, his smile as polite as ever. “Congratulations, that is the smartest way I’ve seen one of us be tricked into drinking. I’ll have to be more careful in the future.”

Seeing him apparently amused by their prank, the Wens immediately stop finding it funny. They tease him a little more, but Lan Xichen takes it all with good humour. They quickly tire of it and Wen Xu goes looking for another victim. As soon as they’re gone, Lan Xichen urgently grasps Nie Huaisang’s sleeve.

“Nie gongzi, help me get away please,” he whispers. “I don’t feel good at all.”

It was just a few sips, mixed with tea, but Lan Xichen seems so concerned that Nie Huaisang doesn’t question it.

“Just wait for me a second,” he demands. “I’ll be back.”

He rises from his seat and scutters over a little further in the courtyard where Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are trying to not have an argument.

“Jiang-xiong, Jin-xiong, can I ask a favour?” Nie Huaisang chirps. His cheerfulness must sound a little too forced, because they both throw him a concerned look. He smiles a little wider, and laughs softly. “Ah, it’s a small one I swear! Could one of you warn Lan Qiren that his nephew is feeling a little unwell? I’m taking him somewhere a little quieter, but I think his uncle should know.”

He dares not say more, dares not ask for Lan Qiren to come check on them, but hopefully the fact that Lan Xichen needs to remove himself from the feast will be enough to signal that something is wrong. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan promise to go pass the message and though they start arguing about who ought to do it, Nie Huaisang trusts them to get it done. He returns to Lan Xichen’s side and grabs the hem of his sleeve to pull him toward the exit.

Getting there is a harder task than planned. Lan Xichen, always so steady and elegant, starts wobbling a little as they walk. Nie Huaisang can’t help thinking he’d be enjoying this a lot if only they weren’t surrounded by enemies. If anyone realises that Lan Xichen is inebriated, if they try to take advantage of it to create trouble…

It seems natural to take Lan Xichen’s hand. It’s the most efficient way to guide him and help him stay balanced. And if anyone sees… well, they’re engaged, so it’s no big scandal. It’s just the most practical way to deal with the situation.

Lan Xichen appears to be of another mind. The moment Nie Huaisang takes his hand, he stops walking and stares down in shock. Nie Huaisang braces himself for an unpleasant comment that never comes.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Lan Xichen says, interlacing their fingers and grinning at the sight.

“You really are drunk,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, pulling to get them moving again.

“I think you’re right,” Lan Xichen replies, nodding once. “Maybe it’s not bad if it makes you be this nice to me. I like when you’re nice. I like holding your hand, also. It’s so warm!”

“Lying is against the rules.”

“It is! That’s why I’m not lying. We should hold hands more often, A-Sang.”

Nie Huaisang nearly trips at hearing Lan Xichen call him like this. He would have fallen, if not for the other boy’s grip on him.

“Saved you!” Lan Xichen laughs.

He sounds absolutely delighted by that idea, making Nie Huaisang wonder just how strong the wine in that tea was. Was it even only tea, if Lan Xichen is so out of it? If the Wens have a whole clan of healers in their midst, who knows what sort of drugs they might have on hand.

By the time he’s brought Lan Xichen out of the courtyard and into a more peaceful area, Nie Huaisang is genuinely concerned for the other boy. It’s just not normal for Lan Xichen to be smiling so much. Neither is the way he grins every time he remembers they’re holding hands. He’s got to have been drugged, there’s no other explanation, and if he still remembers this in the morning, he’ll be furious at Nie Huaisang for letting him act so ridiculously.

Wanting to spare both of them a little shame, Nie Huaisang tries to get his hand back. Lan Xichen doesn’t let him.

“Let’s stay like this a little more,” he pleads. “It’s so nice. You have nice hands, A-Sang. You have nice everything. It’s so hard to be around you, because you’re so nice but so mean. Why are you so mean, A-Sang?”

“You started it,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, glancing around and hoping Lan Qiren will come soon. There’s got to be something very, very wrong with Lan Xichen if he’s saying such stupid things.

Lan Xichen gets very still.

“Oh. I did start it,” he mumbles sadly, tightening his grip on Nie Huaisang’s hand. “I’ve been mean too, right? But I’m not now. I’m trying. A-Sang, why can’t we both stop being mean and just be friends? I really want to be friends. You’re so pretty and talented, we really should be friends.”

He sounds painfully earnest. For a moment, Nie Huaisang almost forgets that it’s only the wine speaking, that Lan Xichen despises him. What’s happening is a lie, but it’s a pleasant one. For years and years, all Nie Huaisang has wanted is for Lan Xichen to be nice to him. He must still want it, because his traitorous heart is beating so hard in his chest that it nearly drowns out the sounds of the nearby party.

It would be nice if Lan Xichen liked him.

And it’d be nice too if the Wens all choked to death tonight, saving them from an otherwise unavoidable war.

Between the two, Nie Huaisang knows which one was more likely to happen.

Before Lan Xichen can babble more nonsense, Lan Qiren finally joins them, clearly concerned. His worry only increases when Nie Huaisang hurriedly explains what happened with Wen Xu.

“I think maybe the wine was drugged actually. He’s acting very unlike himself since drinking it.”

Lan Qiren grabs his nephew’s wrist, forcing him to let go of Nie Huaisang’s hand (Lan Xichen pouts) so that he can check on him.

“No, that was just wine,” Lan Qiren sighs, relieved. “He shares his mother’s weakness. Thank you for your help, Nie gongzi. You may leave, I will take care of him.”

Nie Huaisang nods, breathing a little more easily at the news that nothing dangerous was given to the other boy. It’s a little funny that anyone could be so affected by just a little wine, but Lan Qiren doesn’t seem too surprised. He is surprisingly gentle as he takes his nephew by the shoulders and starts trying to lead him away.

“You won’t punish him, right?” Nie Huaisang asks after some hesitation. “It’s not his fault. We really tried to make it so he didn’t drink anything, but somebody spiked his tea and tricked him. It’d be unfair to punish him.”

“I’m surprised you care,” Lan Qiren states dryly.

“Of course I care,” Nie Huaisang replies after checking around. They are, in fact, alone, but it’s better to be prudent and… perhaps he does care, in spite of himself.

Lan Xichen startles at the answer, and smiles brightly, trying to escape his uncle’s grasp to get back to Nie Huaisang.

“You really do?” he asks. “I’m so glad! I care about you so much, A-Sang!”

Like all the rest, it sounds unbearably genuine in a way that Lan Xichen never is. Nie Huaisang feels his face burn in embarrassment, and is forced to look away. He just cannot handle the bright, sincere way Lan Xichen is smiling at him, as if he were really happy to be near him. As if he really did want to be friends.

Thankfully, Lan Qiren has no patience for his drunken nephew’s antics, and starts dragging Lan Xichen away before he can make more of a fool of himself. Nie Huaisang watches them go. He’s half grateful that Lan Qiren came when he did, because this was really getting too silly, but he can’t help feeling a little disappointed as well. He rather likes this version of Lan Xichen who thinks well of him, and he wouldn’t have minded a little more time with him.

#xisang #worst engagement au #jau writes #it's a long chapter #and one I've waited for a long time lol #featuring: nhs and lxc make a great team #nhs's turn on the 'maybe my fiancé is a multidimensional person' train #this fic's first use of A-Sang #also featuring a lot of talk about a possible war and guess what? Sizhui is there!#kind of XD

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exhaustedfander · 4 years

Note

moxiety with fake dating? mayhaps with some gay panicking because ahhh cute stranger hold hngg hand??

I was having such stupid technical difficulties ith Word, but here it is, sorry it’s been like three weeks, lol. I’d love to hear what you think!

a03 link

word count: 3,008

Fake it Till You Make it

Virgil’s always careful whilst staking out a seat in the coffee shop he frequents. He makes sure not to sit in an area that’s too crowded, as to bypass unnecessary human-contact, while simultaneously avoiding the table too close to the door that lets a draft in. He’s been coming here a long time now, as it’s the closest place to his College, as well as the fact that the coffee is reasonably priced, and the atmosphere is pretty damn cozy. Also… there’s a barista that happens to be the cutest man Virgil’s ever laid his eyes on, but that’s beside the point!

By now, all of the staff know his order – a cinnamon Cappuccino with enough whipped cream to drown in – like the back of their hands, so he has to worry about social interaction a lot less than usual. The adorable barista in question, Patton, has only ever taken his order, sweet as can be while doing so, but Virgil’s never really talked to the guy. Not that he plans on it! That is waaay too nerve-racking to so much as think about, thank you very much. Sure, he can get lost in those ocean-blue eyes and often fantasizes about running his hand through those strawberry-blonde curls but talking to him is strictly out of the question. He likes this coffee spot and would really hate to have to find a new shop all because he’s made a fool of himself.

So, it’s not hard to imagine Virgil’s utter shock when he finds that very same barista standing beside him, a dazzling smile on his face.

“Is this seat taken?” He asks, in reference to the chair beside him, and Virgil’s fairly sure he forgets how to breathe for a moment.

“Uh – no,” he manages to stutter, “It’s all yours, man.” The barista grins, sitting beside him.

“Thanks… Virgil, right?” Virgil blinks surprised he’d remember something as inconsequence as his name.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, “My, uh, friends call me Virge. You can, too, if you wanted to.” Virgil despises the way his voice is trembling; why is he so fucking nervous? It’s just basic, human, social interaction (with the most beautiful man to grace this Earth, but basic, human social interaction nonetheless)

“Sure, thing, Virge. I’m Patton,” he says, as though Virgil hadn’t memorized the name on his nametag the moment, he saw him. “I like your pin, by the way.”

Virgil glances down at the Bisexual pin on his backpack, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. It’s not like he’s missed the rainbow shirt he’s seen peeking out from behind Patton’s apron sometimes – an apron he doesn’t currently have on, meaning he’s off the clock, also meaning instead of going home, he’s sitting here, talking to him. So, yeah, Patton’s probably gay, and he’s talking to him, but that doesn’t actually mean anything. It doesn’t stop Virgil from panicking quite a bit, though.

“Thanks,” Virgil says, trying his absolute hardest to keep his cool. He’s wanted to talk to Patton for so long, but he hadn’t imagined it would ever actually happen.

“You come here a lot, huh?” Patton asks. Virgil rubs at the back of his neck, struggling to maintain eye-contact.

“Uh- yeah. This is a cool place, and it’s not too far from my school.” Virgil fails to mention the fact that Patton’s a big reason he comes in nearly daily, thinking such a detail might come off as super creepy.

As awkward as Virgil is, a conversation is struck up. He learns that Patton is a student at his college, too (How the fuck did he manage to miss a face like that??) and that he’s studying to be a Veterinarian, which Virgil finds a little funny, considering he’s terribly allergic to cats. Patton’s a big fan of dad-jokes and puns, and while he can try and groan, it just manages to make Patton all the more adorable. He also discovers that yes, Patton is gay and that he first came about a year ago.

“Yeah, my parents weren’t too thrilled,” Patton says in a voice that’s desperately trying to stay chipper, but the sorrow creeps in all the same, “They still aren’t.”

“Mine either,” Virgil says before he really knows what he’s saying, “I haven’t, uh, talked to them in a long time. I might never again, honestly.” A look of sympathy crosses Patton’s face, though it’s clear that he relates, maybe more than he wants to admit to himself.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Virge.”

Virgil shrugs. It’s nothing new. He came out to his parents at seventeen, a choice that was quite the feat considering the level of anxiety he suffers from, and it hadn’t gone well at all. His folks hadn’t kicked him out, but they’d insisted that he was never to take a boy home. At first, Virgil had tried to get on their good side, they were his parents, after all. But it didn’t take long for him to realize what a fruitless venture that was. They weren’t going to change, regardless of how much he wanted them to.

Once he got to college, he had an opportunity to meet a few really great people, despite his social-anxiety, individuals who had shown him how important it is to have positive relationships in life. At this point, it could undo a few years of positive change to let his parents back into his life, and Virgil wasn’t about to go and do a thing like that.

“It’s alright,” he says, “They’re assholes, anyway. I got some pretty cool relatives though, and some really good friends, so that helps.” Patton frowns, and suddenly Virgil decides he despises the sad expression on him, wondering what the hell he could do to make it go away.

“My parents are assholes too,” Patton murmurs, as though saying such a word is incomprehensively bad, and as if Virgil hadn’t said it too about three seconds ago. “They really are. I’ve been trying. Trying so hard to be patient with them and allow them time to adjust but… it just isn’t happening. They’re still talking about when I end up with “some lucky lady.” I don’t know…” Patton pauses, his eyes widening, “Oh my goodness, I’m sorry.” Virgil tilts his head.

“What for?”

“For dumping all that on you. I mean, we hardly know each other. It was rude of me.”

“Nah, man, you’re good. I was just talking about my parents, there’s no reason to apologize. And I should know, I’m kind of the king of apologizing for shit I didn’t do.” Patton cracks a small smile at that, and Virgil swells with a pit too much pride. “My point is, you didn’t overshare, or anything. We’re just having a conversation, you’re good, I promise.” Patton looks relieved.

“Thanks, Virgil. You’re really nice.” Virgil’s heart can’t help but soar a little bit at that. Sometimes, he’s convinced he’s a massive asshole, despite his friends insisting that it isn’t. but it’s really nice to know that Patton thinks he’s nice.

“No prob, Pat. You’re nice too.”

“Well then, I’m glad we were able to break the nice,” Patton says, earning a half-hearted groan. “I’ve kinda wanted to talk to you for a while, actually.” Virgil’s heart skips a beat.

“R-really? Why?”

“Because,” Patton says with a smile, “You always seemed so interesting. Mentioning your Pin was, uh, kind of just an excuse to talk to you,” Patton admits and, holy shit, is he flirting?! Virgil can’t tell, but sirens are going off in his head regardless.

“I – uh,” Virgil bites his tongue, trying to come up with a dignified response of some kind, but failing to do so. “Thanks?” Despite Virgil’s criminal lack of tact, Patton just smiles, a look that quickly disappears when he gets a notification and checks his phone.

“What’s up?” Virgil asks, before realizing it’s hardly his business. He’s known Patton for what? An hour or so now – oh my god, Patton’s been talking to him for over an hour – and that doesn’t give Virgil the authority to inquire upon the barista’s personal life beyond what he’s already been told. Patton shakes his head.

“My cousin Dalilah getting married next week,” Patton explains, despite Virgil’s hesitation, “She’s one of the only family members who I’m really close to; she’s such a sweetheart.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“My mom and dad are going to be at the wedding,” Patton sighs, “And I don’t have a date. If I show up without some guy on my arm, I know they’re just gonna assume that the crisis is over, and they can set me up with the next available girl. They already think me being gay is a phase, this is all the reason they need to think the phase is over.” A sad look flickers in Patton’s eyes and instantly, all logic or uncertainty that Virgil’s clinging to goes out the window.

“What if I was your date?” Patton’s eyes go as wide as saucers and, oh shit, he really just said that aloud.

“W-what?”

“L-like a fake date,” Virgil backpedals, his heart rate spiking in a matter of seconds, “So t-that your parents aren’t dicks to you. Or at least, are less of dicks.”

For a moment, Virgil almost dares to think that the explanation made Patton look kinda… disappointed? Not that it would make much sense, it’s not like he’d actually want Virgil to be his date.

“Virgil you… you can’t be serious.”

“Well, why not?” Virgil asks, knowing he’s most probably going to regret this later, “You’re a cool guy who’s in a shitty situation. Your parents are going to be relentless to you, and I don’t like the idea of that, so… why don’t I make things a little easier for you?” Virgil says, impressed he gets through it without feeling as anxious as he had a few moments ago.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Patton mumbles guiltily, his eyes cast on the table, “I wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your weekend just for me.”

“Pat, I was just gonna aimlessly scroll through Tumblr till two in the morning and watch shitty TV. And– erm– being your fake date sounds a lot more interesting to me.” (Not to mention nerve-racking!) Patton meets Virgil’s gaze once more, relief etched into his features.

“You’d really be willing to do this?” Patton asks, “You don’t need to, you know.”

“I want to,” Virgil assures. “So, what do you say?” Patton thinks for a moment before that beautiful smile spreads across his face anew.

“That sounds perfect! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Patton says, standing up from his chair and throwing his arms around the emo, “You’re a lifesaver, Virgil!” Virgil stiffens in the awkward embrace, before accepting it to the best of his ability, trying not to freak out because Patton fucking Hart is hugging him!

“Sure thing, Pat.”

After that, arrangements are made. As it turns out, Patton isn’t the biggest fan of lying, hates it, honestly, which makes things a little trickier. But a compromise is come to that they met each other in the Coffee shop, which was true and had been on a few dates prior to the wedding. While that wasn’t technically true (God does Virgil wish it was) they do spend several days throughout the week hanging out and getting to know one another. And within those few days, Virgil’s infatuation with Patton inflames to a full-on crush which is just great.

Getting better acquainted with him, Virgil finds himself quickly getting used to Patton’s bubbly personality. He’s eager to pet every dog he comes into contact with, he enjoys baking quite a bit, though he’s not great at it, he’s adorably awkward in the best ways and he’s one of the kindest, most genuine people Virgil’s ever met.

Usually, Virgil’s so well-guarded, but with Patton, he’s opening up quicker and more willingly than he has in such a long time. Patton listens with such compassion, and while Virgil’s really happy to have the other friends that he does, he’s never met someone as sweet as Patton is. It’s almost a little overwhelming at times, how caring he is.

Before they know it, the day is upon them. Virgil gets a rental suite while trying not to swoon at Patton in his sky-blue tux, because really, how is it legal for him to look that cute?

Patton grabs his hand the moment they walk into the venue, sending Virgil a careful glance and squeezing his hand just slightly.

“This okay?” He whispers, ever the compassionate one, and Virgil nods.

“Yeah, ‘s okay.” Virgil can’t recall the last time someone held his hand, and he certainly can’t remember the number of times he’s imagined Patton holding his hand, prior to them even being friends.

They take their seats, and the ceremony proceeds as usual. It’s beautiful, not that Virgil is paying too much attention, distracted by Patton’s nervous glances toward an older couple that must be his folks.

“Hey, are you alright?” Virgil asks quietly. Patton forces a smile, his eyes trained on his cousin and her fiancé.

“Yeah, I’m – I’m fine,” – he doesn’t sound fine –, “It’s just…” Patton trails off, his gaze flickering back to his parents for a moment. Virgil places his hand over Patton’s, who’s trembling is noticeable immediately. Carefully, Virgil runs his thumb over Patton’s knuckles in an even, circular motion. Luckily, it seems to calm Patton down to a degree, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Dalilah for the rest of the ceremony.

However, almost immediately upon the afterparty starting, they’re cornered by Mr. and Mrs. Hart.

“Patton, you didn’t come and say hello,” his mother scolds.

“Well, there were a lot of people,” Patton says nervously, “I figured we’d –.”

“Who’s this?” Patton’s father interrupts, gesturing to Virgil standing beside him.

“Virgil Storme,” Virgil says as calmly as he’s able, extending a hand for the father to shake. Mr. Hart’s hand remains rigid at his side. “I’m Patton’s boyfriend. It’s nice to meet you.”

Virgil can’t help but notice as anxiety wells up inside of him because, fuck, they’d never said they were going to call each other boyfriend’s, just that they’d been on a few dates, but Mr. Hart had such a smug look and he couldn’t help it. Despite his raging internal monologue, Patton plants a hand onto the small of his back, lips curling into a smile.

“That’s right,” Patton says, “Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend.”

The look of slackened shock on their faces would be priceless, weren’t it for the fact that these are still Patton’s parents, individuals who’ve had a direct influence on him throughout the entirety of his life.

“You’ve never – you’ve never mentioned a boyfriend before,” Patton’s mother says, glaring at her son.

“And certainly not one who looks like some kind of a hooligan,” Mr. Hart grits, gesturing to Virgil’s dyed purple hair and pierced ears. Virgil intends to let the insult go, as it would only cause more trouble to confront it, but Patton has other ideas.

“Hey, you have no right to talk like that about Virgil,” Patton says, an edge to his voice that Virgil had yet to hear until now. Virgil grips for Patton’s hand, lacing their fingers together and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“How long has this been going on, sweetie?” Mrs. Hart chimes in, though it’s unclear if she’s referring to Virgil himself, or Patton’s sexuality as a whole. Either way, it’s a poor choice of words.

“My whole life, mom,” Patton spits, a venomous tone that would surely be louder if they weren’t at a wedding, “I’ve been gay my whole life, and nothing is going to change that.”

“But –.”

“But, nothing,” Patton interrupts boldly, “I’m not having this conversation, not again. If you can’t accept the fact that I’m never going to end up with ‘some nice girl,’ and that Virgil is absolutely wonderful, then we haven’t got anything to talk about.”

The words are a slap across Mr. and Mrs. Hart's face, who reel back in shock.

“Patton, son –.”

“Goodbye,” Patton says, realizing it might very well be the last time he says it. He begins walking out of the reception and Virgil follows close behind. They make it outside, and luckily there’s no one else around.

“Pat… are you okay?” Virgil asks, reaching out to touch Patton’s shoulder.

“I’m done, Virgil. I’m done being gentle for them, I’m done pretending. It’s not worth it.” Pride wells in Virgil, even though he’s known Patton a little less than a week.

“Well, then, I can tell you that was amazing! You kicked ass, Patton! Did you see the stupid look on their faces? They were so –.” Virgil is quickly interrupted when Patton’s lips collide against his, fingers gripping his lapels. Virgil needs a second to adjust and realize this is actually happening before he kisses back just as fervidly, his hands threading in Patton’s curls that are soft to the touch, just as he’d always imagined.

“We’re – we’re not still pretending, right?” Virgil asks dumbly, and Patton shakes his head with a laugh, light, and airy.

“No, no of course not. Unless… you want it to be pretend?”

“No! God, n-no! You’re amazing, Pat, you’re so kind, and soft and good and cute and… oh god, I’m rambling.” Patton giggles again, and Virgil decides it’s one of the best sounds he’s had the pleasure of hearing.

“It’s cute.”

“You’re cuter.”

“No, you are.”

The never-ending debacle of who is cuter is decidedly ended when their lips meet again, and Virgil’s positive this outweighs anything fantasy had to offer.

In the end, Patton hasn’t told a lie. Virgil is his boyfriend, even if they didn’t start the day out that way. The two walk back into the venue, hand-in-hand, watching as the Hart’s avert their eyes and Patton happily introduces Virgil to the family and friends who matter.

Virgil’s never been so glad he walked into that coffee shop.

=+=

Taglist:

@nadiestar

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@maryann-draws

Please let me know if you wanna be added to my general taglist! I’d be happy to add folks!

#moxiety #romantic moxiety #human au #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #fake dating #technically coffee shop au #I mean Pat's a barista #TW homophobia #TW homophobic parents #fluff #lotsa fluff #angst/fluff #Virgil's got it baaad #this was a fun one #request #exhaustedfander writes #exhaustedfander

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samwpmarleau · 7 years

Note

Can you please do a Aegon and Rhaenys vs Jon fic about them hating, tolerating and then growing fond of each other as siblings? I love your fics, they're amazing.

Another anon asked: You’re an amazing writer! I love all your AU’s with rhaenys. Could you do one with Jon Snow and rhaenys? Kinda angsty but not too sad

His whole life, the fact that he has half-siblings is little more than a nebulous idea to to him. That those half-siblings are royals, that one of them sits the Iron Throne while he’s a bastard in Winterfell is nearly impossible to wrap his head around. He knows who his parents were, and he knows that he shares one of them with the king and princess, and he knows that there must be thousands of people with royal blood in Westeros, yet still he thinks surely there must be a mistake. Lyanna Stark being his mother he can comprehend; he has her look, Uncle Ned says so all the time. Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen being his father, however…

For fourteen years, he more or less tries to pretend they don’t exist. It’s easier that way. And then one day Ned tells them all that he received a letter, one sealed with a three-headed dragon.

“King Aegon will be making a progress to the North,” he says. Normally stoic, Jon can see the uncertainty in his uncle’s face and knows he’s remembering the war he so rarely talks about. “He says he has made progresses elsewhere in the realm but as he reaches his age of majority a year hence, he wishes to have seen every kingdom before he becomes sovereign over them all. Princess Rhaenys will be accompanying him.”

“The queen?” Aunt Catelyn asks.

Ned skims the text again and shakes his head. “It makes no mention of her.”

Jon can’t tell whether Catelyn is relieved or disappointed. Queen Elia had allowed Ned to live, but she had also executed Catelyn’s father. Though Jon does not doubt she would have been the pinnacle of politeness had the queen chosen to come along, he wonders what her internal feelings would have been.

Sansa begins effusing about how exciting it will all be, and then the rest of his cousins chime in with comments of their own, but Jon stays silent. Will he be expected to keep himself out of sight during their visit? Probably. He’s still a bastard, after all, never mind who his kin are. He wonders if this is how the illegitimate children of previous kings had felt. Caught between wanting to be included, and wanting to be ignored.

He ultimately refrains from being in the crowd that greets them, but it turns out not to matter. After the feast, Princess Rhaenys corners him in the yard, appraising him much like she might a pebble in her shoe.

“So you’re the bastard,” she sneers. “You don’t look like much.”

It’s true enough. He’s no Robb or, so he’s heard, his uncle Brandon who’d died before he was born. He searches his half-sister for any resemblance, but there is little to be found. Not in her Martell coloring nor her undeniable beauty, nor the imperious way she holds herself, not even the slope of her nose or the thickness of her hair. They are as different as the earth from the sky. Not that he’d resembles King Aegon either.

“It’s said I have Lord Eddard’s look.”

“Your mother’s, you mean,” says the princess. “Hard to believe my father set off a civil war for you.”

The anger in him rises enough to want to fire off a retort, but then he notices something in her voice that he hadn’t before. There isn’t just disdain for him, although that’s there too, but hurt. It’s not Jon she’s furious with. It’s a revelation that nearly knocks him off his feet. He could never say it to her face, of course, but realizing that he’s the primary object of her resentment not only because of his existence but because their sire is long dead, it’s a heady feeling.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he answers. “I could not say why.”

“I know why,” she says, but she doesn’t elaborate. Honestly, he doesn’t much care. If she knew anything about his mother, he would beg her for information, no matter how cruelly she said it, but Prince Rhaegar he would rather forget. She looks him up and down once more, scoffs, then strides off with a swish of her skirts. She doesn’t say another word to him for the rest of the trip.

The wedding is in King’s Landing, though he’s heard there would be another, much smaller, ceremony in the godswood later as well. He had almost decided to stay behind–he has little interest in the capital–but Robb has been as close as a brother their entire lives, and he can’t miss something like this.

And…well. Rhaenys may despise him, but she’s still his sister, and is about to become his good-cousin on top of that.

Uncle Ned initially wants to do the same as Jon, as he had when they went south for King Aegon’s wedding (the others, that is; Jon had elected to not darken their doorsteps), but both Robb and Aunt Catelyn had coerced him out of that decision. He doesn’t speak much on the way down, and so it is Aunt Catelyn who takes control.

(Robb is a nervous bundle of energy the entire way, but a happy one.)

The capital is expansive, and the architecture much different from the North’s, but the smell is awful and altogether it’s about what he expected. It is Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard who greets them at the gates; he’s unequivocally the most handsome man Jon’s ever seen, and beside him he hears Sansa breathe in an audible gasp. Bran stares up at him in awe, not for his appearance but for his position, and Jon’s reminded of how much his cousin has always desired to be a member of the realm’s most prestigious order of knights.

“Come,” says Ser Jaime genially.

As Robb’s family, they’ve been given rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast–even Jon. He wonders whose decision that had been. Probably Robb’s. Perhaps even the king’s, who has been neutrally cordial to him.

It’s a beautiful ceremony, he has to admit, and he is pleased to see Rhaenys giddy, something she certainly hadn’t been the last time he saw her. It is surprising to all when Robb is approached with a golden coronet not by the High Septon, but by the queen.

“This was my father’s crown,” she says. “You will be not only the consort to a princess of the realm, but a princess of Dorne. So long as you treat my daughter with the same regard as my father did for my mother, it is yours.”

Robb swears to do just that, and Queen Elia reverently places the crown on his head. It is bizarre to see Robb with such an adornment, but he knows that Rhaenys’s status matters not to him.

Afterwards, they stand on the marble plaza of the Great Sept to accept congratulations from all the courtiers, and although Jon is hesitant, the voice in his head convinces him to join them. Robb is your blood, and so is Rhaenys.

Robb hugs him like a brother, and Jon next moves to Rhaenys. “I wish you both well.”

He had thought they’d turned over a new leaf at the tourney a few years back when he’d crowned Queen Elia, but her face falls nonetheless. He starts to move on, figuring she intends to say nothing, but then she touches his arm, ever so briefly. “Thank you,” she says. She glances at Robb and her smile reappears. “I have found happiness.”

“I am pleased to hear it, Your Grace.”

She pauses a moment, then replies, “Rhaenys. It seems we are cousins now, you may as well call me by my name.”

We’re siblings, too, he almost says, but doesn’t. The concession–for he knows that’s what it is–is what he has longed for since he was a child. “Yes, it seems we are.”

They never become…close, exactly, but between her own softening and Robb being their shared kin, there grows a tenuous truce between them. He has been on good terms with Aegon for a long while now, but Rhaenys had always been a tougher nut to crack, she who still remembers having sole possession of their father’s attention before everything went wrong. Before Jon.

She even reluctantly allows him to hold her first child when they visit Winterfell, a girl who is the very image of a Martell, save for the eyes that, while darker than Robb’s, are unmistakably blue. His niece, though Jon doesn’t say that. He had held Aegon’s babes, too, yet somehow it is Rhaenys’s approval that remains the thing he most desires.

The Ironborn mount a rebellion not long after Aegon passes reform that would severely limit the ability for their raiding parties, and the North sends troops to aid the crown’s forces, troops that Jon joins in part to fight at Robb’s side. Robb’s, and Aegon’s. Many had discouraged the king from participating, but he had declared that a sovereign should not send his people to fight battles he is unwilling to fight himself, and if he should fall he has an heir who could succeed him.

Somehow, they all survive the war, though not without casualties; fortunately, far more for the Ironborn than for the crown. It isn’t conscious thought on Jon’s part to take a blow to the chest for Aegon, yet take it he does. Later, after Aegon himself bestows a knighthood upon him and they return to the capital, Rhaenys pulls him aside.

“You saved my brother’s life. Thank you.”

“He’s my brother, too,” Jon points out, “and the king.”

He expects her to qualify his words, but she doesn’t; instead, she bites her lip then kisses him on the cheek, so quickly he has to convince himself it happened at all.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” she says. “I—I’d never thought how it would feel to…to lose two brothers.”

She runs off after that without looking back, and it takes a week for Jon to stop smiling.

#jon snow #rhaenys targaryen #aegon vi targaryen #asoiaf #gotfic #robb x rhaenys #my fic #compliance: canon au #anonymous

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lyannas · 7 years

Text

i cannot keep the night from coming in

“I don’t understand how you can be cross on your wedding day,” Branda scolds her as she smooths the wrinkles of Lyarra’s gowns. “You’re marrying Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North-- and what did I get? A weak-willed, pale excuse of a husband. A southron lordling.”

Over the course of the past few days, it occurred to Lyarra that her sister had been bitter and enraged for a long time before she travelling north for her wedding. She was jealous, perhaps, but it was more likely she felt cheated of a husband worthy of her, of a first daughter. Their parents had passed Branda off to a strange man in a foreign land, but now gave their second daughter to their own kin, a man who ruled the entire North alone. Lyarra understood her sister’s bitterness.

“Say the word, sister, and tonight I will slay your husband and spirit myself away so you may have our cousin in my place,” Lyarra told her solemnly.

“You have always been full of stupid ideas. Mother and father let you fill your head with nonsense and childishness, but not me. I was always the good one. I always followed the rules. Yet somehow, they loved you more.” Branda pulls away from her sister. “Go on, then. Who knows how long you’ve kept them all waiting at the heart tree now.”

Lyarra did not think much of marriage, or her husband, on her wedding night. Rickard snored softly beside her, having already taken her maidenhead quietly and with dark, serious eyes. He did not speak much, but Lyarra hoped that would change. When the mood was right, words were the most beautiful things two bodies could share-- and Lyarra had a lot of words.

What consumed Lyarra’s thoughts that night was the gorgeous chestnut mare she had caught sight of in the stables, whose coat glistened in the moonlight and who stood tall and proud. She slipped on her husband’s discarded clothes, pulled on his boots, and ran to that mare, rode her until dawn broke despite the ache between her legs, and returned to bed happy. At the end of the day, that was all Lyarra aspired to be: happy.

Her husband did not like that. She came to learn that he did not like a great many things. He did not like loud women. He did not like that she knew how to wield a sword. He did not like his wife riding horses without reason, and in men’s clothes no less. He did not like to argue, so he ended conflict quickly, and harshly. He did not lay a hand on her, that much she would grant him, but his words did not sting any less.

“I am your husband, and you are my wife. You will obey me. You will do as I say. You will present yourself as is fitting of a Lady of Winterfell, or you will suffer.”

The first dozen times a fight broke out, Lyarra always stood up for herself. She matched him word for word, insult for insult, threat for threat. This was not a choice on her part-- she was the daughter of the man they called the Wandering Wolf for good reason, and the woman of a proud mountain clan. She was a Stark from the moment she was born-- and she had what her husband called, disdainfully, the “wolf blood”. When rage was upon her, or sorrow, or joy, her world filled with color, and she chased it until it all melted away.

Her husband did not like words either-- or at least, he grew tired of exchanging them with her. Instead, he took things. He took the key to her chambers and let her sit in them, locked away, with meals brought to her throughout the day. He took away her riding trousers and boots. He took away her father’s sword, and forbade her to carry another. He took away her dignity, though he could not take her pride.

Still, it was no way to live, and she so desperately wished to live. Thus, Lyarra relented. She hid her teeth, retracted her claws, and promised to be a good wife, and true. If it was a soft, quiet woman he desired, she would become that. A wolf had to adapt to be accepted into the fold, after all. Adapt, or be killed.

Lyarra has dreams. She dreamt of the simple pleasures she knew as a girl, of being foolish and wild and free.

Most of all, she dreamt of running barefoot in the snow. It was so vivid she could almost feel it, feel the biting cold pinching the soles of her feet, feel the chilly wind in her hair and upon her face. She was always laughing in that dream. No one chased her, and she was happy.

Their son is born, and he is perfect in every way.

Brandon comes into the world screaming, and that was how he would display every displeasure for years after. It irritated Rickard, but Lyarra delighted in it. She could see it in him from now, in her little Brandon, the wolf blood the boy’s father so despised. It coursed through his veins and promised to destroy those who would suppress it. It thrilled Lyarra; it frightened her, too.

“You’re a fighter, like my mother,” she whispered to him once as he suckled at her breast. “But you’ve a pair of lungs just like my father-- strong. That’s good. That’s very good. But you must be careful, my little one, for strength alone is not enough. Patience is important too-- and the hardest thing to learn.”

They have another son that they name Eddard, and he is everything that Brandon is not. He did not possess the same fire as his brother, nor the same fickle temperament. There was no wolf blood in this boy, but that does not disappoint Lyarra. The two would balance each other, and together, they could rule the world. They were boys, after all, and the world was made for them.

Thus, she did not weep when either son was born-- but a river poured from her eyes when Lyanna came into the world.

Lyarra never wanted a girl-- she never wanted to give birth to something so strong and hear the world insist that it was fragile. She did not want to give birth to a girl who would chase after her brothers, a girl that would scream with delight when she caught sight of a horse, a girl that was fussy, and sweet, and playful, and could throw a tantrum better than any other child Winterfell had ever seen.

Lyarra did not want a girl who carried a touch of the wolf blood.

She could see the disapproval in Rickard’s eyes from now, how deeply he frowned at the innocent, willful, boyish antics she pulled. She could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out how to crush it all.

“How can you send your firstborn son away?” Lyarra snapped, turning on her husband. With most of the demands he made, she kept quiet and relented. This one, she could not. “He is only a boy-- he needs us.”

“He needs men who’ll push him and make him into a man himself,” her husband returns stoically. “He cannot stay here, with everyone regarding him as their little lord and with his mother coddling him.”

“He is a child. Children are meant to be coddled,” she said fiercely. “I can tell it’s not something you ever knew as a boy, else you would be a kinder man than you are now.”

“What use does the Lord of Winterfell have for kindness?” He scoffed. “House Stark did not survive because we were kind. Our line did not continue because we were gentle.”

“No-- it continued because a man learned that there is a time for fighting, and time for kneeling. When have you ever learned to kneel, my lord? When have you ever learned that there are people behind you who would be glad if you would bend for them, rather than stand against them?”

“I cannot expect a woman to understand this, much less one that has lived in the mountains and never learned to be civil,” he said, practically spitting out the word ‘woman’. “Your heart is far too soft towards the boy-- all the more reason to send him away, lest he too adopt the tender heart of a woman.” He scowled, then turned away from her. “Lord Dustin and I have agreed that he’ll foster the boy once he reaches his eighth nameday. That’s two years more of you coddling him.”

“Then I have two years to make him a better man than you shall ever be,” Lyarra returned boldly. “Then when he returns to us a man grown, I will undo Lord Dustin’s work and teach him again him how to be a good man.”

It is Brandon who comes up with the nickname “Ned” for his little brother.

It catches on quickly, and it’s an easy word for Lyanna’s childish tongue. Lyarra calls him Ned too; with her son’s face was always so sullen and serious, a name like that was the perfect fit.

She even heard Rickard call him “Ned”, once. It is a mistake he does not repeat twice.

See, my boy? She thinks, smiling at her eldest son as he played with Lyanna on the floor. All manner of men will learn from you. They have nothing to teach you.

Her mother dies when she is with child a fourth time.

Rickard forbids her to travel, leaving her mother to be buried without family to attend to her. For a few brief moments her world is filled with crimson-- “If my mother knew what manner of man she had married me to, she would have killed you,” she recalled saying. “A man so unkind, cruel, heartless, stupid--”

It had earned her locked doors for a week. It was one thing to be confined to her rooms when she was childless, but another when one of her sweet babes sat at her door and sobbed when she is told that she cannot go in to see her own mother.

Lyarra promises herself that she will not lose her temper again. She did not need Rickard’s approval, but her children needed her.

From that point on, her world is painted a somber grey.

When the door to her room finally unlocked, Lyarra escaped to the godswood. “To pray,” she explained to her husband. “To atone for my foolishness.”

Her mother taught her more than how to carry a sword. When she reaches the heart tree, she sheds her gown, her skirts, her smallclothes. Summer was still upon them, but the air carried the slightest chill that made her shiver.

She knelt before the heart tree, but did not pray. She found the dirt closest to the trunk, the purest earth and the most extraordinary, and sunk both hands into it. They emerged with fistfuls of dirt, which she rubbed first on her arms, then her legs, her hair, and her breasts. On her face she traced the symbols her mother taught her, signs of the old gods that the children of the forest invented to strengthen their prayers. She did the same on her rounded stomach-- signs of protection, of strength, of humility. Then she clasped her muddied hands together, and whispered a short, powerful prayer.

She sunk into the pool before the altar, submerging her whole self in its warm waters. Below the waters, she prayed, and prayed, until the dirt dissipated from her body, until her body demanded breath.

When she was dried and dressed again, Lyarra was surprised to feel warm water on her face again. She touched her cheeks, felt another drop of water roll from her eyes to the tip of a finger. Through bleary eyes, she looked to the heart tree. The tree was weeping too, though it's tears were red.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I always hated crying alone.”

Her fourth child, her third son, is named Benjen.

She knows he is to be her final child-- she sacrificed the chance to have another in her prayers, for one had to give in order to receive.

Yet, she finds herself wishing she had not chosen such an offering; none of her children had been named after her parents. There was no Arya or Rodrik among them, and there shall never be. Rickard had, as with all things, took ownership of their names as he had taken ownership of her.

“Promise me you shall be brave?” Lyarra asks of Brandon on his eighth nameday. On schedule, Lord Dustin’s men had arrived to escort him, their yellow banners flapping in the wind. She knelt in the courtyard, uncaring of the dirt that would stain her gown, wanting desperately to cherish these final moments with him.

“I promise, mother,” he returns in a grown-up voice.

“I will not ask you to be good,” she whispers. “For sometimes it is much better to be naughty. It makes you clever, and keeps your mind sharp.”

He grins, and the little glimmer in his eye swears he shall be anything but good.

“But do try to write, will you? If not for me, then for your brothers and sister?”

He rolls his eyes a bit. “Okay, mother. No promises, though.” He grins again, and Lyarra cannot help herself. She embraced him, and kissed him on the cheek.

Rickard exchanged some words with Brandon, a man’s words that were undoubtedly meant to frighten and brace Brandon. Lyarra didn’t care for what he said to him; Brandon would one day be a stronger man than him by far.

“Mama?” Lyanna’s voice seemed to tremble as she called to her. Her hands gripped her skirts. “When will we him again?”

“Not for some years, my sweet,” she answered sadly. “When he is a man grown, we shall see him again.”

“But he’s still small,” she returned, frowning.

“I think it will be a long time, Lya,” Ned said solemnly. ‘Lya’ was also a nickname of Brandon’s invention.

“Oh,” she said.

“Oh,” little Ben echoed at her side.

Lyarra mislikes Winterfell’s maester. He is a man who calls himself Walys, and she knew he was the reason for her husband sending Brandon away. She knew he was also the reason Rickard comes to her to say: “Eddard must be fostered too, soon.”

“No,” the words flew out of her mouth without thought. “What need is there to send two sons away?”

“A great need-- I shall not explain it to you again.”

“You did not explain it to me even once,” Lyarra returned, crestfallen. “It is one thing to send our boy to a northern lord, but another send the other to the South.”

“House Stark has found comfort in the North for too long. Perhaps it is time we looked south.” The glimmer in her husband’s eyes was a new and dangerous invention.

“Then send him to my sister’s husband,” she finds herself insisting. “She has yet to meet my children; she would gladly take Ned into her home.”

“Send him to House Rogers when I can send him to House Arryn?” Her husband snorted. “Steffon Baratheon’s firstborn has been sent to the Vale already-- the boy will be your goodbrother’s liege lord one day.”

Lyarra sunk down on the bed, burying her face in her hands. The castle felt empty enough without Brandon’s presence-- to lose Ned too meant she would not lay eyes on half her children for years to come. Yet what could she do? How could she fight it?

“We are building a future for our children, Lyarra,” her husband said. She felt the mattress sink where he sat beside her. In tender gesture rarely felt outside of lying together, he stroked her hair from the crown of her head to where it splayed over her back.

“You are building one for yourself,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Power is shifting in the Seven Kingdoms-- powers you do not understand, or have ever known,” he continued cryptically. “I would have our family be pushed to the top and not trampled underfoot.”

“You have pushed two of my children away from me, and decided their fates,” Lyarra said, ignoring his talk of power. “Will you leave the last two for me?”

“Lyanna is still too young to find a betrothed suitable for her, but I will hear your thoughts on who you think would make fine groom for her, when the time comes.”

Lyarra looked to her husband, horrorstruck.

Her dreams become more and more vivid.

The night before Ned was to leave her, she could feel the chill of the winter winds, the biting cold of the snow underfoot. It was so visceral she shivered in her sleep until she woke with a jolt. Outside the window, snow was falling. It was late summer snows, still too soon for howling winds and raging blizzards, but it was snow all the same. Lyarra looked to where her husband slept beside her, the sound of his snores ringing in her ears. She was reminded suddenly of laying eyes on her sleeping children when they were only babes who slept at her breast. The love she bore them was so strong in those moments that it would close her throat and burn her eyes as she wondered how she could ever protect something so small and needy. Those were moments she knew when they had been only weeks old; she had spent 11 years with the man beside her, looked upon him many times, and never felt anything similar.

She slipped out of bed soundlessly. Her bare feet scraped the warm stone floors as she past her children's’ bedrooms, down the stairs, and out of the castle. The cold embraced her like an old friend, urging her forward. Placing one bare foot in front of the other, Lyarra walked forward, her eyes closed and her arms open. Ice nipped at every inch of her, from the soles of her feet to the nape of her neck; it clung to her nightgown and the wet fabric hugged her bare skin.

It was greater than any dream she had dreamt. Ignoring the chattering of her teeth, she ran towards the godswood, not stopping until she found the heart tree, where it stood weeping at the sight of her. She fell to her knees and opened her arms, mimicking the bough of the weirdwood.

“I have a son who will leave me tomorrow, to a strange land with no heart trees,” she shouted, knowing that the gods did not care for soft-spoken demands. “I beg you to keep him at my side a while longer.” The wind kicked up, spraying red leaves across the sky. “I have endured and given up much. Please, please, give me this.”

She does not know how long she spent at the foot of the heart tree, praying until her breath went hoarse. She only knows that she makes it back to her rooms eventually, and fell asleep with the feeling that something fell had crawled inside her.

The next morning she was too weak to even rise. Even awake, it felt like she were in a dream. The room swayed before her eyes. Bile jumped up her throat when she tried to sit up. She felt hot, so hot, as if burning stones had been placed on every inch of her body.

“She has a fever,” the blasted maester stated the obvious. “It seems very grave, my lord.”

She did not care to look at Rickard’s face. She only managed to open her eyes for her sweet children at her side.

“Ned,” she whispered, reaching out to touch her son’s cheek. “You didn’t leave.”

“Are you okay, mother?” He asked, a frown in his voice.

“You’re here, my love. Of course I’m okay.”

How much time had passed since that day? She no longer knew. She drifted in and out of sleep, feeling no better than the day before. Her whole body felt as if it were aflame, but she did not have the strength to scream.

When she was awake, she saw her children. Ned, Lyanna, and Benjen all lined up at the edge of her bed, looking to her with wide worried eyes. She wanted to tell them it was okay. She wanted to tell them that the gods had come for her, that it was natural and expected. She had tempted them, after all. She had asked for so much-- yet they gave it to her, and now they came to reap.

“Momma, don’t go to sleep,” Lyanna’s little voice cried out to her once. “Momma, please.”

It was her little girl that tugged at her heartstrings the hardest. Her boys could grow up without her, learn to be men, learn to vouch for themselves. But her little girl? Who would watch out for her? Who would champion her? Who would protect her tender heart? Who would explain to her what it was like to be a woman? Who would assuage her fears about her first moon’s blood, explain to her that her body held power beyond a man’s pleasure, who would tell her how to be a woman and survive? Lyanna was too much like her. No one could teach her but her.

“My darling,” was all Lyarra could manage as reassurance. Lyanna’s little hands gripped her fingers even tighter as she fought back tears. A girl of five, yet so brave and strong. It only made Lyarra fear for her even more.

Her husband comes to her only one time that she can remember. He sat at the edge of her bed and held her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she thinks he said. He kissed her knuckles and left.

She is on the edge of a cliff when Brandon comes to her.

“Mother!” He shouted, rushing to her bedside. He clutched her hand between his own.

Lyarra felt her heart soar. “Brandon,” she whispered, the word alone pushing strength back into her. “Oh, my son.”

“Mother, please don’t die,” he said fiercely. “Mother, please.”

He had grown so much. He had shot up like a sprig, and grown wide in the shoulders. He was going to be tall and strong, just as she suspected-- handsome too. Her boy was handsome already.

“Brandon, promise me,” she murmured, the words pouring out of her by a miracle alone. “Take care of your siblings for me. Be their protector.”

He nodded vigorously, as if the strength of his promise would convince her soul to stay.

“Lyanna…” she choked out. “You must be her champion. Do you understand?” Thoughts replaced words now, her lips too tired to move. She is your only sister, my only girl. I fail her with my early death; you must live for her.

If he was puzzled at her request, he did not let it show. “Anything, mother. I’ll do anything.” He kissed the palm of her hand.

My son. My joy. I love you, I love you, I love you. Tell your siblings I love them too-- thrice each.

Lyarra smiled, and let herself slip away.

#gotfic #lyarra stark #rickard stark #brandon stark #ned stark #lyanna stark #branda stark #benjen stark #asoiaf #fic #warning: this is long and sad #i found it in my google drive and just finished it up #abuse tw #just in case

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sonofhistory · 7 years

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Can you do a book review/description of America's First Daughter? I'm trying to decide between that or another book.

I should probably review this book while the text is still fresh in my mind. I could not pull myself away from this book, I read the whole 600 page book in less than twelve hours.

America’s First Daughter was one of the best journeys I have ever undergone while reading a book. It was incredible, it completely transforms you. The writing was exceedingly talented and I appreciate in words I cannot express how much they kept to historical accuracy and narrative. It was so accurate, the only accuracy I can count was the fact that they said Thomas Jefferson had blue eyes even though his eyes didn’t go blue until later in life; and that he still had ginger hair until his death even though by then his hair had turned sandy.

The book handles topics of sexism, abuse, racism and slavery very well. I must remind you: the book is narrated by Martha Jefferson Randolph meaning everything comes from the author’s interpretation of her thoughts and emotions. Sally Hemings makes an amazing appearance and the book is incredible. It is now in my top five favorite books.

Please, I have never read a book that has affected him in such a way, I beg you with all my heart to read this extraordinary and beautiful novel.

If you do not know what America’s First Daughter is about, here is a very long and detailed summary *SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT* (but is is kind of just history… so):

The novel is narrated by Martha Jefferson Randolph and begins with her in her father’s bedroom after his death. Martha begins shifting through papers her father left for her while explaining her life long experience living under the roof of a man who wasn’t simply the author of the Declaration of Independence. While in his room, Sally Hemings comes in and sets the stage for what shall be their entire relationship throughout the book; Sally gives her a key to Jefferson’s room and she speaks of how she was Jefferson’s mistriss in public life and Sally could never be how she is. It is not smug, it is genuine. They pass no words before Martha flashes back to her childhood and begins and tell her life with him.

We get pulled back into 1781 to the night Jack Jouett stormed to Monticello in the middle of the night to tell the Jefferson family that the British were coming to capture Thomas Jefferson. “Papa” send Patsy, Polly and her mother off on a carriage where they reside the night. Another person he will become a large figure in the life of Patsy is William Short who accompanies them in their flight from Monticello. At this time, Patsy is about eight years old and her mother, Martha Jefferson, is still weak from the birth and loss of her recent child Lucy Elizabeth.

After weeks of switching from home to home, while capturing the pure intimacy and devotion of Thomas and Martha Jefferson. Papa (Thomas Jefferson) takes Patsy out for a horse ride and views their plantation workers, stopping one slave from being whipped because he does not want to frighten her. While on their horse, Thomas decides to impress his wife and in doing so, Patsy slips off of the horse, she nearly falls but her father catches her at the cost of his own and he falls to the ground, breaking his right wrist. Patsy remembers this moment for the rest of her life and remembers the times when he doesn’t save her.

They are able to return to Monticello and Martha gives birth to another child, Lucy Elizabeth again. However, the child ransacked her body of all strength and she soon begins to die. On her death bed, Martha makes her child promise that she’ll protect her father because he is going to need her. During her mother’s death she does not cry, puts on a brave face and accepts what she has put upon her. All the intimacy occurs and Martha soon dies in her husband’s arms after giving a silver servant bell to Sally Hemings.

Following her death, Monticello becomes just a ghost of what it had once been and Patsy reassures her crying sister Polly in words that told her that father is going through more than they can possibly imagine and they need to be there for him. In the middle of the night, Patsy is awaken by the lack of life in her home and creeps to her father room after hours earlier hearing the sound of glass shattering, screaming, books being thrown to the floor shelves falling over. She gets to get father’s room only to find him disheveled and only a shell of who he once was. She inches closer and finds a pistol sitting on the table beside him, she keeps calling his name but he does not reply and stares off, before he can reply she grabs the pistol into her hands and sits there holding it so her father cannot get to it.

Jefferson doesn’t eat or sleep, refuses to hold Lucy Elizabeth or look at Polly because they are both memories of her and clings to Patsy but never looks or says anything. He begins to take horseback rides a few weeks later with Patsy in front of him and every time they reach the wedding home he shared with Martha he begins to sob violently. Patsy believes her father is getting better, how ever, one day while out on a ride, Jefferson speeds the horse into a gallop and sends her ducking for cover from the branching slapping at her face. She looks up at the wrong time and finds herself concussed, with cuts, bruises and lying on the forest floor. There, William Short finds her, gets snappy at Jefferson before bringing her home while explaining that she was going through grief too and Jefferson was not the only one torn apart by her death.

Jefferson has his children inoculated for small pox and Patsy remembers that it was her father who stayed by her side throughout the whole thing, tending to her with care. Soon after, Jefferson reveals that he is taking a position as Envoy to France and leaves Polly and Lucy-Elizabeth with their aunt while taking Patsy with him. While traveling from Monticello to Philadelphia, they stay in the home of Colonel Randolph who is Jefferson’s brother-in-law. Colonel Randolph was a cruel, abusive man and especially unkind to his eldest son: Thomas Mann Randolph. Colonel Randolph tries to get Jefferson to marry again and he remembers the death bed promise to his wife saying that he would not marry and leaves the room.

Patsy becomes acquainted with two of her cousins, the Randolph sisters, Judy and Nancy. While there, she has her first conversation with Thomas Mann Randolph who taunts her with rather sexist statements which she fumes at but does not respond. They leave soon after, arriving in Philadelphia only to find that their passage is not to be and Jefferson leaves Patsy in the city by herself in the care of a rather religious woman who gets her tutors. Patsy writes her father letters but she stops and only replies when he writes back. She begins to grow angry at her father for abandoning her with his woman and is overjoyed but still distressed when he comes to collect her. They go to Virginia an give a brief call to Lucy Elizabeth and Polly before embarking on their journey to Paris at the tail-end of 1783.

They arrive in Paris with James “Jimmy” Hemings in tow and take lodgings in the city. There, they are acquainted with John and Abigail Adams and though Abigail is a little off putting to Patsy she makes her feel welcome and at home by taking her shopping and helping her pick out dresses. She takes a liking to Abigail but begins to miss her sisters. While in Paris, she catches wind that William Short is coming on a ship to be Jefferson’s secretary and he arrives soon after. Patsy is sent to school at a convent that she begged not to be send to where she is teased by the other girls for her hair color and bony elbows, most of the teasing comes from a girl names Kitty Church who she begins to somewhat despise.

Short begins to call upon her at the convent where she is gathering her education. A man beings lodging with them but she does not enjoy him and rummages throughout his belongings, finding out that he was a British spy housing with them and sending his bills to her father tab. One day, Patsy is called from the convent to spend some time with her father only to find that her father’s attention is not completely molded upon her. Maria Cosway is a woman that Patsy also begins to despise and she is polite but shows disdain towards the woman. At a dinner, Patsy realizes she not only has feelings for William Short but is in love with him. She doesn’t allow these emotions to control as she knows “Mr. Short” has other women flocking around the handsome young bachelor.

Patsy and her father receive words that Lucy Elizabeth died in Virginia and she immediately wants her father to bring Polly to Paris with them. The difference between Polly and her older sister is that Polly has independence and rather a kind of nature that promotes going against the rules and shows restraint to unfair treatment. At the convent, Patsy begins to become friends with a girl named Marie who will become a close, close friend. Jefferson’s affair with Maria Cosway finishes and Patsy is angry that she hurt him. Polly arrives in France with Sally Hemings and she is angry her father did not go to her himself but sent for another man to collect her. Patsy knows that Sally is her mother’s sister and begins to get a good relationship with her. She shares an intimate scene with William Short on a winter day with Polly but is heart fallen when she comes upon a scene of her father and Sally Hemings–together. She confides in William Short who knows about what has been going on and Patsy soon feels she is being betrayed by everyone around her even though Short is an abolitionist. In this she grows a protective nature over Sally.

William Short and Patsy grow closer and he asks her father about if they could in the future possibly marry and her father declines this offer sending him on a hiatus around Europe. William, as he told her to call him, never sends a single letter and her sisters and herself grow sick with typhus, so sick her father feared they would never recover from this mortal blow. Polly does not grow better and becomes deaf. At her bedside, Patsy promises to god she’ll become a nun if Polly will survive and Polly wakes up. She confronts her father about taking her vows but her father breaks down in front of her saying her cannot loose her too and he would rather shovel dirt over her grave then have her locked up for the rest of her life. Patsy cries with her father and he pulls both of his daughters out of the school. In result, knowing she is at courting age, Jefferson allows her out into society by herself.

She begins to have many suitors with her friends as well and one day, William Short arrives at the ballroom and apologizes to her for not writing. Patsy acts polite but begins to shut him out until he confesses his love for her and she does too. They share their first kiss while she is being escorted home. Jefferson does not want her to marry him but accepts that they can get married in the future. Jefferson begins planning his trip back to Virginia and William and her father prey on her mind; she can go to Virginia with her father and risk him never allowing her to come back to marry William or she could abandon living with her father and marry William, traveling around Europe on diplomatic excursions as his wife. She choses to be with her father but begs William to wait for her–he doesn’t.

They arrive back in Virginia and her father shows an interest with pairing her with Colonel Randolph’s son who is now all grown up but Patsy only remembers him as the fourteen year old boy who teased her as a child. She still has extreme feeling for William Short but dismisses them. Thomas Mann Randolph is taller than her husband and exceedingly handsome. Sally Hemings gives birth to her son right as “Tom” who is in love with Patsy asks her to marry him after only a month of knowing one another. She consents and they marry. Their first child is a daughter named Ann who Tom absolutely adores. Soon after a son is born, named Thomas Jefferson Randolph. She gives birth to another daughter named Ellen but she dies soon after and she gives birth to another daughter whom she names Ellen.

Tom has a terrible relationship with his abusive father who tormented him as a child and regularly beat him as is implied within the text. While on a visit to Colonel Randolph’s house, Sally Hemings’s son dies and they bury him on the plantation where they couple believes they are going to later reside in. Colonel Randolph marries a new woman only a year after Tom’s mother died. At first, Patsy’s marriage to Tom is relatively happy although it takes a while for her to fall in love with him. Tom’s sisters escape their abusive new step mother and begin to live with Patsy when she moves from her plantation Varina (which he hates) to Monticello to watch over the estate in her father’s absences. After Colonel Randolph’s death, Tom rides there only to find that he had died and hours earlier moved the owner to his estate to his new child also named Thomas Mann Randolph. Tom grows a little angry and while Patsy is attempting to give suggestions, Tom slaps her for the first time sending Sally up at the noise to inspect what had happened.

Tom is exceedingly guilty for what had occurred. The man her sister Judy married, Richard, also was having a relationship with Judy’s sister Nancy before all of his occurred and a rumor was created saying Nancy and Richard had a child but Richard killed it and chopped it to piece with an axe. Patsy does not believe the charge and gets called up for the trial to testify in defense of Nancy even though she grows convinced that Nancy did do something to provoke an abortion in her.

More children arrive and Tom begins to grow a little more violent, especially with her eldest son, Thomas Jefferson Randolph. For the littlest mistakes, Tom would threaten to beat Thomas into submission but Patsy always comes to his defense. Her daughters never received a beating from their father, but Thomas always got the fist. Meanwhile, Patsy, who now goes by Martha after he marriage, knows her father his completely oblivious to what is going on around him. Polly marries a cousin, Jack Eppes and Martha realizes while there is nothing harmless about the man, his libido will end up being that kills Polly, who now goes by Maria. Maria gives birth to a child in an exceedingly difficult pregnancy and the child dies soon afterwards. Martha is struggling to keep her household in order while also tending to her husband and children. Tom stands for election and looses which sends him down a worse spiral which is only uplifted when he is elected governor of the state.

Thomas Jefferson is elected president of the United States and Sally has several children with him. Sally recognizes that that all of her children are slaves to their master and she speaks to Martha about her deal with Jefferson which stated that her children would go free at the age of twenty-one. Maria gives birth to another child, grows weaker and then gives birth a final child even after Martha begs her Jack Eppes to stay off of her because she is delicate and the next child is going to kill her. Maria knows she is dying, and turns to Martha saying the exact words she heard her say to her to reassure her after their mother died and their father was rampant with grief. Maria soon dies and Martha doesn’t cry at her grave. She remains stoic until she gets to her home before she cries as she has never cried in her entire life. Jack Eppes takes a slave into concubine, begins flirting with women and never allows his son to see his grandfather, aunt or family.

They receive a visit from William Short and they become fast friends just how they used to be. After a while, Tom’s drunken habits seem to be getting worse and their children begin to marry. They eldest daughter, Ann, marries a man named Charles Bankhead but he turns out to be rather abusive and takes out his anger on his wife and children, severely beating them. One night, the butler, Burwell will not give the keys to the liquor cabinet to Bankhead and when Martha attempts to stop the argument, Bankhead strangles her nearly causing her to black out before her husband walks in, grabs a fire poker and smashes Bankhead over the head with it nearly causing him to die. After this event, Bankhead packs up his family and flees.

One day while Martha and Ann are together, Bankhead begins to hit his causing in the ribs causing her to bleed and Martha quickly grabs the horse whip before slashing Bankhead across the cheek. A few weeks later, following an altercation between Bankhead and Thomas Jefferson Randolph (Martha’s eldest son) they fight before Thomas is stabbed in the arm and in the stomach and nearly dies. Thomas Jefferson (Martha’s father) grabs his horse Eagle before speeding off to his grandson where he cries at his side. Before Martha can help her daughter, Bankhead again grabs grabs Ann and her children before running off and not returning for several years.

In the meantime, Martha learns of the extreme debt her father is in, and begins to see the debt Tom’s father brought upon them as well as their eldest son, Thomas’s debuts he received from his father-in-law. Martha informs her father that they may be forced to sell the Monticello and this completely disheartens them all. Sally’s children begin to hit the age of freedom and she worries about them being off in the world by themselves but Martha reassures her saying this is what she would want if she had children herself. Tom begins to grow more violent and during a visit from William Short, Tom attempts to rape her in her bedroom but she hits him the crotch before running into the hallway calling for all of her children to gather around her. Tom sees this scene of Martha surrounded by a protective ring of all her children and leaves, she is grateful William never saw this. one day, Martha and William both confess their love but Martha begs him with all her life never to come back unless he to risk getting hurt and William doesn’t want to leave her in such a state but she begs and he leaves Monticello. Before he leaves, she breaks down, sobbing for her mother, for her child, for her sister and for how she’d been so deceived by her husband.

A few months later in 1826, Ann shows up with her children and Monticello badly beaten, bruised, cut from Bankhead and pregnant. She gives birth to a child before dying a short while after due to her injuries. Martha doesn’t want her grandchildren to be with that man and is forced to act courteous to him in order to manipulate him and coax him into giving her the children. She recalls that she never regrets this even in the slightest. After a while, she knows all of her daughters are going to become spinsters but eventually her daughter Ginny marries the man she’s loves–something her mother said she never had the courage to do. Ellen doesn’t want to leave her mother but she marries a man she loves and moves to Boston.

A few months later, Martha’s father, Thomas Jefferson dies and she does not cry at his grave. Her drunk husband who had been gone appears and taunts her as he did when she was a child about how she has no heart and is heartless. Martha begins to break into pieces and after a while forces herself to reconcile with her husband, calling all her children together as he dies. Shortly after her father’s death, William Short arrives at Monticello and they re-unite, spending the rest of their lives together. She goes to dinner at the presidential mansion while Andrew Jackson is president and he calls her “America’s First Daughter”.

The book closes with her about to ride a train for the first time to visit her daughter Ellen, with her is William Short.

#America's first daughter

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

Text

The Kissing Game (Epilogue)

A/N: Never say I didn’t do anything for y'all. Enjoy :)

In. Out. In. Out.

Lauren chanted repetitively in her head, consistently reminding herself to take deep breaths so she wouldn’t pass out.

She stood in front of a mirror, people running to and fro around her, and she stared at her complexion anxiously. She couldn’t help herself as she began meticulously picking at everything she thought was wrong with her. It wasn’t that she hated her body or anything, her mind just went into anxious overdrive and she couldn’t help it.

“She told me to tell you to stop worrying,” Lauren heard from behind her. Turning around, she saw Dinah leaning against the corner of the wall, looking at her with a humorous smile on her face.

“I can’t stop worrying, it’s who I am as a person. Plus, what if everything goes wrong?” Lauren replied, her words rushing out of her mouth like a waterfall. Dinah approached her calmly, placing her hands on the green eyed girls shoulder and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Even if everything went wrong, do you think she’d love you any less?” Dinah asked seriously.

“No,” Lauren mumbled, and she was right. Through everything they’ve been through, she never loved Lauren any less. In fact, everything they’ve ever been through seemed to make her love Lauren more, and the green eyed girl’s heart fluttered wildly at the thought.

“Exactly. Now let’s take some deep breaths, okay Lauser?” Dinah spoke reassuringly, making sure Lauren was listening and not panicking.

“You would think you’d stop calling me that after all these years,” Lauren chuckled.

“Well you’re still a loser in my book so no can do,” Dinah joked, the green eyed girl throwing her head back in laughter. “There she is. Okay now deep breaths.”

Dinah breathed with Lauren until her heart rate returned to a steady pace. Once she was effectively calmed down, Lauren wrapped her arms around Dinah’s waist and laid her head on her chest, hugging her tightly. “Thank you so much, Dinah. For everything.”

“Don’t sweat it, Lauser. Now come on, I’ll do your makeup.”

If Lauren thought she was nervous beforehand, she was absolutely terrified now.

There she stood, front and center, a mass of people lost in the idle chatter sprinkled amongst them. Lauren took a moment to look around and acknowledge those who were here. To the left she saw her parents, yapping away with a relative of hers. Towards the middle were Ally and Sydney, leaning towards each other for a loving kiss that made Lauren’s heart swell with joy. They had been together for quite some time and Lauren always mentally high fives herself when she sees the together. To the right was Luis, sitting beside his long term girlfriend and old friend of Lauren’s, Alexa. Lauren was thankful he gave up his fuckboy lifestyle to settle down and love someone properly. She always knew he would be a perfect boyfriend to someone.

Lauren adjusted her dress awkwardly, shifting where she stood to bring temporary relaxation to her heel bound feet. Every second that ticked by made her feel more and more anxious again, and this time she didn’t have Dinah to comfort her. A wave in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she turned to see her father, tears welling in his eyes, as he mouthed ‘I love you’ to her. Lauren couldn’t help but smile gratefully at her father, returning the gesture happily.

Suddenly, a gentle note rang through the room as everyone averted their attention to the back of the room, where a young girl, Lauren’s cousin, skipped happily down the center of the crowd, dispersing happiness and flower petals all across the floor. Directly behind her was Dinah and Normani. Lauren couldn’t help but get a little choked up at how beautiful her best friends were together. They complimented each other inside and out and God damn were they dressed to the nines. Behind them were a small abundance of other people including her brother, sister, and Shawn Mendes. Lauren actually despised that boy when she first met him, assuming he was a threat the moment she laid eyes on him, until she met his boyfriend Troye Sivan and actually talked to him. They’ve been incredible friends ever since.

A chorus of notes sprung through the air as the crowd stood, their bodies turned towards the back as they watched. Lauren swallowed thickly as she waited impatiently, praying to God everything went as planned.

As the duo turned the corner, everything went into slow motion for Lauren. There in front of her was the one and only Camila Cabello, dork extraordinaire and the love of her life, walking through the center of the crowd in the most elegant white gown Lauren has ever seen. She looked positively radiant, almost unreal, as she made her way towards Lauren with her father beside her, tears welling in his eyes. Lauren didn’t even notice she was crying until Normani handed her a tissue, which she gratefully accepted.

As Camila and Alejandro reached the altar, Alejandro lifted the veil over Camila’s face and Lauren couldn’t help but gasp. The brunette was absolutely stunning. Like, magnificent goddess type stunning. Her makeup was done perfectly (probably compliments to Normani) and her hair was done to absolute perfection, small ringlets cascading down the side of her face while the rest was in a beautiful up-do. Alejandro wiped his tears as best as he could as he embraced Camila, murmuring something in her ear before handing her off to Lauren with a gentle smile directed towards the Cuban.

Green eyes met brown ones in a moment of what seemed like destiny for the two girls. They smiled warmly at each other as the crowd directed their attention to the priest.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to gay,” Big Rob, Camila’s boss and long time friend of the couple spoke, the room bursting into giggles at his little joke. He smiled like a kid in a candy store before continuing with the ceremony. Lauren, for her part, heard none of the things he was saying, as she stared at Camila in awe of her beauty.

“Lauren, Camila, I would now invite you to speak publicly your commitment to your partner. Camila, would you like to start?”

Camila nodded slightly before clearing her throat. “Lauren Michelle Jauregui Morgado, you are the love of my life, and I could promise you a great many things in life, but these I will never break. I promise to love you and care for you, I promise to be honest and patient with you, and I promise I’ll leave you at least one banana.” The crowd erupted in giggles, Lauren included, as Camila continued. “I promise to not only continue to be your best friend, but to be the most bomb wife you’ve ever seen. I love you.”

Lauren giggled and wiped the tears from her eyes, her dork of a fiancé managing to make her laugh and cry at the same time. She rejoined their hands as Big Rob asked her to speak her vows.

“Karla Camila Cabello Estrabao, I promise to love you until I run out of love, then love you some more. I promise to cherish every moment I have with you because lord knows I can only make it two weeks without you before going insane,” Lauren joked, making Ally, Normani, Dinah, Camila, and Luis laugh particularly loud. “I promise to pick you up when you fall, metaphorically and literally since you’re clumsy as hell.” Camila ducked her head as she giggled, tears steadily streaming down her face. “I promise to never take you for granted ever again, and I will always be by your side. I love you.”

Camila and Lauren took a moment to just look at each other, beaming as they cried happy tears together. The rings were given to them as they bestowed them upon each other, speaking more about their eternal love for one another.

“Do you, Karla Camila Cabello Estrabao take Lauren to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Big Rob spoke, addressing Camila.

“I do,” she responded with such assurance that Lauren felt her heart swell.

“And do you, Lauren Michelle Jauregui Morgado, take Camila to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Florida, I am honored to pronounce Lauren and Camila as wife and wife, sealed together today by law and love. Lauren, you may now kiss the bride.”

Lauren uses the hand that was holding Camila’s to pull her towards her, her other hand coming to rest at her waist as she dipped the brunette and kissed her with all of the love and passion she could muster. Camila kissed back just as intensely, the sounds of cheers and screams surrounding them. Lauren lifted Camila up gently as she ended the kiss, unfortunately having to keep it PG in front of their family.

“Ladies and gentlemen for the first time, Mrs. And Mrs. Cabello-Jauregui!” Big Rob yelled excitedly, causing another uproar of cheers and whistles throughout the crowd.

Lauren smiled happily at her wife, and apparently couldn’t help herself as she leaned in and captured Camila’s lips I another loving kiss. She vaguely heard Dinah in the background as she yelled “it’s Camren yo!” and she smiled happily into the kiss.

As they pulled back, Lauren couldn’t help but giggle mischievously, and Camila just looked at her wife with a playful smile. “What are you laughing about, Mrs. Cabello-Jauregui?” She asked, ecstatic to finally be able to use that name. To use their name.

Lauren looked her wife in the eyes, thanking every deity that she knew that they made it here, to this moment. Thanks to Dinah and that stupid game, their many years of friendship turned into the best relationship Lauren could have ever asked for. She graduated high school with the woman she loved, she went to college with the woman she loved, and now, after six years, she married the woman she loved.

Remembering what Camila said, she smiled and giggled again. Camila turned her head to the side like a confused puppy as she looked at Lauren.

“What’s so funny, honey?” She asked again, making Lauren smile happily.

“It’s your turn.”

A/N: And that is the REAL ending to The Kissing Game! I’ve had this written since I posted the “final” chapter and I was gonna wait a week but I’m impatient and wanted to give this to you. I really hope you guys liked this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. All of your comments give me so much life and they make me laugh and smile and I always look forward to them. I do what I do for you guys, because I without you I wouldn’t be here. I love you all so so much and I hope you always remember that.

With love,

Katie

(As always, you can find my stories on wattpad here)

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #family #humour #romance fluff #submission #The Kissing Game

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theherondaels · 7 years

Text

The Most Puntastic Best Man Speech Ever

It's finally here! Words cannot describe how proud I am of this. Have fun reading!

Nervousness washed over Matteo when Gastón asked for everyone's attention. He felt apprehensive and queasy at the thought of what was about to happen.

Matteo eyed the vodka shot glasses warily. Not only was there a bet making the rounds for how many puns - space related or not - Gastón had put into this speech, there was also a drinking game going on in which all participants had to take a shot every time his best friend would make pun.

Ramiro and his cousin Vinny had more or less robbed the open bar as everyone that had agreed to be part of the drinking game had ten small glasses placed before them. Matteo couldn't help but think about the bill. They would be indebted forever!

Still, he doubted that this was the exact amount of puns. That would be wishful thinking.

Luna noticed his uneasiness and sent him a reassuring smile. She looked absolutely stunning in her dress and Matteo would lie if he said that he hadn't wiped a few tears away when he had seen her walking down the aisle.

"Good evening ladies and gentleman, boys and girls," Gastón began, "It's been such an exciting day that I'm absolutely speechless... Which is probably very good news for most of you, am I right, Matteo?"

Gastón wasn't even five sentences in and Matteo already regretted making him his best man. Nonetheless, he drank his first - and surely not last! - shot.

"I hope everyone is enjoying this very special day so far. It's been emotional. I mean, even the cake is in tiers!"

The crowd's reaction was a mixture of laughter and groaning. Matteo had been definitely doing the latter. After having another shot, he glanced at his wife - how fantastic was it that he could finally call her that? - who really seemed to enjoy herself. At least she was having fun. If Luna was happy Matteo could endure this for a few more minutes.

"For those of you that do not know me already, my name is Gastón and I am Matteo's best friend. I'm also the best man for today. Though I would have been fine with lord of the rings too."

Had he really just made a Lord of the Rings reference?

Wait, did that count as a pun? Should he drink? Matteo looked around and saw that he wasn't the only one with this problem. Deciding that he was still far too sober for this whole thing, Matteo took the shot and the others promptly followed suit.

"Now one of my main duties as best man was to organise the stag night. Another one of my duties is to not mention the stag night – as the saying goes, 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas'."

Just when Matteo had thought that Gastón was done with this delicate topic, he started to talk again, "Luckily, we went to Amsterdam. For those of you that don't know, Amsterdam is full of historical buildings, museums, canals and culture. I think that I will have to go back though as I don't recall seeing any of that."

Matteo sighed out of relief. That hadn't be too bad. And Gastón had somehow managed to let the stag night sound way more interesting than it had actually been.

"Before I start the long-awaited character assassination of the groom, I'd like to thank all of you for being here today, especially those of you who knew that I'd be saying a few words - it's very touching that you still decided to come. It's also truly amazing how far some people will travel for a free meal." After the laughter had died down, Gastón added sincerely, "In all seriousness, I know this day means so much to everyone involved, and I know Matteo and Luna are delighted that you are all here to share their special day."

Matteo was about to take yet another shot when Luna gestured for a waiter and asked him to put the remaining shots away. The waiter did as he was told and Matteo was too perplexed to say anything. He stared after the shots longingly. "I can't believe you did that," Matteo muttered. He turned his head to her again, "Why did you do that?"

"That would have been your fourth shot. I still want to enjoy my wedding night," Luna explained. Normally, Matteo would have retorted with something cocky but he was still struggling with the fact that his coping method had been taken away from him.

Gastón thanked both of their parents and congratulated Matteo and his father-in-law on their successful speeches. The groomsmen were thanked too. Meanwhile, the groom tried to come up with another distraction. He now studied the faces of people who wouldn't or couldn't drink.

A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved, right?

Matteo couldn't quite decipher Nina's expression, it was like a mix of disbelief and utter adoration. Ámbar just looked 100% done and he was sure that if it hadn't been for adorable 3-month-old Alicia she would have joined the drinking game too. Matteo truly admired them in that moment. How were they still alive after listening to everything Gastón had said up until this point? While being completely sober?

"Now I wouldn't be able to get away without thanking the flower girl, Ofelia. You did great, darling!" Gastón praised his daughter, giving her a thumbs up, "I'd also like to thank the matron of honor and bridesmaids for helping the bride get ready earlier and for making the unthinkable possible: Luna was at the church on time."

This earned him a few cheers. Matteo leaned closer to Luna, "I have to thank you again for being on time and sparing me a heart attack." She shrugged, "What can I say? I didn't want to get hit with cake." Matteo smiled at her, remembering their conversation from yesterday. "It would have been such a shame," he agreed. Luna was smiling and in that gorgeous wedding dress of hers no picture would ever do her justice! It really was hard for him to focus on the speech again.

"And may I add how wonderful they all look," Gastón said, a grin forming on his lips, "They are only eclipsed by Luna herself. The bride truly both outshines the sun and the moon with her dress!"

On the one hand, Matteo felt so sorry for those who still had their shots. He really hoped that none of them would die from alcohol poisoning. However, on the other hand, he was really envious of them. Even after two glasses of prosecco and three shots of vodka Matteo still had the mighty need to either shoot himself or Gastón. He put his head into his hands. "Make him stop," Matteo mumbled, "Or let me have another shot. I don't care." After saying these words, he wondered if the waiter would still serve him an alcoholic beverage. The mention of his name interrupted his thought.

"Matteo doesn't look bad either which shouldn't be a surprise as he is always dressed accurately. Except for that leo print shirt disaster... Matteo, I still have nightmares!"

So Gastón was at the embarrass the groom part now? Great. He scanned the table, desperate for anything with alcohol in it. Sadly, there were only two glasses water on the table. Matteo sighed. Just pretend it's vodka, he tried to motivate himself. Before Matteo got the chance to take a sip, Gastón's voice echoed through the room again.

"Every once in a while, two people meet and you just know it's meant to be," Gastón told them, voice serious, "You know instantly that the stars have aligned and that their paths would bring them together, regardless of what the universe might throw their way. That they would know and understand each other for the rest of their life – For Matteo this occurred in September of 2014... When he met me."

The crowd went wild after this and it took a few minutes until everyone had calmed down, allowing Gastón to speak again, "I'm convinced that in another lifetime Matteo and I have been friends since diapers. In this one our first encounter happened in school. It had been the first day of eight grade and Matteo had just moved from god-knows-where. We were seating partners in maths but it wasn't until the second week where we actually started talking to each other - out of class, of course - as Mr Zima liked to have absolute silence in his class. We've been best friends ever since."

Matteo smiled fondly at the memory. "But enough of Matteo and me. So where do I start with our lovely bridal couple? What took them so long? This wedding was like their first kiss - long overdue!" Gastón joked.

"Their first meeting had been far more interesting," he started again, "I wasn't actually there when it happened but I'm sure it was as bride and groom still argue to this day who actually skated into who," Gastón paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. Suddenly, Gastón turned towards him. Oh dear God, he was going to die! "Now Matteo, as a married man myself, I'd like to give you some advice: Just admit you're wrong."

Hah. Never!

That Matteo hadn't answer him didn't disturb Gastón even the slightest, he looked like he was having the time of his life, "After their collision Matteo had been so dazzled by Luna that he followed her around like a satellite. No, seriously if they were ever to discover that the moon has it's own moon they should name it Matteo." Someone please save him, Matteo thought. With vodka.

"I know a lot of people here are probably wondering just what does Luna see in Matteo? Well, for starters, he's handsome, witty, intelligent, char... Charm... Sorry! Matteo? I'm really having trouble reading your handwriting here, you can tell me the rest later!"

Matteo had actually laughed at that. Gastón loved to make fun of his cursive handwriting.

"I'm trying to think of something by myself now," Gastón said and pretended to ponder, "So to get back to the question, just what does Luna see in Matteo... It could be his work ethic. He always finishes what he starts. When he has set his mind to something, he will achieve it. No matter what. Really, Matteo might just be the personification of 'Veni, vidi, vici' which I think is funny since our groom here despises Avicii. You certainly won't hear him on the dancefloor later tonight."

Someone please kill him. At this point Matteo didn't even know if he had meant himself or Gastón with that. Or Avicii.

"Maybe it's his romantic nature?" Gastón tried again, "I mean, you all heard his speech earlier. Oh boy, and I thought I was sappy." Matteo felt his cheeks redden and why did God hate him so much?

"Music has always been one of Matteo's passions and..... Wait for it... He has certainly hit the right note with Luna!" Gastón said excitedly, a proud smile gracing his features. Matteo was honestly at loss for words.

Gastón looked at the bride. "Luna, I particularly liked you from the start because you always laughed at my puns, while Matteo would just shake his head and call me an idiot... She's sweet, kind, determined and unafraid. I never see Matteo as happy and content as when he is with her. So you could say that she lights up his world like nobody else," he grinned.

"I would like to finish off with a quote which I'm sure Matteo's not so secret romantic side will appreciate, "'Marriage is not about finding a person you can live with, it's about finding the person you can't live without'. They definitely have found that person in each other. Just look at their phone bills."

Okay, yeah, he approved of that. The waiters were handing out prosecco filled glasses again. It took all of Matteo's willpower to not empty his glass immediately.

"So then ladies and gentlemen, it gives me immense pleasure to invite you all to stand one up more time and raise your glasses, in a toast to Matteo and Luna."

When everyone had raised their glasses, Gastón raised his too, "I wish them both the best of luck and a life together filled with health, happiness and joy. To my best friend and his beautiful wife. To the new Mr & Mrs Balsano. Cheers!"

After the toast Gastón thanked everyone for listening and made his way to his seat, the tension in Matteo's shoulders finally disappearing for good. "I still live!" he exclaimed, being so relieved that the speech was finally over.

Matteo let his eyes wander around, seeing that almost all of their close friends looked more than a little tipsy. And that was putting it nicely.

By the looks of it they would wake up with a killer headache tomorrow.

#lutteo #soy luna #matteo and vodka is my new otp #his hate for avicii gives me life #give my poor son some alcohol xD #this wedding definitely had the highest alcohol consumption #everyone was soooo wasted the next day #gastón and his puns #can't believe i wrote them #especially the high note one #SO GOOD #one-shots

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be21zh · 5 years

Link

Dec 15, 2018

dreamt my passed mom rescue my education again. she visited my enhancement class and entrusted me not gave up. my sinful cousin, ie first grandson of my grandpa, also appeared among parents of high education seekers. my mother prayed for my higher education so hard that I touched and started focusing, standing firm among those preparing university entrance exam national wide. later I haunted zoo where I returned with missing. I queried the attenders for some animal, say dolphin, the crew told me I should visit next area in the zoo. I retreated. yesterday I first time gave up gazing my favorite woman dancer in open space of QRRS plaza. one of the dancer among the public exercising team shew contempt last dusk and let me wonder consequence of local mafia's interference, including the world largest mafia, CCP. when I passed them before the music whipping the dance, I heard some of them laughed loudly, apparently tried to attract me. when I returned my dorm, the facing room again half open their door, indicating their threat of break-in of my dorm under PRC surveillance cooperation. in the night the surveillance desperately booted up to interact with me, meddling my episode watching and youtube night news stream. in boring of the total control of my web traffic through China telecom gateway, I tried to reach out my contacts on my mobile, till sms one of my Univ. alumni with good wish. near bedtime ie. soon after 10pm, the state agent on upper floor again gathered to gabble, their noise likely amplified to echo in my room, desperately aiming to intercept my routine and mindset. they are rats lair before flood, cling anything might evade ruin or elimination. like dying CCP or the tyrant in nowadays PRC, their race before fate wipes them from their root timed and doomed, since their improper disability and hatred toward people of China, the peaceful tribe. God dad, rip me sooner poisoned PRC surveillance against my sanity. secure my work space in brilliant sunrise. if it means killing, let me annihilate enemies of my Empire of China from my ancestor, let me cleanse the lice of bloodsucking, thief of intelligence, hooligan of mob and violence in gracious blessing Christian universe. save my world before ruin, survive my people in global food crisis. grant us happy weekend tomorrow, grant me another meal daily. thx dad God, in this anxious free December morning.

Dec 8, 2018

dreamt a guy likely my once colleague, Xu, accompanied me to tour his campus. it's likely a privileged university, say Peking Univ. or Tsinghua Univ. he then showered in a jammed basement spa, where a sophomore just locked in mistakenly a night. after shower he let barber there to haircut but the latter refused, for his hair style always short and straight like me, and lately refurbished so no need to do it again. then they two rode bike through the hill roads in the campus, trying joining a volleyball team there playing. the guy's girlfriend ran into and stayed awhile with the guy. yesterday meant much for me, for my first Japanese sabot arrived. PRC surveillance obviously meddled, first delayed logistics several days after the taobao vendor handover. when I buzzed the vendor, she checked it and claimed the goods ran short and asked my permission for a replacement. she replied lately and trying avoid my contacting. after second deliver, it costs a week to fulfill, much longer than usual. even arrived Harbin, our provincial capital, it took more than 2 days to reach me when should in day. but after all, it satisfies me. I put on as soon as unbox, and ditched PRC plastic product I bought online several months ago and wrecked recent weeks. the toilet room near my dorm frequently heavily messed by blue collar workers around, and heavy dirt on ground with dirty water, now I wouldn't afraid it, for the sabot has less contacting surface on its bottom, less likely got stained in the tentatively hate drove fouled open space, likes total PRC under hooligan CCP monopoly. my socks didn't have 2 toes, so I ordered a new set from taobao.com copes it. seemingly the wooden sabot not so cold indoor and hopefully new socks will put my feet in comfort. last dusk also rewarding me. I found spices coupon dispatched by my once employer, QRRS, due to expired next Monday, I launched at once to shift it to my son. I met him when he leaving his middle school. I handover coupon, pocket money, OS patch on portable storage, kissed his cheek and left. in the night after contacted him I booked 2 dining out for coming seasonal holiday, a buffet and a Japanese cuisine. I also settled monthly cinema next next weekend. on night before yesterday I buzzed my hometown nephew and his dad, exchanged view and briefed recent changes, urged the young man to seek learning in cyberspace. the kindness driven by gratefulness my concerned women left me around. I appreciate so much for fullness in my life entering late half. they left my waist painful in the night and I pray cure in thanksgiving. God dad, my new socks arrive hours later. grant us financial Independence. grant me another meal daily, or complementary some bread daily. bring me sooner my Royal China, my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko. in these 2 one meal a day weeks, thx for hunger didn't pester me. grant me meanings in my starvation. survive me and my world in the global crisis of food shortage.

Nov 29, 2018

dreamt first at hometown where a wedding ceremony underwent. then found it was my marriage. there are many traditional protocol in ceremony. the cousin, ie. the first son of my dad's elder brother, and his mom, who long time envied my family's luck, meddled in traditional practices with their evil intention. in the end, our tribe entrusted to train ourselves for ethnic war and fatal adversity. then dreamt Elon Musk, with his father, both successful entrepreneur. I wondered why them driven to be so diligent even overactive. then lengthily a dream about family affair at hometown but I forgot it now after late sleep. QRRS, my once long time employer, dispatching its annual rice coupon, I was informed by departmental cashier last dusk to fetch this morning. so I at once went over to fetch it. the refurbished HQ of the SOE has a gorgeous ground hall in which sunny and spacious. with this coupon my weekend reunion with my son will be glorified. I just broke contract with dorm canteen after its operative family shown despise. I now will hunt for meal everyday and risk penniless every living. I buzzed my younger brother who had been supporting my dorm canteen boarding for 3 years or so, monthly ¥700, about the change, but he yet not offer the aid direct to me after the cancelled mid deal. last night I thought of my financial hardness, my pinched purse which only left less than dozen bucks, and I recognized my support to my son's pocket money in a season, ¥800 remit to his alipay account boosted by last month's exceptional strong salary, near 6000 CNY around thanksgiving holiday, no optional but crisis adopts. my dearest son cares indeed about my empty promise to prepare his monthly pocket money ¥250, but in last year it constantly shift to other usage, say recent 2 purchases of computer. this poor niche now again confronted with premature requisite, left the year-end pale however our web asset renewed with the weighted salary. God dad, bring me sooner my Royal China, bring me my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko, for coming glory. grant us independent finance. rid me sooner off PRC merciless surveillance, insane cheap barking dog around with 24*7 espionage, esp on upper floor where they relentlessly made noise to notify their meddling coincidentally. grant us happy weekend with dine out Mcdonald. thx God in this sunny winter morning when I freed from routine canteen breakfast hussle and totol free agenda like a hunting bee.

#IFTTT #Blogger #technicolormoments #blog #blog post #benzillar #benzrad.us

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longboner · 6 years

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toxic infatuation

Just got back from a wedding today. It got me feeling the full spectrum of emotion with only a downfall at the end, similar to the high of being on ecstasy followed with the deadly “come-down”. Unfortunately, this come-down is a lifestyle I’ve grown accustomed to.

It comes to no surprise that I’m incredibly lazy. Even when things are vital to my future, I’m known to slack hardcore, so it somewhat makes sense that I haven’t put too much forethought to my current situation. I’ve come to hate my life. Before I really felt it now, I’ve only ever used that phrase ironically. I hate this place, I hate my housemates, and I hate myself. Hate, hate, hate. I can’t even find things to enjoy anymore.

Being in a new environment felt invigorating at first, mostly due to a sort of honeymoon phase. It quickly came down. My roommate is a complete weirdo who also stinks and overall lowers my quality of life. I actively despise his presence because his existence just worries me. Another Chinese fob housemate is incredibly annoying too. He’s always so nosy and goes out of his way to bother me.

Sure I haven’t done anything to completely mitigate his annoyingness, but for my roommate, I’ve gone through hell just to get this guy to a seemingly normal state of being. Just the act of replacing a towel took over a week to solve. The inner machinations of this guy’s mind is an enigma.

Amazingly, these housemate problems are only icing on this shitty cake I call life. I’m in the worst spot of my life. Or at least that’s how it feels. Every year feels the same to be honest. I’m always stuck in this shitty hole. My self-esteem is at an all-time low. I look in the mirror and I hate the person I see. Every time I look at a picture of myself I physically wince.

There was a time in my life where I thought I was somewhat attractive. It even came with the perk of not having to know how to socialize with people because girls just came to you! Delusions get you pretty far. All that self-confidence went to shit over time, as I started packing on the pounds and caring less about maintaining my appearance.

It all really leads to now. I feel like such a piece of shit. Like how did I become such a huge piece of shit. My life just feels meaningless. I don’t remember any phase in my life where just thinking about being alive would almost jerk tears out of my eyes. To die or cry, I can’t decide if I want to do one, the other, or both at the same time. I have so many things I want to happen, but I don’t have the confidence to do anything. I want to fall in love and be loved, I want to be smart and sociable, I want to enjoy my life; I want and I want and I want.

I can’t even talk to people normally without feeling self-conscious about being awkward, weird, or just plain out uninteresting. It’s fine to tell someone to be themselves, but if they’re just an uninteresting piece of shit then who would want to talk with them? Sure you could make the argument that everyone is a piece of shit in their own right, but you can’t help feeling how you feel about yourself. Kinda flawed argument because you can gain self-confidence, but you get what I mean.

Talking to people legitimately depresses me. The moment the excitement in their eyes from meeting a new person disappears gives me such a deep sinking feeling of depression that I’m scared to talk to new people. The constant conflict between my fear of rejection and my yearning for companionship defines me.

And speaking of companionship, the one thing I love writing about is girls. When I was younger, middle school for example, I put girls on an incredibly high pedestal. Talking to ugly girls, piece of cake, maybe even add a little sprinkle of disgust in there too. But talking to girls I thought were attractive was a big no from me. I felt a massive divide between these two types of girls, and I immediately felt intimidated by them. It surely explains my storied history of relationships, seeing as, romantically or not, I’ve never approached any girl I’ve liked.

My life is built upon a growing list of unrequited infatuations. I never even saw them as human. To a spectator, it would look like girls were pretty much angels descended from heaven from how I treated them: untouchable and revered. Fuck, I had a huge crush on this girl I met in kindergarten that lasted the majority of my life. I barely even talked to her, it was too frightening. It was easy to just watch from a distance, I never had to do anything. Just her presence was enough to make me feel happy to be alive. After all, my mind literally couldn’t fit anything else but her.

Somehow, I didn’t learn about the merits of expressing your feelings until the end of high school. I had a group of guy friends and one thing they used to talk about was their relationships and others’ relationships. Needless to say, I was living under a rock. People were fucking each other left and right. Sure that sounds completely normal, but these were people that I actually knew. I never knew that people I knew were capable of this shit. Makes sense that I was living in a fucking cave if I thought people weren’t doing anything. I’m a human, and my desires could be shared with many, many others.

Actually, one of the guys in this group went out with that girl I’ve liked for over a decade at that point. Fascinating to hear about that person in your mind that you’ve put on a pedestal as some saint getting her ass plowed every Tuesday. Heart-breaking wouldn’t be the right way to put it, I’d say it was more of a soul-twisting, enlightening experience.

The real hard hitters are when a girl likes you and you completely fuck it up. In my senior year, a girl I knew in middle school messaged me. It was the old, “hey I used to like you” kind of spiel, so you already know she was looking for something here. My decline in self-esteem was already nearing its peak by this point, and I ruined everything that could have happened by making explicit the fact that I’ve become this empty shell of a human being.

And this feeling of mutual interest is something I find intoxicating. In high school I never really checked out girls because I was too obvious about it, and in high school, everybody knows everybody. I already put names and stories to these faces, and it was hard to sexually objectify them unless their bodies were fucking insane. When I met new people, I do that stupid movie shit where you’re always trying to steal glances from a girl and haha yes we met eyes hahahaahhhahaah. It’s a nice connection before you actually talk to a girl, since you almost entirely get rid of the initial factor of whether or not she finds you attractive.

The fear of rejection comes in many forms, so even after that preliminary ritual, I’m faced with the decision of approaching this girl. At this point, I’ve checked things off my inner list: she’s cute, she’s obviously interested in me, and I’m interested in her. All I have to do is talk to her, so why not? Well first of all, I’m a fat piece of shit. Every time I’ve talked to someone new, they almost immediately lose interest. And what if she’s not even interested in me in the first place? What if I’m misinterpreting these signals? God I’m so conceited to even assume someone as cute as her would even think to find someone like me attractive.

After a pep talk like that, it’s hard to think I wouldn’t approach her. I had that happen at the wedding. I noticed a girl there that was really cute, but I didn’t pass the initial ritual. Hell, there were near zero signs pointing to yes, but I thought she was cute so why not? Give it a go. But it got me thinking, I’ve already failed the ritual, so I don’t even have the comfort of that going before I go for it. Not to mention my hair is complete shit since I didn’t shower in the morning on top of my hair product being trash from Target. I’m a complete mess in a suit and tie without even a belt to hold my outfit together. God when I look in the mirror, some ugly fat disheveled retard is looking right back at me. At the end of this stupid monologue, I told myself I already failed. Every single time this happened in the past, I always ended up doing nothing and it all was stupid overthinking, and it just happened all over again.

Long story short, I thought she was too cute for me to approach. What kind of girl do I think I deserve? If I “settled” for a girl, wouldn’t that be disingenuous? I keep beating myself up for just existing and thinking I deserve someone that I like. Not to be that kind of guy, I see plenty of ugly guys going places and getting girls way out of their leagues. Logically speaking, they gotta work for their pay, so they’re doing something right.

Leads me to think that there’s some form of merit to being a fuckboy. Living solely to put your dick in some vagina could produce some results. It’s like bruteforcing; you’re mindlessly practicing over and over just to get some result that has no emotional significance to you other than sexual gratification. Maybe if I became a fuckboy, I’d get friends, albeit they’re like-minded in that they’d be fuckboys too. Maybe I’d be more confident, well, hopefully since at that point I’d be telling myself I’m confident everyday until it became reality.

I had a conversation with my cousin who told me, in short, that I just sound like I’m bored. I lose interest easily because it’s hard to stay interested in people. He told me to at least act interested, and act like I care. Fake it til you make it right? At that point why not be a fuckboy? But honestly there is merit to that advice. Nobody wants to talk to a wall, but if I’m forcing myself to be interested, would it make me happy to push this relationship further if I’m just going to continue to force myself to act like that? Maybe I’m being a hypocrite with that other shit I have going on.

Anyways, tired. Dunno how to end it, it’s gotten super long. This is something I think about a lot, so I’ll be writing the heck out of it.

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cephii · 7 years

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1-200 let's go babe ;>

200: My crush’s name is: Jayjay the jet plane199: I was born in: 2003198: I am really: Hungry :^[197: My cellphone company is: T-mobile196: My eye color is: Blue?? Grey?? Something in between that. My eyes have yellow in them too, it’s weird 195: My shoe size is: either a 7 or 8?? I forgot194: My ring size is: I actually have no idea uH193: My height is: either 5′4 or 5′5192: I am allergic to: Certain food preservatives, something they put in sunscreen idk :^[191: My 1st car was: Lightning McQueen 190: My 1st job was: Being born189: Last book you read: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde188: My bed is: Soft, occupied by me atm, queen sized 187: My pet: Don’t got one186: My best friend: tARA185: My favorite shampoo is: Idk, oof 184: Xbox or ps3: Don’t rly use either 183: Piggy banks are: Gay, kinda cute honestly 182: In my pockets: I’m not wearing pants right now181: On my calendar: I don’t use calenders 180: Marriage is: Amazing for people who actually care about each other! But not just to get married, divorce is NOT fun. 179: Spongebob can: control gravity 178: My mom: is a huge role model to me! (She might be very homophobic oof, but she’s great! When she first came to the US, she had to learn an entire new language, make enough money to feed 2 starving kids, and pay for my dad’s funeral, but 13 years later she is very very successful in a career she loves 177: The last three songs I bought were? Isle unto thyself (Joe Hawley) The Greatest Show Unearthed (Creature Feature) Hidden in the Sand (Tally Hall)176: Last YouTube video watched: Val Val Val175: How many cousins do you have? 5174: Do you have any siblings? Yes! Two of them. An 18 year old sister, and a 7 year old brother173: Are your parents divorced? nope :^0172: Are you taller than your mom? yES I AM 171: Do you play an instrument? I play the ukulele 170: What did you do yesterday? sCHOOL DANCE AND HAD MY FRIENDS SLEEP AT MY HOUSE OOF [ I Believe In ]169: Love at first sight: No 168: Luck: No167: Fate: No166: Yourself: Sometimes165: Aliens: Yes164: Heaven: No163: Hell: To an extent 162: God: Nah man 161: Horoscopes: No160: Soul mates: In a way159: Ghosts: Yes158: Gay Marriage: YES 157: War: No156: Orbs: Nah155: Magic: Certain forms of it, yeah. [ This or That ]154: Hugs or Kisses: DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE 153: Drunk or High: Neither, both are damaging 152: Phone or Online: Online151: Red heads or Black haired: Red hair150: Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes 149: Hot or cold: Cold148: Summer or winter: Winter147: Autumn or Spring: Spring 146: Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla 145: Night or Day: Night 144: Oranges or Apples: Oranges143: Curly or Straight hair: I really love both142: McDonalds or Burger King: I don’t really like fast food but if I had to eat it then yeAH BURGER KING 141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: Milk chocolate 140: Mac or PC: Mac 139: Flip flops or high heals: Heels are prettier, but flip flops are wAY more comfortable 138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: Ugly and rich, oof137: Coke or Pepsi: I can’t drink soda136: Hillary or Obama: Obama135: Burried or cremated: Buried (as loNG AS I GET TO DECOMPOSE)134: Singing or Dancing: Singing133: Coach or Chanel: Coach132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: i cANT CHOOSE 131: Small town or Big city: Big city 130: Wal-Mart or Target: Target 129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: Why the fuck would I answer this128: Manicure or Pedicure: Neither 127: East Coast or West Coast: East Coast 126: Your Birthday or Christmas: My birthdaY 125: Chocolate or Flowers: Flowers 124: Disney or Six Flags: Disney123: Yankees or Red Sox: y A N K E E S [ Here’s What I Think About ]122: War: War is just extremely stupid?? Pointless?? All of the above?? There is no need to kill people because you have problems. Why can’t we just play chess or something? To win that, you must be very skilled and knowledgeable. Instead of the bloodthirsty leading us, the chess players should ;^0. Think about it! War is a primal instinct. We, as humans, like to distance ourselves from past methods. Instead of advancing something we’ve done for centuries, why don’t we just reinvent it entirely? War really is one of my biggest and most sincere fears, neither sides are just when they want to kill people with beautiful lives just to solve some problem that is solvable with a simple debate. 121: George Bush: Don’t know very much120: Gay Marriage: Very very important! There is no need to even debate when gay couples are statistically less likely to divorce. 119: The presidential election: Eugh118: Abortion: It’s up to the mother. I personally prefer giving the baby away for adoption, but I wouldn’t shame somebody for going through with it117: MySpace: Never used it116: Reality TV: Kinda stupid, makes me really uncomfortable honestly 115: Parents: Mixed opinions??114: Back stabbers: I deal with too many too often 113: Ebay: Can be pretty useful I guess112: Facebook: Don’t use it, but it’s alright I guess111: Work: Very important! 110: My Neighbors: My neighbors both have VERY cute dogs. One of them has a huge golden retriever, hes super sweet. The other has 2 German shepherds, super pretty dogs auGH 109: Gas Prices: Honestly just use electric cars, fuel is running out108: Designer Clothes: Some are nice. Some are stupid and really overpriced. 107: College: Go if you want to, it’s useful! But kinda really expensive 106: Sports: I like some of them!105: My family: Love one half, despise the other104: The future: Don’t make me think about it[ Last time I ]103: Hugged someone: 12:00-ish when my friend left today102: Last time you ate: 10 hours ago??101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: I don’t remember 100: Cried in front of someone: 3 days ago 99: Went to a movie theater:2 years ago-ish98: Took a vacation: 7 months ago97: Swam in a pool: a week ago:^]]96: Changed a diaper: Never have 95: Got my nails done: Never have 94: Went to a wedding: 8 years ago93: Broke a bone: Never have92: Got a peircing: 9 years ago (but that was against my will eeP)91: Broke the law: I basically am in some way, always. It might be a dumb law, but I never know for sure90: Texted: I am right now [ MISC ]89: Who makes you laugh the most: Vini 88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: My blankets87: The last movie I saw: La la land86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: The last day of school!85: The thing im not looking forward to: First day of summer84: People call me: Clyde, Milo, Meelo, Gay83: The most difficult thing to do is: Not take things personally 82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: Never ever 81: My zodiac sign is: Cancer80: The first person i talked to today was: Vini 79: First time you had a crush: When I was 478: The one person who i can’t hide things from: Vini, Eugene, and Melody77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: Idk76: Right now I am talking to: jasmine and vini75: What are you going to do when you grow up: Idk, really. But I wanna be an astronomer!74: I have/will get a job: Idk, my parents won’t let me73: Tomorrow: comes today 72: Today: Is a sunday! Time to go to the store today 71: Next Summer: Is another summer70: Next Weekend: Idek oof 69: I have these pets: NONE OF THE PETS AHAHA68: The worst sound in the world: Someone I care about crying67: The person that makes me cry the most is: some ‘friends’ (In a bad way) Eugene (in the best way possible)66: People that make you happy: My (actual and not fake) friends! At least the ones who care to talk to me regularly 65: Last time I cried: like 30 minutes ago

64: My friends are: gay and half of them are fake as fuck

63: My computer is: Pretty okay! Might not be the best, but she gets the job done62: My School: I’m terrified of any school, it’s a terrible experience. I’m just glad I have people to talk to that get my mind off of things I hate about the place! (Minus the times they start joking about the subject and it upsets me :’^[)61: My Car: I don’t own one personally 60: I lose all respect for people who: make children cry59: The movie I cried at was: I cry at most movies jfc 58: Your hair color is: dirty blonde! It looks red in some types of light tho57: TV shows you watch: Right now? I’m really just watching Huner x Hunter and Rick and Morty. Not keeping up with much else 56: Favorite web site: niceonedad.com55: Your dream vacation: Death valley! Primarily to see the stars 54: The worst pain I was ever in was: Cutting my arm open with a knife 53: How do you like your steak cooked: Well done52: My room is: Kinda clean51: My favorite celebrity is: Neil Patrick Harris 50: Where would you like to be: In sleepy land 49: Do you want children: No48: Ever been in love: Yes 47: Who’s your best friend: TaRA46: More guy friends or girl friends: I kinda have the same ammount of both45: One thing that makes you feel great is: When people say they love me44: One person that you wish you could see right now: Eugene43: Do you have a 5 year plan: no42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: I don’t like the thought of death at all, so a list wouldn’t help me41: Have you pre-named your children: No 40: Last person I got mad at: My dad39: I would like to move to: Poland38: I wish I was a professional: faggot[ My Favorites ]37: Candy: Krówki36: Vehicle: I like planes 35: President: Idk oopsies 34: State visited: Pennsylvania 33: Cellphone provider: Idk 32: Athlete: Idk ooF 31: Actor: Neil Patrick Harris 30: Actress: CANT DECIDE AUGHH 29: Singer: Joe Hawley 28: Band: Tally Hall 27: Clothing store: H&M26: Grocery store: I don’t care as long as you have strawberry milk25: TV show: Honestly the Octonauts 24: Movie: La La Land 23: Website: niceonedad.com22: Animal: GOAT 21: Theme park: Disney20: Holiday: Halloween 19: Sport to watch: baseball18: Sport to play: Badminton 17: Magazine: I don’t read them16: Book: Pride and Prejudice 15: Day of the week: Thursday 14: Beach: Idk :’^[13: Concert attended: I don’t go to concerts 12: Thing to cook: I like baking muffins 11: Food: S T R A W B E R R I E S 10: Restaurant: Idk, aughhHh9: Radio station: I don’t listen to the radio very much 8: Yankee candle scent: I can’t smell candles 7: Perfume: angel by thierry mugler6: Flower: Roses 5: Color: Pink4: Talk show host: Idk oof 3: Comedian: Drew Lynch 2: Dog breed: Chusky 1: Did you answer all these truthfully? Indeed I did, my good friend

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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16 "Always." In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It's a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers. When I finally begin to surface into the sterile hospital room in 13, I remember. I was under the influence of sleep syrup. My heel had been injured after I'd climbed out on a branch over the electric fence and dropped back into 12. Peeta had put me to bed and I had asked him to stay with me as I was drifting off. He had whispered something I couldn't quite catch. But some part of my brain had trapped his single word of reply and let it swim up through my dreams to taunt me now. "Always." Morphling dulls the extremes of all emotions, so instead of a stab of sorrow, I merely feel emptiness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers used to bloom. Unfortunately, there's not enough of the drug left in my veins for me to ignore the pain in the left side of my body. That's where the bullet hit. My hands fumble over the thick bandages encasing my ribs and I wonder what I'm still doing here. It wasn't him, the man kneeling before me on the square, the burned one from the Nut. He didn't pull the trigger. It was someone farther back in the crowd. There was less a sense of penetration than the feeling that I'd been struck with a sledgehammer. Everything after the moment of impact is confusion riddled with gunfire. I try to sit up, but the only thing I manage is a moan. The white curtain that divides my bed from the next patient's whips back, and Johanna Mason stares down at me. At first I feel threatened, because she attacked me in the arena. I have to remind myself that she did it to save my life. It was part of the rebel plot. But still, that doesn't mean she doesn't despise me. Maybe her treatment of me was all an act for the Capitol? "I'm alive," I say rustily. "No kidding, brainless." Johanna walks over and plunks down on my bed, sending spikes of pain shooting across my chest. When she grins at my discomfort, I know we're not in for some warm reunion scene. "Still a little sore?" With an expert hand, she quickly detaches the morphling drip from my arm and plugs it into a socket taped into the crook of her own. "They started cutting back my supply a few days ago. Afraid I'm going to turn into one of those freaks from Six. I've had to borrow from you when the coast was clear. Didn't think you'd mind." Mind? How can I mind when she was almost tortured to death by Snow after the Quarter Quell? I have no right to mind, and she knows it. Johanna sighs as the morphling enters her bloodstream. "Maybe they were onto something in Six. Drug yourself out and paint flowers on your body. Not such a bad life. Seemed happier than the rest of us, anyway." In the weeks since I left 13, she's gained some weight back. A soft down of hair has sprouted on her shaved head, helping to hide some of the scars. But if she's siphoning off my morphling, she's struggling. "They've got this head doctor who comes around every day. Supposed to be helping me recover. Like some guy who's spent his life in this rabbit warren's going to fix me up. Complete idiot. At least twenty times a session he reminds me that I'm totally safe." I manage a smile. It's a truly stupid thing to say, especially to a victor. As if such a state of being ever existed, anywhere, for anyone. "How about you, Mockingjay? You feel totally safe?" "Oh, yeah. Right up until I got shot," I say. "Please. That bullet never even touched you. Cinna saw to that," she says. I think of the layers of protective armor in my Mockingjay outfit. But the pain came from somewhere. "Broken ribs?" "Not even. Bruised pretty good. The impact ruptured your spleen. They couldn't repair it." She gives a dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't worry, you don't need one. And if you did, they'd find you one, wouldn't they? It's everybody's job to keep you alive." "Is that why you hate me?" I ask. "Partly," she admits. "Jealousy is certainly involved. I also think you're a little hard to swallow. With your tacky romantic drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn't an act, which makes you more unbearable. Please feel free to take this personally." "You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would've had to feed you lines," I say. "True. But no one likes me," she tells me. "They trusted you, though. To get me out," I remind her. "And they're afraid of you." "Here, maybe. In the Capitol, you're the one they're scared of now." Gale appears in the doorway, and Johanna neatly unhooks herself and reattaches me to the morphling drip. "Your cousin's not afraid of me," she says confidentially. She scoots off my bed and crosses to the door, nudging Gale's leg with her hip as she passes him. "Are you, gorgeous?" We can hear her laughter as she disappears down the hall. I raise my eyebrows at him as he takes my hand. "Terrified," he mouths. I laugh, but it turns into a wince. "Easy." He strokes my face as the pain ebbs. "You've got to stop running straight into trouble." "I know. But someone blew up a mountain," I answer. Instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, searching my face. "You think I'm heartless." "I know you're not. But I won't tell you it's okay," I say. Now he draws back, almost impatiently. "Katniss, what difference is there, really, between crushing our enemy in a mine or blowing them out of the sky with one of Beetee's arrows? The result is the same." "I don't know. We were under attack in Eight, for one thing. The hospital was under attack," I say. "Yes, and those hoverplanes came from District Two," he says. "So, by taking them out, we prevented further attacks." "But that kind of thinking...you could turn it into an argument for killing anyone at any time. You could justify sending kids into the Hunger Games to prevent the districts from getting out of line," I say. "I don't buy that," he tells me. "I do," I reply. "It must be those trips to the arena." "Fine. We know how to disagree," he says. "We always have. Maybe it's good. Between you and me, we've got District Two now." "Really?" For a moment a feeling of triumph flares up inside me. Then I think about the people on the square. "Was there fighting after I was shot?" "Not much. The workers from the Nut turned on the Capitol soldiers. The rebels just sat by and watched," he says. "Actually, the whole country just sat by and watched." "Well, that's what they do best," I say. You'd think that losing a major organ would entitle you to lie around a few weeks, but for some reason, my doctors want me up and moving almost immediately. Even with the morphling, the internal pain's severe the first few days, but then it slacks off considerably. The soreness from the bruised ribs, however, promises to hang on for a while. I begin to resent Johanna dipping into my morphling supply, but I still let her take whatever she likes. Rumors of my death have been running rampant, so they send in the team to film me in my hospital bed. I show off my stitches and impressive bruising and congratulate the districts on their successful battle for unity. Then I warn the Capitol to expect us soon. As part of my rehabilitation, I take short walks aboveground each day. One afternoon, Plutarch joins me and gives me an update on our current situation. Now that District 2 has allied with us, the rebels are taking a breather from the war to regroup. Fortifying supply lines, seeing to the wounded, reorganizing their troops. The Capitol, like 13 during the Dark Days, finds itself completely cut off from outside help as it holds the threat of nuclear attack over its enemies. Unlike 13, the Capitol is not in a position to reinvent itself and become self-sufficient. "Oh, the city might be able to scrape along for a while," says Plutarch. "Certainly, there are emergency supplies stockpiled. But the significant difference between Thirteen and the Capitol are the expectations of the populace. Thirteen was used to hardship, whereas in the Capitol, all they've known is Panem et Circenses." "What's that?" I recognizePanem , of course, but the rest is nonsense. "It's a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome," he explains. "Panem et Circensestranslates into 'Bread and Circuses.' The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power." I think about the Capitol. The excess of food. And the ultimate entertainment. The Hunger Games. "So that's what the districts are for. To provide the bread and circuses." "Yes. And as long as that kept rolling in, the Capitol could control its little empire. Right now, it can provide neither, at least at the standard the people are accustomed to," says Plutarch. "We have the food and I'm about to orchestrate an entertainment propo that's sure to be popular. After all, everybody loves a wedding." I freeze in my tracks, sick at the idea of what he's suggesting. Somehow staging some perverse wedding between Peeta and me. I haven't been able to face that one-way glass since I've been back and, at my own request, only get updates about Peeta's condition from Haymitch. He speaks very little about it. Different techniques are being tried. There will never truly be a way to cure him. And now they want me to marry Peeta for a propo? Plutarch rushes to reassure me. "Oh, no, Katniss. Not your wedding. Finnick and Annie's. All you need to do is show up and pretend to be happy for them." "That's one of the few things I won't have to pretend, Plutarch," I tell him. The next few days bring a flurry of activity as the event is planned. The differences between the Capitol and 13 are thrown into sharp relief by the event. When Coin says "wedding," she means two people signing a piece of paper and being assigned a new compartment. Plutarch means hundreds of people dressed in finery at a three-day celebration. It's amusing to watch them haggle over the details. Plutarch has to fight for every guest, every musical note. After Coin vetoes a dinner, entertainment, and alcohol, Plutarch yells, "What's the point of the propo if no one's having any fun!" It's hard to put a Gamemaker on a budget. But even a quiet celebration causes a stir in 13, where they seem to have no holidays at all. When it's announced that children are wanted to sing District 4's wedding song, practically every kid shows up. There's no shortage of volunteers to help make decorations. In the dining hall, people chat excitedly about the event. Maybe it's more than the festivities. Maybe it's that we are all so starved for something good to happen that we want to be part of it. It would explain why - when Plutarch has a fit over what the bride will wear - I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour. I'm a little leery about being with Annie since all I really know about her is that Finnick loves her and everybody thinks she's mad. On the hovercraft ride, I decide she's less mad than unstable. She laughs at odd places in the conversation or drops out of it distractedly. Those green eyes fixate on a point with such intensity that you find yourself trying to make out what she sees in the empty air. Sometimes, for no reason, she presses both her hands over her ears as if to block out a painful sound. All right, she's strange, but if Finnick loves her, that's good enough for me. I got permission for my prep team to come along, so I'm relieved of having to make any fashion decisions. When I open the closet, we all fall silent because Cinna's presence is so strong in the flow of the fabrics. Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and bursts into tears. "It's been so long," she gasps, "since I've seen anything pretty." Despite reservations on Coin's side that it's too extravagant, and on Plutarch's side that it's too drab, the wedding is a smash hit. The three hundred lucky guests culled from 13 and the many refugees wear their everyday clothes, the decorations are made from autumn foliage, the music is provided by a choir of children accompanied by the lone fiddler who made it out of 12 with his instrument. So it's simple, frugal by the Capitol's standards. It doesn't matter because nothing can compete with the beauty of the couple. It isn't about their borrowed finery - Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta's suits that they altered - although the clothes are striking. Who can look past the radiant faces of two people for whom this day was once a virtual impossibility? Dalton, the cattle guy from 10, conducts the ceremony, since it's similar to the one used in his district. But there are unique touches of District 4. A net woven from long grass that covers the couple during their vows, the touching of each other's lips with salt water, and the ancient wedding song, which likens marriage to a sea voyage. No, I don't have to pretend to be happy for them. After the kiss that seals the union, the cheers, and a toast with apple cider, the fiddler strikes up a tune that turns every head from 12. We may have been the smallest, poorest district in Panem, but we know how to dance. Nothing has been officially scheduled at this point, but Plutarch, who's calling the propo from the control room, must have his fingers crossed. Sure enough, Greasy Sae grabs Gale by the hand and pulls him into the center of the floor and faces off with him. People pour in to join them, forming two long lines. And the dancing begins. I'm standing off to the side, clapping to the rhythm, when a bony hand pinches me above the elbow. Johanna scowls at me. "Are you going to miss the chance to let Snow see you dancing?" She's right. What could spell victory louder than a happy Mockingjay twirling around to music? I find Prim in the crowd. Since winter evenings gave us a lot of time to practice, we're actually pretty good partners. I brush off her concerns about my ribs, and we take our places in the line. It hurts, but the satisfaction of having Snow watch me dance with my little sister reduces other feelings to dust. Dancing transforms us. We teach the steps to the District 13 guests. Insist on a special number for the bride and groom. Join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork. Nothing silly, joyful, or fun has happened in so long. This could go on all night if not for the last event planned in Plutarch's propo. One I hadn't heard about, but then it was meant to be a surprise. Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. Most of the guests back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers. But I push my way through the crowd to confirm what I knew at first sight. As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie's gown were done by Cinna's hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta's. This may seem like a small thing, but it speaks volumes. Haymitch has been keeping a great deal from me. The boy I last saw, screaming his head off, trying to tear free of his restraints, could never have made this. Never have had the focus, kept his hands steady, designed something so perfect for Finnick and Annie. As if anticipating my reaction, Haymitch is at my side. "Let's you and me have a talk," he says. Out in the hall, away from the cameras, I ask, "What's happening to him?" Haymitch shakes his head. "I don't know. None of us knows. Sometimes he's almost rational, and then, for no reason, he goes off again. Doing the cake was a kind of therapy. He's been working on it for days. Watching him...he seemed almost like before." "So, he's got the run of the place?" I ask. The idea makes me nervous on about five different levels. "Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He's still under lock and key. But I've talked to him," Haymitch says. "Face-to-face?" I ask. "And he didn't go nuts?" "No. Pretty angry with me, but for all the right reasons. Not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot." Haymitch pauses a moment, as if deciding something. "He says he'd like to see you." I'm on a frosting sailboat, tossed around by blue-green waves, the deck shifting beneath my feet. My palms press into the wall to steady myself. This wasn't part of the plan. I wrote Peeta off in 2. Then I was to go to the Capitol, kill Snow, and get taken out myself. The gunshot was only a temporary setback. Never was I supposed to hear the wordsHe says he'd like to see you. But now that I have, there's no way to refuse. At midnight, I'm standing outside the door to his cell. Hospital room. We had to wait for Plutarch to finish getting his wedding footage, which, despite the lack of what he calls razzle-dazzle, he's pleased with. "The best thing about the Capitol basically ignoring Twelve all these years is that you people still have a little spontaneity. The audience eats that up. Like when Peeta announced he was in love with you or you did the trick with the berries. Makes for good television." I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He's got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn't fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn't ruled out that he's in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I'm standing about a yard from the bed. There's nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. "Hey." "Hey," he responds. It's like his voice, almost his voice, except there's something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. "Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me," I say. "Look at you, for starters." It's like he's waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. "You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?" I know he's been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. "Well, you've looked better." Haymitch's advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta's laughter. "And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through." "Yeah. We've all been through a lot. And you're the one who was known for being nice. Not me." I'm doing everything wrong. I don't know why I feel so defensive. He's been tortured! He's been hijacked! What's wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I'm not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. "Look, I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow." I've just reached the door when his voice stops me. "Katniss. I remember about the bread." The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. "They showed you the tape of me talking about it," I say. "No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn't the Capitol use it against me?" he asks. "I made it the day you were rescued," I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. "So what do you remember?" "You. In the rain," he says softly. "Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead." "That's it. That's what happened," I say. "The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how." "We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then...for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion." I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. "I must have loved you a lot." "You did." My voice catches and I pretend to cough. "And did you love me?" he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. "Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me." "That's not an answer," he tells me. "I don't know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers." "I was trying to kill all of you," I say. "You had me treed." "Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" he asks. "Sometimes," I admit. "You know people are watching us now?" "I know. What about Gale?" he continues. My anger's returning. I don't care about his recovery - this isn't the business of the people behind the glass. "He's not a bad kisser either," I say shortly. "And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?" he asks. "No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission," I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. "Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?" Haymitch doesn't protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I'm so upset. When I do, it's almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

#Mockingjay

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