#nothing can take away from me that when bored they will squabble like children

[thwispsings]

the idea came to me in a migraine induced dream but now im obsessed with the concept of a mu qingfang who knew the abuse bunhe was going through at the hands of og!shen qingqiu/shen jiu and did his best to treat the kid whenever he could (and bring his concerns to zhangmen shixiong, which were obviously very much ignored) and his constant worry over the situation means that when the qi deviation happens he is suspicious of shen qingqiu’s changes for all different reasons and very much protective of luo binghe -who is a sweet child and an earnest disciple who seems to always find the most incredible medicinal herbs to bring to his mu shishu as thanks for the care bestowed upon him- which means that when the whole shen qingqiu dying thing happens instead of bad mouthing luo binghe or fighting him at every chance he does his best to come over and keep an eye on things to try and help him and make sure luo binghe won’t kill himself trying to bring shen qingqiu back because he remembers that earnest kid and he’s witnessed luo binghe’s devotion to this shen qingqiu first hand and knows there is no way that the kid who cried when ning yingying found a bird with a broken wing and begged mu qingfang to fix it and the kid that would always borrow medical texts and try to find new herb combinations as if it was a game between him and qian cao disciples is actually doing anything nefarious to shen qingqiu’s corpse.

anyways in this essay i will-

#listen #binghe needs to have more people in his corner #and for some reason i have imprinted on mqf #so you get cool healer uncle #who probably smoked weed with binghe and made him promise to keep quiet #lbh and mqf bonding activity was teaching lbh to properly roll joints #anyways mqf understanding that the rituals are intricate and lqg doesn’t have any other way of coping with his grief #but the first time lqg injures lbh almost to death in a fight they get into a screaming match so violent #that no bai zhan discipline will look at him in the face without going pale for the next month #that is his nephew! who found several thought-to-be-extinct herbs for him! #also him telling sqq that lbh might have forgotten what he did but mqf certainly didn’t #a healer never forgets the wounds they heal #and sqq is just like yeah brother me neither :( #mqf is going to therapy these idiots so fucking hard #lbh also keeps trying to matchmake him with some nice demons in his court like shamelessly trying to poach his mu shishu #also he and shang qinghua are the only ones who still get the full shishu treatment #except lbh kinda bullies sqh a little for the virtue of the whole mbj situation #(hes never gonna let them live that down) #anyways it’s whatever at first but at one poont years in the future it does become a point of contempt with the other peak lords #nothing can take away from me that when bored they will squabble like children #such is the way of bored adults #i have rambled enough so normal tags now #svsss #svsss writing #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #mu qingfang #bingqiu #svsss au

[wiredaughter]

☆-☆-☆

@tropetember #27: emotional constipation

Hemlines

outlast × mother gooseberry/ofc × women's bar

You've never really been to a woman's bar before. Even if they'd been as popular back in England, it's not like any of the models in your father's fashion house was willing to risk that kind of exposure, and going alone seemed like it'd be boring at best and disastrous at worst. You don't let that stop you now that you don't have much of a reputation to worry about. Or so you tell yourself after a particularly rough day at work. Truth is you're still in the payroll of a studio that caters to children, still rather inexperienced and crucially, still mixed. You're vexed enough after a hemline related squabble to not care. If worse comes to worse, Phyllis can very well read about an Englishwoman found drowned in the river, and the thought of her having to find a dressmaker that will put up with her punitive demands gets a grin out of you. If it all goes well though, it might just help you blow some steam.

You don't have a car, so you get a cab that leaves you a block away, as you're feeling like stretching your legs a bit either way. You're more angry about being nervous than you are nervous, so you manage to keep your head high as you enter, flounce your way to the bar and get a sidecar. Only when the bartender puts it in front of you you dare take a look around. It's a working class joint on a weeknight so it's not too crowded, but it's still more lesbians you've seen in your life. Feeling giddy enough to start applauding at nothing, you hide your excited smile in your drink as you tell yourself to keep your head. You've got no intention of giving your unworldliness away. You down the rest of your drink in one go and you haven't put the glass back down when the barkeep, lovely in a tight waistcoat and denim jeans, is sliding you another one with a wink. 'First time?'

Damn it twice over. 'Just in America.'

Five drinks later or six, of which you can only remember ordering two, you're quite sure everyone's onto you being as green as it gets, but are way past caring. You've joined a table of women who are at equal parts endeared and amused by your accent, which only gets more chavvy the more you drink but you really don't mind repeating what you said real close to their faces. Usually standing out would annoy you, but the atmosphere is too delightful for your pettiness to cut through it. Seeing women hold each other and even sneak kisses in the open still has you thinking you might be dreaming, and if you are you're sure nobody would mind if you think your interlocutor, Bill as she'd introduced herself, is worth the risk of going home with. You don't say that, instead you ask 'Can I tie your knot please?'

She raises the corner of her mouth and tilts her head like she's trying to figure you out. 'What?'

You don't reply, but reach out for her tie, hands buzzing from the liquor but you know clothes if nothing else, and she lets you undo it. A tulip knot has never been so hard to fix but she doesn't seem to mind it, not that her hand resting on your waist is helping. You sigh when you manage to pull it off, and she raises her hand to feel around for the changes.

'Leave it, please.'

'Since you said please...'

'You've never done one of those for me.'

That's a voice you'd recognise no matter how legless. Youe left eye twitches, and now you're convinced you're dreaming, or battling a nightmare. You stay really still trying to change the setting, and are just realising this is somehow real life as Bill looks to Phyllis then back to you. To her credit, she looks more entertained than anything, 'Forgot to mention you had a woman?'

You turn around now, properly angry at the whole thing and drunker than you should be. 'We're not...!'

Her voice, steady and exasperatedly confident, cuts you off. 'I'm her boss.'

'You're not my boss!'

She raises an eyebrow at that, then turns around. 'We're leaving now.'

'She's not!' You turn back to the table. 'We're colleagues.'

Your point is probably undermined by your exit after her, but you remind yourself you don't care about what any of them thinks about you and you've got bigger problems, on quick unbalanced footfalls that have you stumbling out into the alley until it's too much and you're narrowly saved from breaking your face against the asphalt by firm hands on your shoulders. Phyllis carries you until you're seated on the bonnet of her car and examines you critically. You tilt your chin up, like she's got any right to any part of this. You are not my boss.'

'Well I'm glad; because you're a mess.'

You cross your arms, unexpectedly affected by the comment. 'Nobody's asking you to unmess it.'

'But I think I will anyway.' She opens the car door. 'Get inside.'

Like hell. Just now it occurs to you to wonder what she's even doing there. 'Did you follow me?' She gives you an unimpressed look, points to the open door in a dramatic gesture, but you're over it and when you jump off the Corvette it's to lean back into the wall. 'I'm too smashed for carsex, cheers.'

'Obviously.' When she picks you up you're too tired to do anything but curse under your breath as she gets you inside. 'I'm taking you home.'

You're in the passenger seat. You were actually hoping to get to nap in the backseat but when she leans over to do your seatbelt, and of course shed be the type to have the bloody things installed, you find you don't mind much. She's wearing a different cologne than she wears for the show and her proximity warms your skin, and when did you even get cold? You lean your head in the window, looking down at the road racing under the wheels. Too fast. You feel the nausea trying to take over your body, and start humming out of tune until it subsides. Phyllis gives you a look between belittling and pitying. 'We have a show to do tomorrow.

'You're still not my boss, Phillys.'

'Mother' She corrects.

You huff, laying your head down and closing your eyes. 'Just because you've got a complex with your character...'

'Lots of people have complexes. You should probably try it next time you go out at night.'

Her voice is light and it ticks you off in a way you cannot explain away. 'Right.'

'Just a tip.'

'Well, I'm no waitress and I've never had a mother so I'm not about to start now.'

Your voice catches on the last word and you cannot explain why. You've never really minded not knowing your mother, but now you kindof do. It's been a long night. If she notices she doesn't accuse it, just rests her palm on your knee a moment before grabbing the stick shift again. 'We shall see about that.'

You actually are annoyed by that, but don't trust your voice to speak without breaking. Instead, you opt for turning on the stereo. You don't know the song, but Phyllis looks at you with chagrined indignation and you'll call that a win if it gets you to tomorrow.

You smash your alarm clock against the wall. It creaks in a way that has you planning on shopping for a new one after work today, but it's a small price to be rid of the ringing. You really shouldn't have gone out last night and, while the memories get you to smile through your pounding headache, you're not entirely sure this is a step up from drowning last night in the Delaware, or whatever was the river you passed as Phyllis drove you back. Phyllis. You drag yourself out of bed, you've got a show to make after all, finding you're wearing the same clothes you went out with.

You cannot remember going to bed, you don't even remember making it back. You do a lacklustre fullbody stretch before heading into the kitchen. You could still go back to bed, you figure you'll make it on time if you skip breakfast, and you're not feeling like breakfast at all. It's an attractive idea but as soon as you think that, you register the pot on your stovetop. Onion soup. You don't like onions, but you can easily picture Phyllis standing behind you at the table. And she'd tell you to eat. You'd probably argue for twenty minutes about it, but the hangover makes you pliant to the mere idea of her. You reheat it quickly and really, with the bread and cheese, it's not bad at all.

#mother gooseberry #outlast fanfiction #i Knew i had fucked up somehow and i fucked up in the paragraph order with the last two. well it's been addressed as of the seventeenth o #of october

[raineydays411]

Mission In Progress

Steve Rogers x daughter!reader

Summary: Steve realizes that his past behavior may have cost him the love of his daughter.

A/n: Hello! This is the second part to my Steve Rogers series! I hope you like it and also I hope y’all get the little references I put in these lol💕

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean Natasha taught you?”

Oh shit.

That was the collective thought between you, Nat, Clint, and Tony. It was well known among the team that Steve didn’t want his daughter learning ANY form of self defense, but those four thought that was ridiculous. She was Captain America's daughter, she definitely would need to fight off an enemy sooner or later.

“well...nat taught me the basics on how to defend myself, she said it would come in handy someday.” You say quietly, picking the thread on your sleeve rather than looking at your father.

“Romanoff, you taught her how to fight?” Steve said, fury bleeding into his eyes. “I made it perfectly clear--”

“Steve, its unreasonable for her not to know how to fight, she's the daughter of one of the worlds greatest defenders. If she doesn’t fight, she’s dead.”, Natasha said bluntly, staring Steve in the face as the other Avengers grew uncomfortable.

“She’s perfectly fine, it’s not like she leaves the Tower anyway.”

“Because if she did, you’d have someone follow her. It’s creepy, man”  Tony butts in with a roll of his eyes. By now both Bruce and Thor had silently left the room, as both of them would be useless in this conversation.

“Oh, so Tony Stark is gonna teach me how to raise a kid? Isn’t that ironic.”

“It’s not like you’re doing any better on your own. All Y/n does is stay in her room and write in that book of hers, she doesn’t even talk to people her own age.”

“It’s safer that way and you all know it” Steve snaps, refusing to even look your way. “ I set those rules for a reason, and I don’t appreciate my team mate or friends going behind my back and breaking them.”

“Look, Steve we love you, but the way you’re going about this whole parenting situation is completely wrong.” Clint finally says. “ I get that you were thrusted into this role, we all do. But man, you can protect Y/n from everything and it’s not healthy for her to be locked away in the tower like--”

“Like some modern day Rapunzel” 

“Thank you, Tony.”

“You all know the reason why she’s not allowed to leave. Its just safer that way.” Steve says, expecting the conversation to be over. “ Now, we’ll talk about this when we get back to --”

“You don’t lock me away for my protection” You say looking up with a determined face. Steve, obviously stunned you called him out like that turned to you and said

“ Excuse me?” 

“ It was never about me. If you wanted me to be safe, you would have taught me how to defend myself as soon as you could. You would have told the world about me, just to make sure everyone knows not to mess with me.” You say, your brow furrowed. “ You say its for safety, but who’s safety is it really for?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve says in a low, slow tone. 

“Everytime I come in a room, you tense up like I’m going to attack you.” You start to say, realizing that once you reveal what you noticed, things will never be the same. “ You monitor everything I do. You never allow me to be alone. You don’t talk to be about missions and don’t allow anyone else to.” You stand up off the couch. “ You refuse to acknowledge my mother, and won’t even let read the journal she left me.”

“That’s enough Y/n”

“No!” You shout. “ It’s not fair I don’t understand why you treat me like this.” Steve looks at you in surprise. 

“ Y/n, you don’t understand.”

“ I do. You don’t trust me.” You finally say. “ You haven’t from day one, and I don’t know why. It's not like a six year old is a Hydra agent by disguise.” 

Hearing this Steve freezes. He knows that all this surveillance was unnecessary. And deep down he knew that you could never hurt not even a fly. but that tiny voice in his head got the best of him. And even though he grew to love you more than he’d like to admit, the thought of you being am enemy scared him. 

“ You are a threat.” Steve says stubbornly. “ You came out of nowhere, with nothing but a note in the middle of the night. Your mother is nowhere to be found, and I have no idea who to even look for. You look nothing like me and defiantly don’t act like me.” 

Hearing these words is like a knife being repeatedly stabbed in your heart. It’s one thing to think that your dad doesn’t love you, it's another to hear them directly from his mouth. 

“ I have done nothing for you to treat me like this. I have done nothing to lose your trust. I didn’t ask for my mother to leave me here with you. It’s not my fault.” You say, tears starting to well up in your eyes. “ That robot asked me to go with him you know?”

The whole room freezes. You never mentioned that when Clint picked you up from the Tower.

“ He asked me to go with him, because he said I had no one. I had nothing to loose. And now” You let tears run down your face. “ Now that I know he’s right, I still wouldn’t go with him. Because I would NEVER want someone to get hurt because of me.” And with that you pushed past the group of superheros and ran outside. You didn’t know where you were going, but you had to get out of that house.

You walk into town and into a bookshop that was surprisingly open at this hour. The clerk looked at you in annoyance as you wandered the isles quietly. Picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet, you walk toward the counter to pay.

“Tch, Romeo and Juliet?” The cashier says

“What about it?” you ask, puzzled that he cared enough to mention it. 

“Nothing if you’re thirteen and never had a boyfriend.”

“Oh really?” You say, eyes lighting up at the chance to talk to someone your own age without the gaze of an agent boring into your back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, there was a tense silence in the house. Steve left with the words you told him rattling in his brain. 

“You know, Y/n always used to come to me for help picking out the perfect father's day gift for you.” Clint said breaking the silence in the room. “ She insisted we wake up hours before you to go to the shops just to surprise you. She loved wrapping the gift and the thought of making you happy.” He smiled bitterly. “ I loved every second of it, watching her reminded me of my own family. It broke my heart to see her little face deflate when you barely acknowledged the gift and treated it like it was a bomb or something.” He shakes his head and walks out. Natasha follows him and says ‘ Its late, it's not safe for her to be out there alone, I’m going to look for her.”. Then she’s gone. Leaving only Tony and Steve in the living room. It’s quiet for a few minutes. They can hear Clint playing with his children, Lila laughing as Cooper and Clint chase her. 

“ You know, all my life I had to wonder if my dad loved me too.” Tony said suddenly. “ I guess that’s why I got along with Y/n so well.”

Steve sat on the couch and sighed. “ I guess I could’ve approached this differently.”

“That's your problem Rogers, you treat her like a mission. She’s a kid. Even I know that you can’t raise a kid that way.”

Steve exhaled through his nose. “So, what do you think I should do?”  

Tony rolled his eyes again.” Well for one, you can go look for your fourteen year old daughter who ran out in the middle of the night in an area she doesn’t know.”

Steve's eyes widened and he shot up, “ Shit, I- I have to go find her.” and with that he ran out of the living room, leaving Tony alone as he heard him shout 

“Language!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take long for Steve to get into town. The only problem he really faced was figuring out where you might be. Almost everything was closed except for a liquor store and some bars. He started to panic, as he started to think about the possibility of you being hurt or kidnapped or--

“Hey bomb pop, over here” someone whispers

Steve looks around to see Natasha standing in front of a bookshop. He jogs up to her and asks

“Nat what are you--” “SHHH, look” she points into the window.

At first Steve didn’t know what he was looking at. All he saw was two kids flirting on some bean bags. But then he looked closer and realized that was his kid flirting on some bean bags. He got ready to burst in there and drag her out, which surprised him.

“What are you doing” Natasha harshly whispered, “This is the first time in years y/n has talked to someone her age, and I will NOT let you ruin it.”

“But does it have to be a boy” Steve whines, then he shrinks back as Nat glares at him. 

“You have no right to play protective daddy right now, you--”

“Dad? Nat? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been about an hour since you started talking to Levi, the cashier. Even though he insulted your book choice

“It’s a play about two bratty kids who think they’re in love and then kill themselves, its pathetic”

He’s interesting. He has this harsh exterior that is refreshing to you. You liked that he didn’t handle you with kids gloves like the rest of the Avengers did. He let you stay behind after closing as long as you helped him clean, but you didn’t last long because apparently you “cleaned like a blind person with no hands” whatever that means. After cleaning you two sat and talked about music and his friends. It was nice. That was until you felt eyes on you.

Looking out the window you noticed two figures staring at you. One petite red head and a tall blonde to be more specific. Rolling your eyes, you say goodbye to Levi and thank him for one of the best nights you’ve had in a while. As you left he did something that surprised you.

“Hey brat, here’s my number.” He says as he gives you an old receipt, “ Don’t expect me to text you all night, I have a life too.” 

You just smile and say thank you, blushing as you realize this was your first friend in years. You put the number in your pocket and walk outside. 

“Dad? Nat?” You ask, cutting their little squabbling short. “What are you two doing here?” 

Nat and Steve stand up straight. 

“It was getting late and I was worried so I came to find you” Natasha said, “ But it seems to me that you were quite alright in there” She finishes with a smirk. You blush as you try to think of a retort. Before you say anything, you hear your dad clear his throat. You roll your eyes.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t getting intel on how to kill you or whatever you think what will happen if i make friends.” You again push past the two avengers, your good mood spoiled as you walk away. You hear some harsh whispering then your name is called. 

“Y/n” your father calls, “I think we need to talk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @angeldreineedshelp @night-thinqer @ilyimagines @vxidsti1es @big-galaxy-chaos

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #steve rogers x daughter!reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark x teen!reader #natasha romanoff #marvel x reader #marvel #avengers x teen!reader #poc reader

[calehenituseappreciation]

Ive seen a lot of Dream (and usually Techno and Phil too) as gods au (i have one too dw) but all of you are sleeping on the funniest option.

Tommy is the god.

Tommy.

hes the only one in that galaxy (other than drista ofc)

Just imagine how fucking funny it is like 

it would be so fucking hilarious

and tommy just doesnt tell them

so techno is just there making all these blood god jokes and jokingly telling tommy to serve him and tommys just laughing

imagine a god in the form of a chaotic 16 year old racoon gremlin just walts into your land commits arson and gets banned, only to come back with another person who he helps start a nation for drugs?

imagine how fucking funny it is

just

imagine tubbo banning a literal god from his lands and he just doesnt come back? he just plays by the rules? then goes and like sits in the corner all sad because some humans/dreamons told him to leave

ranboo, just joining the server: hi-  a chaotic gremlin god: wanna commit arson with me?  ranboo, just trying to vibe and maybe not disturb this god: sure 

Phil and Ranboo recongnize Tommy as a god on sight.

Everyone else just refuses to believe it. hes Tommy. Tommyinnit. hes just weird lol

And Drista being a fucking chaotic blood god? 

drista is open about her godhood and does not hesitate to spawn blocks

Drista finds Dream and decides she likes this small human, and dream just has to deal with it lmao.

drista and tommy are both born at the same time.

Tommy is a god of music, chaos, war and theivery (the last one bc he is a BITCH)

Drista is the blood god, chaos, deception, and theatre

okay but imagine the sbi interactions... like ig in this au tommy joins at like 12/13 years of age (in their minds) so he doesnt really grow much 

and like tommy, a literal god, just claiming phil as his father???

phil, in his house making eggs, assuming one of his sons woke up and came to the kitchen, not looking: hey son  tommy, from their couch, already deciding hes phils son now: whats up dad? phil: looks up at tommy who are you tommy: idk dad, who am i  phil: *stares at tommy for a second* eh i made extra eggs you can stay 

ASJIDGASUIOG IMAGINE TOMMY TELLING THEM HES A GOD BUT THEY THINK HES JOKING AND IGNORE HIM

everyone on the server: tommy is the youngest! tommy, as old as the universe: no im not!!!! im not a child!!!! he doesnt pout because pouting is for children and hes not a child but hes pouting tubbo: lol im older than you by a month tommy dont try to hide it tommy: im not a child!!!! techno: laughs

tommy doesn't try to hide that hes a god just its tommy

thats all the evedince anyone needs to think tommy isnt a god or powerful its like mcc hes good but only when he doesnt throw for content

quackity: sees drista written in bedrock lmao drista visited? tommy: yeah! i wrote that for her!  quackity: snorts yeahhhh sureee tommy

imagine like how fucking funny it is jsut like 

a fucking chaotic god breaks into your house androbs you makes a room under your house and decides to live in your floorboards

imagine dream like trying to manipulate tommy, and tommy a fucking anchient diety immeditly recongnizes what hes doing

but decides to play along for the angst and giggles and then actually gets mad when no one fucking cares for his theatrics

tommy, storming off to technos base to rob and build under: >:///// cant believe none of them acknoledged my  deppression 

i love that tommy stills robs everyone, he doesnt need to he can spawn in anything he wants

he just does it for the sport of robbery

JAKOGFSDOH

THE HOLY LAND

dream: im god actually tommy: thats so fucking funny lets make a cult about that :)  dream: see! look! im god! and jesus!  tommy: wheezing

imagine tommy getting stressed and letting go of his mortal form

Tommy, his human form peeling away, showing his actual form a bit: WH̸͘A͠T̷ ̶̢T͞H͢E ̡͘F̴̵͘Ù̧C͜K҉ ̶T͘͜͞E͟CHǸ͏Ǫ  Techno: HAH?

tommy just saw tubbo and got emotionally attached

Tommy, a literal god: hello Tubbo: oh hi do you like my pet bee? Tommy: you’re mine now Tubbo: im okay with this

tommy, a bored god: gives techno shapeshifting powers  techno, not even caring: changes into more human to pig-ishg forms as he wishes this is my life now ig 

phil lets tommy do fuck all in exile bc he knows hes a god hes fine

phil: IDC IF YOURE A GOD! YOU WILL DO THE DISHES NOW YOUNG MAN! tommy: grumbles but does them

phil is the only one who can control tommy

god... tommy... with star freckles... on his human form... (as well as his god one)

tommy: f̷͛͠a̵̋t̵̒̑h̸̚e̶̓͝r̸͊ ̸̐̒i̴ ̸̅̿d̷̉͆o̵͂͋ ̵̛̆ñ̸̾ő̶́t̸̎́ w̶͆͘i̴͠s̵̓̈́h̸͗́ ̵̯͗f̶͋́ő̴͑r̷̐̌ ̶͝é̵̽g̸͊͂g̵̒s̷͂̃  phil: idc, eat your goddamn eggs tommy: pouts

tommy, despite being able to get supplies himself by fucking spawning them in: hey tubbo? we need supplies 

In this au ig like if a god claims you you get a mark on your skin showing that. Drista’s would be like a green crown, Tommys would be a red and white disk (white as the outer ring and red as the center) (its different enough that if you don’t realise tommy is a god you wouldnt realise whos it is) (schlatt is the only one who never had one which shoulda been a sign dude :/)

Dream has two from the beginning, everyone else has only one, well until they meet drista. (sbi have had one since they met tommy, though they dont remember the first time they met tommy)

wait what if tommy like found them all as children one by one and later kinda pulled some strings to get them all in one kingdom. (he still joined sbi through forcing phil to adopt him) 

OKAY BUT IMAGINE IF TOMMY MET TECHNO WHEN TECHNO WAS YOUNG ENOUGH TO NOT REMEMBER

tommy would hang out with baby techno and tell him stories

once he told him the story of a man named thesus

another time he told him the story of a blood god

like for example tommys first time meeting techno would be like

(for context techno lived in a shitty village and was an orphan and it was kinda a dog eat dog place, he learned how to be strong because of it)(he was young enough that he doesn’t remember this well, just like learning about the blood god and someone giving him gold)

baby techno: sighs tommy, appearing out of nowhere: oh heyyy whyre you sad? techno: jumps turning around with a knife up ready for a fight who are you tommy: im tommy! :) techno: what do you want from me! you dont scare me! tommy: whats your name! techno: i have a knife! i'll use it! tommy: of course, thats a given, but its rude not to tell people your name techno, confused: t-technoblade? tommy: smiles thats a nice name techno: so. tommy: hm? techno: why're you here tommy: i don't have a reason. im just a traveller! techno: then why hole to this terrible village! theres nothing nice here! everyone is terrible and so are you! tommy: hmmmm i dont agree techno: what are you? a child? i thought adults were supposed to know that everyone is mean tommy: mmhmm looks at the bruise on technos face where'd you get that? techno: fight. i won. i'll win against you too! so don't try anything. tommy: of course. i would never win in a fight against a blood god techno, putting down his knife a bit, stars in his eyes: blood god? tommy: grins blood. god. i think she'd like you. techno, muttering: maybe i can give the blood god some of your blood tommy: laughs yeah, she'd defenitly find you intresting tommy: here tosses techno a golden crown at techno, he spawned it in in the moment techno: whats this? tommy: a crown, thought it suit you screams in the distance tommy: huh. i need to go. have fun lil piglin. ruffles technos hair before running off towards the screaming unbeknownst to the pig the blood god was actually the one waiting for the god he met. techno: stares at the crown 

Techno found a pouch of gold in his ‘house’ later that day. he didnt know who left it but it helped him get food for that night. (he kept the crown)

okay but imagine tommy not taking the war seriously at all, and only seeing it as a squabble between mortals, Like toddlers fighting

dream: SURENDER BY TOMMOROW OR WE'LL DECLARE WAR! wilbur: FUCK YOU WE'LL NEVER SURENDER AND JOIN YOUR SMP! Tommy: how cute

tommy doesnt realise that theyre serious until wilbur dies

tommy would usually go apeshit against anyone who dares messes with his humans, but what is he supposed to do when his humans are fighting Eachother?

wilbur: fucking goes insane and dies  tommy: hey- hey can you guys let me talk to wil for a sec? everyone else leaves tommy, unsually somber: sorry i didnt help you i forgot how easily breakable mortals are tommy: this time you wont die, and i'll make it so that you dont break again, okay? tommy: brings wilburs soul out of its body and enters his mindscape ghostbur: wakes up what- where am i? tommy: hi there ghostbur: who are you tommy: i go by a lot of names all, one, you, the world, the universe, god, but you can just call me tommy ghostbur: oh okay. who am i? tommy: you're name was wilbur soot. you were the son of philza minecraft and brother to Technoblade, Tubbo and myself. ghostbur: was? tommy: well you see, you died. ghostbur: oh... well what am i then? tommy: a ghost! well actually its your choice. would you like to continue your existance or fade away with your body? ghostbur: i dont want to fade away! tommy: smiles thats what i thought you'd say stretches his hand to wilbur ghostbur: grabs tommy hand tommy: lets go home

ghostbur doesnt remember that though

he only remembers the good

tommy wont let him remember the bad, what if he breaks again? mortals are so fragile

phil realises what tommy did as soon as he sees ghostbur 

drista, painting tommys nails (there both in god form btw) (after wilburs death btw): tommy shouldn't you of all gods realise how fragile they are?  tommy: i know just... forgot  drista: sighs and nods i get what you mean, especially with the ones we found... they act a lot like gods sometimes i forgot they arent  tommy: ikr? wait- drista here gets drista's hair out of her face you were gonna get it on my nails, anyways, don't judge me. we all know if dream died you would turn him into a ghost too drista: smirks not if you do it first, we all know you would tommy: you say that as if you wouldn't fight me to do it first  drista: .... tommy: ... drista: both of us when he dies? tommy: nods tommy: anyways my turn to do your nails 

or like tommy with ghostbur like

ghostbur: i don't like this :( tommy, a worried brother and god: whats wrong? ghostbur: everyone is mad at me and i d-dont know why- why are they mad at me tommy: theyre mad at something alivebur did ghostbur: b-but im not alivebur sniffs it hurts. i dont like it. tommy: spawns in some blue here ghostbur: whats that? tommy: its some blue! it'll help you not hurt anymore! ghostbur: how does it work? tommy: see how its blue? ghostbur: nods tommy: well its blue because it sucks up all the bad feelings! it'll help ghostbur: !!!!! ghostbur: presses the blue into his chest ghostbur: !!!!its working!!!! :D tommy: smiles good

wilbur fucking died and tommy went from annoying little brother to caring older brother

tommy just wants to help his brother :) though he doesnt realise that not letting ghostbur remember bad memories isnt good

*at logsted shire btw* ghostbur: who are you? tommy, chuckling: did you forget me already ghostbur? ghostbur: i didnt forget you! i think! you're tommy! i just... you're different tommy, looks over at ghostbur: different how? ghostbur: you're not normal are you? tommy: grins whaaaaat? you think im weirdddd? how heartbreaking... my own brother thinks im weird, this is terrible ghostbur: giggles tommy: but really, don't worry about it bur. ghostbur: you sure? tommy: yeah, dont worry about me ghostbur: smiles okay! do you want some blue anyways? tommy: giggles sure! ghostbur: grins

ghostbur isnt worried about tommy

he knows hes strong

phil having to tell tommy that he cant just not let wilbur remember the bad memories

and tommys like "what if he breaks again!" and phil hugs him and tells him to at least ask ghostbur if he wants to remember and tommys like ‘fine’

tommy: hey bur? ghostbur: yeah? tommy: do you like you're memories? ghostbur: i mean, yeah its hard not to when you only remember the good tommy, quietly: would you want to remember the bad? ghostbur: w-what brought this question on tommy: answer the question ghostbur: no- alivebur was badi shouldn't want to- tommy: but what do you want bur? wilbur, silent for a moment: yeah- yeah i do. not that i like the bad memories! they hurt... but i wish i could remember tommy: ... ghostbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? ghostbur, with tears in his eyes: do you think they'd be less mad at me if i could remember, maybe then i could repair my relationships, what the hell am i supposed to do when i dont even remember hurting them? tommy: what if they dont? what if you break again? ghostbur, saltily: we'll maybe i'll be able at least be able to say i know why everyone hates me tommy: i know how to get all of your memories back ghostbur, looks towards tommy in shock: you do??? tommy: nods ghostbur, voice wavering: for how long tommy: since the beginning ghostbur: and you didnt tell me tommy: i did what i thought was best. i just didnt want you to hurt anymore. ghostbur, angrily: WELL THAT CLEARLY WORKED DIDNT IT? tommy: sorry wilbur, sometimes i forget how to handle humans ghostbur: what- tommy: sighs and taps ghostbur on the forehead and ghostbur does the ghost equivilent of passing out tommy: wont hide any memories this time

ghostbur doesnt wake up, instead wilbur wakes up weither thats good or bad we'll see

wilbur, waking up with all his memories: HOLY SHIT TOMMY WASN'T KIDDING phil, who was reading beside the bed tommy placed wilbur into, which was in technos house. yes he broke into technos house with a passed out wilbur. move on.: hm? wilbur: holy shit phil: huh? yeah. wilbur: wait you knew? phil: yeah i recongnized him as soon as i saw him about 5 years ago now? wilbur: excuse me while i freak out because my little brother is an actual god

it really hits wilbur that tommy is a god later

wilbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? wilbur: how fucking old are you? tommy: snorts of course thats the first thing you ask wilbur: well? tommy: i dont really know the exact years since years are kind of a human thing that were invented recently wilbur: they were invented thousands of years ago- tommy: but it was around the beginning of this galaxy wilbur, softly: what the fuck

tommy telling wilbur stories about different heros and villains and different humans he met during his life.

Adsjbffsg what if Tommy made himself blonde and blue eyed and white bc thats hyow the first human he met looked like asjfhsd

and just didnt change that, despite meeting new humans, its just his defult settings.

he would totally do this tho im crying.

drista just based her human form off dream because she is his sister now. he must deal with this. trying disowning me when i look like you BITCH.

thats my take anyways later might continue this

#tommyinnit #dsmp #dream smp #drista #god au #technoblade #wilbur soot #ghostbur #dreamwastaken #tubbo #philza minecraft #long post #just needed to say this

[after-witch]

White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve been with Kai Chisaki for three years. Your life is quiet and cozy and soothing. But what do you do when you realize you want more?

For request: Anonymous said: i love the way you write overhaul!! may i request more of him, please? what would he do if reader develops stockholm syndrome and wants to do the things which normal couples do, even wants to marry him or have kids? thank you!

Word count: 2200-ish

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome

You should really ask Kai to get a new sofa for his office. His current one, the leather one which used to be shiny and pristine and rather intimidating for someone used to sitting on ratty chairs pilfered from curbs, has definitely seen better days. 

The seats are lumpier, now that you've spent years--3 years, one month, 3 days, but who's counting--in his life, sprawling on the sofa. Reading, napping, doing endless hobbies. Snuggling, when he was in the mood. An endless parade of legs and limbs, pillows and books, growing tiny scratches etched with your fingernails that you sit on to cover them up.

His entire office has your touches, now. The blanket you asked for last Christmas, a big fluffy bright purple affair, is draped over the back of the couch. He keeps your framed embroidered pieces on his desk, because--you assume, but he won't confirm, because he thinks it will hurt your feelings (it won't!)--he can easily stow them away when he has meetings to hold. You don't embroider much, anymore, but it was fun to take on a new hobby.

Kai is kind like that, to give you new hobbies to do. He doesn’t even mind when you get bored of them and move on to something else.

Your books are not as easy to stow away in case of guests, you think. They're scattered here, there, everywhere. In stacks, on shelves. You know there's one stuck under the sofa but you didn't really like the first book in the series and you've decided it should stay put as a result.

Bookmarks, some handmade, others handed over by Kai as a gift for this or that, sticking out of the well-worn pages. Once, you snuck on YouTube during your highly limited, highly precious tablet time (earned, as it were, over the past 2 years) and stumbled on a DIY for making resin bookmarks stuffed with trinkets, glitter, flowers, ink. You’ve yet to broach the subject with Kai, because one, it would mean admitting you snuck on YouTube but two, you don’t think he’ll let you work with resin. But, still. The seed has been planted and when it sprouts, you’ll get the nerve to ask him.

Your sleeping bag is in the laundry, wherever the laundry happens to be, but on colder days you like to spread it on the floor and have reading or hobby marathons while he works. It's childish, but he humors you. He always (mm, no--usually--he did shoot down requests for the dog, the cat, the fish, the rabbit, and the lizard) humors you. You appreciate that about him.

And you appreciate this moment, right now. You're curled up on the sofa, half of the soft blanket in your lap to keep you warm. A book is in your hand, something new from the best-seller list that Kai brought home in a tidy store bag. He brings lots of gifts, and you appreciate every one of them. Although Kai does make you declutter every month. If you didn’t, your room would be simply stuffed with gifts. You don’t begrudge him this, since he lets you keep anything that’s especially precious to you. It’s a fair trade--you’re precious to him and he keeps you, after all.

He's typing away on his laptop, the sound so familiar that it's practically white noise, and you sit on the couch and read. It's quiet. It's comforting. It's... domestic, really.

And it makes you sad.

Lately, sitting in Kai’s office--these quiet moments, these nice moments, just make you sad. You don't know why. Things are good right now, but you just feel weighted down, heavy. Lost and bored and aimless.

But it shouldn’t make you sad that you’re enjoying a new book. Maybe you’re sad about something else. You can’t remember having a bad dream. The outfit Kai picked out for you this morning was cute enough. You didn’t stub your toe getting into the tub. Kai didn’t tug on your hair when brushing out the knots. So… what’s wrong?

You turn your attention back to your book, trying to shake the feeling, shake the obtrusive thoughts that sometimes find their way to the surface now and then. But the words don't want to leap off the page, weaving a story in your mind that takes you into someone else's life and narrative and world for a few precious hours.

And here, again--you don’t know what’s wrong. It’s an interesting enough book, as books go. It's a domestic novel about domestic squabbles, a husband and wife who are 15 years and 3 children into their marriage; living in the pristine suburbs, tired of working and parenting and painted fences and tired of each other.

Maybe the book isn't clicking because you can't really relate. You would never get tired of such things, you think. To have a fence! Oh, to have a yard. Or maybe even have little children, with lives to manage and nurture. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You don't have those things. No--you can't have those things, can you? Your world has been shrunk down to a few rooms. Your bedroom. The bathroom. Kai's office. The clinic. You've made those rooms cozy and comforting. With things and time. But how could you have a toddler, a fence, a dog that barks too much in these limited walls, in this limited life?

And… how could you have any children running around when Kai has never expressed an interest in that sort of life with you. Oh, you've kissed. A few times. The memory of them makes your cheeks hot and you squirm, just a little, on the couch. You like to take those kisses with you at night, under the covers. But it's never been more than kisses, than light touches, than holding hands or feather-light strokes of your neck.

He's never gone further, never so much as asked. You also take this realization with you at night, though by morning the thoughts are gone. Now, in the daylight, they hit you hard and you can’t sleep to make them go fuzzy and grey.

Does he not want you in that way? You're not a virgin, and you don't know if he is, or isn't. But you thought you were attractive enough to... want. You kissed, he did kiss you, he does still kiss you now and then, but why not something more?

Maybe you were ugly. Maybe he felt pity for you. Maybe the kisses were just to keep you from going stir-crazy inside these walls and this life that never went anywhere. He was never going to want anything more than occasional touches, was he? And this was going to be your life, embroidering and reading and fussing about sleeping bags until you were old and grey and useless. A life wasted, a life slipped through the cracks. Your chest hurts and you wish you could fall asleep to make yourself stop thinking.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" Kai asks, keyboard silent, laptop humming.

Oh. You've been staring ahead this entire time. You feel cool tears wet on your cheeks. You do this sometimes, drift and stare and cry, and never seem to realize it. So you wipe your cheeks, and you smile. You don't want to worry him. He has so many things to worry about, things he won't tell you, because he knows best--you couldn't hope to understand his work. You are too naïve and kind, and he's got what your 90s-era self help books (you had a phase for reading them last January) call "street smarts."

When he doesn't resume his work, you try again. "It's nothing," you say, light and airy. "I was just thinking about a book."

Instead of typing, he shuts the laptop and your stomach immediately feels like it's going to float away. No, no, no, you've distracted him. He said he had a lot to do today, he said that! Why couldn't you just read your book and be good. Now he'll be upset and distracted and worried and it's all your fault.

You instinctively move over to make room as he sits down on the couch. You don't want to look at him, but you don’t want to not look at him. So you force yourself to smile, force yourself to look--not too happy, but, pleasant, and keep your eyes focused on his shoulders. He rests his hand on top of yours. You look up at his face--it’s only polite, it’s only kind--and the instance your gazes meet you immediately crumble. You cry. Ugly cry, the kind of crying you really hate to do. His look of surprised concern makes your heart twist. You really are bothering him.

But you have to know.

"Why don't you want to marry me?" Your voice is soft and hoarse and aching. Through your tears you see his look of genuine confusion, surprise--and even something sadder, something akin to hurt.

You want to explain. You want to explain how you've just realized that you'll never have kids and a nice big yard and he'll never come home from work to a good meal and kids running on hardwood floors to greet him. You'll never have a wedding with a fancy dress and tasteful invitations. You'll never argue with neighbors about your dog getting into their yard. 

You'll never learn to cook anything more than the shitty microwave meals you ate before you met him, because you've never even seen a kitchen in this place despite being here for years. You’ll never have any of it, except what you read about it books. How do you explain that you’re jealous of a bitter, old married couple because at least they had a life together?

The hand resting on top of yours squeezes and you finally feel the blustery courage to let it all spill out. The words come tumbling fast and thick and laced with a froggy hoarseness.

"Why can't we have a normal... a normal life? I can't have," you swallow, and take a shuddering breath. You're open, you've learned so many lessons to be open with Kai, but expressing these thoughts makes you feel queasy. What if he gets mad? 

“I can't have kids and a big yard and a dog that the neighbors don't like, because I'm here, in these little--these little walls and little rooms, and how can we have kids if we're not married, and how can we be married if you've only kissed me a few times? Why don't you want to be with me? What's wrong with me?"

You're hyperventilating now, and there's an old tingle that you've suppressed, the fear and rage and helplessness that once made you scream and throw and punch walls. You think about the book under the sofa and hate it so much for being there. You think about your embroidery sitting prettily on Kai’s desk and you want to rip out every single thread.

You think you really break open, about to grab something and just destroy it, when suddenly Kai’s gloved hands are on your cheeks and his mask is gone and oh, his lips are on yours and is that tongue you feel--it is, it definitely is--and he’s never kissed you like this, deep and warm and soft and wet.

He pulls away and you’re dumbfounded and you must look dumb, too, because Kai wipes away a stubborn line of drool on your bottom lip and chuckles, low and light. He leaves the ugly, thick tears that have stained your cheeks.

“Do you really think I don’t want to be with you?” His thumb strokes your lips and the seam of the glove tickles and sends a hot thrill shooting down your stomach. “Do you think I haven’t imagined our… future?”

His touch is soft and his words are soft and his gaze is familiar and comfortable; the look that makes your stomach do fumbles, the look he gives you when he’s letting you know that you’re being silly again.

“I… I don’t know,” you say, your shaky breath ghosting over his thumb. “It’s just--”

He presses his thumb on your lips and you quiet down, and you listen.

“I’m waiting until you’re ready. You know that I know what’s best for us, what’s best for you, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Then you know that we will have all those things--” you ignore the voice inside you, so small and silly now, that’s insisting you-won’t-you-won’t-you-won’t--- “but only when you’re ready.”

He smiles, and you smile, because you know that he’s right. You wipe away your own tears and grin, sheepish and feeling so ridiculous for having a fit right in the middle of the day like this.

You let yourself be tucked in, let Kai drape the soft blanket over your legs. He presses a kiss to your forehead and your lips tingle with envy. You watch as he goes back to his desk and sits down, as he replaces his gloves and his mask. All is well, all is back to normal.

Kai starts typing, and you let the white noise soothe you as you pick up your book and flip open to your bookmark. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask about the resin.

#yandere overhaul #yandere #yandere kai chisaki #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #he is SUCh... an asshole

[cappymightwrite]

What are your thoughts on Ned Stark ?

Hi!

I have conflicted feelings on Ned. Probably just below Stannis, he's the Westerosi man most in need of therapy, in my opinion. Actually, that's an interesting comparison — Ned and Stannis, which I know has been commented on before. They're alike in many ways, in terms of reserve etc., which makes the fact that Robert saw Ned as his true brother all the more painful to Stannis (though of course this is never explicitly stated). But anyway, back to Ned.

There's certain things I struggle with in regards to Ned, even though I understand the reasoning behind his actions, or rather, inaction. So, it makes thinking back on him in a wholly positive and fond light somewhat difficult, as I suppose it must be for Sansa in a way, as well as for Jon, once his parentage is revealed. I don't wholly dislike him though, I actually value him a lot, I just take issue with:

Him never apparently trusting Catelyn enough to be honest about Jon's parentage (+ the way he avoids telling Jon, to some extent)

No matter how loving they were... there is this unresolved (and now forever unresolved) barrier at the heart of their relationship, an unequal exchange of trust, which was within Ned's power to lift, to make fully mutual. But he didn't. Now, he had his reasons, self-sacrificing and seemingly honourable as they may appear, and certainly the narrative required this secret to be kept. But even so, in terms of how I regard his character? It rubs me the wrong way because he never gave her the opportunity to sympathise and fully understand him, he cut himself off from that. And yeah, maybe it might not have improved Jon's situation all that much, but he never gave Cat the opportunity to think of him differently, in a way that wasn't dictated by the social mores of their world:

It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face.

That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. "Never ask me about Jon," he said, cold as ice. "He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady." She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne's name was never heard in Winterfell again.

Whoever Jon's mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned's sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse. – AGOT, Catelyn II

"It was the one thing she could never forgive him" — yeah, me too honey! Ok, sure, we don't know for sure if Cat might have "overlooked" Jon's uneasy place in their household "for Ned's sake", if she knew he was actually her nephew — the world would still believe him to be Ned's, so to outward appearances the awkwardness is still there. And yeah, we don't know if she could have "found it in her to love Jon", but the truth certainly would have made it far more likely! But Ned decided that it had to be this way, that only he could participate in carrying this secret. So, I hurt for Cat AND Jon really.

I get why he doesn't tell Jon the truth. I understand his warped logic, how the trauma of his past informs this sort of self-punishing mentality of I must keep this honourable promise made of love till the day I die even though to the outside world it will appear as a stain upon that very honour... and to punish myself further for failing Lyanna I will never unburden myself to anyone, this is my cross to bear alone. I understand that, it's very manpain-y. But the problem is... it doesn't just punish Ned, it punishes Cat and Jon, and his other children too! Because they are by no means blind to this elephant in the room of their parent's marriage, and it's hard to rationalise:

He looked at her uncomfortably. "My aunt Allyria says Lady Ashara and your father fell in love at Harrenhal—"

"That's not so. He loved my lady mother." – ASOS, Arya VIII

Your father loved your mother, but he also had a child with another woman, whose identity he would never talk about. Your father loved your mother, but his dedication to this secret ultimately trumped being fully honest and open with her. It's hard not to feel that Ned's present came second to making up for the "sins" of his past. This is why he desperately needed therapy, lol, because (to take a line from my Byronic Hero meta) Ned's "traumatic past informs his present life," and to the detriment of that present life and those present relationships as well. But hey, that's the tragedy.

Also, I think his whole I'll tell you the truth when I next see you to Jon is really sketchy, because when exactly might that be, Ned? An avoidance tactic if I ever saw one. But really, I don't think he'd be emotionally equipped to have that conversation anyway... he might have said he'd tell him someday, but deep down, I'm sure he hoped he may never have to. And then he conveniently dies, taking the secret with him (or so we think)!

Allowing the death of Lady

Bran's wolf had saved the boy's life, he thought dully. What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansa's, and for what? Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done? – AGOT, Eddard IV

"And for what?" Yes, quite. I don't really have much to say on this... I think this passage speaks for itself. There's probably some other things I could talk about, but those are my main two gripes.

That being said... what I value about Ned are his words of wisdom

The thing about Ned, for me, is that despite the unmaliciously meant pain he inflicts on his loved ones (which I do understand the reasoning behind, the trauma that informs it etc)... he's still ultimately a figure of hope to me, a notably flawed, but no less significant, ideal within the narrative too. And I think you need that — we need the memory of Ned as readers, and so do the Starklings. So, I love him more for what he represents, rather than his parenting and lacklustre husbanding skills. I value the fundamental truths he emphasises through his words, and the legacy of those words, embodied within his children.

For example:

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you… and I need both of you, gods help me." – AGOT, Arya II

Honestly, people can "squabble" about which Stark sibling is more important, more this, more that, till the cows come home. But that's what it is... "squabbles", and it misses the mark completely about why the Starks are the heart of the series. They are the Starks, plural. They may be different from one another, but they are "pack", and come winter, (TWOW, to be exact), once reunited they will "protect one another, keep each other warm, share [their] strengths", because those are the values Ned taught them.

These are the things to remember, despite all the hellishness. This is why Ned's death wasn't in vain, it wasn't an edgy twist, or the first whiff of grimdark... because his legacy didn't end with him, it lives on, it is felt throughout the series, right up until the most recent book:

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true… but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.'" – ADWD, Davos I

I love this line so much, and I love that it comes from Ned, that just as we are gearing up to head into the darkest parts of the series (because Winds is apparently going to be very dark)... we have this light, this hope, this "what if we prevail?" And it's connected to this repeated refrain about the certainty of winter — "in this world only winter is certain" vs. "winter is coming" — which is closely tied to Ned as a character. So, yes, "winter is coming", but don't be decieved into thinking that that spells disaster, that no warmth can be found, for there is always darkness before the dawn, just as there is always a winter before the spring... and in the winter the wolves shall "keep each other warm", they will "prevail."

In conclusion

Whatever his flaws and mistakes, and there are several, at the end of the day... I will love Ned for giving us hope, for reminding the readers, and characters, of what is really important — to take strength from your loved ones, to give them strength in return, and to not give into despair, no matter how harshly the snows might fall and white winds blow. Yes, it's not certain whether they'll live, but likewise, it's not certain whether they'll die either... and that's where you find the hope, the light against the grim dark.

So, for me, he's a character who makes my heart sink, but then he makes it swell again. That's the duality, and it's a choice which you put most stock in... I'll choose the hope he inspires every time ;)

#ned stark #eddard stark #cappy's thoughts #starklings #anti grimdark all the way babeyyyy

[cablesscutie]

Inspired by @hayleynfoster’s comic and some hilarious headcannons about the littlest steambaby with Hayley and @favlie​

Read it on AO3

1.

The day Avatar Aang comes to meet his second niece, Fire Lord Zuko refuses to let his youngest child out of sight.  Katara rolls her eyes, and reminds her husband that neither of their children had ended up psychologically disturbed because of their flights.  “Not,” she adds, pointing at Aang, “that I am allowing a repeat, but I think just holding her while firmly on the ground will be fine.”

“Mmmm,” Zuko hesitates, curling Kallik closer to his chest.  Her big eyes blink up at the adults guileless from her blanket.  “No.”

“You let Azula hold her!” Aang argues.

“She doesn’t do anything with the babies!” Zuko shoots back.  It’s not strictly true, he knows, but his sister’s ritual with newborns is unsettling in a much different way.  She simply stares deep into each child’s eyes upon being handed them, until some kind of understanding passes between her and the baby.  Results have varied, but the most important part is that there was no threat to life and limb.  

Katara’s raised eyebrow says that she also doesn’t believe Zuko’s words, but she doesn’t say anything.  They are, after all, a united front - to the children, to politicians, to their friends.  In the privacy of their chambers, however, he knows he will be hearing about this.

2.

Katara and Zuko take the kids to spend Kallik’s first birthday at the South Pole.  It’s a tradition they’ve observed with all three, and Zuko always looks forward to going to visit her family.  The house is loud and chaotic, full to bursting with people, the exact opposite of his own lonely childhood.  There is no posturing, and everyone loves and squabbles openly.  On this particular visit, they have overlapped with Aang’s stay with Sokka and Suki, so Gran-Gran’s house is in even more of an uproar than usual by the time Zuko and Katara arrive.

Kya immediately dashes off to coo over her little cousins as they toddle around behind Pakku, pretending to be otter penguins.  Satoshi runs to the kitchen to be showered in kisses and cookies from Gran-Gran.  Hakoda finds them barely out of their parkas and already thoroughly abandoned.

“I could’ve sworn you had at least one other child,” he tells Katara, scratching his head as he pretends to search for his missing grandchildren.  She laughs and hugs her father tight.  Neither of them let go for long moments, and Zuko’s throat feels tight when he notices his father-in-law’s misty eyes.  He looks down at Kallik, thinks of his other two children, and wonders for the thousandth time how Hakoda could ever forgive him for keeping Katara so far away.  It’s why he hands his daughter over easily when her grandfather waggles his fingers expectantly and says, “Alright, give her here.”

Hakoda settles Kallik on his hip with practiced ease, and pulls Zuko into a brief hug with his free arm.  “Good to see you, son.”  

Zuko clears his throat.  “You too,” he says, and Katara laughs softly at his awkward shuffling, amused by how he doesn’t know what to do with his hands without a baby in his arms.  She answers his question by lacing their fingers together as she leads him deeper into the house to find her brother and their friends seated around the hearth fire watching the kids run around.

Hugs are exchanged all around, and Zuko settles into their familiar company.  Hakoda joins them after taking Kallik to say hello to Gran-Gran and Pakku, and bounces the baby on his knee to make her laugh.  Aang makes silly faces at her that have her letting out piercing giggles and reaching out to try and grab at the wooden beads of his necklace.

“Well clearly she’s bored of me,” Hakoda says, making to hand her off to her uncle.  “Here you go -”  Zuko leans over and intercepts.

“Oh no.  No baby catapult,” he says, shaking his head.

Aang gives him a pout to rival Momo.  “Come on, we’re indoors!”  Katara clears her throat, and when Zuko glances over, her eyes are narrowed at him.  With a sigh, he holds Kallik out to Aang.

“Fine.  But I’m watching you.”

3.

Extended family vacations to Ember Island always sound like a good idea to Katara.  At first.  When her husband is burnt out and aching, and the kids are climbing the walls, and she just wants to lie in the sun with a book, it seems like the cure for everything.

And then they arrive.  Somehow, much like she forgets the excruciating pain of childbirth, she never recalls the onslaught of chaos and catastrophe that comes every vacation.  Like the time Sokka got stung by a jelly-ray.  Or the time Suki and Zuko got in a fight about disciplining each other’s kids.  Or the time every single one of the kids managed to get sunburnt and couldn’t sleep.  Every year, it’s always something, and somehow, it usually ends up being at least partially her problem to solve.

This year, though, is somehow turning out alright.  They reach day three without major incident, and almost entirely without tears - a near miracle for a vacation involving five children under the age of ten.

“I’m almost done with my first book already,” she tells Zuko as they rock slowly in a hammock on the deck, whispering in hopes of keeping any listening spirits from knowing that she’s gotten her hopes up.

“Good, you deserve the break,” Zuko says.  He looks on the verge of sleep despite the fact that the sun is still climbing in the sky.  The dark circles beneath his eyes are already faded almost to nothing.  She sighs happily and grabs her book, but before she can actually crack it open, she hears Toph cackling and her Mom Senses light up.  Zuko calls after her in surprise as she leaves the hammock swaying wildly behind her, but she doesn’t look back on her way to the beach.  

When she arrives, it is just in time to see Toph pick up Kallik, a wicked smile on her face.  Sokka and Suki’s twins are further down the beach standing beside Aang, both of them jumping up and down with excitement, waiting for something.

“Go long, Twinkle Toes!”  Katara’s eyes go wide, and faster than should be possible, she reaches them, yanking Kallik out of Toph’s hands.  “Hey!”

“Absolutely not!”  Katara says, scowling.

“I was gonna catch her!”  Aang shouts.  Katara shakes her head.

“This is not happening.  No way.”  Then, silently lamenting the loss of quiet time with her husband, Katara looks at the twins and asks, “Who wants to go get some ice cream?

4.

At Zuko’s request, his birthday is not a big deal with his family.  It’s a combination of the fact that the entire Fire Nation loses its mind about the day anyway, so he is all but forced to spend a day attending a festival in his honor, and the fact that he is used to his birthday being a marker of all the disappointments he has been in the past year.  It is a long-standing compromise with his wife that she is allowed to throw him a small, family-only party, to be kept within the bounds of the garden.  He enjoys the excuse to get everyone together without a barrage of meetings involved, and the rest of their family is so boisterous in comparison to him, he can almost forget that the day has anything to do with him at all.

For his thirtieth birthday, he makes the further concession of allowing Uncle to set up his new phonograph so there could be dancing.  Zuko is manning the crank, watching Katara and Kya swing each other around while Aang sits next to him, flipping through the records looking for the right song.

“Do you have a request too?” Zuko hears him ask, and turns to see Kallik has toddled away from Uncle Iroh and approached the Avatar.  She puts her hands on his knees and starts bouncing, flashing him a smile that shows all of her new teeth.  “You want upsies?” Aang coos, and reaches to scoop her up by the armpits.  Zuko clears his throat loudly, shooting Aang his best murder eyes, and the Avatar shrinks back into the collar of his robes a little.  “What about dance party?”  He lets Kallik grab onto his fingers and starts hopping around with her to the beat, hunched over and both of them giggling.

5.

“Oh Uncle Aaaaang!” Kya sings, striding out into the garden where Appa has just landed. She has Kallik on her hip, and Satoshi follows along at her heels, excited to see Appa and Momo again.  His pockets are already full of lychee nuts for his fuzzy friends.

“Hey guys!” Uncle Aang calls, his gangly arms waving excitedly.  “Are you the welcoming committee now?”  He lands in front of them on a gentle breeze, setting down his bag and grinning broadly.

“Mom and Dad are in a meeting,” Kya informs him.  “But somebody wanted to go for a little flight.”  She hitches the toddler higher and winks conspiratorially.  “If you catch my drift.��  Uncle Aang’s eyes go wide, and he looks between the kids with unease.  Satoshi feels terror grip his throat.  He knew his big sister was crazy, but would she really…?

“Oh I dunno, your Dad was pretty...adamant...that you all are grounded until further notice.”  Satoshi lets out a sigh of relief.

“Dad’s in a meeting,” Kya reiterates, as though being in a meeting involves entering another dimension.  She should know better, her brother thinks to himself.  Mom and Dad always find out when they’re up to no good, and as the sibling who’s usually leading the charge into trouble, Kya should definitely have that figured out by now.  Uncle Aang should absolutely know that by now, but with horor, Satoshi realizes that the Avatar is looking a little bit convinced.  “And we’re not gonna tell on you,” she wheedles.  Speak for yourself, Satoshi thinks, glancing around to see if there are any guards within earshot if he calls for their parents.  Sadly, it seems nobody has realized that the Avatar requires careful supervision.

“Well…” Uncle Aang considers, then comes to his decision, smiling once again.  “Alright, I guess one can’t hurt.  Who’s going?”  

Kya moves to offer Kallik to him, her tiny hands reaching out and making grabby motions.  Satoshi’s world goes into slow-motion.  There’s a roaring in his ears, and as if from outside his body, he hears his own voice say,

“I am.”  Kya and Uncle Aang blink at him, stunned.  Their uncle is the first to recover, and asks,

“Are you sure, kiddo?  I mean, you weren’t the biggest fan when you were a baby…”

“I want to try again,” he makes himself say, despite his sweating palms.  Uncle Aang grins and ruffles his hair.

“That’s the spirit!  You get that from your dad.” 

As his uncle’s hands grab him under the armpits, Satoshi hears Kya mutter, “It’s the self-sacrificing idiot gene,” and then he is gone.  As he soars through the air, he wonders if maybe his body hasn’t even left the ground yet.  He can’t feel anything.  Maybe he just died of panic and this is just his soul taking off for the spirit world.

Then he reaches the height of his arc and starts plummeting back to Earth, and the sensation of all his internal organs rattling around asserts the fact that he is very much still alive and experiencing this.  He closes his eyes before he gets anywhere close to the ground, so it comes as a surprise when he comes to a sudden stop, cradled briefly by robes smelling of hay and bison fur, before being deposited back on his feet.

“How’s the weather up there?” Uncle Aang asks him, patting him on the back.  Satoshi doesn’t know what the weather was like.  He doesn’t know anything except that solid ground beneath his feet may have replaced his mother’s hugs as his favorite feeling in the world.  He meets Kya’s eyes, and sees from her horrified expression that he must look like as much of a husk of a child as he feels.

A quiet, affectless “Thank you,” is all that he can manage to say, and then he is wandering back into the palace, where he shoves his head into the nearest antique vase and screams.

+1

“Psst.”  A small sound behind him has Aang on alert.  The Fire Nation Royal Palace hasn’t been a place of danger for years now, but with Toph and Sokka around, the probability of sneak attacks has risen a hundred fold.  He doesn’t see anything though, and goes to turn back around, only to be caught by a surprisingly firm grip on his cape.  About two feet below where he’d expected to find his assailant, Aang comes face to face with his youngest niece, Kallik.  Her expression is the same determined furrow of the brow that Katara and Zuko have shared for so long it is impossible to tell which parent bestowed the trait on her.  It has the eerie effect of summoning the terrifying force that is their combined will.  Aang already knows that whatever she wants from him, he’s going to cave, and it will probably get him in trouble.  “I hear you’re in the business of yeeting kids.  I want in.”

Aang sighs.  Zuko has been trying to prevent this day since the moment Aang met Kallik, and Kallik has been trying to evade her father’s overprotective tendencies since the moment of her existence.  It is a battle Katara has elected not to fight, likely remembering her own impossible stubbornness and the futility of trying to stand against it.  So it is with all of that knowledge that he says, “Okay.”

“Flameo!” Kallik cheers, punching at the air.

“Well ‘flameo’ was actually more of a greeting -”

“Let’s save the fun facts.  I wanna fly.”  With a creeping sense of dread, Aang follows the child pulling him along by the cape until they reach a courtyard.  Kallik turns to face him, plants her feet, and rubs her palms together.  “Alright,” she says, spreading her arms wide.  “I’m ready.”

“Here we go...I guess,” Aang says, glancing over his shoulder as he reaches out to scoop her up by the armpits.  The coast is clear, so he swings her around in circles a couple of times to get ready.  As his niece starts to giggle, the garden blurs, and wind ruffles his robes, Aang feels the giddy anticipation of liftoff.

He hoists Kallik, up, up, up.

And then her momentum carries her out of his hands, and the wind that has built up around them propels her even higher.  Her already small body shrinks until she looks more like the shadow of a bird in the night sky, clearing the palace roofs.  A happy shriek pierces the air.  Aang smiles, feeling her wonder as if it is his own.  This is always the best part of someone’s first flight - witnessing them discover the wind anew - and while taking Air Acolytes to glide at the Northern Air Temple is fun, nothing compares to sharing this part of his culture with his nieces and nephews.

Kallik tumbles back into his arms, eyes wide with wonder, ecstatic grin plastered across her face.  “Again!” she cries, the moment breath rushes back to her.  

Aang laughs and holds her on his hip.  As he always does, he asks, “How’s the weather up there?”

“The moon is huge!  And I could see the whole city!  And the ocean!”  Kallik’s pudgy hands move in broad, sweeping gestures so similar to her mother’s bending as she speaks.  He still remembers Katara’s delighted gasp the first time she flew, Toph’s bruising grip, Zuko’s shocked laugh.  This moment, too, will be another piece of the Air Nomad legacy living on.

As Aang tosses Kallik yet again, Katara finds Zuko leaning against a pillar at the edge of the courtyard, watching.  She approaches her husband, curious to find that he isn’t having a coronary at the sight of their daughter in freefall, and takes hold of his arm.

“You gonna yell at him?” she asks, feigning nonchalance.  He doesn’t look away from them, but he is smiling, serene.

“Eh, she seems fine.”

#zutara #steambabies #zk fic #my writing

[themusicplayedherlife]

To Love is the Greatest Gift

1. The Return

pairing: obi wan kenobi x f!reader (past!din djarn x f!reader) characters: f!reader, anakin amidala-skywalker, padmé amidala-skywalker, mentiones of din djarin, obi wan kenobi, others word count: 2.6k+ warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of rent: the musical (death, second chances) uh... I think that’s it? summary: au!it’s never been the right timing for you and obi wan kenobi; maybe this time will be different. a/n: i started working on this story so long ago it’s ridiculous, but I suddenly had a surge of motivation to continue this story after some tragic family news. this was also very much inspired by @martlands and their amazing obi wan stories, made me want to write my own and here it is

all || next

“You broke up?”

One would think that the immediate reaction to someone asking if you broke up with your significant other would be to cry or begin to ask them what could have possibly gone wrong. But that’s not the reaction you give. 

The reaction you give is just a shrug and a strong pop, as you spoon more gelato onto the little spoon his twins love collecting. “Yep.”

“After only three weeks of dating?” Anakin doesn’t know why he’s surprised, but he is. This is probably the shortest living relationship you’ve ever had. “Why?”

“Why not?” you answer easily, nonchalantly and you know it frustrates him. “It wasn’t working out, so we decided to call it quits.”

Not even a month ago, you had been genuinely excited about finally getting out there and meeting someone new, and even more excited when you were telling him all about this person you met while out with some old friends. You had said, word for word, “he might be the perfect contender!”

Where did all that excitement go?

You sigh, finally looking up at him and away from your white chocolate gelato that's just to die for. “Ani, it’s fine. It just didn’t work out. It happens.”

He grimaces. “What happened between you and Din—“

You bristle at the mention of your ex, narrowing your eyes and his widen in defense. You know what Anakin and Padmé think of him and it’s not entirely pleasant (particularly from Anakin’s part). It’s completely unfair. Din is lovely, sure a little socially awkward, but lovely nonetheless. “Has nothing to do with why Gar and I ended things.”

“But—“

“Nothing,” you reiterate with a bit more force and he sighs, lifting his hands in defeat while holding his own cup of gelato.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.” And then, like a light switching, he turns playful. “Was it his name that turned you off—Gar?”

You resist the urge to groan and roll your eyes. “Oh maker, you are annoying!”

You huff as you make the trek back to the trolley that’ll take you both up to the observatory. The rest of your conversation is forgotten as he navigates it towards continuing to tease you and the latest exhibit you had helped set up.

The Coruscant Observatory is one of the most popular attractions in the city aside from the Exotic Animal Sanctuary (where most zoologist work to help rehabilitate wild animals before reintroducing them back into the wild, only housing the ones that have been assessed to not be able to function in the wild on their own—which are unfortunately many).

Your place of work is known for its large, ground telescope; its monthly constellation exhibits; the multiple planetarium theater rooms that house lectures, activities, star projections, etc.; and its Astronomer Q&A program where visitors can ask astronomers questions and even get a tour of the space station.

However, most of your days are spent in your office, planning for the next exhibit or actually executing them with your team; meanwhile, Anakin spends them in tech, sometimes maintaining the telescope, other times helping with IT issues, but mostly making sure the theater rooms worked perfectly for their 4D immersion.

(You like to joke that out of the two of you, he has it easiest; sometimes he’ll run by your office to get to another part of the building while you’re doing something and you’ll yell out, “slacker” and he’ll respond with, “you just work too much”.)

“Are Padmé and the twins stopping by today?”

“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” he says as you both step out of the trolley along with a few tourists. “I think today they decided to stay for some school thing.”

“Shouldn’t you know what that school thing is?” you chide him out of jest.

He scowls, there’s hardly any heat in it and it makes you grin. “It’s a music performance that the CN Theater is putting on.”

“Ah, and we all know how much musicals bores you.”

“I just don’t understand them,” he murmurs defensively as you climb the few steps leading to the entrance. The two of you smiling and greeting Rex at his security post and bypassing the ticket gate with your IDs.

“You mean you don’t have any taste,” you tease.

“It’s weird! I mean, most of them are all about tragedies and betrayals. What happened to the good ol’ romance and happy endings?”

“Not all of them are tragedies, Casanova.”

The main rotunda lobby is full of people milling about, looking at maps or the foucault pendulum in the middle of the room. Low chatter fills the room, shoes clicking and clacking against the marble flooring.

“Name one.”

Spotting the trash can and recycle bin, Anakin holds his hand out for your disposable cup and spoon and throws them away in their proper bin.

“Rent.” There are probably better examples, but you had been listening to the original cast album the night before and have all the songs still stuck in your head.

“Don’t two characters die?”

“Angel and Mimi.” You nod. “But Mimi is brought back to life by Angel, and is given a second chance at life.”

“She may have been brought back to life, but that doesn’t take away from the fact she died.”

“I’m not arguing with you on that, I’m just saying the ending was hopeful—not necessarily a happy ending, but it left you thinking—maybe things can get better.”

“And that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for—“

“What you and Padmé have?” you ask him as you both reach the door of your office.

He pauses, mouth opening and closing before finally rubbing the back of his head sheepishly and saying, “Yeah.”

You smile, genuine and happy for your childhood friend. Who would’ve thought that years ago when you introduced them, they’d be here years later—married and with twins. You and Anakin sure as hell didn’t. For most of your childhood, you both believed you’d live out your life on Tatooine, hang with the same friends you’ve known since your pre-kinder days and eventually get married to each other—much to the dismay of your parents—because of benefits or whatever, until your parents decided they wanted to send you off to a private school in one of the major cities, derailing your and Anakin’s plan (for the better, if you’re being honest).

“You’re still coming over for dinner, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer, unlocking your office door with your key. “I have a meeting that might go over the expected time, but I should be able to make it on time.”

“Just let us know,” he says, rapping his knuckles against the door frame. “But you better be there! We have some planning to do!”

You roll your eyes and wave him away, promising he and his family will definitely see you at five. With a hearty chuckle he salutes you and leaves the door slightly ajar, just like you usually do. It’s your “you can come in to ask me questions, but knock first, please” visual telling.

With a soft exhale, you drop yourself into your creaking office chair, eyes landing on the first picture on your right—a younger you, only 18, fresh out of your uniform smiling wildly with a large bouquet of flowers that you can still distinctly remember the smell of.

“I am in love!” Padmé exclaimed, squealing in absolute delight at the flowers put in your hand.

Blue eyes crinkled with amusement, staring down at you. “Are you?” His voice was low, teasing and almost smug. He had obviously heard the gasp that escaped your lips when he presented you the colorful bouquet created with your favorite flowers that his father grew in their little garden.

“Irrevocably,” you answered, not able to hide your smile as you gently held it against your chest and smiled up at him. “They’re beautiful, Obi. Thank you.”

Obi Wan’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder, caught in the action of a booming laughter. He was always laughing in pictures. There isn’t a single picture you have of him that he isn't smiling.

Your finger gently trails over his smiling face. Maker, you miss him.

Is he still traveling? Or has he finally settled down again? Will he show up and spring some unexpected news on you again? Stars, you hope not. Shit didn’t go as planned last time and it probably wouldn’t again.

Your hand falls limply and you swivel in your seat, looking out the large glass window overlooking the majority of the city and sigh softly—an exhale of wary hope and sadness.

A bird soars by your window, it’s wings flapping effortlessly, diving before flying higher and away.

He’s not coming back. You know this. Coruscant just isn’t the same anymore. Not when he feels this city has taken everything from him.

One more year visiting Gui Gon without him.

The meeting runs longer than it usually would, just like you had expected. Checking the time, you let out a curse and quickly throw your belongings into your car.

Without wasting time, as soon as you switch on your engine, you place your phone on the dock and say, “Hey C-3PO, call Padmé.”

“Calling Padmé,” your phone’s AI answers through the speakers of your car.

“Are you outside?” Is how she greets you. There are loud noises in the background, children squabbling about something or another, and Anakin’s weary voice trying to rally them. 

You snort, pulling out of the undergroundparking lot. “Not yet, barely got out of my meeting and am on my way.”

“Please hurry, the twins really want to see you and are dying from hunger,” she says, amusement in her voice and not at all trying to hurry you. “They might start eating Anakin soon.”

“Hey, don’t bite that!” He yells from a distance.

“Hurry, please!” you hear over the phone—Luke. “I miss you,” he says, closer now. Which you immediately reply saying you miss him too, almost cutting off the next voice.

“And I’m hungry!” Leia’s voice follows his, practically yelling into the phone.

You laugh fondly, just imagining the childish glee on their faces at your scandalized gasps and your exaggerated “me too” answers.

“Leia, no yelling,” Padmé scolds her, gentle and kind. “Softer, please.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m hungry,” she repeats, softer, almost a whisper.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there,” you promise. “If not, you have my permission to start eating your dad.”

Leia and Luke break into a fit of laughter, yelling something away from the phone to Anakin, who once again lets out a loud, “Hey!”

Padmé chuckles, moving away from the voices of the children tackling their father and their play fighting. “Take your time, we’re not in any hurry to start eating. The kids had a hearty lunch and a snack after school.”

“What about you and Anakin?”

“We’re fine, don’t worry. Just get here safely and we’ll see you soon.”

You end the call with one last reassurance from her and let out a loud sigh when your car comes to a stop behind a long line of glaring red lights—traffic. You hate traffic.

You might be surrounded by blinding lights and different models of vehicles, but it leaves you alone with your thoughts, the low hum of your engine and music from your stereo drowned out by the chattering in your head. 

It’s never just one thing that you think about. It can go from one thing to another, to all of them trying to climb over eachother and be the most present: your friends; your family; the dog next door; Din and Baby; cinnamon apple cookies; the beach house in Naboo; sneaking out of the prep dormitories at 2am with Padmé keeping an eye out and Obi Wan holding his arms out for you; rose gardens and peach tea; freckles on blushing skin; drunken singing in a small living room; 21st birthdays crying in a bathroom stall; that stupid movie quote about choosing life; death; but sometimes (most occurring) it’s Obi Wan that weaves into every thought.

He’s a constant plague in your mind, has been since the first time he left Coruscant in search of himself. 

Sometimes they’re pleasant thoughts, memories kept in a nostalgic trunk that you occasionally like to sift through. Other times, they’re not so pleasant; those are the ones you constantly struggle with, try to push into the recesses of your mind and keep them under lock and key. But for some stupid, strange reason, your mind only ever remembers the bad, even when there are better things to dwell on.

“I just—I just don’t understand why you have to leave—Obi. Obi!” you practically yelled, watching him move around his room, grabbing and throwing things he pulled out into his duffel bag. “Listen to me!” 

He didn’t stop, not until you reached for his duffel bag and plucked it out from his hands. He stared at you, his duffel bag carelessly thrown to the floor with his clothes spilling out. 

Your breathing was labored, a sick feeling swimming in your stomach, words stuck in your throat now that he wasn’t hiding his beautiful blue eyes from you—his devastatingly heartbroken eyes. “I have to,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I need to leave. This house—this city, it's suffocating me. I can’t—I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Obi… Obi, please.” You can’t leave me. You can’t! Please! Please, Obi.

“I need to do this for me, darling. I’m sorry.”

You should’ve fought harder that night, should’ve convinced him to stay, but instead you helped him pack again with tears obstructing your view and sobs escaping your lips. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have lost him.

No, your breath stutters as you lean back into your car seat, there was nothing you could’ve done. Either times. He had made up his mind long before that night.

A car honks their horn to your left and you jump, eyes focusing once more on the red lights of the car in front of you. You wipe at your face harshly and straighten your spine. 

That was years ago, little one. Shake it off. 

Sighing softly, you look up at the street name and make a turn onto the Skywalker residence street, your shoulders relaxing when their two story home comes into view.  

Shake it off.

Parking isn't easy to find in their neighborhood, not when it’s so close to the observatory and some of the most visited parks in the area, but you manage to find one just two cars away from their house. 

Gathering your things, you lock the door behind you and quickly make your way down the sidewalk, phone in your hand and typing out a message that you’re here.

It’s while you’re hitting send that you don’t notice the body in front of you, staring up at the house with an almost wary expression on his face, or how his eyes widen when they see you. It’s not until you collide into his body, soft with a fleece cardigan, that you notice him. Embarrassment begins to boil in your blood as you quickly apologize to him, berating yourself for not being more aware of your surroundings.

“Kriff, I’m so sorry—“ you start, but the apology catches in your throat when you look up.

“Hello, there.” Blue eyes, so soft and kind, like the ones you once used to dream of stare back at you—so unlike the pair of eyes you saw years ago. “It’s been a long time, darling.”

You can’t shake him off.

next

#obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi imagine #reader insert #ben kenobi #star wars imagine #au #f!reader

[fabricated-misslieness]

Hey! This is the person who requested the Tamaki one. I was thinking maybe having the story continue from the last one, so either they run away together and having kids or their parents actually accept them getting married. Even if you don’t continue from this story I would love it if you could write it as a seme male reader.......hell a lemon would be awesome but I don’t know if you do those. Anyways thank you for replying!!!!

Tamaki Suoh x male reader

Heyo! I do accept lemons, but I don’t feel like doing them right now. Long ass title but I have no idea rn

Part 2 of Tamaki realizing he wants children with you…

Except now you have children.

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 1,403

There were times when Tamaki regretted having children.

Except that was a lie and he didn’t, he’d just say it in his mind and groan from frustration. He doesn’t actually mean it, but in the moment, he definitely thinks about it.

He gets frustrated even when he has servants running around and helping.

How can commoners even handle this?

It’s always a disaster when he’s handling the children without either his husband or the head nursery servant.

Yes, that’s right. They got plenty of servants whose only purpose was to deal with the children. Tamaki can’t do this alone, at all.

Anyway, he definitely feels a lot better about having kids most of the time. It’s what he dreamed of since that one night. And lo and behold, his husband was actually really good with children. Maybe he couldn’t deal with them alone, but nothing’s to blame. There are five of them and they’re all so young that only one of them’s in school, in kindergarten.

Which means they’re too energetic for their own good.

“DAAAAAAAAAAAD!”

Speak of the devil.

An unholy shriek and the owner of said vocal chords rounded the corner. It was one of the twins.

Tamaki definitely didn’t want twins, the Hitachiins proved that they were too much to handle, anyway. Well, there was nothing they could do about it. They can’t just abandon the children, especially when they came from a previous surrogate.

“Just one second.” He was in the middle of a business call, but the little girl was nagging him and punching him weakly, and she wouldn’t stop until he paid attention to her.

Tamaki put the businessman on hold and layed the phone on his desk. That’s right, how did Catherine even open the door to his office?

There was no time to wonder, as the girl noticed he wasn’t on the call anymore.

“Tristan broke my leg!” The small blonde toddler seemed to be walking just fine.

“Well, Cath, that doesn’t seem like true, does it?” Tamaki remarked with a laugh, walking over to crouch in front of his daughter.

Catherine brandished a small plastic doll from behind her, showing off the broken part. With her other hand, she showed him the leg the poor doll was missing.

“Quite rude of Tristan, wasn’t it?” Tamaki whispered with a playful tone, taking the doll and her leg from the child.

“DAAAD, no! Don’t believe her!” From the same corner came the other twin, pouting. “She ripped it off herself! She’s framing me!”

“Where did you learn that word?” Tamaki muttered, though that was a problem for another time. The twins started babbling insults at each other as Tamaki inspected the doll, trying to come up with a solution. He wasn’t going to find one anytime soon.

“Ah, there you are.” And here was the head nursery servant to save the day.

“Catherine ripped it off.” She said, pulling the twins apart from each other and holding their hands in her own. “Sorry, mr. (l/n).” She bowed, pulling the twins behind her.

“It’s no problem, mrs. Oh.”

With a nod, the old woman left the room, closing the doors behind her.

“Pardon me, but where were we?” He brought the phone back to his ear and his hands back to his laptop, taking small notes.

“Cho! Cho, no!” The blonde heard heels clicking and slippery footsteps along the tiles of the outside of his office door, and he thanked god, for his call was ending.

“Well, sir, we’re going to have to cut formalities. It seems I have another child calling.” He joked nervously, and felt relief when the man on the other line laughed. He was never good at dealing with these strict businessmen, but thankfully this one was humorous.

“Ah, five children I believe? That’s one circus.”

“Yes, five energetic kids. They’re all so young.” Tamaki sighed in a way that the man on line could hear his tiredness.

“I mustn't keep you long, then.”

After short farewells, Tamaki rushed out of his office, finding the floor wet, but not soapy.

From the door, he could see one of the nursery servants scrambling towards a naked, wet, toddler. That certain servant was never good in heels, though she refused to switch shoe. While the toddler seemed to be walking well, she was not.

He rushed over just as he saw her slip and caught her by the shoulders.

“Thank you, mr. (l/n). I’m so terribly sorry.” She sighed, steadying herself with the wall.

“It’s alright, I better catch up.” The servant laughed as Tamaki rushed away from her, following the wet trail his daughter was leaving.

When he rounded the corner, he didn’t see his daughter, and when he rounded another, following the trail, he lost his footing.

He spread his arms out to steady himself with the walls, but the halls were too open.

He closed his eyes, preparing for impact.

And then he fell on a broad chest, an arm wrapping around him.

“Are you okay, dear?” The soothing voice of his husband reached his ears, and then the squabble of his toddler followed. He smiled, opening his eyes to see his beautiful husband and the wet toddler held on his other arm.

“I’m fine.” The blonde laughed, steading himself but not leaving his husband’s hold. “How was work?”

“Boring,” (y/n) deadpanned, making Tamaki laugh. “as always. But work is work, and it’s alright.”

“Ah, mister-” The servant cut herself off, it was always a bit confusing for her on how to call the pair individually when they were in the same room.

“(y/n).” He gave her a warm smile.

“Mister (y/n), I see you’ve got quite the catch.” She joked, gesturing to Tamaki and their daughter, making them all laugh. Cho, the spry little two year old, laughed with them, although she didn’t understand.

“I’ll take her from you, she got away before I could get soap on her.” She took Cho in her hold, wetting her clothes, but she didn’t mind. She walked off with the child, scolding her lightly.

A small patch of (y/n)’s own shirt was wet from where he held Cho, but it wasn’t all that bad. He was going to take a shower anyway.

“So how was Ryuu at school today?”

Five cute and calm sleeping children, in their own respective rooms. It was nice to see them off before sleep, and it would never feel old, even after a million years.

Tamaki was glad they had children, they were a product of his and his husband’s love and endearment. They were his everything.

It always gave him a small spur of energy when he realized he would be staying awake longer than his children would, like a ten year old staying up until twelve am just for the thrill of it. But tonight, he was a little tired, both him and his husband.

The day was a busy one, full of businessmen, phone calls, boring work, and children.

The child in him was telling him to stay up and have some fun, but the adult in him knew he couldn’t. Their work was done and sleep was nice, especially in his husband’s arms.

Besides, what if Francis woke them up at an ungodly hour again? Babies were the hardest to take care of, even with toddlers running around, a baby couldn’t talk and tell you what it wanted. It was hard to find out what they needed, especially with Francis. He was the hardest to figure out.

They both agreed to sleeping earlier, but as they tucked into bed, a little kid had to stumble in. It was Ryuu, sniffling and afraid. He clutched his teddy bear tightly.

“Ryuu, something wrong?” Tamaki rushed over quickly, pulling the child into his arms. Ryuu nodded, burying his face into Tamaki’s neck.

“What is it, love?” (y/n) asked as Tamaki set the child down next to him. He got into bed next to the four year old, soothing him and running a hand through his hair.

“Nightmare.” Ryuu sniffled out, replacing the teddy bear with his (h/c) dad.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry.”

No matter how old they got, they would never stop being scared, and it was something they’d be fine with soothing for the rest of their years.

It was something they signed up for with the first child, and they’d never give it up.

Tags: @yaoilover0

#OHSHC Tamaki #Tamaki Suoh #Tamaki Suoh x male reader #Tamaki Suoh x reader #Tamaki Suoh fanfiction #OHSHC x reader #OHSHC fanfiction #ohshc x male reader #anonymousrequest

[kitkat1003]

Tower Tales

4: Turns out, they can get sick of each other

AO3 Link

@asilcorner YEET

Time passes and it’s maddening.  Yakko keeps a calendar, but there’s no point in trying to know how long they’ve been trapped in here when they can’t even tell if they’re sleeping at night or day.  They don’t know how long an hour is, a minute, month, a week, a day.  Not by heart.  So, for a while, they have to guess.

Yakko eventually makes a clock, sets a time, makes their day as normal as he can, starting the hour at a random time and suddenly dinnertime is 5:30pm instead of just sometime before bed, even though they can’t tell if it’s even close to 5:30pm outside.  It doesn’t matter if it turns out they aren’t following the sun, the sun has never followed them, so fair’s fair.  Besides, why stick with the world’s set of rules when those rules act like this is fine, that them being trapped is fine?

And hey, what’s a little madness?  Who cares, right?

The tower becomes a lived-in space.  The first two floors become living room areas, bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom.  They never can be certain on the decor, and it changes daily, weekly, hourly, but that’s fine, because the idea of everything repeating, like the days have no difference between them makes Yakko want to curl into a ball and never straighten out.

The third floor is left mostly barren, because that’s where they practice their toon powers.  Wakko has a penchant for bombs and offensive weapons, Yakko finds he can pull a pen out of anywhere and anything, and Dot has an affinity for her mallet, as well as fashion.

She likes to tailor, on occasion, and bribes Wakko to be her model for it by letting him perform songs via burping after dinner—she doesn’t mind the sound, it’s really the smell that makes her hate the whole thing—and Yakko starts being able to pull out random books from his hammerspace.  They’re typically books he likes, thank god, but sometimes they’re just confusing.  He likes Dr. Dolittle, though it is a bit silly, and the idea of talking animals being strange doesn’t make sense to him, being animal-like himself, but at the least it’s an interesting series with many books to go through.  He likes Winnie the Pooh, too, and the Velveteen Rabbit is surprisingly sad, but at least it’s a change of pace in comparison to the happier children’s books he reads.

He ventures to more adult focused books, like The Great Gatsby, which is depressing but also an interesting commentary of the time, and the Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.  He actually reads through that one a couple times, to go back and find the clues Miss Christie left for the reader, and he finds it utterly fascinating.  Who knew that someone could write like that?  Leaving little pieces that only come together to make something when the last piece is found.  It’s like a blank puzzle that turns on when you finish it.

Dot likes to read with him, pulling out a magazine about the daily fashion news or parties.  He doesn’t know what Playboy is, but the moment it appears in her hands he rips it away and throws it in the fire.  She evidently sees enough just from the cover, because she doesn’t argue.

He occasionally reads to Wakko and Dot.  Typically before bed—he regrets ever reading the Velveteen Rabbit to them, because Wakko didn’t sleep for a few days after.   He tries to get Wakko to read with him, but Wakko seems to find learning anything in a standardized way quite difficult, and all it took was one semi pointed comment from Dot about it to keep the boy from even trying, shame painting his cheeks the red of their nose.  Yakko considers talking to Dot about it, but he doesn’t want to further embarrass Wakko by bringing it up, and it’s hard to be secretive in a small space.

So he lets it go, because they have plenty of time—too much, too much to ever fill, and sometimes all they can do is sit and hope for it to move faster because boredom makes them dull and he hears Dot cry into her pillow some nights because she’s not as quiet as she thinks she is and he sleeps so lightly he can barely call it rest—and continues to play and have fun and learn new things.  He gets an atlas, one day, and memorizes the names of all the countries, hums out a melody, learns rhyme schemes.

And when he starts up a tune, they all fall in line.  That’s the thing—while he and Dot learn the normal way, Wakko seems to be able to do just about anything when he stays out of his own head.  Which is odd, because Wakko doesn’t talk too much, so he must be in his head plenty.  Perhaps, then, the line between thinking and doing is so wide that when he tries to both everything gets jumbled.  Because when they burst into song, Wakko dances and prances and creates lyrics like a pro, whether they’re singing about nothing at all to complex philosophical concepts, with a plethora of large words that if Wakko tried to read he would trip and stumble as they were slanted stairs.  Occasionally, Yakko will ask if Wakko even knows what they’re singing about, only ever curious, and Wakko can talk his ear off about it all.  Yet, when Yakko brings him into a classroom setting, Wakko’s face goes blank, and no comprehension of anything Yakko says ever shows.

Clearly he has a grasp on the English language, clearly he’s smart—Yakko could never think his brother stupid, because no stupid person could build a second floor without any plans, could follow jokes and make his own quips on occasion that send him and Dot into laughing fits, could pick the perfect moment for a physical joke in the middle of a conversation; no way that Wakko is anything close to stupid—but the moment it’s a classroom type setting all of that goes out the window.  Is it the motivation?  Is it the material?  Is it him?

Yakko has to figure this out, but at least he doesn’t have to figure it out soon.  He has time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They aren’t perfect, despite the look of them, despite how they’re drawn to be.  They can’t be expected, forced together 24/7, to not get into petty squabbles.  And they are petty.  Dot hates sharing the bathroom with ‘gross boys,’ hates it when they play during dinner, Yakko hates it when they’re making too much noise during his reading times, when they complain too much, Wakko grumps about when they eat something he was supposedly saving, or throw something away he thinks he could eat (a.e. a banana peel, a watermelon rind, moldy bread, etc), or when they talk too softly or too fast, as if they don’t want him to be able to listen.  It’s never anything too bad, and they get over it within the next few hours, but sometimes it builds.

For instance, Wakko is going stir crazy.

Dot and Yakko can tell.  They don’t mind sitting still on occasion, given the right persuasion, but Wakko is a mile a minute of movement, everything twitching and tapping, tail swishing back and forth and wagging when he’s excited.

There’s only so many times one can run around a small space before they get bored.  Only so many months one can spend exploring and doing the same things with little variation 

“Ugh, there’s nothing to dooooooo,” Wakko whines, flopping onto the armrest of Dot’s chair.  She and Yakko are reading the same book, they’re going to discuss it when they’re done.  It’s a fun blend of their skills and likes-talking about reading.

“There’s plenty of things to do!  Why don’t you read a book with us?” Dot suggests, and maybe it’s a little mean, but it’s more out of ignorance than cruelty.  It’s been what feels like a few months since she saw Wakko struggle, how could she have known that he’d written off reading entirely.

“You could read to me,” Wakko actually perks up at his own suggestion, like a lightswitch flipping on.  Yakko doesn’t mind it at all, and is about to volunteer when Dot raises a brow.

“Can’t you read yourself?” She shoots back, and Wakko deflates, before he crosses his arms, on the defensive.

“I don’t need to,” He says, and Doll rolls her eyes.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t want someone to read to you,” Like usual, her words are sharper than his, but she makes one mistake.  “You can’t just refuse to learn forever.  What are you going to do when you get into the real world?”

Dot is trying to hope.  She trusts that, someday, they’ll escape.  Doesn’t matter how long it takes, they’ll still escape, because she trusts their family, and she trusts their growing abilities.

But Wakko...well, he isn’t quite so positive, at the moment.

“We’re never going to the real world!” He shouts.  “I know what forever means, I’m not that dumb, and that’s how long they’re keeping us here,” Dot is taken aback, but Wakko is a roll, frustrated and ashamed and angry, and Yakko is cut off by his next spitting sentence.  “And the worst part of it is that I’m stuck here with a stuck-up jerk like you!”

“Wakko Warner!” Yakko stands, and he doesn’t typically raise his voice like this, not angry, but that was uncalled for, and Wakko—

Wakko flinches.

Yakko falters, Dot’s eyes are already teary, and Wakko dashes off, vanishes up to the second floor before anyone can stop him.

Yakko attends to the sibling that is close by, because Dot is upset and angry and hurt, so he soothes her tears.

“Why would he say that?” She asks, confused.  “Did he mean it?”

“Of course not—he’s just not handling this as well as you are.  You picked reading up way faster than he did.  He’s been struggling with it, and with all...this,” he gestures to the tower.  Dot sniffles.  “You do have a habit of saying things that make you sound high and mighty, your majesty,” He adds, with a grin, and Dot giggles a little, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry,” She says, and he shrugs.

“Not me who needs an apology, sis, but I appreciate it anyway.  Let’s give Wakko some time to calm down, kay?” He picks her up and smiles.  “I don’t know what chapter you got to, but I have some thoughts on the 5th one.”

She grins back at him.

One down, one to go.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They find Wakko curled up in a ball on the couch upstairs, face hidden from the world and back facing the outside.  Dot comes over quietly, soft steps toward the tense coiled spring that is her brother.

“Didn’t mean it,” He sounds very...defeated.  “I’m sorry, Dot,” He sniffles, and she still can’t see his face.

“It’s okay,” she responds, because staying mad never helped anyone anyway.  “I shouldn’t have been so mean about it.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know it was so hard.”

“It is,” Wakko finally turns to face her, and his face is stained with tears.  “I can’t get it to make sense in my head—and you got it easy.  Maybe I am stupid,” He turns to face her, sitting up and curling his knees to his chest, and the last phrase is muffled by his knees.

“You’re not!  You’re better at building things than I could ever be!  Words can be hard, though.  It took me a bit to get it.” 

He looks over at her, shyly, as if searching her face for any sign of a joke.  She remains resolute, and sincere. “Really?” 

“Yeah!  Hey, maybe I could try and teach you.  Yakko’s a real lazy teacher,” She jokes, and Yakko takes that as his cue to walk over.

“I take offense to that,” He responds without heat, before looking over to Wakko, who shrinks under his gaze.  The action makes Yakko want to disappear—how could he make his own brother scared of him?

“Sorry for scaring you, Wakko,” He tells him, hoping Wakko accepts the apology.  

“It wasn’t you-it was just,” Wakko is quick to reassure Yakko that he wasn’t scared of him, because he wasn’t, and knows that Yakko would never act in a way that should make Wakko afraid of him, he just was scared because “You’re tall,” He finally finds the words, and Yakko blinks.  “The execs who didn’t like us, they were tall, and they shouted a lot, and I was thinking about when we were out and I was already upset and it just happened, but you’re not scary,” He gives Yakko a shaky grin.  “How could someone even be scared of you?”

“Hey,” Yakko takes mock offense, but a weight lifts off of his shoulders.

He shuffles over, and takes the hat off of Wakko’s head to ruffle his hair.  Wakko reaches for it with sweater paws, standing on the couch to grab his hat back, and the tense air starts to dissipate.

Wakko yawns.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.  Yakko settles down on the couch, between him and Dot, and lifts Wakko into his lap.

“Guess it’s naptime, then,” He leans back, hands behind his head.  “Dot?”

She’s already curling up against him.

Eventually, Yakko manages to get horizontal, Wakko and Dot curled up together on top of him. Slowly, he lets out a sigh of relief and sleeps.

The next day, he finds Dot and Wakko at a new dining room table, both hunched over a piece of paper.  Wakko looks very confused, and a little frustrated, but Dot goes over the same letter sounds over and over as if it were the first time, and that type of relentless explanation manages to get through the mental blocks Wakko sometimes has.

“So, the ‘c’ makes a cuh sound, ‘a’ makes an aay sound, so what’s that word?” She points.

“Ca-Catch?” Wakko tries, and Dot cheers, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“You did it!” She says, and Wakko brightens like the sun.

“Faboo!” He responds, and the exclamation is so startling that Dot starts laughing.  Wakko joins in, and Yakko is chuckling to himself all the way to the kitchen.

Within two months, Wakko joins their book club.  They make matching t-shirts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yakko loves his sibs, he really does.  They’re basically the only reason he stuck around for so long. They need him.

But sometimes, he doesn’t want them.

Little siblings bicker and it gets real grating.  He just wants one day, one, where he doesn’t have to deal with a stupid argument!  Is that so much to ask

He feels like he never gets this petty over the small stuff.  Aren’t there more pressing things to be upset about?  He doesn’t expect his siblings to be friendly to each other all the time, but would it kill them to resolve their own issues?  Especially when they’re as small as whose mallet is whose(they’re identical) or where a furniture piece should go(when it’s going to be moved within a week anyway, because they’re always changing the format of the tower).  If Wakko’s hat is better than Dot’s flower.  How the kitchen silverware should be organized, even.  Yakko can’t see why it matters

He can’t even get peace now, trying to get through the book they’re in the middle of in their book club.  Wakko and Dot had sped ahead one day when Yakko was making dinner, and now he’s trying to catch up, but he can’t because they’re having another shouting match.  They’re hunched over a fashion magazine, trying to figure out what?  What dress looks cuter?  Wakko, apparently, picked the wrong one, and now Dot is upset, and now he’s upset because she’s upset at him, and it’s just so much.

Eventually he snaps.

“Alright, that’s it!” He shouts, and Wakko and Dot look up from their squabble-about what dress looks cuter, off all things. “I’m going upstairs, and you two deal with each other for a few hours, because I can’t.” He runs a hand down his face and sighs, grabbing his book and disappearing to the second floor, not even bothering to see their reaction.

And you see, you’d think he’d like the peace and quiet, but two hours in and his ears keep twitching, aching for the sound of silly conversation and laughter and pattering feet.  Sure, they’re annoying, and they squabble over silly things, but Yakko is paranoid at heart because the background sounds of them messing around is somehow relaxing, because then at least he knows that they’re there, that they’re safe.  Silence is uncertainty, silence means he’s alone, and he keeps subconsciously searching for their noise, to know that they are, and in turn he is, safe and there.  He thinks he might be a little too used to them, because without the ambient noise he can’t focus.  

Four hours later, and he comes back down, and is greeted to an armful of new books he definitely didn't make, and they don’t look published.  They look more like...picture books?

“We made them for you!” Dot says.

“I did the pictures, and Dot wrote the stories,” Wakko adds.

Yakko’s heart is so full it feels like his ribs are cracking.

“What a couple of authors you are!” he laughs, and they follow him all the way back to his chair.  He sets the books in a stack on his lap, picking up the first one and opening his mouth to read aloud as Dot and Wakko sit on the armrests of the couch, eagerly awaiting his narration and reaction.

Yakko thinks he got pretty lucky with his sibs, even with their petty arguments, smiling down at the pages and reading the books through.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot loves her brothers.  She does.

But they’re gross.

Well, not gross, but certainly not clean.  They make messes and forget to clean them up.  And it’s not that bad, Dot doesn’t mind cleaning.  Wakko builds them things, Yakko takes care of the meals, cleaning is just part of her chores in this whole situation.

It reaches a limit, and she hits it when she watches Yakko spill marinara sauce all over the ground and then do nothing about it.  Wakko slips in it and the two just laugh it off, but the sauce splatters everywhere, and she has to clean that, and—

“Ugh!” She stomps her foot in frustration, and Yakko and Wakko turn to her, confused.  “You two are disgusting!  I have to clean this all up later, and-ugh!” She turns on her heel and heads upstairs.  She slams the hatch door to the second floor shut, and Wakko and Yakko wince at the sound.

“Is the second floor specifically for upset people now, or is it just a really lazy plot device?” Yakko snarks, and Wakko blinks.

“Should we clean this up?”

“Yeah, probably.”

She comes down an hour later, because she skipped dinner and though she doesn’t have a food issue she’s used to eating with her siblings, and she walks into a sparkling clean kitchen.

“This is a once a year affair,” Yakko says, as she stands there shocked.  “Maybe thrice if you pay us.”

“I ate a bar of soap,” Wakko says, and bubbles come out of his mouth.

“You two are ridiculous,” Dot says, and she can’t help the grin on her face.

She hugs them till she hears something crack.  Probably Yakko’s back, with how tense her eldest brother is.

It’s halfway to filthy by the end of the week, but she can tell they’re trying, and that’s enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So yeah, they get sick of each other.  They have petty and not so petty squabbles, but no matter what they end up in the same place.

Curled up near each other, blankets pulled close so that the edges of the bed are barren.  Yakko always talks in sleep, Wakko drools and kicks, Dot will shift from time to time and grab at air, or anything in grasping range, but they won’t wake up, because despite those annoyances, together they feel safe.

And that’s what family is for, isn’t it?

#animaniacs 2020 #animaniacs #kitkat1003 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner

[5lazarus]

Masterlist of My Stories

My Writing

Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, I post a snippet of what I'm currently working on.

On Mondays, I post the last lines of the stories I'm finishing up, as well as lessons learned from the previous week. I post this under the tag #last line monday and #lessons from the week.

On Wednesdays, I throw up a snippet of fanfiction. I post this under the tag #wip wednesday.

On Fridays, I write at least seven lines of my own stories, either poetry, essays, or fiction. I post this under the tag #seven line friday.

On Sundays, I post at least six lines of fanfic. I post this under the tag #six sentence sunday.

For more information about me, check out my About Me page. I don't answer personal questions unless I share an asklist, I don't take prompts unless I share a promptlist, and I don't keep anonymous asks on. I've also made two promptlists--one a writing challenge, the other a list of poetry prompts! Find my work archived and updated under hes5thlazarus on Archive of Our Own.

Below is a catalogue of my stories, broken down by fandom (Dragon Age, Harry Potter, Star Trek):

My Dragon Age Stories

There Is No Ithaca Three moments where Solas loses his home: Solas wrecks his revolution on the altar of Mythal. Solas returns from war to find Ghilan’nain incubating the Blight within their own home. Fen'Harel negotiates the end of the world with the Thaig of the Bastion of the Pure. Answers to various asks from brightoncemore's wonderful promptlist.

Ultramarine Sylaise attempts to trademark the color blue, initiating a civil war. Fen'Harel disapproves. Felassan, at this point, is just along for the ride. Highlights include: Andruil attempts to create biological weapons out of the conquered children of the stone and sell them to absolutely everyone, Mythal may or may not involve, Solas greatly disapproves, and everyone wants to kill Fen'Harel for disapproving. Also an explanation as to why Solas has to think before answering Sera on whether he has ever pissed magic by accident. Sorta a love story, sorta a comedy, sorta a story about political intrigue--but hey, Solas said Arlathan was even worse than Orlais! A big thank you to potatowitch and isomede for talking me through this and getting me to finish it--and for giving me the best ideas for it.

Overheard at the Hanged Man Thirty-one stories written in Nightmare-mode for Beyond the Veil's 2020 Artober Challenge, ranging through the entire series, from Arlathan before the Blight to the Chargers in Serault.

Alistair the Accidental Heretic Alistair gets bored during morning prayer and starts changing the words of the Chant as he sings. Mother Prudence and Knight-Commander Greagoir are less than pleased, and soon he finds himself tripping up over accidental heresy even within the kitchens of Kinloch Hold. It's not easy, being a half-elf templar with a conscience, because even having a sense of humor is heresy.

The Starkhaven Crier A portrait of two future apostates at ten-year-olds: Jowan and Surana are bored, get dragged to the Chantry for the good of their souls, and accidentally make the new girl from Starkhaven cry. Featuring Surana determined to be the one Dalish against letting the Maker come back, the self-hating mage in the Surana/Amell origin as the Starkhaven Crier, and the same Mother Prudence who sent Alistair to bed without supper. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Morrigan at the Crossroads Morrigan reaches her breaking point, confronted with the one person she cannot flee: her six-week-old son, who cannot be soothed back to sleep, struggling in the Crossroads. From a prompt musettta3 sent me.

Shartan's Riddle Surana talks Mahariel through writing Leliana, after Leliana leaves to work for the Divine. Shartan promised them a home, and Mahariel worries Leliana, devout as she is, cannot give it to her. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Winter in Amaranthine The Wardens' companions decide to leave, and Warden-Commander Arana Mahariel cannot find a reason good enough to tell them no. Meanwhile, letters between the Warden and Leliana get lost in translation, and Arana makes it worse. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Palimpsest Velanna and Sigrun fight some darkspawn, talk around the past, and write some letters. Written as a gift for hellbell, for the Sapphic Solstice 2021 Gift Exchange.

Phosphorescence A Despair demon in the Foundry district is clogging up the whole city with a miasma of misery. Justice runs into an old friend of his, during Anders' first few weeks in Kirkwall, and the three set to work. Heavy-handed allegory abounds, but, Justine opines, that’s the Dreamers’ fault. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Labyrinth "Anders made no attempt at escape during the years they were together." This story is meant to explore everything absolutely horrible about that statement. If the core part of Anders' identity is his refusal to submit to imprisonment, then perhaps listening to Karl was a violation of his sense of self. Things get better, and then things get worse.

Kirkwall Thunderstorm Family squabbling as the storm sets in, Hawke flees to face the thunderstorm head on, and laughs, because what's more to life than this, chasing a storm all the way down to the harbor? From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

Debutante Leandra manages Hawke's debut ball, and surprises herself by having a lot of fun. From an OC ask I decided to turn into a prompt.

Dregs Anders baits Varric, or Varric baits Anders, both drunk at the Hanged Man. There's no resolution to an argument when they're both just angry, thinking about dead mages. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

The Scent of Pomegranates Merrill brings a pomegranate to the Hanged Man, to try and capture some of the way her clan celebrated the new year. Fenris is oddly moved. Written for the DA Den's 2020 Holiday Gift Exchange.

Anders in Autumn Anders and Fenris, over the course of one gorgeous autumn in Kirkwall, find common ground, a common goal, and even tenderness, as the city grows cool and vibrant in the changing of the year. Justice returns to the streets of Kirkwall, one way or another, and it is as transformative and loving as justice truly is. An answer to an Artober challenge from cozy-autumn-prompts

Warp & Weft Anders wakes Fenris up in the middle of the night talking, and then not wanting to talk, about weaving. What they remember and what they have forgot climb into the bed with them. A gift for potatowitch.

Landlocked Merrill goes looking for Isabela after a night of drinking at the Hanged Man, and finds her considering the sun rising over the horizon at the docks. They're landlocked and the salt's drained them both dry, but maybe it's not all been a waste. They're shipless, not shipwrecked. Part of a personal challenge to write more femslash, after realizing how little there is in Dragon Age fandom.

Love and Red Ink Varric tries his hand at a more literary Bildungsroman about his youth as a Kirkwall bohemian. Bianca tears it apart, editing for his own good. Sometimes love is in the margins, your almost ex-girlfriend telling you--I wasn't that pretty, when I was that young.

The Most Boring Sex Party in All Orlais Josephine and Leliana both admit the night they met ended with someone's smallclothes pinned to the Chanter's Board--but what happened right before? Josephine says, “I have played the Game before, and understand its cutthroat stakes. But I must admit, I never thought I would witness the opening salvo of a coup at the most boring sex party of all Orlais.”

Catabasis Kirkwall's in ashes and Hawke and their friends are on the run. Varric might have ended the story at the docks, but the conflict continues. The question persists: should they separate? And what brought them together in the first place? From a series of prompts ellie-effie and musetta3 sent me.

The Domestics Alistair runs into an older elven woman on the battlements, watching the children play in the Skyhold courtyard below. They get to talking: isn't it nice that the mages get to keep their children now? Then, in the course of the conversation, Alistair figures it out. Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.”

The Bane of Red Crossing In the astrarium cave in the Storm Coast with Inquisitor Lavellan, Cole, and Solas, Sera opens a chest and finds a beautiful bow, named the Bane of Red Crossing. But what is the Bane of Red Crossing? According to the codex: "Ser Yves de Chevac used this bow in the Exalted March against the Dales – specifically, in the liberation of Val Royeaux, where the chevalier famously struck down the elven forces' commander with a shot to the throat at two hundred feet." Lavellan is not pleased, but does not know how to communicate effectively with Sera. Cole and Solas make it worse. Sometimes there is no adequate resolution, when you are faced with the instrument of your great-grandparents' destruction. Sometimes there is nothing that disinterested compassion can say.

To the Victor the Spoils In the Skyhold gardens, in Adamant's wake, Solas meets Loghain. A character study of two trickster-kings, speaking a little too honestly. As Loghain himself says, "The past is always with us. It’s in our bones and our blood and we wear it on our skin. You can think otherwise, but you’ll never get far without it."

Dead Man Hiking Solas broods over what has been lost. Dorian interrupts, and Solas dangles hidden knowledge in front of him like a carrot. They both take the bait, because, as irritable and sad Solas can get, "he wants to give wisdom, not orders," and Dorian loves to learn. Written for Beyond the Veil's 2020 Satinalia Gift Exchange.

So Much Lore! So Much Information! Dorian has a wonderful conversation with the Skyhold Librarian about improvements to the library's filing system and the innovations coming out of Minrathous when Vivienne comes by and points out he's just talking to himself. He's been waxing rhapsodic about the Tevinter equivalent of the Dewey decimal system to a spirit--or maybe a demon. So clearly they must investigate.

Dirthara Ma! May You Learn After the Exalted Council, Solas stops for a drink and a sulk in a quiet tavern in Ostwick. He is convinced no one will ever recognize him with a full head of hair and a beard. Then the Inquisitor walks in. The first in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series.

White Nights A year after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a new lover to a quiet inn in Val Royeaux. She steps out to the balcony for a quick smoke under the stars, looks over to the balcony adjacent to hers--and who is there but the Dread Wolf himself, slightly disguised, with a glass of wine? Despite themselves they talk, and do not stop talking. “Entertain me,” Solas says. “What ending will Master Tethras write for us? Because I do not know how to leave this gracefully. Though I suppose any ending is better than the last one, when I left with your arm.” The second and most comprehensive in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

Ligaments Briala has loaded her dice when playing the Game. Gaspard throws her in prison, but her message goes out to both the Dread Wolf, keen to better his reputation for catastrophe amongst the elves of Orlais, and the Dalish Inquisitor, who is still reeling from the loss of her arm. “We do not necessarily know he is the enemy,” Leliana says. “And it is exciting, no? To have that rush of danger and destruction between every kiss.” The third in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

Out From Under the Dread Wolf's Eye Briala and Merrill try and steal an eluvian out from under the Dread Wolf's eye. It doesn't quite work, but that doesn't mean the day's a failure, not when there's dinner to be had and a connection to explore. Written as a gift for hellbell, for a prompt they gave for the Sapphic Solstice 2021 Gift Exchange, but not submitted to the collection.

The Domesticities Solas adjust to a new, gentle love that has gripped his heart and will not let him go: a Lavellan who heralds a world he did dream of, and learns how to survive grief and his own betrayal, learns how to surrender the high moral ground and focus on the domesticities. A series of Solas-POV ficlets from my story, Fen'Harel's Teeth, where Lavellan is a mother and leader in her own right, and barely keeping her head above the water of her own deep grief. Not in chronological order!

He Who Hunts Alone Solas will restore the Elvhen People as he knew them, even if this world must die. It is his only purpose as he understands it. But a magical accident leaves him in another world, where a version of himself has made a very different choice. Solas is forced to reckon with a desire he has never let himself explore. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan, both his friend and adversary, is dragged with him, as they move from their world, to a world where Solas seems to have won it all, to another that seems both their worst nightmare. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan: the rebel apostate mage, romanced Josephine Inquisitor Imladris Lavellan: the Dalish First, romanced Solas, featured in Fen'Harel's Teeth Inquisitor Brigid Trevelyan: the faithful Andrastian prophet, rogue and noble, Tara's sister, romanced Blackwall and then Cullen Written in tandem with my partner, batsy22-me, and likewise abandoned when we got bored of it.

Fen'Harel's Teeth First Lavellan, Imladris Ashallin, thought that her audience with the Divine against templars' harassment of Dalish mages would be a token protest, and that her people would use it to draw the city elves closer to the Vir Tanadahl. She didn't think her Keeper's calculations would catapult her to the top of the Chantry's leadership, manipulating the powers of Thedas to leave her people be. Meanwhile, Briala foments revolution in Halamshiral, using the eluvian network to sabotage the armies of Orlais. A new movement erupts in the Dales, and elves across Thedas look at this so-called "Herald of Andraste" and see Mythal's vallaslin. Fiona breaks the chains of mages across Thedas, and Fenris starts whispers of a new age in Tevinter--one where the slaves throw down their masters. A new age is coming, and all of Thedas look to Lavellan to usher it in. My baby, my never-ending story, my current work-in-progress.

My Harry Potter Stories

Harry Potter Daydreams Archiving my old Harry Potter headcanons from Tumblr onto AO3. These are not necessarily nice to the characters from canon, and focus what I find interesting--their flaws, and how that could create conflict in their lives.

General Snape Headcanons Archiving my old Harry Potter headcanons from Tumblr onto AO3.

Augury Gang Eileen's mother curses her, and she dies not too long after giving birth to Severus. Tobias, a millworker and a proud union man, does his best.

Snape in the City Instead of dying, Snape moves to New York. A Severus Snape/Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape/Regulus Black story.

An Incident at the Mill the millrat AU A series of vignettes on what could’ve happened if Tobias Snape had been badly injured in an accident at the mill, forcing Severus to drop out of Hogwarts before the Prank. Predominantly Lilycentric. Snily shippers, rejoice: most of the vignettes are from Lily’s point of view, featuring her as flawed, passionate, bullheaded, comfortable in her sexuality, quick to curse and quicker to laugh at herself–and with a complicated relationship to alcohol and the Wizarding World. A big thank you to eleniaz and deathdaydungeon for sparking the initial headcanons that became this series.

Saplings 1980 Albus asks Minerva to tend to the "tender new sapling" of a Potions Master. Minerva looks at the manic-triggered recovered Death Eater and thinks they're doomed for failure. Snape thinks she's right. A couple of friendship & mentorship & not-quite hurt/comfort ficlets, where Severus oozes despair and McGonagall fails, completely, utterly, to be of service. There are two pieces of fanart floating around Snapedom, one of Snape oozing, the other a comic eleniaz did years ago. Unfortunately I've lost the links.

Harry Potter and the Summer of the Stepfather In an alternate world where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter's parents divorce relatively amicably. Eventually, Lily starts dating again, and Harry finds himself actually enjoying the summer Snape stays over.

Last Round at the Hog's Head Thirty-one ficlets written for the 2020 Snapetober challenge.

Your Body's a Revolution Eight stories written for the 2020 Trans Snape Week challenge.

July 1977 Snape stews in teenage melodrama, eating lunch at a cheap fish-and-chips shop in Upper Cokeworth, beset by memories of a wasted ex-girlfriend, who couldn't be Lily Evans--what Bertha Jorkins saw behind the greenhouses, and what came after. Revised from an earlier account, cross-posted from fanfiction.net.

Maleficari's Mutinous Munitions Sprout grew the wrong kind of mandrakes--mandragora, rather than English mandrakes, and no one knew that there actually was an infinitesimal difference--so Severus needs to save the day before Lockhart can. A little of Slytherin cunning, a willingness to embezzle, and a sense of spite wins the day. Prompted by masaotheheckindog.

Honeydukes Horror Remus Lupin genially humiliates Severus Snape as he attempts to order chocolates. Some schoolboy grudges never get better, and nothing Severus can say will let him seem the better man. Prompted by snapescapades.

Weavers Bored before the start of sixth year, Harry goes through Petunia's old family photo albums. He demands some answers, and Dumbledore sends Snape. "He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: 'Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!' The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape."

They Call This Closure? Severus comes to consciousness into a dream of Potter reenacting his worst memory-and then Lily Evans comes tearing in at age sixteen, rather than as the more mature adult his subconscious normally designs her. They call this closure? Officially dead, officially incomplete: and I call this closure?

Harry Potter and the Cursed Mark Triple-cross! Mitarashi Anko of the Village Hidden in the Leaves joins Severus Snape as one of Dumbledore's agents, seeking to train the Boy-Who-Lived to understand his mental connection to Lord Voldemort. Snape thinks that they really didn't need to hire a goddamn technicolor ninja to fill the DADA position, but at least it's not one of Fudge's underlings taking charge--wait, he has to put up with her anyway? More seriously, Anko and Severus discover a connection between their cursed marks and the Potter boy's scar, Dumbledore expedites the plot, and Voldemort weaves an insidious plot, inspired by Lord Orochimaru, to take over the Resistance--from the inside. Incomplete and officially dead.

My Star Trek Stories

Raktajino Kira Nerys stews over the history of Terok Nor and the Occupation over a cup of raktajino, soon after she meets Marritza, and Garak just does not know when to leave a bleeding wound alone. Written as a gift for batsy22-me.

Open Mic at Quark's Thirty-one stories written for Trektober 2020, ranging from TOS, the movies, to Lower Decks and Discovery. Includes Keiko joining the Maquis, Spock introducing Amanda to Saavik, Mariner and crew getting lost on a road trip, and more!

Splash Quark takes a dip in a hot spring. Odo follows. It is not, Odo insists, sexy. Regardless, Quark is going to enjoy tormenting him with mutual nudity, since he was the one who interrupted his bath, after all. Prompted by saathiray.

Lore and the Prophets Lore thinks he can sneak off Deep Space Nine and get through the wormhole without anyone noticing. The Prophets have other ideas. Written for the Star Trek 2020 Gift Exchange, for electricsunrise.

Jambalaya Before Worf's wedding plans take over the station, Benjamin Sisko tries to find out what happened during the Founders' occupation of Deep Space Nine, and why Odo won't look him in the eye. Of course he investigates in the guise of inviting everyone to dinner.

Tear of the Prophets Was prompted by saathiray to write about Kira Nerys repatriating an artifact sacred to Bajor from Cardassia, and this is what we got! The Shakaar cell leads a procession after Cardassia returns the Orb of Contemplation to Bajor, to collective joy. Kai Opaka says, "So I say to you my people, the survivors of atrocity and keepers of the wormhole—the Prophets cried for you millennia before you were made. They sent their Tears from their temple as a safeguard as to what was to come. And now that it is safe, now that we have won—their Tears are for all." Featuring Latha having an Orb experience, explaining why he became a vedek.

Jane Austen Book Club Dukat reads Pride and Prejudice to help him understand human relations (and fuck the Sisko). He thinks he’s being Darcy but really, he’s just Mr. Collins…and evil. Garak lends him a copy of Jane Austen and a horrific cravat, and really, it's all downhill from there.

Miscellaneous Stories

Fireworks, a feminist deconstruction of Naruto Sarada takes one look at the Uchiha legacy and decides she wants no part of it. Sakura, who has built herself a life independent of the husband who abandoned them, tries to reckon with how her daughter cannot actually decide the path her life takes. And Hanabi is happy to offer advice and consolation, as Sakura tries to talk her best friends into letting Sarada be a civilian. A feminist deconstruction of Naruto, where everyone is taken seriously and treated with the same love Sakura offers to all her friends. No character-bashing, just contemplating what could have happened if, when Sasuke left Sakura and their baby the second time, Sakura decided to file for divorce rather than wait for him to come back. Of course they still love each other. Of course it's not simple.

Same Time Next Week?, a Babylon 5 fanfic Vir and Lennier meet for their usual drink. A pre-relationship, lightest of touches, beginning of it all story.

Sunrise, Parabellum, a Disco Elysium fanfic Early Wednesday morning, before Harry's woken up and before they've closed the water lock and headed to the fishing village, Kim Kitsuragi gets up and wants a cigarette. He has a cup of coffee instead and contemplates his partner's newfound sobriety. Sunrise, parabellum: he gets up and prepares for war.

Dragon Eyes, an Avatar: the Last Airbender fanfic On a diplomatic mission to the Fire Nation, Katara leaves the children with Aang to have tea with Zuko and Mai. But the two of them have something they want to talk about. They've lived enough of fathers neglecting one child for the other, and they have seen enough. Katara wishes they had propositioned her, rather than bring this up.

Cages, an Avatar: the Last Airbender fanfic Mai visits Azula. It is not easy.

#5lazarus #writing #masterlist #dragon age fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #star trek fanfiction

[theinkyisles]

take a break (i know a place where we can stay)

word count: 6553 warnings: alcohol, implied major character death, violence, blood ao3 link author’s notes: thank you to the aphverse discord server and aphblr for hyping me up!! thank you especially to bee (for the wonderful podcast), krow (for you absolutely delightful responses to the sneak peeks) and cyrus (for your cheering on and equally delightful comments to the sneak peeks <33) description: the four to five times that laurance tried to convince garroth to take a break and the two times he succeeded.

“Garroth, I swear to Irene that you are one of the most boring people alive.” Garroth rolled his eyes, keeping his attention on sharpening his sword. Laurance was leaning against the doorway to his quarters, his arms and expression crossed.

“Just because I prioritize the protection of the village over games doesn’t mean that I’m boring, Laurance, it means that I’m the head guard,” the blond replied. Laurance scoffed and lifted himself from off the doorway, making his way to sit next to his friend.

“At the academy, what did you do on your days off?” Garroth looked at Laurance questioningly, unsure where the conversation was going. Laurance motioned for him to answer.

“I don’t really remember,” he started, before pursing his lips. “I suppose I would just train for the next day, so that I wouldn’t get sloppy.” He turned back down to his sword and picked up a rag beside him to begin polishing. He saw Laurance shaking his head in the corner of his eye.

“What about as a kid? Before you left for the academy.” Garroth chuckled and shook his head.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Laurance, and it’s not going to work.” Laurance raised his eyebrows and turned to better face the head guard.

“Really? What am I trying to do? Please, enlighten me,” he said mockingly. Garroth sighed, set his sword down, and looked Laurance in the eye.

“You’re trying to get me to admit to a time when I took time off and how much better off I was for it,” he said wryly. “And it’s not going to work because I think we have established that having Garte as a father did not endear me to getting ‘breaks’.” Laurance stared at him, eyes wide in shock. The room was silent. Garroth sighed again and leaned back, using his hands to brace himself against the wooden bench. “You can set up this game night, if you’d like, but I will remain on patrol. It would be remiss of me not to.”

“What, so the rest of us get a break, but you have to be all holier-than-thou and self-sacrificing? Bullshit!” Garroth spluttered, turning slightly red in the face.

“Watch your language,” he whispered hysterically, “you can’t speak like that so loudly!” Laurance rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please, you prudish princess, no lady is going to faint because she heard me swear.” Garroth stammered for a response, but Laurance cut him off. “You need to take a break. If you pass out from working too hard, the Lady will not hesitate to kill me, you know that.” Garroth’s face turned an even brighter shade of red, and he looked away to the opposite side of the room.

“The Lady would do no such thing to you, we both know that.” He heard Laurance scoff.

“Please, we all know how fond of you she is. ‘Second-in-command’, aren’t you?”

“The Lady is plenty fond of you as well, Laurance,” Garroth shot back, a hint of irritability in his voice. Laurance gave him a deadpan look.

“She’s not in love with either of us, we know this,” Laurance said bitterly. Garroth scrunched his nose and then let himself rest his elbows against his knees. He kept staring at the floor.

“I am well aware.”

Minutes passed between them, Garroth leaning forward and Laurance resting his head against the wall behind the bench. It was so odd, being in love with the same woman as his best friend. They both knew she didn’t love them, but it didn’t stop them from pining piteously and squabbling like hormonal teenagers. Nevertheless, it allowed him to have a deeper understanding of Laurance’s character. There was something beating in both their chests; only the two of them really knew what it was and could truly comprehend the adrenaline rush and agonizing insecurities that came of it.

For all the pain that came with being in love with the same woman as his best friend, there was an awful lot of reward.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Laurance said, his soft voice breaking the silence.

“About?”

“The whole game night thing.”

“Oh.” Garroth exhaled harshly and sat up straight. He picked up his sword, which was laying length-side beside him on the bench. He grabbed his rag off the floor where he dropped it and got back to polishing the grimy blade. Laurance scoffed and Garroth heard his friend’s head thump against the wall in frustration.

“This is your passive-aggressive way of telling me that you’re not gonna join, isn’t it?”

“You know me so well.”

-

The winter days were short, but the nights lasted an eternity. Being by the water endeared the village of Phoenix Drop to hazardous cold weather and dreaded slush that seeped through even the thickest of fur-lined leather boots. Moving around in chilled chainmail was the worst of it all, ice growing quickly in the crevices of the armor, despite how often the patrol would slip inside the guard tower to soak up the heat of the fire. Assassins and spies and thieves came in more frequently in the winter, the snow and cloud cover giving them the perfect camouflage. Barely a day went by without the jail cells being filled to the brink. Most nights, the small unit of guards in the tiny village ended their days at the make-shift tavern in the plaza, warming their frozen hands by the fire and their shivering social lives with a pint. Laurance joined them, more often than not, reminiscing in his mind of the times in Meteli where Ulrich and Glenda would join him in drunken song as they stumbled home. On one notable occasion, Sasha had joined them after a long day and he woke up the next morning, a white hyacinth on his nightstand and warm, empty sheets beside him.

Garroth never stepped foot inside the tavern, other than to drag Dale out by his hair. The other guards complained of how much of a hard-ass he was to them and Laurance was inclined to agree. He pushed the guards to rigorous training levels, often forcing them to come in on their days off. Patrols went on longer and they went out farther and the guards were gone for hours in the cold without a fire to heat their skin and bones. It was practically inhumane, to the point that Laurance humorously wondered who really was the Shadow Knight between the two of them.

Though he never voiced it to the other guards, he understood Garroth’s twisted reasoning. The winter season was a stressful time for a head guard, as Laurance had come to learn during his time in Meteli. People needed feeding so you had to watch for thieves stealing from stores and occasional shipment of goods. People couldn’t be fed without a lord to delegate the storage and rations, so you had to keep a strict eye on potential assassins. Not to mention that the weather was draining on anyone’s morale and sometimes it felt like drowning yourself in patrol and training was the only way to get through to the break of sun through the clouds. He watched as Garroth sulked off after training, observed as he marched across the village during patrol, noted when he caught another criminal and tossed them into one of the few jail cells they had.

It was disgustingly depressing and Laurance wasn’t going to let this go on for any longer.

“Guards, I have scheduled another training session for tomorrow,” Garroth announced after the day patrol had returned. “Be here before sunrise or I will come knocking at your doors and I doubt your wives and children will be too pleased about that.” A loud groan came from Brian, and Dale threw his helm halfheartedly in Garroth’s direction. It hit the ground with a clunk and Laurance could feel Garroth staring at it disapprovingly, even if he couldn’t see his eyes through the helm. Even Dante, who sported the optimism and drive common in young guards, smacked his head gently against the stone wall of the guards’ meeting place. “You all are dismissed.”

Laurance watched as Garroth turned on his toes and walked his way out of the room, his steel-toed boots clunking against the ground. “Lauraaaance,” Dante whined, his voice muffled by his face being smushed into the wall. “Can’t you talk some sense into him? These extra sessions are driving me nuts.” Dale threw his hand up in agreement, pointing it in Dante’s direction.

“I’ve barely seen my wife and daughter this week!” Dale added. Brian nodded; his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. “Brian and I have been just passing out at home and then His Majesty just busts down the door as if we don’t need to sleep!” Laurance pursed his lips, looking at the direction Garroth stalked off in.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said finally, “we’re probably not the only ones sick and tired of this.”

-

“Alright, asshole, spit it out, what’s going on with you?” Garroth barely jumped as the door slamming open against the stone, but his shoulders tensed at the swear. His helm covered his face and neck, but Laurance could only imagine how red in the face his friend was.

“Laurance, by Irene, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, you can’t say those things so loudly!” Laurance tossed his head back in frustration, groaning dramatically.

“Garroth, you’re a boring princess from O’khasis, let me live a little.” Garroth shook his head, still obviously flustered. Laurance marched across the room, throwing himself onto Garroth’s bed.

“You are going to fix those sheets when you get up or I’m going to lock you out tonight,” Garroth said, pointedly not looking in Laurance’s direction.

“I’d probably do it wrong, anyways, Mr. I-Had-Servants-To-Do-My-Chores.” Garroth made a face and opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Garroth grumbled.

“I don’t think I will, actually,” Garroth spared a glance to where Laurance was sitting on his bed, probably rolling his eyes beneath his helm at the Cheshire grin spread across his friend’s face.

“What are you even here for? I thought you liked to go down to the tavern after patrols.” Laurance laid down on the bed, kicking his feet up onto the footboard. “Don’t you dare get dirt on those sheets.”

“Piss off, Garroth, I have a sister, I know better than that.” He clasped his hands beneath his head, supporting his neck, and shuffled to get comfy on the stiff, hay mattress. “And to answer your question, I am on a mission.”

“A mission,” Garroth said flatly.

“Yes, a mission.” Laurance heard Garroth sigh, and smiled slightly to himself.

“And what would that mission be?” Garroth droned, only barely playing along to Laurance’s scheming.

“My mission,” Laurance stated proudly, “is to get you, sir I-perpetually-have-a-stick-up-my-ass, to give the rest of us a break.”

“What.” Laurance snickered, pulled a hand out from beneath his head, holding it up in a “don’t look at me” fashion. He could practically feel Garroth's glare grow stronger.

“The guards are tired. I’m tired. These extra training sessions are killing us.” Laurance turned onto his side, keeping one arm tucked under his head. “I get that the winter is hard, Garroth,” his voice becoming softer, “but you can’t have guards and work them to death too.”

The room fell silent. It hit Laurance that Garroth was still dressed head-to-toe in armor, as if he was about to go on another patrol, despite Dante having just head out for one himself. His sword shone brightly at his side, but his friend was hunched over the small dresser he had in his quarters, clutching at the end of the wood. His hands trembled, shaking the dresser with it with a gentle clink-clink against the uneven floor.

“Garroth?”

“How long were you head guard at Meteli?” Laurance blinked, unprepared for the question. He sat up slowly, letting his feet fall from the footboard onto the ground.

“I- I’m not sure, to be honest,” he started.

“What’s your best guess?”

“Maybe…three, four years? I was sixteen when I graduated from the training academy, so I would’ve been twenty when I took over as head guard. My dad-” Laurance’s voice caught in his throat and tears burned at the corner of his eyes. Garroth shifted slightly to glance at him, but Laurance ducked his head down. “The lord of Meteli died six months before I met the Lady.” Laurance swallowed hard, breathing in deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “It’s hard, when feelings get involved.” Laurance said, his voice solemn. A beat passed and he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Doesn’t give you a pass to beat your guards down to the point where you don’t have any left.”

“You still don’t understand,” Garroth said quietly.

“Try me,” Laurance shot back.

“In Meteli,” he started, “you had a wide array of guards underneath your command, correct?”

“Yes, I did.” Laurance wiggled further back along the bed, letting his body lean against the wall the bed was pushed up against. “Where is this going?”

“You had several well-trained guards at your beckon and call, many older than you and with more experience,” Garroth continued, acting as if he hadn’t heard Laurance’s question, his voice getting louder with each word. “Meaning that you didn’t have to worry about a father and son with zero technique with a baby girl and a wife and mother at home!” Laurance’s eyes blinked in surprise and he sat up on the bed. “It means that you didn’t have to deal with the fact that if a sixteen-year-old dies on your watch, you will have to hunt down his family and tell them about how it is your fault he died!”

“Garroth, wait-”

“You don’t have-” Garroth choked on his own words, forcing himself to swallow. “You weren’t here when she first arrived,” he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion. “If she dies, that’s it for Phoenix Drop. That’s it for the entire region. We have no more second chances.” Laurance could see the barely suppressed sobs shaking Garroth’s body.

He got up from the bed and gently put his hands on Garroth’s shoulder. If even possible, he felt his friend tense even further beneath his hands, but he applied a bit of pressure against the shoulder plates and Garroth forced his shoulders to drop. Laurance reached underneath the shoulder plates, undoing the leather straps he knew were hidden beneath the cape that denoted Garroth’s position as head guard. The two plates were swiftly thrown to the floor, clanking as they hit the stone. As soon as the cloak fluttered to the ground, some amount of tension released from Garroth’s shoulder. Slowly, Laurance went for the buckles for the chainmail sleeves and armor they all wore beneath their tunics. It slid to the ground, and when Garroth seemed to make a move to pick it up, Laurance gave him a kick behind the knees. “Don’t move, this is hard enough as it is.” His friend didn’t say anything back.

Soon the belt and scabbard were also on the floor and the diamond sword was in its proper rack. At this point, Garroth was like a rag doll, held up only by leaning against the dresser, his hands struggling to keep their grip against the wood. Laurance gently lifted the helm from his friend’s head, setting it on the top of the dresser. He pressed gently against Garroth’s side and his friend all but collapsed into him. They stumbled over to the bed a few paces away and Laurance lay Garroth down, making sure his head hit the pillow.

As soon as Garroth seemed comfortable, Laurance sunk down to the ground, sitting so that his side was pressed up against the bed frame and he was facing the head of the bed.

“You need a break,” he whispered, grabbing onto his friend’s hand. “We all need a break.” Garroth nodded and turned his head towards the wall, closing his eyes and exhaling. Laurance watched as his friend’s breathing evened out, and, content that Garroth wasn’t going to go anywhere anytime soon, rested his head against the edge of the mattress frame. He could barely think a thought before he was fast asleep, clutching his friend’s hand and curled up on the stone floor.

When he woke up, maybe an hour later, he was laying on top of a cold bed in room suspiciously devoid of armor and a certain diamond sword and shield.

“Damnit, Garroth.”

-

“Laurance!” said guard turned to look over his shoulder at his name being called to find his lord waving at him as she walked down the road he was patrolling. “What are you doing this lovely spring day? Isn’t Garroth giving you guys a day off for today? It is so nice down by the docks,” she said excitedly. Laurance smiled.

“I volunteered to patrol for part of the day but I’m taking a break after I walk around for a bit more, if you’d like to walk with me till then?” Laurance offered out his hand and Aphmau giggled, her cheeks turning red. His heart beat a bit faster as Aphmau looped her arm around his. They walked down the side street of the small village, his Lady in one arm and his sword in the other. “How is your day going, milady?”

“Levin and Malachi have been getting along really well, so I took them both down to visit the docks for a bit! Levin is used to being inside all day, but after centuries of being inside a castle, Malachi is a bit of a restless spirit.” She paused for a moment, before laughing. “Accidental pun!” Laurance chuckled.

“I’m glad that he’s adjusting well to Phoenix Drop. Can’t be easy being him,” Laurance murmured and Aphmau nodded in agreement.

“How’s Garroth doing?” she asked casually and Laurance’s heart drooped for a moment at the attention being drawn to his romantic rival and friend. He shook his head internally, forcing himself to not think about it. That would be saved for when he didn’t have the love of his life right in front of him.

“He’s fine,” he said cautiously, “I think he’s glad for winter to be over.” Aphmau furrowed her brow, looking up at Laurance in confusion.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Laurance quirked his lips questioningly. He would’ve thought that as lord, she would have known the trouble the head guard went through during the winter, especially since half of it was making sure that she didn’t die midway through the season.

“Well, guard heads usually have to increase security because of an increased threat of thieves sneaking in,” he explained. Aphmau made a little ‘oh’ in understanding and he took it as his cue to keep talking. “Not to mention, it’s much harder to keep our little lord alive with all of those assassinations attempt coming from O’khasis.”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “What assassination attempts?”

“The ones you aren’t supposed to know about, milady,” said a voice coming from behind them. The pair turned around to find Garroth, without his helm. “But Laurance has never been keen on keeping his mouth shut when he needs to.”

“Oy,” Laurance laughed, “not all of us can be the oh so perfect Sir Garroth.” Garroth rolled his eyes, his cheeks lighting up only the slightest bit red.

“Laurance was telling me about all the stuff you had to do during the winter, since you’re the head guard,” Aphmau said, before turning on Garroth with a pout. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so stressed? I would’ve done something to help out.” At his expression, it almost looked as if her words had physically hit Garroth in the chest and Laurance had to keep from laughing at Garroth’s incessant stammering.

“W-well, I just didn’t want to bother you, my Lady.” Aphmau pouted even further and red started creeping up Garroth’s neck. “Besides, I kept everything fairly well-balanced, it wasn’t that difficult of a winter.”

“Bullshit!” Laurance sang out, a cheeky grin making its way onto his face at Garroth’s suddenly straining smile and betrayed look in his eyes. “I tried to get him to take a break so many times, but someone has issues.”

“Laurance,” Garroth said warningly. Laurance sheathed his sword and held his hand up in a defensive motion.

“I just speak the truth,” Laurance said, a mock-innocent tone in his voice. He turned to Aphmau stage-whispering, “I even tried to start a weekly game night at the guard tower, but he completely shut me down!” Aphmau gasped.

“Oh, a game night! That would be so fun, wouldn’t it, Garroth?” she asked, clutching tighter onto Laurance’s arm as she bounced on her toes. “I could build you guys an extra space at the tower so you could play! I’m sure there are some board games we could ask Logan to order and I’m sure KC could get snacks-” she stopped, squinting slightly before looking up at the two men. “I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” Laurance laughed.

“Just a bit, Aph,” he said, his voice slightly apologetic. “But…now that you’re on board with my idea, I’m sure you could convince Garroth to allow it, right?” He made eye contact with Garroth over the top of Aph’s head, trying not to chuckle when his friend made several non-discreet ‘cut it out’ gestures.

Aph spun on her toes to face Garroth, letting go of Laurance’s arm to grab onto Garroth’s free hand. “Gar, it would be so cool if you guys would have a game night. You could be…” she gasped dramatically, “game knights! Like with a ‘K’!” She giggled and peered up at him through her eyelashes. Laurance crossed his arm and smirked as Garroth visibly melted beneath her gaze. “Please, Gar? For me?”

“A-ah, well, it would take sig-significant planning, I would think,” Garroth stammered, desperately trying to avert his eyes. Something caught his attention and Laurance quirked his head to the side, trying to figure out what he was looking at. “Besides,” he began slowly, a sly smirk spreading across his face, “didn’t Laurance promise to help Cadenza show off some of her new clothes? Wouldn’t you want to help out with that?” Laurance’s eyes widened and he followed Garroth’s gaze to where his sister was loading some new ridiculous new dresses into the glass display cases. Aphmau gasped.

“Oh my gosh, you’re right!” Aphmau exclaimed. “Laurance, you are gonna look so pretty in that green dress over there. Cadenza!” She grabbed Laurance’s arm, dragging him down the street to his sister’s shop.

“Wh- wait! Hey!” He tripped over his cloak, completely caught off guard by the sudden shift in attention. Behind him, he could hear his friend chucking quietly. “Oh, fuck you, Garroth!” he shouted, throwing up his middle finger. “I’ll get you to take a break one of these days!”

-

“Garroth!” he shouted. Through the rain and mud and clamor, he managed to get his friend’s attention. “Garroth, where have you been, it’s been hours-” Garroth stumbled forward and Laurance reached out to grab him. Garroth stabilized himself against Laurance’s bracers, but his feet were still unsteady beneath him and Laurance could feel his friend swaying slightly. “Are you okay?” Garroth only clenched his eyes shut, panting heavily before spitting out saliva and what looked like a tooth onto the blood-stained ground. His grip on Laurance’s bracers tightened and he pitched forward slightly. “Okay, it’s alright, Gar, I’ve got you.” Laurance scanned the horizon, all too aware of the incoming soldiers and his friend’s uneven breathing against his chest. “We’re gonna get you help.”

He and Garroth stumbled behind an old, abandoned shop and Laurance pressed them both against the wall, watching with anxious eyes as the guards of the city passed by them, some general shouting orders over the stomping of feet against the cobblestone ground. As soon as the path was clear, he pulled them further down the alley into the shadows. He carefully laid Garroth against the wall and he winced as his friend spasmed in pain. “I didn’t expect there to be guards so far in the forest,” Garroth groaned, rolling his head back as he clenched his fists. “The patrol never went out that far when I lived here.”

“They probably expanded their routes to try and spot incoming armies after we announced the new alliance,” Laurance hypothesized, making quick work of Garroth’s armor in an attempt to find where the bleeding seeping through his friend’s tunic was coming from. “It makes sense. I should’ve stayed with you, I should’ve seen this coming.” Garroth started shaking his head before Laurance finished speaking.

“No- gah, be careful, would you?”

“Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed with me, Laurance,” Garroth continued, his voice getting breathy as Laurance started prodding around the edges of the, admittedly, gruesome wound. He had to find Garroth someone with healing magicks for this to heal and quick. Where he would find someone with healing magicks willing to help them was another story. “There were so many of them, you would’ve been kil-“ his voice spun off into a low groan, tears slipping down his dirt-stained cheeks. Laurance tightened the cloth he ripped from the bottom of his jacket around the wound and pulled out some thin cloth bandages he had the foresight to shove into his pocket on the way out of their camp where Garroth had stayed.

“I’m sorry,” Laurance whispered. Garroth reached out to grab the side of Laurance’s face and pull him down so their foreheads were touching.

“You’re doing the best you can,” Garroth said. “You’re a good friend and a good guard, Laurance.” The ginger chuckled, his voice slightly hysterical as he pulled away and shoved bandages beneath the tightened cloth to try and staunch the bleeding.

“You’re being oddly sentimental, Gar,” Laurance commented as he tried to try the chainmail back to the shoulder plates. “You’re not allowed to be sentimental right now, we’ve gotta get you back to-” Garroth tightened his grip on his friend’s face, forcing Laurance to look him in the eye. The expression of sheer determination and acceptance scared Laurance. Garroth looked like a man who had seen his own death foretold before him and was ready for it.

Laurance wasn’t ready for Garroth to die.

“The wound is too great, Laurance, we both know that,” Garroth panted. “I’ll die of blood loss before we even make it to the city limits, with all the guards out there.” He adjusted his grip on Laurance’s face, straining to pull his other arm up to hold his friend’s face between both hands. “You will replace me as head guard, alright? You will-” Laurance tried to pull away but Garroth kept him there. “You will protect Lady Aphmau and you will love her in honor of me.” Laurance kept trying to shake his head, tears burning the corners of his eyes.

“You will not die, Garroth, not now,” Laurance said, his voice cracking. Garroth smiled sadly and his thumb chased over the swell of his friend’s cheek. “You can’t die, please.” The determination in Garroth’s eyes became cloudy and the grip on Laurance’s face faltered. The sound of marching came ‘round the corner and Garroth’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath stuttering and uneven.

“You there! You and Garroth Ro’maeve are under arrest for treason! Surrender immediately or face death!” a guard shouted from behind them.

The outskirts of Laurance’s vision pulsed with red, in time with the beating of Garroth’s slowing heart. The voice of the guard came closer and the sharp sound of a sword being pulled from its scabbard matched the shutting of his best friend’s eyes, for what might be the last time. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, clouding his vision as the world all of a sudden became crystal clear. The red crept closer and closer, seeping into his eyes as time seemed to slow around him. His veins glowed scarlet as his brightened eyes cast an eerie shadow against his friend’s bloody face. He grabbed his sword from beside him and the world’s clock rushed to match his speed as he spun around on his knees just in time for the other guard’s sword to meet his own.

“You will pay.”

-

They almost hadn’t made it in time.

Laurance remembers running through the village gates, Dante right on his heel, demanding to know what had happened. He burst into the old farm house, shouting at everyone and anyone who was in hearing distance to get Kiki and a doctor. Dante and Brian had to drag him kicking and screaming away from Garroth’s body so that their friends could actually help Garroth.

It wasn’t his best moment, he’ll admit.

That had been three days ago. Kiki, while not versed in the practice of healing magicks, had a healing touch of her own and Garroth seemed to be pulling through. He refused to wake up though, meaning that for three days, Laurance had been sleeping on the floor of the old farm house, ears straining to hear the steady in-and-out of his friend’s breathing. Aphmau had come to visit, a stack of board games in her arms. He almost threw her out at the sight of the games, the thought that he came so close to never being able to teach Garroth how to play a child’s game making him sick to his stomach.

She seemed so less distraught over Garroth’s potential death than he was and for a split second, he wondered if she even cared about them, or if they were just pawns to her.

He shook his head, as if trying to physically remove the thoughts from his brain. She just hadn’t been there when the guards found them. She was removed from the situation; it didn’t mean she cared any less about Garroth.

Laurance had his back to the side of the bed, leaning against the wooden frame. There were blankets and pillows everywhere on his side of the room, evidence to his restless sleeping habits. He tried to keep it neat but felt it futile after they just kept getting thrown around during his nightmares. He picked up one of the closest fabrics, rubbing it gently between his fingers. “Garroth, you had better wake up soon,” he whispered, more to himself than to his unconscious friend. “I’m going stir-crazy here.”

“Good thing-” a raspy voice called out, before devolving into a coughing fit. Laurance twisted around from where he was sitting to find his friend propped up on one arm with the other lightly smacking his chest to try and get the cough out. Laurance scrambled to his feet and braced one knee on the mattress to gently grab Garroth underneath his arms to help him sit up further. “Good thing I’m awake now,” Garroth finished, panting slightly. Laurance didn’t say anything, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

He knew Garroth would wake up at one point. He fought so hard for his friend to stay alive; he wouldn’t just let him pass in his sleep. But it seemed so surreal to have Garroth talking to him, especially after having night terror after night terror of his friend’s blood on his hands. He kept Garroth propped up and slid in behind him, reaching down to unbuckle his boots before throwing his leg over the mattress. Without a word, he pulled Garroth so that his back met Laurance’s chest. Laurance waited a second for Garroth to protest, but the other man didn’t say anything, so he buried his face in his friend’s hair, wrapping his arms around his friend’s uninjured chest. Garroth reached up an arm to grab Laurance’s hands where they were clasped above his heart. “I’m alive, Laurance,” he whispered. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“But you did,” came the broken response. “You didn’t see how you looked in O’khasis. You knew you were going to die, you didn’t try to fight it or anything-” Laurance cut himself off with a dry sob. Garroth pressed his weight back against his friend.

“I’m here now,” Garroth stated resolutely. “You haven’t lost anyone. I’m right here.” He squeezed Laurance’s hand. “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere, because there’s this very annoying man that I know,” Laurance laughed wetly, shaking his head in Garroth’s curls, “he keeps making sure that I don’t die in some back-alley.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Laurance murmured. “Not like you have the best track record of taking care of yourself.” Garroth’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh before he hissed in pain, shoulders curling in. “Everything okay? Is it bleeding through?”

Garroth shook his head, though his breathing was heavy. He leaned his head back into the crook of Laurance’s neck. “It’s just your standard battle wound,” he said, sounding tired.

“You should rest some more,” Laurance murmured, but Garroth shook his head.

“I don’t want to leave you alone after just waking up.” Laurance felt his heart swell to the point of bursting and tears burned in the corners of his eyes.

“I’ll be okay, Gar, I’d be better if you actually took a break for once in your life.” Laurance unclasped his hands to reach one up to run through his friend’s greasy, limp hair. “You’ve gotta stop sacrificing yourself for others so much. I’m scared for you.” Garroth just exhaled a chuckle.

“But then I wouldn’t be…well, me,” Garroth whispered. “I’ve got to make up my mistakes somehow, Laurance.” Laurance shook his head, but didn’t say anything else.

“Sleep, Gar,” Laurance said, “you won’t be letting anyone down by doing so.”

“If you say so.”

-

After Garroth woke up the second time, Laurance had gone and fetched Kiki and the doctor and they pronounced Garroth alive and semi-healthy. The threat of infection was still prevalent, but they let Garroth return to the guard tower to continue healing. Kiki had pulled Laurance aside, making sure he knew to force Garroth to rest, otherwise the wound would never heal. Laurance only laughed, and promised to sit on the man if he had to.

Much like Laurance was while waiting Garroth to wake up, the head guard was restless. He kept trying to walk about the tower, resisting all attempts to actually sit down, saying that he had to get back to his duties as soon as possible. The times Laurance weren’t around, Brian and Dante told him about Dale picking Garroth up by the legs and almost tying Garroth to his bed just so that he would sleep.

They finally got that game room set up, courtesy of Lord Aphmau. Without being able to patrol, Garroth was constantly itching to do new things to occupy his mind and Laurance finally broke through his friend’s resolve against the supposedly wretched game night. That’s where they were now, Garroth propped up by what seemed like hundreds of pillows on Laurance’s right and Dante and Brian to his left. He held up a stack of cards, all in different colors.

“Okay!” he started, “Welcome, everyone, to the first game night.” Dante cheered and Brian snickered at Garroth’s playfully annoyed expression. “The Lady was kind enough to ask Logan to find some games for us to play and, since this night was my wonderful idea-” Garroth rolled his eyes, “I can see you being snarky over there, Mr. Head Guard, don’t think I won’t drag you back upstairs to your room.” Brian outright laughed at that. “Anyways!” Laurance continued, “we’re playing Uno. My sister and I would play this a lot.”

He explained the rules and dealt out the cards for a trial round. Almost immediately, Brian used his plus-two card on Laurance and Garroth and Dante had the gall to laugh. “Watch it, kid,” he warned, but Brian just shot him a sneaky smirk in return.

The game continued as everyone made sure to stack the odds against Laurance. Brian, Dante, and Garroth had this infuriating way of making hand signals to ensure that they stacked up at least three plus-two cards so that when Laurance’s turn came around, he would have to pick up even more cards. The final straw was drawn when Dante pulled out his final and remaining card, a wild plus-four, and dropped into the deck. The room was silent before Laurance lunged for Dante and the younger guard screeched. Brian choked on a gasp, laughing at the same time, while Garroth just shook his head with a smile. Dante and Laurance rolled over a few times, tussling against the cold stone floor, each one trying to pin the either. Laughter filled the room as Dante tickled his fingers against a patch on Laurance’s ribs. “Cheater!” Laurance shouted, laughter breaking up his words. “You’re a damned cheater, Dante!”

“You never said it was against the rules!”

“Oh, you – get over here, you Irene-damned menace-” Laurance barreled into Dante’s stomach, sweeping him up and over Laurance’s shoulder. Dante began kicking, slamming his fists into Laurance’s back, but the pair still stumbled through the balcony doors connected to the game room. Brian watched in unrestrained awe and glee, while Garroth’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Stop wiggling, you bastard child, I will dangle you over the parapet, watch me-”

“Put me down, I demand it! A guard of Phoenix Drop should never be put in such a compromising position,” Dante shrieked, his flailing legs getting dangerously close to kicking Laurance’s face.

“Oh, you want me to put you down, huh?” With a gleeful smile, Laurance quickly maneuvered the wiggling teen so that he was holding him up by the underarms and used momentum to toss his friend’s legs over the balcony wall.

“You maniac,” Dante screamed, grabbing at Laurance’s arms, “I’m gonna die, get back to the other side- Laurance, stop jiggling me, Irene, have mercy on my soul!” Booming laughter came through the balcony doors and Laurance turned his head to find Garroth practically on the floor, tears of joy streaming down his face. A wide, earnest smile unwittingly broke across Laurance’s face and his grip on Dante faltered. “Laurance, you’re dropping me!” Eyes wide, Laurance turned his face back to watch as Dante slipped from his grip. He shot forward, grabbing the guard by the shirt and yanking him over the edge of the parapet. They both stumbled back, falling onto the ground. They panted with exertion, broken by Laurance’s hysterical giggles. “Can’t believe you almost killed me, have you no shame?!”

“Oh, come on, Dante,” Garroth’s voice came through the doors, “you have to admit that that was at least the slightest bit humorous.” Dante shot to his feet, stalking back into the room

“You won’t be saying that when I dangle you over the edge of the tower-”

“Wait, no, Dante, I surrender-!” Laurance cackled as Dante picked up one of the pillows, smacking Garroth over the head.

“Go, Dante, beat his ass!” Brian cheered.

Laurance smiled as Garroth’s laughter and Dante’s shrieking and Brian’s cheering washed over him. His vision went cloudy for the first time in days and his grin felt like it was splitting his face.

It was a good day.

#garroth ro'meave #laurance zvahl #minecraft diaries #aphmau minecraft diaries #aphmau mcd #aphmau mystreet #aphmau dante #dante aphmau #implied major character death #tw alcohol mention #tw alcohol #tw blood #tw violence

[frogsoks]

Dancing

Hey friends! How long has it been? Probably quite a while lol. I kind of took a mental break after a little drama happened irl, but meanwhile I took up drawing! I'm obviously not a complete professional yet, but I might post a couple creations that I find worthy of share. But enough squabble. Here's a work in progress for you to read :)

-----

“Cole! Stop hiding under the table and put your pants on, please!”

Lou sighed. Today was… not going quite as he’d planned, to say the least. The dance lesson started in 10. Great. They’ve got some time before they had to leave. And besides, it’s the first day today, they couldn’t possibly get mad, right? Right. Nothing to worry about.

Lilly giggled as she tried to pry her 3 year old child out from under the table. “Cole,” she cooed. “If we don’t get these pants on you we’re going to be late for your first dance class!”

Cole looked up at her from under the table, wearing nothing but his underwear and T-shirt, staring at his mother innocently with his wide emerald eyes. Those eyes quickly turned VERY mischievous, and he gave her a wide grin, his baby teeth poking out here and there from underneath his gums. Lilly laughed at the sight.

Then,

Cole ran out from underneath the table, fast. Well, as fast as a three year old who just recently learned how to walk could.

Lilly chased after.

Chaos ensured.

Lou chuckled as he watched the love of his life chase their child around the house. Laughing and screaming could be heard as Lilly picked him up, playfully tackled little Cole to the ground, and tried to pry his pants onto him.

_______

Cole pouted as he sat in the car, hating the foreign feeling of pants on his legs. He decided he didn’t like it, not one bit.

The evil Madame Stone had won this time, but the totally awesome, super cool and dashingly handsome Captain Dangerbuff still had a couple tricks up his sleeve. First, he just had to escape this prison-chair… thing.

Where were they taking him, anyways?

He looked out the clear cell walls to see every tree and building speeding past him. And- was that..? Ooh! Look! A lollipop! Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. It was painfully close, just wedged in between the two seats next to him. Seems manageable, and looks delicious.

He tried to reach for the sweet treat, only to find his arm couldn’t quite get to it. Great. Cole sighed. How was he supposed to-

The moving prison stopped moving. And.. the walls were opening too! Yes! This was his chance. And.. oh, look! It’s- _______

“Here we are..” Lou sang as he put the car into park and pulled the key out of its slot, making the rumbling vehicle die down.

Lilly was already out of her seat, and opening the door to Cole’s. Said toddler was currently trying to reach for a… lollipop? How did that even get there?

She giggled, finding it quite adorable. She reached for the seatbelts and undid them, scooping the now whining boy into her arms.

Lou sighed, running a hand over his face. Taking care of a child is much more complicated than he’d initially thought. Although, if he did think more deeply into it, it did have its perks.

Cole was certainly one of a kind, and nothing beat waking up knowing that he had a future to look forward to. Both for him, and his family.

After all, Lou was a happy man. He had a loving wife, and a beautiful son. He wouldn’t trade them for a thing.

_____

If there was one thing Lou wanted right now, was to trade Cole away to some far away place where he’d learn manners so he could have some peace and quiet.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t 100% serious about the trading part, but it would make his life SO much easier if his son would stop doing embarrassing stuff day after day.

After they tangled their son out of the car seat and straightened him up a bit (much to Cole's condemn), the family decided to take in the beautiful view in front of them that was known as "Miss Ferns Dance Institute". The name itself had sprung seeds of doubt into Lilly's head, but Lou had assured her that Miss Fern was the best person to teach Cole the basics before he could be enrolled in a "proper" dance school.

The sight before them... well. It was certainly quite a sight. The building itself wasn't at all as pleasing to look at as the world renowned Marty Oppenheimer, with suspicious brick walls covered in graffitis saying some... unfriendly messages, and the broken windows, a couple window frames lacking the window itself...

Long story short, it looked questionable. For a dance school. For toddlers.

_____

Once stepping inside, the school didn't look quite as menacing. It was actually kind of cute, if you saw the little drawings made by kids on the wall, and the coloured wooden floorboards. It looked more like a place where little children could enjoy themselves. The name still sparked a couple questions to Lilly, but she'd have to put it aside for now. Who was she to judge a school based on it's name, after all?

Of course, upon entering, Cole ran straight to the drawings on the wall, admiring the messily scribbled animals and scenery. Lilly smiled at the sight. She looked around the room, spotting a couple other families huddled here and there, talking amongst themselves.

Lilly gathered her own family together, and they sat down on the right side of the room.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lilly whispered to her husband once seated. "What if Cole doesn't even like dancing?"

"My love," Lou said, grabbing a hold of Lilly's hand a gently placing a kiss on it, making her giggle. "This is his first class. You don't even know how he'll like it. Besides, I'm sure Miss Fern is wonderful. I've only heard good things about her classes."

Lilly rolled her eyes and laughed. "The writings on the building say otherwise."

_____

Lou was about to say something when he noticed the chatter had died down in the room. Lilly had called Cole over to her lap by now, whispering sweet words into his ear and placing gentle kisses into his dark hair, making him giggle.

Lou smiled but turned his head to where the rest of the families were looking, and waited for the well known and so-called wonderful dance teacher to come out.

What he'd said to his wife earlier was true, after all. He'd heard of Miss Fern from a couple members of his quartet, the Royal Blacksmiths, and all they'd said was 'Oh, Lou! Miss Fern is an absolute delight! You should try out her class' and 'Oh, Lou! she's even got a class for toddlers! You should enroll Cole there!'

Naturally after those praises he had to see just how good a teacher this woman was.

His thoughts were interrupted when someone started talking at the far sight of the room. It wasn't a woman's voice, though. Maybe her assistant?

"Well hello everyone! So great to see you all here with the wee ones. Oh, Lou! So glad you could come, my man."

Lou's blood ran cold.

He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Unfortunately for you, Miss Fern was unable to make it to todays class. Fortunately for you, she has a wonderful -and dare I say handsome- substitute here in her place today. Let me introduce myself."

Ugh. Here we go.

"My name is Teyandro Moreno, but you can just call me Tey. No long boring names in this house. And yes- you're probably wondering what happened to my eye?"

Dear god.

"Well, believe it or not, an alligator ate it. More on that later though."

No, Please.

"Now! What do you say we do a little... dancing?"

sigh.

------

yes. that's that, then. I hope you enjoyed! I'll definitely continue this is some way, still have to finish the drama I started between Lou and a (kind of?) OC with my name, ironically enough. Well I think he's cool. Just wait til he starts teaching the class ;)

Anyways, thanks for reading! I'll try to be more active on here now, no promises tho :)

<3

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lou brookstone #cole brookstone #lilly brookstone #the brookstone fam #i love them can you tell #an alligator ate his eye #dun dun dun #when will i finish this i wonder #we'll see #wish me luck

[yn-dere]

La sorcière • Y!K.TH

Synopsis: The goddess Ashtoreth seemed to have found her worshipper.

Ship/s: Photographer!Taehyung x Antagonist/seductress!Reader

Warning/s: Angst, Yandere/Dark themes, Manipulation, Mentions of killing, Bored and mean reader.

(Note: this takes place in the late 19th century)

'It is not the quality of the desired object that gives us pleasure, but rather the energy of our appetites'

~ Charles Baudelaire, The end of Don Juan

A dejected summer, that's what it was. The suffocating air that leaves you sweltering in your corset but I am anything but, naked on my cold feet with a cigar between those gentil fingers, sluggishly looking out from my apartment window into the florid affluent streets which were once quite and reserved. The sounds of playful squabbling, the occasional delightful squeals of children, the ecstatic laughter of women did nothing to soothe that covetous feeling throbbing at the pit of my stomach. Nor did the family of stars splattered all across the dark night sky with the dazzling moon nowhere to be seen. They seemed to be mocking me with every sparkle, impersonating my woe by disappearing this second only to come back and laugh at my face. Oh well. It hurts my chest as I exhale out the smog; I forgot that I even took a drag. Not even smoke can replace that void in my lungs now.

This moment is slightly pleasant though, accompanied by the crisp breeze that blows in through the drapes, strong enough to make my locks flutter and trigger my cigar to litter on the window railing (that I'm not bothering to clean anytime soon) but not enough to take the glum away with it. The only thing that found me pleasant enough to return. And... the troubled men that found home in my cosy and welcoming bed. Neither of them were guaranteed.

Thinking about men, I glance back into the dark room to spot the man I chose for the night. Blissfully sound asleep between my covers, with a small but radiant smile adorning his regal face. He really emulated the beautiful night sky, the baby constellation spreading across his portrait in the form of les grains de beauté. The way the light reflected off of his unblemished face puts la lune to shame, almost looking as if it is it's own light source. His beauty truly was bewitching and I would've felt envious of it if I didn't know any better.

If I didn't own an enormous dressing mirror in the corner which kept reflecting the street lights back onto my eyes; it was adorned with pink crystals, fresh roses and myrtles, white feathers and burnt out incense that left behind a soft but strong scent. It truly looked like an altar for venus herself, towering over me to have me take a look at the highly sexual, supremely confident, alluring female that offers endless pleasure and a bit of... danger. At least, that's what people men see. And I agree with it. I know the expression does sound like something that would come out of Narcissus' mouth as he stares into his reflection but can you really blame me?

It's the huge impact left on me by years and years of society misjudging me as just another pretty face in the crowd. No matter how hard I worked on something, it would always be de-emphasized. All the blood, sweat and tears only to be wasted because individuals couldn't see the nimble brain past the pleasant portrait. I wanted to stand out, and I did at times but.. not in the way I wanted to. But soon enough, I began to convince myself that maybe this isn't so bad at all, and wearily...

... I accepted it.

I accepted my place in the stupid community as one of those women, a blood sucking succubus is just how they saw me to be exact. Mind you, I've never stood sturdy in any of my subjects until I slowly started to abuse my power and it made me feel competent and sure enough I felt powerful enough to destroy families, to get someone to chase me so feverishly that they lose control but I guess I was never that valuable to keep nor was I important enough for someone to actually care about me. The only difference between your pompous narrator here and a poor mistress is that I don't have a fickle of hope nor do I really care enough about a particular visitor to be left heartbroken.

It still kills me to feel impotent at the end of the day (or the start of the day, when they leave me with nothing). I feel like THE FOOL, a frail dog chasing a car....

....But as the lonely sun finally decides to set to rest and the family of stars gets more discernable with every shimmer against the dark and misty horizon; I, once again find myself repeating history as if my life's a record on the phonograph. But as one get sick of listening to the same song over and over again, there's a momentary pause... and then an appalling revelation; it's seems as though you've been singing the most important part of the song, the chorus, wrong.

And suddenly I can grasp it all..

.

.

.

You see, lust is what makes one take a glance at you. Temptation is what makes them throw caution in the air, when they know they shouldn't. But is it really enough to keep the attention on you? Is the beauty really enough for the sirens who beckon sailors to their destruction? If that was the case, wouldn't mermaids be able to do the same? Love is-

"...h-hey?"

That deep voice...

Then suddenly, lean icy fingers grabbed my arm and pulled me back into reality just when I started inching through the darkness in my mind.

Oh God. How did I not see him wake up? Especially with the mess he made in an effort to get up from the bed? One of the pillows accompanied with the sheets are on the floor... those velvet covers are really hard to wash. I will never forgive him for that.

But my irritation soon turned into embarrassment when I pondered over how crazy I must have looked, naked while just staring into my mirror with a cigar in hand. Or what was left of it, the soft ash on my fingers, my bare breasts and one of my thighs.

"Is everything a-alright?" He questioned. I looked down to his palm which was still holding my arm with a firm grip. He followed my gaze, his eyes widening slighting as he quickly let it go. "I m-mean, you were kind of dazed off or something. I thought..." he muttered after clearing his throat in a futile attempt at ceasing the stuttering. "Yeah.. I was just thinking about something" I replied as I looked up at his eyes and his orbs that were just suffering with nervousness and uncertainty were now swimming in curiosity. I couldn't help but let a giggle get past my lips. He hummed in response as his brows furrowed. "about.. this." I uttered, feigning a bashful look. His brows furrowed even further, creating small lines on his otherwise smooth forehead. "What do you mean by "this" ?" He seems to have forgotten his tense stance and the risqué side of me wanted to bring it back so I tried. "Our liaison, everything we did and...." if it weren't for the pin drop silence in the room, I would've never heard his breath hitching as he waited for me to continue. "Us." I finished with a whisper...

... After what seemed like an eternity of waiting for him to answer, my patience wore thin so I couldn't help but gently poke his chest. It surely did broke the trance he was in and the cute timid man was back. "Uh- I- uhm" he stuttered, looking at everything but my presence. I slowly started to feel the disappointment building up in the bottom of my stomach. Why do I when I didn't even expected anything else? If this is the only way it can go for me, why not have a little fun? I couldn't help but let out a smirk which I covered in a second, hoping he didn't see it. "I might be quite racy at times but I don't just do this with anyone. I thought I told you in the tavern that if you are to leave, leave already..." as soon as I finished bluffing the sadness in my voice, I casted my eyes downwards at his feet as I anticipated the same white lies but they never came. I awaited the "I will never leave you", "you're the best thing that ever happened" or my personal favorite one " I have a wife and kids that I love very dearly" but he didn't say anything. And just as I was about to look up, the smooth dark honey voice cut me off.

"And I thought I told you that I didn't want to follow you back home for whatever fleshly pleasures you had to offer.." the hint of disappointment was evident. This was a new one to add in the book, eh? "But because my precious cameras are all in vain without your figure and your lively soul.. like an empty canvas to an artist with no references or muse." My ears couldn't help but perk up as he continued, " Sure, they might not be too good at capturing the enigma that is you as the films only render in shades of grey which evidently fails to recognize the different shades of your blush and the undertones, but this is all that I have..."

It's his time to wait as I, for the first time, didn't know what to say. He opened his lips once again "I would be lying if I said I didn't gravely fell in love the second I took my first glance at you months ago. Love at first sight was never my thing but you cleared all my doubts about the idea". I wanted to mock him and tell him about how lust in first sight is a thing, not love but I rather chose to humor him. "That's what they all said..." I slowly look up at his face, looking at each and every feature carefully leaving out his mors than intense eyes. "Who are "they"?" He asked with a slight fury in his voice and the sharp edge of the words spoken almost gashed my already tainted soul. I wish I didn't faked the courage and take a glance into his orbs since I saw the immense anger and hatred through his narrowed eyes as he scrutinized my very existence. I withered uncomfortably under his glare, already regretting opening my mouth without thinking.

"You seriously didn't just compare me to those men, did you? After everything I've done? After I got rid of those hideous women that had nothing else to do but spread nasty rumours about you because the same husbands that couldn't get it up for them were lusting after you? Because they couldn't hold their husbands accountable so they were threatened by you?" He took a sharp but shaky breath before continuing, "Or after I got rid of those men who bonded over their heinous fantasies about violating you?..." I cover my mouth, I feel like throwing up. Not because I don't want to/can't believe it but because this is alot of information to take in in a few minutes. I heard him sigh and his voice suddenly changed from being gruff to soft in a second as he saw my terrified look, "you see these hands, sweetheart?" He said in a slightly coaxing voice as he laid his large hand on top of mine, "They were only used to clicking pictures of everything beautiful and developing them but now, they're stained with shed blood of anyone who dared to lay a finger on you.... You made me this way. You made me so empathetically challenged. You did this."

Me? Me...

I did this. I made him this way.

"How could you have been so blind?"

How could I have been so blind?

Maybe I didn't give myself enough credit.

And as he continued to stare into my frame with such adoration that it reminded me of what I was thinking about before he startled me by waking up...

As I was saying previously, lust is what makes one take a glance at you. Temptation is what makes them throw caution in the air, when they know they shouldn't but it's still not enough to keep the attention on you. Love is. It is the greatest weapon of all. It's the most exceptional power that you can have over someone. Making them do what they never thought they ever would do, act in ways they might've mocked previous to meeting you, taking up any space in their mind that was left for rationality and instead plaguing it with sweet obsession. Not even fear dares to compete with love when it comes to power. If anything, they go hand in hand. It truly turns a mermaid to a siren.

Wow. It's not the family of stars that I envied, who would want to look like some aliens just jizzed all over the sky? I was made to be la lune, who with all her blemishes littering her skin still stood unfazed as her admirers wrote poems about her beauty. It's not the homely women that I envied, I have always been quite sophisticated but I just wanted to belong somewhere.

I wanted power over someone or something.

And the thought of me making this man do the most vile acts of crime that humanity cannot even begin to visualize in their brains flared up the familiar feeling of ascendency and competency but this time? It was about to stay. Why? Because he is to stay.

I softly smiled at that thought and slowly held my small hands up to his face to caress his cheeks. The shyness got to him as he squeezed his eyes shut to relish in the contact without having to look at my amused face. I could feel him slowly shaking under finger tips, his face was warm unlike the rest of his body. The effect that my small gesture had on him is unlike anything I've ever seen or experienced. This isn't vulgar, this is sensual. And sure, what I feel might not be love but it has one thing in common with it. It's a drug. A high we're both on, and not even my cigar, my only companion for so long can compete with it.

Let's see how long this lasts before I drain all life out of him... or maybe, this is forever but I doubt. Then again, he- wait a minute... what's his name, again? This is going to suck. As I was saying, he does like to surprise me so let's hope for the best.

"Okay, let's just forget we met like this... hello, my name's y/n", I reached out for his hand to shake with a small smile on my face. He erupted into giggles as he took my hand, "Nice to meet you y/n, this is taehyung." Taehyung. Oh taehyung. And suddenly the cheerful atmosphere turned into something sinister as I pulled him in.

"Taehyung, I am like a raging flame.. don't be a moth and get too close or I might destroy you" I whispered in my raspy voice, the smirk that played in my rouge lips being incredibly devilish along with that red unnatural glint in my eye.

"I want to be destroyed."

#yandere #bts #bts x reader #bts yandere #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #yandere bts #yandere bts imagines #yandere!bts #yandere taehyung #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #yandere!taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan bts #bts imagines #taehyung imagine

[narniadynasty]

Suddenly there came a most frightful jerk and a noise | When that awful jerk came I thought it was the beginning of a railway accident | I remember thinking it was taking the bend far too fast | There was a frightful roar and something hit me with a bang | There was a real railway accident | All of you are dead

Edmund sits quietly for a moment on the bed, staring at the painting, wishing for it not to be the end. He glances down to see Lucy give a wavering smile, trying to put on a brave face, and all he can do is shrug a little in return. Eustace smiles a small smile at them, much lighter than before making Edmund square his shoulders before he stands, Lucy rising alongside him as Eustace leads the way out of the room. For a moment it’s only him and Lu left, but while she starts to follow their cousin, he can’t help but take a glance back at the painting, hoping for something.

There is no something though, just a still painting of a ship at sea.

“I guess that’s that, Lu," Edmund says in solemn voice as he finally takes a step through the doorway, heart aching and eyes dry. 

“I guess so,” is all she says as she closes the door behind them with a solemn air.

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

Edmund’s quiet in the days after their return. He’s always been the quiet one but now his silences are as heavy as his heart. It isn’t long until Peter shows up on the Scrubb’s doorstep waiting for Lucy and Edmund to join him on the way to the train station to pick up their parents and Susan. Lucy races through the station flitting between people like a bird, leaving Edmund and Peter watching with fondness clear in their eyes. Edmund goes to follow but Peter stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Lucy wrote to me about what happened, Ed,” There’s no accusation or question in Peter’s voice about why Edmund hadn’t done so but it doesn’t stop him from feeling the sharp sting of guilt anyway. 

“What of it?" he asks in a low voice. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not here, maybe not ever but Peter doesn’t heed the silent plea in his voice. Peter doesn’t put the conversation off until later, until never. Peter makes the decision, and Edmund follows.

His brother takes a step in front of Edmund so he has no choice but to look at him. “I know it’s hard but you’ll be okay, Ed. You might not be able to go back, but that doesn’t mean you lost everything about Narnia." He says with a raised head and a soft sad smile, no doubt remembering his own final moment in Narnia. Edmund opens his mouth to speak, wanting to convey to his older brother, his High King, just how terribly and deeply he aches but before he can he catches a glimpse over Peter’s shoulder, of Lucy greeting Susan and their parents.

He sees the way Lucy dives straight into Susan’s arms.

He sees the way their parents avert their eyes to hide the minuscule hurt and summon almost believable smiles when Lucy finally turns to them, her hands gesturing widely and shirt untucked.

He takes a deep breath and swallows thickly, vowing to himself right then and there that he’s never the reason that such an expression crosses their faces again.

“I know, Pete,” he says with a smile and before Peter can question him further, before Peter can see how fake his smile really is, he steps around him and walks to where the rest of his family waits.

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

Edmund sits quietly, reading at the garden table. A warm breeze sweeps through and he can hear the low soothing humming of his mother drift outwards, to where he sits, from the open window of their house. Lucy’s somehow wound up in the tree again, on one of the highest branches she could, swinging her legs back and forth to a rhythm only she knows while Peter tries to coax her down. Without much success, Edmund notes, because he keeps stopping to laugh at the youngest child’s antics in between the threats to ‘climb up the damn tree' himself to get her. Susan steps out from out the house, wearing a much to big hat for ‘blocking out the sun, Edmund’ despite the fact that ‘the sun went down about an hour ago, Su.' She's dressed in a lovely purple dress her father had bought her months ago.

"Edmund, come on!” Lucy shouts loudly from her a top her new throne, having taken to outright ignoring Peter’s attempts. “Eustace is coming soon and he wants to hear more about our adventures in Narnia!”

For a moment, Edmund is tempted. Tempted to share his stories with the still uncertain young Eustace, who struggles with reconciling who he has become with who he used to be. Tempted to reminiscence about Mr. Tumnus, and the Beavers, and Mr. Fox. He wants to speak about the young Tarkheena, later the Calormen Queen of Archenland, he’d met who was as hard headed as a certain young Pevensie sister. About Philip, his stead, his friend, who would always offer an ear for Edmund and his worries. He wants to describe the beauty of the Cair, their home, their heart. How he’d traversed vast lands and seas even more daring and adventurous than the last. 

For a moment, Edmund is tempted.

But the humming has abruptly cut off. His mother's voice has fallen silent and if he strains  his ears hard, he can hear her quiet shuddering breaths as she tries to collect herself once more, and in that moment he can’t help but think ‘Oh Lucy, you absolute fool.'

For Lucy, Susan, Peter, and Edmund, their time in Narnia was grand and adventurous. But for their mother who knows nothing about that other world, that beautiful world, all she can think of is her children, her babies, leaving and not knowing if she’ll see them again. How she sent them away —for their own safety— but sent away all the same. All she can think is how her children, children who have aged much more than they should have by anything in an old man’s old home, came back to her, different and strange and very much not children anymore.

The association of 'Narnia’, has become synonymous with the fear of never seeing her children again. It means having these much too old souls in these child-like bodies, that look like hers but they’ve grown and barely recognize her anymore, return.

Edmund watches Susan join Peter under the tree and he lets out a sigh as he stands, stretching his arms out. They await his answer eagerly, even Susan and Peter, no doubt excited to tell their adventures to this new audience, even if it is an audience of one.

“How about you tell them for me, Lu?” He asks instead setting his book down as he starts to trek back inside. “You’re a much better storyteller than I am.” He can hear his siblings squabbling over which adventure to tell and when he glances back for a second, regretful, Susan’s eyes meet his and she nods a small nod knowing where he’s going. He smiles, a soft saddened smile before turning back to where his mother, who's stifled sobs grow louder with each step closer, sits, heartbreak heavy in the air.

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

"Have you made your decision, Mr. Pevensie?”  the advisor asks him, sitting with interlocked hands resting on the desk before him. Edmund sits quietly on the other, his feet planted solidly on the ground as he gazes around at the very brown coloured small room. He thinks about his future and his family and finds his heart set and mind made.

“Yes,” he says almost without conscious thought. “Law. I want to study law.”

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

Edmund’s always been the studious type. And he finds himself quickly falling into a pattern each night, prepping as he must for his exams and future studies.

“Ed, you still have so much time until you actually start!" Peter cries one morning. He’s gotten back from studying with Professor Kirke and he’s bored sitting at home all day while Susan and Lucy have gone out with their mother. “Come on! Let’s go out to town for an hour! Or better yet, Eustace keeps telling us about how he and his new friend, Jill, have had quite the adventure in Narnia! You haven’t heard but...” and here is where Edmund forces himself to stop listening as he falls deeper in the thrall of the intricacies of the legal system. He doesn’t talk much of Narnia aloud anymore, has found himself on the alert to see where his mother and father are every time ‘Narnia’ is mentioned.

Lucy cares about her parents, how can she not when it comes to family, but she’s already grown and lived and Peter and Susan have been the ones to raise her, not mother, not father. She’s the youngest, and the freest, and does not pick up on the falseness of their parents smiles whenever ‘Narnia’ is mentioned. 'A hummingbird, indeed,’ Edmund muses privately to himself as he watches Lucy flit away at something new that has captured her attention, unknowing of the harsh blows she has dealt to her parents, left behind with false smiles slipping into pained frowns and tear-filled eyes. Their mother turns away, fingers raised to her lips as if to smother away the heartbreak that threatens to release, silent in her grief. Their father's hands are clenched into tight fists as he watches Lucy laugh and turn and run, eyes drenched in the colour of sorrow.

Susan’s much more knowledgeable and understanding of her parents and does her best to not bring it up whenever they are home, but mistakes are made as it is bound to happen with an almost taboo word and parents. She slips and finds herself declaring aloud to Edmund one afternoon of how ‘that’s not how we did it in Narnia, Edmund,’ over some mundane thing, oblivious to her parents who have returned, earlier than expected, for the evening. Edmund sees and the smile he had, his Susan-smile freezes abruptly. Susan notices, the darkening of his eyes, the clenching of teeth, because of course she does, a mother to a brother too young. She turns slightly as if shifting her weight but with that small expert movement her hair falls on her side shielding her eyes, as she catches a glimpse of her heartbroken parents behind her. She turns back to Edmund, quiet and sorry, eyes wide and heart broken as their parents take the stairs back to their room, silent.

Peter notices the changes in his middle siblings but he’s been off with Professor Kirke learning the ways of medicine and barely has time around the house anymore. He doesn’t think much of it when he comes home because Lucy is as loud and present as ever. Susan, stubborn and likely to glare daggers at him at the slightest mishap. Edmund has grown taller but that solemn quiet air is still ever present. He doesn’t notice, his mind whirling with new procedures and chemicals and technologies, how ‘Narnia’ is barely mentioned at home. Lucy still brings it up as much as she had before he’d gone. What he doesn’t notice is how Edmund ushers his parents away when he sees that look in Lucy’s eyes, head drooping while as if he shoulders a weight unseen, before she can open her small mouth and tear her parents apart once more. How Susan is quick to use every bit of diplomacy and conversational tactic she’s learned during their reign to get the conversation back to something mundane, something un-Narnian. He doesn’t notice because Susan still talks about Narnia with him when it’s just the four of them or they’re out of the house, away from their parents keen ears and fragile hearts. He doesn’t notice because Edmund still listens when they meet and speak of Narnia. He doesn’t notice how Edmund barely contributes to these talks anymore, how he’s always citing ‘homework’ as an excuse to leave as fast as he can. He doesn’t notice.

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

Susan stands in the doorway of his room, one foot in and one foot out.

“Edmund,” her gentle voice flows through the slightly too warm room, soothing an itch in his skin he didn’t notice. He turns from his seat at his desk where he’d been buried in more and more books than usual. “Are you quite sure you don’t want to join us?” He can hear Peter’s voice drifting through the open doorway, loud and exasperated as he tries and gets Lucy to wait for him and Susan. He can hear Lucy’s quick steps as she goes for the door chanting "Let’s go let’s go let’s go-”

Edmund looks at her in confusion at first, mind still whirling with the new information he’s spent hours learning. It takes him a moment, a moment where Susan looks at him cautiously hopeful, a moment where Peter and Lucy’s voices grow smaller as they step out of the house, but he remembers all the same. Remembers about the regular meet up with the Professor Kirke, because he would always be Professor, and the others. Remembers how Ms. Polly Plummer would be the one to greet them at the door and how she’d usher them in with kind hands and an even kinder smile. Remembers how Eustace had taken to being accompanied by Jill after their own adventure together, how they’d barge in rushing past the Pevensie siblings, Jill leading. For a moment he wants, wants to say yes, wants to be there in step with Peter, Susan, and Lucy, wants to see the Professor’s twinkling eyes with still so many adventures to share, wants to stifle his laughter as he hears Jill and Eustace being scolded for their running in the house by Ms. Polly in the other room.

But then reality hits, as it often does, with a sharp smack on an unsuspecting face.

He remembers his assignments and readings and deadlines. He remembers how he’d promised his mates he’d be there for the next town trip seeing as he’d missed out on the last two, for his studies. He remembers his Professors expectations and imagines their frowns if he fails.

“I’m sure, Su. Maybe next time.” he says with a soft forlorn smile turning back to his studies once more without another glance. He hears her dejected sigh but is already slipping back the books of statistics and origins of different laws that he can’t bring himself to give her another glance.

(He’ll wish he had later.)

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

There is a knocking on the house door that won’t stop. A sense of unease seeps through him as he realizes that there is no other voice in the house. No steps rushing to the door to see who’s there. No noise except for his all too loud breathing in a much too silent home.

He goes to answer, finding it strange how his parents haven’t returned from their visit at Aunt Alberta’s. ‘Strange,’ he repeats to himself wondering about his siblings absence because it is already much later than they usually stay out during the Narnia roundups.

He reaches the door and finds himself pausing without a clue why. His heart skips a beat and fear creeps its way in. He swallows in the heavy silence, calling himself a fool for thinking for even a second that something’s wrong.

‘They’ll be home soon,’ he tries to assure himself. He gathers his courage and grips the doorknob hard and pulls it open in one quick movement, knowing without knowing why, that if he doesn’t at that moment, he’ll never open it.

On the doorstep stands an officer

...and Edmund’s heart breaks.

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

The funerals took place over an hour ago.

He’s at his Aunt and Uncle’s, but finds himself hiding out in the upstairs room to get away from all the condolences and pity. He’d wanted to get away for just a moment, just one, and had bolted the first chance he’d gotten, his mates offering a distraction from anyone who’d notice.

He’d taken the stairs two at a time and walked quickly as fast as he could and opened the first door he could think of when he’d finally slowed to a stop and couldn’t go up anymore. He shuts the door with a shuddering sob before realization crashes through him as he turns around.

Lucy’s room.

He’s in Lucy’s old room.

Lucy’s room from when they’d stayed with their Aunt and Uncle in what feels like a lifetime ago. Where he’d hide out from Eustace every chance he could before they’d gone on an adventure together. Where he and Lu would read Susan letters, always together. Where they’d talk about the adventures that Peter was in for after when he would finally finish his studies with the Professor. Where parcels from his parents would remain unopened until Lucy was finally awake. Where Lucy smuggled cakes and candies and everything sugary stealthily before their Aunt could see.

Lucy’s room with the floral bedspread and almost white walls.

Lucy’s room with a photograph of Susan and Peter, smiling, before boarding a train to their schools forever ago, on the bedside table.

Lucy’s room with a painting of a ship at sea.

#narniaedit #narnia #The Chronicles of Narnia #tconedit #narnianetwork #mohedit #mohfic #t. edit #c. edmund pevensie #c. peter pevensie #c. susan pevensie #c. lucy pevensie #c. helen pevensie #c. mr. pevensie #c. eustace scrubb #finally i've finished with this #an au where edmund is the one to survive #his was definitely harder than peter's #i had to go back and rewrite so many times before i was actually satisfied #t. au #au. world of earth

[gazingupatthemoon]

What Is Infinite (2/?)

Found here at ff.net or A03 

Summary: It was meant to be just the two of them. But immorality comes with it's own surprises, and Aleksander must bow to the whims of his stubborn wife. Even if it means becoming a father.(Aleksander and Alina, after years and years, are the rulers of Ravka and have a son and daughter. Angst is sure to follow)

Rating: M

Notes: Because I am weak for stories of Alina getting pregnant and bolting afraid of Aleksander's response. But eventually she comes back, and everyone has to deal with being a big immortal and sometimes happy family.

*~*~~*~*~*~*

Mila twirls a lock of black her idly between her fingers, finding it more fascinating at the moment than the droning of her teacher.

Her brother, to be more specific.

Of course she loves Adrik, but she really does not love history lessons. She finds learning to use her powers much more engaging, as well as exercising her body and fighting skills. Maybe if Adirk focused more on Grisha history and not so much everything else, he’d hold her interest more. Papa had smiled at this particular complaint, showing in that non-verbal way of his he agreed, but then pointed out she was the Princess of Ravka, it was important for her to be educated as much as possible.  

“Remember,” Adrik suddenly says a bit more loudly. Mila blinks her way back into the classroom, and sees that he is giving her that look. “Your paper is due next week. Please continue to work on it and not leave it to the last moment. Class dismissed.”

Everyone begins to leave, but Mila stays put, knowing Adrik was not dismissing her. She waves at her friends who hover at the doorway, and then with a sigh begins to gather her own books.

“Mila-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get a good sleep last night. That’s why I wasn’t focusing.” The lie comes easily, and without any prior preparation in her head.

Adrik crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re very good at lying, mladshaya sestra, but it’s pointless when it comes to our family.”

A very unfortunate truth. The Morozovas could charm the whole country into believing any falsehood, but when it came to each other it was blunt honesty or nothing. Mila huffs. “So, what? Am I in trouble?”

Adrik’s eyes narrow. “Maybe if this was the first time but you’re always giving the bare minimum amount of effort in this class. You don’t do the assignments, you openly mock the class in general.”

“It’s just boring history-”

“It’s important,” He interrupts. “If you ever want to rule on day you have to know our world’s story and learn from it. To not repeat mistakes of the past.”

A humorless laugh bursts from Mila���s lips. “That’s funny. You know I’m never going to sit on that throne.”

Adrik resists the urge to pinch his nose. At fourteen, Mila is the pure definition of a bratty teenager. Being a princess just adds to that attitude. She always did as she wished, and didn’t care who it offended. Even with their parents she was beginning to toe the line a bit too much. But with him, she had forgone all sense of discretion. They were at odds with each other way too much, not even over her studies. It could be about decorum at public events, the way she talked down to other people, or how she too liberally used her Summoning.

(Adrik is always aware of her Summoning. Always).

Even now he could see a faint shine on his sister’s fingers.

“Calm down,” He says with a tone that nearly mirrors their father. He looks pointedly at her hands.

But Mila is not to be perturbed. If anything, her hands grow even brighter at the command.

She may be a prodigy when it came to her Summoning, but Mila was still a child. And Adirk has both years and experience on her. His fingers do the quickest twitch before shadows swallow her hands and extinguish the light there with a meaningful show of force. He pushes down on them, to the point where Mila’s body even lurches forward.

“Adrik!” She gasps, both in surprise and indignation.

But he doesn’t show her any repentance. “Do not threaten me in that way. Ever.” Adirk isn’t like this. He knows he’s not. This cold, authoritative figure is his father, not him. But Mila isn’t giving him any choice. Part of him blames their parents. He’s seen them use their Summoning on each other an inappropriate amount of times, so something in Mila’s head must had deemed it acceptable to do herself. But Alina and Aleksander have a history that Mila isn’t exactly privy to yet, and a relationship that is a far cry from “healthy”.

Adrik wasn’t sure how to make her understand that yet, though.

Feeling his own anger begin to rise, Adrik turns his back to the fuming girl and takes in a shuddering breath. “Go on to your next class. We can talk about this later.”

What left there was to talk about, he isn’t sure. Mila was either going to try or she wasn’t. And he was sure this little battle of power between them would make her all the more difficult.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aleksander flicks through papers on the latest yields in the eastern fields when Alina enters their chambers.

Her face is tight, and her eyes looking at him in a way that already has a headache forming in under his temples.

“Yes, love?” He inquires, pausing his reading. She’d only get all the more angry if he gave her half of his attention.

“Your daughter,” Alina unhelpfully supplies.

His daughter, of course, whenever Mila did something troublesome. Which she seems to be doing at increasingly alarming rate now a days. Aleksander has to admit, he is finding himself at a loss of how to handle her. He’s never raised a child before, never expected to, so it’s a skill he never bothered giving any care to. Even the Grisha children in the Little Palace received minimal interaction with him, just the very in frequent visit during lessons or a Grisha empowered speech now and then. Any unruliness was dealt with by their instructors.

Aleksander could command soldiers, but his daughter was something else entirely.

“Alina, we’ve talked about this. I can’t keep her on a leash every day to keep her out of trouble.”

“It’s because you’re so hands off that she’s acting like this,” Alina argues. “She knows she can get away this nonsense.”

“Admitting you have no control over her, then?” Aleksander shoots back, knowing the comment to be wholly unhelpful.

Alina seethes but dutifully chooses to not go down that route with him. “She skipped her classes today to go into town with her friends.”

Aleksander pauses at that. Of course, Mila shouldn’t be skipping lessons, but to do that and make it worse by risking her safety in town? That was another level of idiotic and unacceptable.

And he most certainly has a headache now.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“It has to be more than that.”

“Then what do you suggest, Alina? Should we reconsider the leash idea? If you recall your first days here, I wasn’t too adept at keeping you under my thumb either.”

The admission just embroils the conversation. “Yes, how is it that you manipulating and lying to me didn’t work? Such a mystery after all these years.”

Aleksander flings the papers in his hand onto the table and falls back in his seat. “If you’re just here to argue with me, could we schedule it for another time where I can properly give you my attention?”

“I’m here to discuss our daughter who is going down a very reckless path.”

“She’s a child, a teenager, they all act out.”

“She is a Princess of Ravka and our daughter. She is not just any child.”

Alina has a point there, and Aleksander’s silence only verifies it.

“Adrik is concerned as well,” Alina continues, her voice going lower with the weight of the conversation. “He says things have grown tense between them.”

“Because Adrik is weary of her and she senses it,” Aleksander states. “You don’t do too well of hiding it from time to time, either.”  

Alina balks at that. “I’m not weary of her…I’m concerned.”

“I’m sure there is little difference between the two in her eyes. Ever since that day, you’ve all treated her as if she could explode at any moment.”

“Your daughter did the Cut at five years old, Aleksander. She doesn’t even remember doing it. She doesn’t remember beheading someone.”

“Something you should be thankful for, then. Better she forgets then have to relive it in her mind for the years to come.”

She throws up her hands in exasperation. “This is never going to get easier if we’re not on the same page.”

“Perhaps you need to be more compromising,” Aleksander suggests with a shrug. “You got greedy raising Adrik all on your own, and now you have to deal with my say when it comes to Mila.”

“And what is your say, moi tsar? A talk every time she steps out of line? That’s your show of great parenting?”

Alina doesn’t wait for a response. She turns and stomps out of the room, her white hair the last thing he sees before the door slams shut. And Aleskander always thought Alina would be the only one that could ever be a true thorn in his side.

He had never hated his immortality so often since becoming a father.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The dinner table is understandably very quiet that night.

The royal family silently stews in their own frustrations, and let nothing but the scrapes of their utensil fill the void.

Adrik heard what Mila had done today, though it hadn’t been him to inform the Queen of her daughter’s disappearance. Adrik tried to never include his parents when it came to squabbles between he and his sister, but this situation had been unavoidable. Even if no one approached Alina with Mila’s offense, Adrik would have.

Now all there is to wait for is her punishment. By the looks on both their parents’ faces, Adrik knew it was going to be bad. But hopefully it would finally knock some sense into Mila, and stop her from continuing this stupidity.  

“The trip is Os Kervo is set for next Thursday,” Aleskander announces as their plates begin to thin with food. “Construction on their new port finally ended and they’d be honored by the presence of the royal family to give their blessing to it. It’s been sometime since we have been there as well, they are due to be reminded what their rules look like.”

Alina dabs a napkin at the corner of her mouth. “We all will be going?”

“No,” Aleksander answer promptly. “Just Adrik and I.”

The first strike then.

Adrik glances at Mila to see the fork has paused midway to her mouth. Out of the whole family, Mila loves Os Kervo. She enjoys the sea, the ships, the bustling market, and the generally more pleasant weather it has compared to East Ravka. Whenever a trip was made there, Mila was always brought along. Always.

She lowers her fork slowly, then chances a look at her father.

The Darkling is already staring at her, waiting for some kind of response.

“Is that my punishment, then?” She asks after a beat. Her tone is low, but not as contrite as it should be.

“Punishment for what, moya doch?”

It seems Aleksander is in a mood tonight. He is going to make this difficult for Mila, and not just by simply taking a trip from her. Adrik glances to his mother but she sits there as stone cold as her husband.

Mila hesitates. “I’m sure you know what I did-”

“I asked you a question,” Aleksander interrupts.

Mila’s mouth snaps shut. She breathes in and out of her nose, willing herself to be calm. She could argue with Adrik all she wanted, even her mother to a certain degree, but she knew better then to test her father’s fury. “I didn’t go to my lessons.”

Aleksander continues to stare at her.

“And…I went to town.”

“And was this a smart decision for you to make?”

Saints, she hates when he talks down to her like this. She was young, but not a child, and obviously, she knew what she had done had been wrong. But what choice did she have? How would it have looked to her friends had she told them no, she couldn’t go because it would upset her parents. Obviously, it would upset anyone’s parents, she shouldn’t act special. There were enough jokes at Mila’s expense of being the Princess and gracious allowances she’s given.

Mila should just help this end as soon as possible and yet, as everyone starred at her, she felt the need to defend herself. “It was perfectly safe. We’re all Grisha. And…I’ve never gone to town with my friends! Whenever I leave this place its only with one of you. How do you think that looks?”

“If you think I’m interested in the opinion of your friends, you are sorely mistaken,” Aleksander warns. “There are rules for a reason, Mila. You’re not just any Grisha. You are the Princess and a Sun Summoner. There are bounties on your heard in every single country.”

“I don’t want to be treated differently-”

“But you are different,” Alina choose this moment to interject, her voice a shade lighter than her husband’s. Adrik knows why, though. After learning the truth of who he was, Alina had told him everything of her past. Of how alone and different she felt most her life, both as an orphan and then as the lone Sun Summoner.  In this way, she offers her daughter some sympathy. But only in this way. “I understand your need to fit in, Mila, and in some instances, you will, but in others you will not. You cannot.”

The scrap of kindness falls on Mila’s deaf ears. “I should be able to make those decisions myself, not you all.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t act like a spoiled brat, we would consider that.”

Even Adrik flinches at Alesksander’s jab. He so infrequently scolds his daughter that when the occasion does arise, it’s uncomfortable to witness.

It hurts Mila deeper than she cares to admit hearing her father call her that. The rational thing to do would be to should shut up and apologize, before it got worse, but now not only is she hurt, but embarrassed. “You’d never let me do what I want no matter how I acted!” She exclaims hotly. “You control everyone and everything!”

“Mila,” Alina warns.

“You know he does! He even controls you! And you-you let him get away with it!”

Adrik notices the shadows of the room begin to blacken and crawl towards the ceiling. Even the floor begins to grow into a black pool. “That’s enough, Mila,” He hisses, and goes to reach for her hand now trembling with paleness as it grips the edge of the table.

But she’s too far gone now to be reined in. “I can take care of myself,” She continues. “Someone did grab me in town, you know! Right in the marketplace and tried to drag me into some alley. And I took care of it. I protected myself. I am capable-”

The room explodes with shadows. So many, so quickly, that it’s like a tornado that flings everything off the table and onto the floor. Glass shatters, food and liquid audibly splatter, and even the chairs squeak with movement. Adrik instinctively calls upon his own Summoning to ground himself down, and almost reaches out to do the same for Mila when a force stronger than his own blocks him.

Just as quickly as it begins, it ends. The storm of darkness recedes into nothingness, leaving in it’s a wake a destroyed dining room and a family cursed with too much power.

Mila looks irrevocably stricken, clinging to the arms of her chair with her eyes squeezed shut. Adrik isn’t sure what he looks like, surprised, maybe, that his father went so far but also a part of him knowing that of course Aleksander is capable of this. This and much, much worse.

Alina looks sadly at her daughter’s trembling form. She feels the heat of Aleksander’s rage next to her, knows that display of power he just showed may have been on the side of unnecessary, but she had wanted him to do more. She supposes at this point in life she should know Aleksander would appease her but only in his way.

But that right now is not important.

“What do you mean you handled it?” Alina asks very quietly.

Mila is still trembling but opens her eyes. Grey, like her father, but Alina has never seen such fear there. “W-What?”

“You heard your mother,” Aleksander snarls.

Mila flinches into her seat. “I-I Summoned and made him let me go.”

“How did you Summon?”

Mila looks between her parents, and then to Adrik as if he somehow could save her from the awful mess she has created. But now there is fear on his face as well. Not of what just happened. But of her.

But she can’t see the horrid memories replaying in his head. Of another time when a man grabbed Mila. Of when instinct, not rational, kicked in, and awful mistakes were made. Adrik failed his sister then, and he can’t help but feel he’s done the same now.  

“I used the Cut.”

Again, there’s Dimitri’s body falling to the floor.

Again, there the unexpected show of light.

The suspended moment in time when it slid across the man’s neck, as smooth as water.

Alina wants to be as broken as Adirk in this moment, but she can’t. She has to be a mother now. She has to handle this. “Did you kill him, Mila?”

The younger girl looks confused at the question. Of what exactly, Alina is not sure. When she doesn’t answer right away, she practically feels Aleksander about to unleash another verbal lashing. “Mila, did you kill him?” Alina prompts again before he gets the chance to.  

“I…I don’t know. I did it and ran.”

And yet again, Mila comes out the situation with little recognition of what’s she done.

Adrik wonders if a dead body will turn up soon from the streets of their kingdom.

Alina closes her eyes, as if that would make this all go away.

“You’re not to leave the castle,” Aleksander begins. No arguments. No explanations. The time has passed for that. “You will take your lessons privately here. You, who have been blessed with so much, to squander it so. You want to be in charge of your life and yet you use your power so carelessly and don’t even know if you killed a man or not. Is that what Ravka will say of their Princess? That she is a fool who murders without thought?”

She doesn’t even know, Adrik thinks miserably. She doesn’t even know she’s already become that.  

“You will embarrass this family no more. If you step out of line one more time, I will ship you to the Winter Palace and leave you there till you learn your place. And do not that as an idle threat. Me not seeing your face for the next fifty years means as little to me as if it was a mere day.”

A tear leaks out of Mila’s eyes at his words. At the truth her father has revealed and struck at her like a slap in the face.

“Now get out.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Adrik fiddles with the pocket watch his father had gifted him for his 21st birthday. The first gift he ever received from the man. It wasn’t new, but instead an antique that had been owned by some old King of Ravka.

(Adrik has been simultaneously pleased and resentful that Aleksander somehow knew he’d prefer this piece of history than a fancy new one).

The carriage jolts as it passes over a bump, making Adrik start. He looks across him to see Aleksander starring at the window, hands folded neatly on his lap.

They’ve been riding for a couple hours now, heading to Os Kervo.

It’s been a week since that disaster of a dinner. A week of Mila being a ghost, only appearing for dinners which her mother would not relent on her being absent for. But she only spoke when asked a question, and kept her eyes on her plate or lap. Adrik had seen her more, as per her private lessons, and her mother had attempted some one-on-one conversations.

Aleksander hadn’t sought her out once.

“How is Mila doing?” He asks, as if sensing where his mind has wandered to.

“Fine,” Adrik answers honestly. It’s the only word to describe her really. Despite her silence, Mila hasn’t shown any concerning behavior. She’s paying attention to her lessons, which is an improvement, and hasn’t unleashed any of her usual attitude.

“Did you believe I was harsh on her?”

Adrik is surprised by the question. Their relationship has certainly improved over the years, but there were still some lines drawn in the sand between them. One being that his father never usually asked him his opinion on decisions he’s made. The Darkling was not one to be questioned, let alone invite criticism. No, if this ever happened, it was surely a test of some sort. This might very well be one, for all Adrik knew.

“I think something had to be done,” He answers carefully, wondering was going on in the King’s head. His gaze still remained pointed out the window.  

“And what I did?”

Adrik has went over the dinner many times in his head this past week. What went wrong, where it could have been stopped. How out of control everything became with those choice words. It wasn’t so much the punishment Adrik disagreed with. Confined to the castle was the least that could have been done considering what Mila is guilty of. What he had only ever questioned was how it happened that night, the words and actions taken to come to that conclusion. And the way Aleksander had broken a part of Mila’s heart with his other very real threat.  

He wonders if Alina said something to prompt this. He wonders if he should even continue it. But then he remembers his sister’s face, can’t help but feel-know-that Mila is not an evil being. She’s just a young girl, confused over who she is and her place in this world. “You forget we are not as old as you and Mama,” Adrik begins calmly. No need for Aleksander to misunderstand him when they were going on a trip alone together for the foreseeable future. “That we’re still….more human, than immortal. Mila deserved to be punished but for you to tell her not seeing her for fifty years means little to nothing to you and that you would actually send her away for that time, it was cruel.”

Aleksander processes this with silence. Then he angles his head towards his son, considering him.

“You grew up not knowing what you are. She did. She can’t be afforded the time or patience you were.”

“He’s usually always insufferably right,” Alina had told him once of his father. “But where he lacks is the humanity that tells him even though something is true, doesn’t not mean it is good.”

Adrik is a grown man now, not the child that had been both afraid and hateful of the man who gave him life. A part of him hesitates to be honest with him, old habits and all, but if Aleksander wanted his opinion then he would give it. “She is a fourteen-year-old girl whose father told her his love for her is conditional. There are other ways to teach her of immortality.”

Aleksander again grows quiet.

“And…” Adrik licks at his lips. “She grew up with your love, I did not. You hurt her in a way you couldn’t do to me. I was prepared for your coldness, she wasn’t.”

A shadow flickers in an on the floor between them. A shadow of a passing tree? A Summoned one?

“You believe my love for her is conditional?”

Adrik flexes his fingers. He really doesn’t want to engage in this line of questioning. He did not want to guess his father’s feelings, on whether they existed or were genuine. He didn’t want to examine his and Mila’s relationship when his own was so pitiful in comparison. Adrik believed for so long he didn’t need his father’s affection. But not that he’s had a taste for it, that unfair resentment the never seemed to shake towards Mila’s dug a little deeper.  

Feeling again like the lonely teenage boy brought to the palace as a prince who did not have the king’s love, he answers noncommittally. “I don’t know. You certainly care for her.”    

“It is hard, at my age, to truly love things. Knowing they will not last.”

“But she will,” Adrik points out.

“Perhaps I have to grow used to her, the way I did you.”

That shocks Adrik into silence. It’s not exactly a “I love you” but its damn well close in his opinion. Who knew if Aleksander would ever gift him with anything fonder. “And are you? Used to me?” He can’t help but ask. He needs to be sure. He would not get begrudgingly pleased over a game.

Though he doesn’t smile, Aleksander looks amused at the question. “As a horse is to a fly.”

Oh, well…

Was that a joke?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“He hates me,” Mila whispers into her pillow.

Alina hears her all the same and smooths her hair down her back. “He doesn’t.”

“You hate me,” She continues to mumble.

“I don’t.”

Mila lifts her head up a fraction, if only to look at her mother as if she had three heads. “How can you say that with what happened?”

“Mila, you made mistakes, some larger than others, and lashed out as us. It was not going to be a pleasant conversation no matter what happened.”

“He said he’d send me away.”

“I would never let him.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact he would do it if he could.”

Alina blew out a puff of exasperated air. Mila dropped her head back into the pillow, the child she truly was simmering to the surface. Alina tried to recall the time she had been her age. If she had ever been so…lost. But her past is now only made of landmark events in her life, with the little things in between lost to eternity. There was Mal, then the Light, and then Aleksander. So much Aleksander. She had been 17 when she first met him, three years older the Mila now. How mature she had thought she had been. How foolish.

“Your father is going to be the most difficult man you’ll ever meet in your life. He is far from perfect, none of us are. He does not react the way he should sometimes. I should know. He and on were not on the same page as we are now.”

Mila slightly shifts her head, and peeks up at her mother under a curtain of hair. “What do you mean?”  

“He hurt me too,” Alina beings carefully. Very carefully. It was her decision to not tell Mila of she and Aleksander’s past till she was older and mature enough to try and understand all the complicated and dark parts of it. Alina only felt more confident in the decision considering Mila’s volatile nature as of late. Aleskadner didn’t seem to mind, not caring if Alina chose to even reveal it at all. “When I was younger, close to your age in fact, he hurt me very deeply, Mila.”

“But…” Mila presses up on her elbows, looking very confused. “Papa loves you more than anything.”

“He does,” Alina agrees, and reaches forward to swipe the hair from her face. “But he didn’t in the beginning. He didn’t for quite some time, actually. And I the same.”

Sometimes she still wonders. Sometimes.

Mila shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I promise, darling, I will tell you the whole story one day. But for now, just know, he may be old but that doesn’t make him always right. Immortality is a very hard burden to bear, especially when you’ve been alone for as long as your father has. It makes him forget how to treat others. Even those he loves.”

Alina can’t help but hope it is enough. What more can she say without explaining the rest of it? It would do no one any good, least of all Mila, to reveal Aleksander’s villainous past now. If anything, it might make this newly formed chasm between she and him worse.

“Mila,” Alina opts to change the course of the conversation before she can dwell on it any further. “What you did to that man, it can’t happen again.”

Her grey eyes blink widely at the switch of topic. “I-he was going to hurt me, Mama.”

“And you must of course defend yourself. But the Cut must be a last resort. It is a technique that’s too powerful, and only meant to kill. That is why our family are the only ones able to do it. There are other ways to protect yourself. Others ways to not kill.”

Mila slowly lowers herself back onto her stomach, but at least does not hide her face this time. “I didn’t mean to…kill him. I just-I got scared. I only ran because I was so afraid, Mama. I didn’t even go back to my friends. I came right back here. I promise.”

Oh, how differently the conversation could have gone the other day had Mila not been so full of pride and hurt. And how much of a relief it is to hear Mila’s pained confession. She’d been consumed all week with dark thoughts that Mila was becoming callous with her skills and drunk off the power of her immortality and Sun Summoning. That she was a child given gifts no child should know how to deal with at that age. But no, thank the Saints, Mila was just that. A child who got scared and made a mistake. And all those years ago with Dimitiri, it must have been a mistake. She had been too young, too innocent. She had been hurt and afraid then as well, and saw her brother attacked to top it off.

Mila is being ruled by her emotions and that, Alina can work with.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In truth, Aleksander didn’t quite like traveling far from home for such ridiculous frivolities as blessing a new port. Pompous, in his opinion. Unnecessary.

But people, bored with their short lives, needed such reprieves. To celebrate innate things as to fill their days with some reason to be happy. To drink, and dance, and enjoy what time they had left.

And the people do need to be reminded who is their ruler every now and then.

Another truth, Aleksander needed the space frim his wife and daughter. How odd, in this whole annoyingly unnecessary mess, Adrik would be his confidant. He’d been the only one not to resent him for his behavior at dinner or feel the need to give him the cold shoulder. Alina had wanted him to act, so he did. It was not his fault if she didn’t like how he did it.

Though Adrik had been honest that day in the carriage, he didn’t use his words like weapons. Not like he or Alina would. No, he had been patient and simply wanted Aleksander to just hear what he had to say. No ulterior motives or desire to harm. It was charming, in a way. He is an adult, technically, but still a child in Aleksander’s eyes. A child who still has delusions of being honest and good.

Despite all that, what Adrik said did hold some weight. Mila didn’t understand yet the burden of who they were yet, and Aleksander…well, perhaps he didn’t know how to properly handle her. The whole mess was reminding him all too much of his past with Alina. How much he failed at trying to connect with her and make her see what their power and immorality meant. Like mother, like daughter indeed.

As the carriage made its way into the courtyard of the Grand Palace, Aleksander twirled around the gift in his hand. A wooden box, thin and long with a necklace of sea glass and pearls inside. It wasn’t a gift, as punished children should not receive gifts, but an olive branch. Not a frivolous purchase but an acquisition that had purpose behind it.

It took years for he and Alina to finally come to peace with each other. He wasn’t in the mindset to allow the same to happen between he and Mila.

Adrik hid a smile as he eyed the gift one last time before hopping out of the carriage. He extended many olive branches with his son this trip as well. Let him closer than Aleksander had originally planned, and gave him kernels of “fatherly” attention much more liberally than either of them were used to.

Perhaps he was feeling lonely without Alina. More disturbed than he’d admit over Mila. Maybe more accepting of the fact Adrik was his son every passing day.

Maybe he was just bored. Who truly knows.  

Alina is pulling away from a hug with Adirk when he sees her. White hair long and braided, face still holding onto the youth and beauty well past her true age. She takes his breath away every time he sees her. Every damn time. It’s been almost two weeks, and their goodbye had been less than pleasant. But she turns to him without any ire in her gaze now, and actually smiles.

“My Queen,” He greets, stopping before her.

“My King,” She dutifully replies. They stare at each other, devouring the other’s images with roaming eyes.

Adrik scoffs at the not so subtle standoff, and makes his way into the castle.

Alina dips her head to his hands. “A present for me?”

“Sorry, love, no. But if you are in the mood for one, I’m sure I could find something for you in my luggage. I believe it’s being brought up to our rooms as we speak.”

“Hm,” Alina takes a calculated step forward, brushing a hand against the lapels of his kefta. “Perhaps I could be swayed to go and retrieve it with you. But should I be jealous?”

“Not at all,” he grins, dipping his head down. “But I believe I should take care of this first. Then I shall shower you with gifts all night.”

A smile breaks across her face and she kills the last bit of distance between them with a deep kiss. Aleksander groans against the plunge of Alina’s tongue, and resists slamming her against the side of the carriage and taking her right then and there.

He is very happy two weeks seems to be the time to quell his wife’s anger.

Alina is pulling away all too quickly, and takes swift step backwards as Aleksander reaches to pull her back. “Go attend to your business, my King. I’ll be waiting.”

“Perhaps you’ll actually be there when I come back this time.” A very old, and very bad joke.

Alina rolls her eyes and turns toward the doors. She pauses one last moment, though, and looks at him over her shoulder. “I know what it feels like to have to have a heart broken by you, Aleksander. Please take care with her.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aleksander give two quick raps to the door of Mila’s quarters.

He knows she will answer, not because she wants to but because duty demands it. He is her father and King, and no doors will ever remain shut to him.

But no, he had to banish such grandiose thoughts right now. He simply needed to be a father, intent on mending a break between he and his daughter. Simple enough.

The door creaked open and Mila peeked her head out, looking as if she had just woken up. Her eyes widen slightly seeing him, and she fumbles to open the door all the way while simultaneously straightening her back.

“I-uh, good morning,” She breathes, patting down her hair and drawing her robe tighter to herself. Perhaps not just waking up then, but getting ready for a bath. “I mean, welcome back.”

Aleksander nods his head in return. “May I come in?”

The request visibly rattles her, as her eyes widen and her teeth bite into her lower lip. She nods jerkily, regardless, and backs into her room. It’s immaculately kept, as usual, as opposed to her brother’s much messier quarters. It’s the reminiscent of the room Alina had first occupied in the Little Palace. Sophisticated furniture fit for a Queen and décor bathed in bright and soft colors. Her pale pink curtains are swaying softly in with the morning breeze, every window wide open to let in the sun.

Mila is attempting to be calm and collected, but her fingers keep fiddling with her robe’s belt and her body bouncing on the heels of her feet. Nervous compulsions that had plagued her when she had been younger. Not at fourteen. Not in front of her father.

And here she was.

Aleksander is leisurely walking around her room, as if he hadn’t been in it for some time. She supposes he hasn’t, even before he had stopped talking to her. During that whole…mess, she had become very private with her space and belongings, and more often than not locked her door then let it hang open.

When he stops to examine the belongings on her vanity, Mila can bear the silence no more. “Was it a good trip?” The question, riddled by her nerves, comes out as a squeak.

Aleksander absently picks up a hair brush. “It served its purpose.”

“Oh,” She doesn’t like this side of her father. Had seen it enough times aimed at member of court, a soldier, even the rare occasion of someone in her family (those interactions always ended bad). When he makes you feel so small, so off kilter, as he saunters around without a care in the world. Like he doesn’t care about you.

The thought makes Mila more sad than nervous now, and the conversation she had with her mother a couple days ago comes back to her. Alina assured her that Aleksander still loved her, that the fault with his emotions lied with him, not her, but it was still hard to believe. As a fourteen-year-old, she shouldn’t have to be the one that sort that out.

She didn’t want to. She just wanted her father to show her he loved her.

“Your lessons?” Aleksander turns toward her, and eyebrows raised.

Mila holds back a frown and even worse, a couple tears, and she looks over his shoulder to a picture of painted flowers, a rose bush with tangled vines crawling up a tree. “Going well. Attending them all and keeping up with my grades.”

He nods his head. “Good to hear.”

Mila keeps starring at the flowers, feeling her cheeks grow hotter and hotter. Oh Saints, she is going to cry. She is. She can’t stand this treatment anymore. Not this cruel casualness. The still ugly truth that he loved her so little that he would send her away.

Why was he here? What did he want? To further rub salt in the wound? She had purposefully not gone to greet him and Adirk upon their return because she figured Aleksander wouldn’t want to see her. He made that plainly clear the week before he left. Why was he torturing her so?

“Oh, moya solnishka,” Fingers tenderly swipe over her cheeks, now sticky with wetness. Mila bleaks blurrily against the tears to look up into her father’s suddenly very close face. His grey eyes are not cold, but soft, simmering with the affection he had always shown her. “No need to cry.”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Mila sobs and jerks forward, burying her face in his chest. Keftas aren’t exactly known for their comfort, but it smells like her Papa, and it’s warm, so it’s perfect right now. She rubs against the material till it scratches her skin, but she doesn’t care, because Aleksander’s arms are enveloping her in a hug, and his chin comes to rest comfortably atop her head.

“Shh,” He continues to soothe over and over as she cries and cries. His hand beings to rub circles into her back, and for some reason that brings on a new wave of tears. She was wrong, he does care. Of course, he cares. He had been angry, is all, and so had she. They were going to be fine, they were going to be great, it was-oh! Suddenly, a ball of warmth so strong blossoms in her stomach, and unfurls with such a force it takes Mila’s breath away. She feels the heat coming out of every pour in her body, and pulls away enough to see she’s glowing, light pouring out from her skin and cascading the room in striking brightness.

It would blind any other normal human being, but the Darkling gazes at her without the slightest wince.  

“There she is,” Aleksander murmurs with a smile. The first smile he’s graced her with one in so long.

Mila can’t help but smile back, feeling so…alive.

But then Aleksander pulls back and her light slowly dims till it is nothing but her bare skin again.

He reaches out to reveal a box in his hand, thin and wooden with simple decorations carved on it. “For you, love.”

Had he not just embraced her, or smiled at her, Mila would have assumed the offering was a trick. A test, of some sort, as her father was so often fond of doing. Starring at the box, Mila knows that if this isn’t just an innocent gesture, she was undoubtedly going to fail. Still, she reaches forward and takes it tentatively form her hands, then undoes the metal clasp with a delicate touch.  

Inside is a beautiful necklace, a long, sparkling braided silver chain with pearls and pieces of sea glass interwoven throughout it. It shines at with her every movement and continues to glimmer even as she keeps it completely still. “It’s…beautiful,” Mila whispers, feeling a bit awed by it. She is the Princess of Ravka, she has seen and even worn the most glamorous and beautiful pieces of jewels the world could produce. But this, in her hands, seems the most precious of all. Because it is hers, and no one else’s, not an antique passed down by Queens before. And because her father had given it, had thought of her when he bought it, and delivered it with his own hands.

Another lone tear sneaks down her face.

With his long, elegant fingers, Aleksander plucks the necklace from its cerulean colored cushioning. “As you are, moya doch.” He steps behind her and with a gentle swipe of her hair, begins to clasp it around her neck.  

Mila feels the whispers of that powerful light again, but it recedes when her father again steps away.

“I am sorry, Papa-”

“I know. We’ll talk of it no longer. Continue up with your studies here for the month, and then we can discuss you returning to classes.”

There is nothing to do but beam and nod her head enthusiastically in agreement.

“No more leaving the castle grounds, Mila. No more trouble or this rebellious nature anymore. You will act as you were born to be. Princess of Ravka and the daughter of the Shadow and Sun Summoner.”

Darkling and Sankta. Two equals, yet opposite. Constantly pulling towards each other and inevitable pushing away.

What inkling of normalcy did a product of that bond hope to have?

“Yes, Papa, I promise. I’ll be perfect.” Even as the word passes her lips, Alina’s own voice echo’s in her ears: “He is far from perfect, none of us are.” Perhaps she wasn’t, Mila mused, but she would try to be. She would spend the rest of her immortality trying. “And,” She continues, knowing it would be best to completely clear the air out now between them. “About that man. In the marketplace. I am sorry about it, Papa. Really I am. I was talking to Mama about it and…I know it was wrong. I do. I was afraid and didn’t react right. I will not use the Cut again, ever. I promise.”

Mila’s heart drops when Aleksander’s lip tug downward. But why? How had that been the wrong this to say? It had made her mother happy, it had even made her forgive her! Had she forgotten something? Not said sorry enough times?

“Do not make that promise, Mila,” Aleksander states with the finality of his station. “The Cut is our gift, and we do not hide our power from the world.”

“But…but Mama said-”

“Your mother,” He interjects smoothly, “Has some different ideas on the subject, I am aware. What you need to understand, is that your mother has always had a kind heart, and has always wanted to believe in the good in people. Most importantly, herself. And now, her children.”

Though she is following along, Mila can’t help but feel this conversation is too big for her understanding. That her father is trying to tell her something without actually saying. That it’s going against Alina had said, and is making her afraid.

Aleksander cups the bottom of Mila’s chin and angles it up to face him. “She wants many things, your mother. But remember Mila, the problem with wanting is that it makes us weak. And we are not weak, are we?”

Mila stares uncertainly into her father’s eyes, and answers as she knows she should, “No, we are not.”

“That man put his hands on you,” He continues, his gaze never wavering. “You do not apologize for defending yourself.”

But she had killed him, Mila wants to protest. Or at least, maybe she did. Either way, was that not a good thing? Alina had told her there are others way to protect herself. It didn’t have to be the Cut-

Aleksander tuts her chin. “What you need to learn, love, is patience. Precision. The control of your power and having it bend to you, not the other way around. That, we have all the time in the world to learn.”

Mila nods her head, willing to do anything her father wanted of her.    

#darklina #the darkling #alina starkov #alarkling #grishaverse #shadow and bone #what is infinite