#I haven't written/drawn anything with this information...YET

[marshmallowloves]

I don't think I mentioned it on this blog but one of my favorite bits about my Legends Arceus sona is that when she receives the first plate (the Mind Plate from Wyrdeer) she immediately likens it to PEZ candy because... I mean look at this, it's just a giant pez

(shhh I know that's the spooky plate but that's the best screenshot I could find fkdhfj)

she doesn't remember HOW she even knows about pez, but she knows it's a candy so she attempts to taste the plate, then when that doesn't go well she assigns flavors to every subsequent plate based on their color. most people prioritize asking what a pez is, rather than why she's resisting the urge to bite rocks, but every time she tries to answer something interrupts her so everyone just keeps hearing her say that word without knowing what it means

[theraprism]

Class subtext thoughts on Gatsby, Flatland, and Bill.

So broadly speaking, we've had some idea of what Bill's home dimension was like since the 2015 in-character AMA, when the idea that it was nearly (if not fully) identical to the world of Flatland was first introduced. During the Weirdmaggedon 4-parter, we finally learned that Bill had obliterated his home dimension and called it liberation. (From what I recall the fan concensus on this information was that it was a malicious act of evil on Bill's part -- up until the Book's release, I don't think the idea that it was a tragedy or accident ever had much ground to stand on.) Journal 3 picked up on this again when it established the existence of Exwhylia, which (importantly!) also reinforced the hierarchical nature of existence that Flatland presents.

I'll own up to the fact I've never read Flatland myself (it is on the neverending list of classics that I still haven't gotten to yet) and will be instead be relying mainly on Wikipedia and Sparknotes clones for this analysis, but the good news is that canon Gravity Falls materials have given us the basics of how Bill's home dimension operated at this point, and so knowledge of the work seems less required and moreso recommended. Similarly to Gatsby (the book as well as the character). More on that later.

To be more specific, the important info that Hirsch has given us about Euclydia is that it was repressive in the extreme. The exact ways that it maintained this are left up to the imagination, to an extent (e.g. there is no evidence of the upper echelons of Euclydia carrying out public executions against the lower classes, as there are in Flatland), but the Book does directly pull an image from Flatland that illustrates the class hierarchy there.

Since Flatland was written originally as a satire of the stratification in Victorian society, the work goes to great lengths to specify and elaborate on the different social roles of each shape (for example, women as lines, though the gender stratification isn't relevant in Bill's case). More relevant is the way that the work considers upward mobility through generations, and the fact that isoceles triangles (working class) are considered among the lowest beings in existence, just above irregular shapes. Bill has been referred to and drawn inconsistently as both isoceles and equilateral, but based on what we learn from Exwhylia in Journal 3, it's possible that this distinction is not relevant in the GF multiverse's reinterpretation of Flatland. See:

I'm sure a part of this reduction of the hierarchy in the original Flatland has to do with the work needing to be at least somewhat accessible to younger readers, but it does textually ensure that, regardless of the specific details of Bill's geometry, he comes from a background where, in spite of his exceptional ability to see the third dimension, he saw those around him receive resources more freely. His singling out of irregular quadrilaterals reads to me as a form of internalized classism; he needs someone to punch down to.

And earlier:

He describes his regular shape as an out-and-out "power". Bill explicitly carries with him the classist ideals and values of his home dimension despite its destruction. The way he internalizes different ideas about himself and who he is is probably a subject for another post, but the point is that these qualities Bill is emphasizing aren't simply a matter of arrogance. Bill is trying to sell himself as a gentleman, a respectable individual from an upper-middle class position.

This is where Gatsby becomes relevant, because The Great Gatsby is all about a man who wants more than anything to cross the threshold of inborn greatness and become a true upperclassman. Bill appealing to his innate biological qualities as evidence for his own greatness relates back to the notion that such greatness is an ontological trait which cannot be given, but can also not be taken away. Note what he explicitly says here about the themes of class in Gatsby:

If you walk up to any college English professor and ask them what Gatsby has to say about the American Dream, I really do not think you are going to hear them say the word "bittersweet". The American Dream is a false idol and illusion; Gatsby himself is utterly miserable and meets a miserable end. There is nothing "sweet" about it.

At the same time, it makes sense that Bill would describe it as bittersweet, because for all his powers of sight, Bill cannot imagine a future where he is happy. Throwing crazy parties every night (for Gatsby at his home, for Bill on the Earth's remains), staring at an unreachable desire far out in the distance -- that's his end goal. He emerged from a position where he was repressed and since then his life has been a steady climb/crawl in the direction of power and control. Both Gatsby and Bill seek to reclaim a lost sense of fulfillment and purpose through this ascent, and both seek to become untouchable as gods are, but both are brought down in the end due to the consequences of their own actions, stemming directly from the violence they bring into their worlds of their own volition. In case you've forgotten, or if you've never read it, Gatsby's money is not clean. We may not see Bill use money, but his social currency is not clean either.

I think it's telling that Flatland can be understood as it relates to Bill's character through summary, but with Gatsby, there is so much subtle incentive to actually read the thing. From the GIF originally posted by Hirsch that I included at the top of the post to the PDF link on ThisIsNotAWebsiteDotCom.com to the fact that the gag in the Book itself goes on for multiple pages when it could have ended after one or two, the intertextuality is paramount. I think that's really cool. It's rare to see intertextuality this well-considered in genre fiction, and I think it makes the whole analytical process more fun.

[lovemyromance]

if the cauldron was wrong do you think that means Nesta and Cassian's bond is also fake?

I already kind of made a post on this here

But the tldr version is we don't 100% know where mating bonds come from. Like can we say they all come from the cauldron? The Mother? Both? We haven't been given enough information to accurately conclude anything.

My theory was that if the cauldron does give out mating bonds, then I believe only Elucien's bond is cauldron-given.

They Feysand bond snapped into place and was accepted before they even got near the Cauldron. Cassian was drawn to and showed a clear attraction for Nesta when she was still human, before she went into the cauldron. In the Nessian bonus chapter, we can see Cassian shows mate behavior and that extreme protectiveness towards Nesta. If both their bonds/relationships were in place before the Cauldron incident, I drew the conclusion that perhaps the Feysand & Nessian bonds are not from the Cauldron, even if Nesta also went inside it.

The Elucien bond did not snap into place until after Elain emerged from the cauldron. She was plenty distressed and panicked before she went into the Cauldron, and yet no extreme protectiveness surged out from Lucien. Yes, he did protest. But so did Tamlin. So did Rhys. Cassian. Feyre. Mor. Basically everyone there was protesting, so no, Lucien's specific protest did not stand out as "mate behavior".

Now, I will say we don't know if Elucien had met prior to the Cauldron incident, something might've snapped in place before then. But SJM did not write it that way. They are the only couple whose bond was revealed before they had a chance to fall in love naturally. That in itself is sus as hell?

Not to mention, the Elucien bond is not written like the Feysand and Nessian bonds. Nesta, even though she was at Cassian's throat, was ready to die with him. Rhys was ready to die with Feyre, even before he knew that was his mate.

Elain doesn't want anything to do with Lucien, and it's been three books. Every interaction is described as awkward and uncomfortable. SJM went out of her way to show us the Elucien bond is different - its not her fault half the fandom isn't picking up what she's been putting down for three books now.

[mirra-kan]

Hi Mirra!

Have you written any headcanon, metas, discussions, or fics about your concept of the "Faithful Haradrim"? If so, could you please tell me where to find them? If you haven't yet, would you mind sharing some info of your headcanons (anything at all) about their history and culture?

I'm a big fan of your Harad artwork and concepts (including the Blue Wizards), and it's all clearly founded on a rich, complex world you've created for them in your head. I would definitely love to learn more! :) I do also plan on including more about the Haradrim culture and history in my upcoming fanfics, so I would love to hear an expert's ideas on them.

Thank you for sharing your work with us!

@sotwk Was very happy to discover your message in my ask box!

Thank you for your interest and willingness to include more Haradrim content into your writing, but I'm afraid you might find my views rather... boring 😆

I also must apologise in advance if any of my phrases may not seem polite enough or turn out to be grammatically incorrect - English is not my first language.

Disclaimer! What is written below represents my personal view! It is in no way intended to hurt or discredit anyone’s head canons, views and ideas!

My Chinese calligraphy teacher once told me: "Do you want to assume or to learn? Decide on the approach before you make theories about anything."

And I follow the strategy of "to learn" before I "assume". So, first and foremost, I'm still in search of bits of information about the peoples who inhabited Harad and Rhun (South and East) of Middle-earth.

My goal is not so much to create head cannons as to draw the audience's attention to the canon and the Professor's own vision. Accordingly, in working through his letters, essays, and volumes of the History of Middle-earth, I am trying to draw parallels that someone as educated as Professor Tolkien might have drawn.

I also categorically disagree with the images created in the movies, where the conventional evil is more caricatured than frightening, and the motives and history of the conflict are not shown at all (Faramir’s saying about Haradrim’s fate is at least included, which is great, even if it wasn’t his in books). When my best friend dragged me into the Silmarillion story couple of years ago, I was amazed at how distorted the perception of these regions was in adaptations.

So, thinking about the existence and struggles of Faithful Haradrim, I rely on the history of the region and possible historical patterns. Such a vast region simply cannot have a common culture. It is the idea that can unite them. But, as in our reality, cultural features, symbolism and colours may differ. For example, we know that those who came with Sauron's army, performed under red flags with snakes. Does that mean that the entire vast region walked exclusively in the same colours? It seems unlikely to me.

As for the Blue Wizards, blue in general is a colour very 'inherent' to many cultures in the Global South. I suppose that's why the Professor dressed Alatar and Pallando in those colours. And accordingly, in my opinion, Faithful Haradrim could use these colours in their robes and on their banners, but not necessarily. It is not the colour that reflects the inner essence of a person.

Of course, when thinking about this or that image, I think about where exactly these people live, what the level of metallurgy development is present in different Ages, whether there is a sea or mountains nearby - all this affects how their armour\architecture\symbolism could have developed. In general, I draw parallels with real anthropology and the history of the development of civilisations. Books about the regional patterns, military and weapon history etc are of big help here too.

Sometimes, of course, I make things up. For example, when I first read the lines about the Blue Wizards not returning to Valinor, I didn't take it in a negative light. After all, they could have stayed in Middle-earth willingly, having become attached and imbued with the problems of the region, of the people. After all, Alatar and Curumo were the only ones who were not afraid to volunteer to fight Sauron.

I also like the later version, in which the Blue Wizards arrive in the Second Age. It makes more "sense" given the nightmare that the Númenorians had wrought in the region. But even among them, I'm sure there were some people who sympathised and helped the local population. I don't believe in black and white in principle. But I do believe in post-truth.

So, in essence, I'm a boring canonist who treats the author's writings and views with great respect. And the myth of the Haradrim and Easterlings being bad guys by all accounts is almost as well-established as the supposed lack of religion, holy Dunedain and cute glowing elves. Which is, in my opinion, in no way consistent with Tolkien's own philosophy and stance.

Perhaps what I came up with from scratch was a sign, a Faithful Haradrim symbol, that those could use to identify each other. People need symbols, faith and ideas. Especially in such trying times. That's the way we are.

Oh, I'm afraid if I go on, it'll be a whole essay. So I think I'll stop here. Thanks again for your question and your interest! I'm sorry if I disappointed you, haha.  Good luck with your writing - I'm so happy there're people out there, who're genuinely interested in the region! ❤

P.S. If everything goes well, I plan to release a zine about Harad at the end of the year. With quotes and the obligatory notes of personal theories not to confuse the reader.

[tothepointofinsanity]

Do you have any super into detail thoughts on kyosaya? I know you've drawn a few art pieces for the ship, but I haven't seen any written think pieces about it from you.

I know there are some who don't like to use ships as a way to tie to a characters personality, so I guess I'm curious what your overall thoughts are on it and how it ties into sayaka as a whole.

"Think pieces" is a pretty neat way to put it...The primary foundation of KyoSaya to me revolves around a uniquely sapphic relationship that I hope would be expanded upon in future shows in the series.

↑ Yet, what are all these words supposed to mean? Sayaka has always done things for the sake of others. Her sense of justice elevated to the point where she views herself as a knight, someone who kneels in the face of goodness in respect of whatever is honourable to maintain it. But a knight is just another form of a pawn, just a stronger one whom everyone perceives has the ability to: 1) protect others 2) kill The Enemy.

Sayaka used to only ever have been able to interpret this in an extreme and binary vision. If she has to defend others, she has to devote herself fully to the cause. To her, the notion of self-care and self-preservation is difficult to comprehend since she feels as though she always has to be a monolith of one singular thing, of one side of things. To her, everything is like a chessboard. There is no way to play knight for both teams at once: either you prioritise yourself, or you prioritise others.

I understand that it is also a realistic depiction of how individuals like Sayaka constantly push through their own struggles alone while always uplifting others, a demonstration of unbalanced relationship dynamics. When this vision is challenged, Sayaka does not know where and how else she is expected to just "move forward" when she realised reality is not a simple game of chess. So she shrinks her view of the world further by clashing with Kyoko, since Kyoko is The Enemy who obstructs Sayaka's own perception of all that is Good and Just. Sayaka knew she was manipulated by Cubey™, but it was not only in the later movies that she comprehended the full extent of it. Something like that feels too complicated in her mind, so it's easier, much less burdensome to just lock onto one person to be angry with. This mentality is almost a sort of fallacy for Sayaka given she becomes a Witch in every cycle she becomes a magical girl.

Sayaka wants to feel relied on by humans. Kyoko does not desire nor expect anything from people, and thus balances out the extremes of Sayaka by being detached from worldly expectations - at least, that is what's consistent with Kyoko's perception of herself. A puppet without strings. She is not a pawn, not a knight. That's why she was angry when she realised the wish-granting alien omitted information on magical girl mechanisms and their life cycles. Instead of shovelling forward headstrong like Sayaka, however, Kyoko reconsiders her childhood memories and her desire, and it was to die with Sayaka so that Sayaka would not have, in Kyoko's eyes, perished for the sake of The Greater Good, because Kyoko believes still in the Self, not the vague promise of a better future.

Uhm. It's probably nonsense now that I put it in legible words. Some other KyoSaya fans who are big brained enough should educate me more on their dynamic, but I find their relationship to be interesting. It's very fallen angel x demon coded. I feel...as though Sayaka and Kyoko are hard to separate given they exist as characters that neutralise and support each other. Perhaps not codependent, but Sayaka was unhinged enough for Homura to not threaten her once, but twice whenever Madoka's feelings are involved. Meanwhile Homura was more...tolerant of Kyoko. Kyoko is there to keep Sayaka in check to make sure she doesn't piss off the Devil to the next century, and to me that is also funny.

[Although, it is tragic that since Sayaka embodies the sea, the only way Kyoko can only be with her "in death" due to the theme of Ophelia, her lover and the flame of the witch. Who could have predicted the doomed yuri is doomed. A sinking ship, even.]

[roryacker]

Text in written format:

C: "Captain, I'm tellin' you, I'm fine, I don't need..."

P: "You're scratching that scar again, Acker. I can't expect you to talk about it, but do something. Talk to someone you're not worried about protecting."

C: "...right. Yeah, that- that sounds like a good idea, huh? Alright. I'll do... somethin'."

Meet Rory "Coyote" Acker:

Formerly a First Lieutenant in the Green Berets, and nowadays a Lieutenant in Task Force 141, Coyote is just shy of 6'6" and around 260lbs with plenty of adaptability in the field, just like his namesake- big and bulky and as loyal as a dog, he's a force to be reckoned with in combat, though likely not a great companion for those prone to stress given his habit of getting a bit lost in the adrenaline.

He often appears intimidating, but is kinder than his appearance lets on, and any attempts from him to seem unapproachable or cold are, for the most part, fronts.

Not much is publicly known about his history or home life outside of some basic information, most of it kept tightly under wraps by Price as per his request, but he's not quite as secretive as he seems, and will usually open up about it after a while. One thing that never seems to stay wrapped up long is just about anything relating to his cat...

After unusual behavior from Coyote around mid-March, Price decides he's seen enough and urges the man to get help, some way or another. Coyote reluctantly decides maybe it is time to open himself up a little more.

Maybe it won't be so bad.

Guidelines, extra notes, whatever:

SFW only, Coyote is an adult character, but I am a minor, so obviously not just anything is fine.

In-character questions and such regarding relationships are perfectly fine as long as it's not weird, obviously, I'm playing a character here I'm not really gonna take anything too personally.

Some mental health stuff is alright, but I'd prefer nothing too serious.

Also a bit odd but I have super severe emetophobia, so I would ask that's kept in mind. Not too worried but it is severe enough for me to feel like I should probably mention it since even vague references set it off for some ungodly reason. Pretty much anything about nausea is a no

Violence, references to it, whatever are alright in the context of pretty much anything canon-accurate.

Any AUs I've written or drawn prior or past this aren't intended to be canon to this, this follows Coyote's canon story that I have yet to properly write down anywhere, but heck if you want feel free to mention an AU somewhere in the ask or whatever and I'd be happy to whip somethin up. (09 Coyote will have his own post) AU asks will be tagged with something relating to the AU. This is mostly meant for once I start cleaning out my drafts since I have a bunch there that I'm very fond of.

I have no specific timeframe in mind, so for lore-related asks I'll take ones from early or midway into MWII's campaign as well as ones from later during or after. I haven't played MWIII yet and want to avoid further spoilers, so none from that game, but post-MWII/MWIII didn't happen AUs could be fine.

Not sure if I'll do anything for canon characters, probably not on this blog since the intention was always to mostly be about Coyote

I was thinking about it and realized I should be doing more to put myself out there and talk about this idiot, so, finally, Coyote!

Not all asks will have art, but some will! Mostly, if I'm feeling up to it and feel inspired, then it will. I've gotten much better at drawing him it feels like!

This one was entirely colored sketches except for the second piece. Not the most detailed and I've done better, but I like how they turned out.

Some details about me:

I'm 16, my name is Cody, I thought this would be fun to mess with. It's silly but Coyote means a lot to me as a character, and I wanna share more about him haha.

I go by he/him and it/its. No preference for either, switch between em or pick one if you want, I'm used to hearing he/him most of the time.

I've been doing art for most of my life, mostly with animals but I'm getting there with people!! I'm only recently getting into RP properly, but I don't think I'm terrible at it if I do say so

I've played MW2019 and MWII a few times, I'm trying to get MWIII but preowned copies are so hard to find, and I'll probably play the remastered MW2 campaign sometime soon. I'm interested in Black Ops, we only have III at the moment, and I hope to snag Ghosts and the original MW series sometime. Ghosts has a dog, that's enough to convince me.

I am also interested in a bunch of other things, but for some reason this is the one that sticks

I'm Southern lol. I have something really weird going on with my accent ngl, but however I write Coyote talking is ripped from myself. I'm quite fond of it either way.

He's not a self-insert, by any means, he never was and never will be (I wish I was 6'5") but some things are fun to share with my favorite dude I will not lie

I'm native American (dad's side is Cherokee, mom's side is Lakota) and stick it onto Coyote as a way of showing pride over it. I'm mostly involved with Lakota stuff.

With Coyote I don't plan on confirming any sort of heritage for him, but Lakota will come up a lot.

I would love to do some private RPs honestly, I really want to but finding places for it is a daunting task. Not too active on Tumblr though I can try here, I do best on Discord. If you're interested you can message me or something and I'll happily indulge. I'd prefer to RP as Coyote, but canon characters and stuff is chill too.

I was admittedly considering making another blog for asks since this one turned mostly into writing and art, but I've decided that I'd like to keep it all on this one for my own sake.

If you're looking for these specifically you can search for the "Coyote Asks" tag and you should be able to find all of them. I like to be consistent for the sake of easy searching. I'll probably make a masterlist eventually.

I know a lot of people don't like to RP with minors, and I get why!! But I do wanna put myself out there and I love this guy, so I figured I'd give it a shot haha. If you don't mind it and you do decide to ask something (or RP, no actual questions needed), then I thank you dearly!

Really nervous about this actually, I'm a little embarrassed lol,, but I am excited!

[bencoven]

Guide to Begin Your Spiritual Attunement in 7 steps

*Note: I'm not an authority of any sort. There is no authority in spiritual endeavors but your own self. This is simply a guide based on my own experiences. It's more of a description of how I reached my current state, written as a piece of guidance. The flow of steps is sequenced by my experiences, but is technically arbitrary. Number 3 is vital and you should likely start it as soon as you can.

‐‐‐

1. Receive the universe's call for what it is. There is no such thing as a false recognition of patterns. Although pareidolia is a true phenomenon, it is a lie that it is a meaningless flaw in the brain. In fact, if you search for yourself, brain activity during pareidolia has never been studied in a manner which proves that it is random and meaningless or a flaw of evolution. Scientists simply say "it's just random pattern recognition" and consider it fact. All fiction and imagined things are channeled from elsewhere. Prove this for yourself by investigating the phenomenon on your own.

2. Connect with what calls you. I have always been called to serve others. Then I was drawn to nature. Through service to others and nature, and radically changing and caring for myself in turn, I was eventually called by deities and spirits. Finally, I was able to connect with Source itself through meditation. Listen for what draws you toward it, and answer the call. Receive.

3. Learn to cleanse, protect, and ground. These are vital steps for creating a safe spiritual space, keeping it clean, and connecting with other realms and energies. It is just like any other hygiene and security. You wouldn't leave your home open in a bustling city at night with all your valuables on display while you have the flu because you didn't wash up for a month. Kick out unwelcome visitors, wash your hands, lock your doors, and connect with friends and family. Cleanse, protect, ground.

4. Work with spirits and deities. Don't let anyone tell you working with beings and deities and energies you don't yet fully understand is some complex, dangerous undertaking. If you cleanse, protect, and ground, and have good intentions--and understand basic witchcraft, which is a tool of empowerment--you are safe. But do be sure you are stepping into working with deities informed in more than just a shallow manner of their true nature, and that you ask of them that which is commensurate to your level of ability and understanding. Walk with caution. The spiritual world is not nearly as dangerous as many claim, but deities must be fully researched and discourse acknowledged.

I have found that we witches are especially overcautious. Cleanse, protect, ground, then connect--you will be safe. Ancient attestations and artifacts are your guide to deities, as well as those who interpret them with insight. Deities and spirits are your true spiritual guides, not witches and pagans who write books or post on the internet. Including me.

4. Meditate on plants, then trees, then water, then wind or smoke, then fire, then the Moon and stars. It doesn't matter if you are good or bad at meditation. Let your distracted thoughts or sensations or eye movements play out and pass by like clouds in the sky. Be persistent. Use Solfeggio tones playing through your speaker or headphones for attunement. Ask the subject of your meditation to show you its true self out loud after cleansing, protecting, and grounding. Then meditate until you see and feel the true(r) nature of things. I recommend Meditative Mind's YouTube channel for Solfeggio tones. Especially the video "528Hz | Brings Positive Transformation..."

5. Find your alignments. Elemental and otherwise. Don't dismiss anything you haven't previously been drawn to. Try everything. Meditate on the four elements, read Khuddakapāṭha and other Bhuddist writings and chants, and explore all "mythologies" and creation "myths." Be sure to investigate sacred geometry. Take what you connect with and leave everything else for now, to be revisited and reflected upon later.

6. Receive messages and guidance from deities, spirits, and the dead. Of course, understand that you are a component to the meaning and origin of the messages. But meditate on that and you'll understand that it doesn't make it false just because it came from yourself. And remember, half is from within, half from without. As above, so below.

7. The quest to heal trauma and climb the mountain to enlightenment is perpetual. No human but perhaps a Bhudda or other ascended being can know all, and I am skeptical even of their ability to hold the nature, position, and destiny of every particle and energy wave and entity of the universe and all other realms in their mind. But you don't need to. Enlightenment isn't actually a destination, it's a journey. You're not supposed to know that, but I think it's better for endurance and spirit to know.

---

My journey is nearer to the beginning than the end, by far, but this is what I can share thus far.

--Ben

[breitweisergallery]

For the ask game for teasing wips/upcoming projects: ❄️🌧️🌀

❄️ Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

Lost in one of those memories, Percival did not hear the first time Cassandra knocked. Nor the second or third, by the irritation on her face when he finally blinked and saw her within feet of him, arms crossed over her chest. “Yes?” Percival asked, an eyebrow delicately raised.

“You are the most irritating man I have the displeasure of being related to,” Cassandra grumbled under her breath, before shaking her head, nearly shaking loose her hair from the pins that carefully held together a look years out of date. “Percival, we found something while cleaning that I thought perhaps you might wish to see.”

Confused, he followed her. It was hard to gauge her now, after all this time. Cassandra rarely showed her emotions, constantly hidden behind a stony exterior. Percival could hardly blame her; they were far too similar now.

“We reached the guest quarters while cleaning,” Cassandra said, her hands folded primly at her waist as they walked. Servants and guards bowed their heads in greeting to the lord and lady but neither sibling paid them much mind, striding in perfect unison down the halls that once knew their childish laughter and quick footsteps late to tutors.

“Specifically, we reached the rooms in which the Briarwoods brought those they hung on the Tree,” Cassandra said, lowering her voice. Percival flinched, fingers flicking against air before finding one of the buttons of his coat, his lip drawn between his teeth as he inhaled sharply, a quiet hiss. “We couldn’t quite get the names of all those they killed. The number of citizens we lost was far too great. But…” she trailed off.

“But?” Percival asked. He nearly walked into her as she stopped suddenly and gestured ahead to a door to the left. Percival gestured bluntly for her to continue. Cassandra shook her head and smiled sadly and, with a growing ominous feeling in his chest, Percival turned and pushed open the door.

There was a simple dress laid out on the bed, a pair of simple boots unlaced and left by the foot. A comb and a leather strap that once tied hair back sat abandoned atop a vanity, and glancing in the mirror, Percival’s brow furrowed. The items were no more than what he would have expected. “Cassandra, whatever makes this room so different from…”

Out of the periphery of his vision, Percival’s eyes caught a glimpse of a faint orange colour. He spun on his heel and strode to the bed. Tucked, up into the corner, between the pillow and the wall, was a cloth doll with orange buttons for eyes. “Gilly,” Percival breathed out, tentatively reaching out for the doll. His hands were shaking. “This is-”

- from "regret informs only the living"

🌧️ Share something angsty from your WIP.

Both Matilda and Percy nursed quiet crushes on each other in this fic. They never would have said anything because it wouldn't have been proper, not when they were childhood friends.

- from "regret informs only the living"

🌀 Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

Deals are powerful things, but so too are names:

Let loose into the thickets around the Thelyss estate, Essek and Verin stumble onto an ancient, crumbling gate. Inside, they find a new friend, a red-haired boy who calls himself the Traveler.

- from "symbiotic"

Upcoming Projects Asks | Send Me Asks!

[im-a-matt-girl]

writing love letters to matt and hiding them in plain sight so he’ll never find them but one day he does and writes one back to you and leaves it on your side of his bed for you to find when you come over while he’s out.

"Origami"

I love origami. I have a stack of beautifully-colored origami paper in a box, and I'm practicing making my own heart-shaped pattern with them. I fold and I fold until I get it just right, and I'm happy with the shape of the heart. Then, I make more papers into that same heart shape.

Suddenly, I have an idea. I get out my pen and write down little notes on the papers. I put things like, I hope something good happens to you today, and, Dearest Matthew, you are so loved on them. I fold them up into hearts as well, and I take them to your room.

I look around for spots to put them in, where they will technically be "hidden," but where I know that you'll find them eventually; there are about ten hearts in all. Then, I wait.

A few days go by, and you haven't brought up anything about them. I don't know if you've read any of them yet, or even found them. Perhaps you've seen them, but simply accepted that they are origami hearts, and nothing more. They have nothing written on the outside to indicate that they have notes addressed to you within. Maybe my plan failed.

One day, I go to your house when you are not there. Your brothers greet me at the door, and inform me of your absence. "He just went to film a personal video, but he should be back soon," Nick tells me.

"Okay, should I come back later, then?" I ask him.

"No, that's okay, you can come in if you want," he says, opening the door wider so that I can come inside.

"Hey," Chris nods to me.

"Hi, Chris," I smile. I skip over to your room, and I check to see if the hearts are still where I left them.

They are gone.

I see a piece of white paper folded up into a square on the side of your bed that I use while I sleep over with you, next to Mr. Wrinkleton. I pick it up, noticing a heart drawn on it. It makes me smile. I open it up, and it has your handwriting inside.

I'm sorry I can't fold this paper into a heart like you did, but I found all of them I think. There were 10. So I thought I'd respond. They made my day honestly. I don't think I tell you enough that I love you. I really do though. I don't even know how to express it sometimes. I guess this is a good start. Everything you put on those hearts is something I want for you too. We feel the same way about each other. Hopefully you already knew that. If you didn't, that's my bad. You're my favorite person to be around. You make me feel happy and warm and fuzzy inside. I'm sorry if that's corny. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you too.

I sit down on your bed, holding the letter against my heart. I want to cry; I love you so much. I don't care if your paper isn't folded into a heart, or if your handwriting is barely legible - I love you for everything that you are. I wouldn't change a single thing about you.

After a few minutes, you come back home, and I hear you coming up the stairs. I fold up the paper, put it into my pocket, and stand back up to greet you. As soon as you enter your bedroom doorway, I throw my arms around you and hug you. "Thank you," I whisper to you.

You gently return my hug. "You found it?" you giggle softly.

"Yes," I answer, wiping away the stray tear that escaped my eye. "It was very sweet. I love you so much."

You look into my eyes and smile. "I love you, too."

[yourfavhatestulpas]

You probably get this a lot but what are Tulpa systems?

This is a relatively new blog, so no we haven't yet lol. Even if we had, don't worry about asking "repeat" questions!

This is going to be LONG, you have been warned. Links to sources are throughout.

Note: this is not about sysmeds or endos or anything to do with that discourse. This is specifically about "tulpa systems".

What is a "Tulpa System"?

A "Tulpa System" is the name used by people who believe they've willingly created other consciousnesses that live in the same head as them. They call these other consciousnesses their "Tulpas".

Now, I could have left it there, with a brief explanation. However, I do want to explain this whole thing properly; I haven't yet seen a full post going into "tulpa systemhood" and the problems with it. So I will.

How did we get here?

Tulpamancy is historically the English word referring to a very specific, very old religious practice done by Buddhists (particularly in Tibet, though it is found in other areas too) This involves the spiritual belief that one can create a "Mind-made body", which can then be used to transport that person's soul to the higher realms during meditation. (Relevant source linked; info is on page 117, and then pages 125-134). This "mind-made body", or "emanation body", is also called a Tulpa. It is not a conscious being of its own, nor a separate personality or state of self; it is a non-physical body. It is part of a deeply personal ancient practice of meditation and the belief in spiritual ascension. (Note: this source is on hard-to-read text and is written in verbose language. However, it is written by a member of Tibetan Buddhism and a man with a PhD in clinical psychology. It also contains further references and sources within it).

In the late 1800s/early 1900s a new religion was founded in America, called Theosophy. The founder was Helena Blavatsky, who claimed to have been enlightened in Tibet, and created the religion based on her enlightenment. She claimed it wasn't actually a religion, but.. well, for one, it fit all the definitions of "religion", and for another most of the followers conveniently ignored her claim anyway. Most Theosophical beliefs aren't relevant to this topic, but you can read about them on the wikipedia if you're interested.

Theosophy drew from many religions, but the part taken from Buddhism that was drawn from is the idea of this "mind-made body". Blavatsky originally stated that within each human being, there is a second state of the soul known as the "higher being/ higher self". The Theosophist goal of personal ascension is to unite with your higher self, thus becoming a whole being. According to this belief, the higher self is not a conscious or separate being, but it is a different state of the soul; The human soul needs to undergo several transition states before reaching the point of unification, all of which are achieved through meditation and spiritual practice. This "Higher Self" was (occasionally) called a Tulpa.

(^This paragraph references information discussed heavily in a book. Ancient Wisdom Revived: A History of Theosophy, by Bruce F. Campbell, published 1980 by the California Press. Unfortunately, I cannot find a full free copy of the book online - only excerpts like the one linked here. If anyone has any idea where to find a copy online for free, tell me so I can link it!)

Later on, however, the founder changed this and moved away from teaching about a "higher self" to merge with. She instead claimed that you have a singular immortal spirit that remains after death, and latches on to a new mortal soul and body in a never-ending reincarnation process. Now according to her, this immortal soul was the "Tulpa", not the higher self as said before.

Even later, two British Theosophists, (Annie Besant and Charles Leadbeater ) both of whom claimed they were clairvoyant among other things, wrote a book called Thought-forms (published 1901) in which she argued that thoughts are not abstract, but are things with tangible ties to what Theosophists consider physical and spiritual reality.

According to the book, thought-forms can be one of three types:

-One that takes the image of a "Thinker". If you imagine yourself to be in a place different from where you are (if you're in your room, picture yourself in the kitchen, for example), what's actually happened is you have created a "thought-form" body that is actually in the place you pictured, at least whilst you picture it (then it disappears again).

-One that takes the image of "Object". If you're an artist and you picture wanting to paint/draw/sculpt etc. a vase, you're actually creating a "thoughtform" version of that vase, which again vanishes once you begin the art.

-One that takes its own form. This is its own conscious being, separate from the person creating the thought-forms.

These "thought-forms" are what Tulpa refers to according to Besant/Leadbeater. The third one is the one we're interested in. This is the first claim that you can create entirely separate, conscious beings entirely by yourself.

I want to make it clear that the people who created this idea both also believed that the act of picturing yourself in a location would somehow generate a version of you that appears in that location. At this point, the term "Tulpa" has been absolutely appropriated by these Theosophists (or Neo-Theosophists as Besant/Leadbeater have sometimes been called) to mean something it truly does not mean.

Later into the 1900s, a different belief system known as Western Esotericism (also known as Western Occultism) became hugely popular. It's an older belief system, but as it gained popularity it also changed wildly in nature as different people would think it stood for different things, and then those new beliefs would gain popularity as well. The Western Esoteric belief in "thought-forms" was taken from the Neo-Theosophical beliefs mentioned above, and whilst it was far from the most popular parts of their belief system, it was believed that you could "create" Magical entities through practices heavily influenced by other beliefs, such as Wiccan witchcraft.

Literature published at this time describes these entities as simple, and as parts of a person's natural aura, rather than as fully separate or fully formed conscious beings. This publication from 1912, for example, described them as follows:

A thought form is practically a bit of the detached aura of a person, charged with a degree of his prana, and energized with a degree of his life energy. So, in a limited sense, it really is a projected portion of his personality.

So the meaning of "thought-form" has changed, and once again the meaning of "Tulpa" has changed. Now it's not one of the three options discussed above, as proposed by the Neo-Theosophists - it's something else entirely.

However, in 1924, we got a callback to those Buddhist beliefs with Alexandra David-Néel, who also visited Tibet. She claimed that Tulpas were "magic formations" and that they could "free themselves" from their creator's control. She claimed that she had created her own Tulpa in the form of a monk resembling Friar Tuck, the character from the Robin Hood folk tale, but that her Tulpa had gained sentience, become destructive and needed to be destroyed. (read that again because..holy fuck)

Later on, she said that her experience "may have been" a hallucination.

Are you keeping track? Don't worry if this has been confusing, it's been a lot. We've gone from:

The ancient Buddhist belief in a second, non-physical body; one that can be used as a vessel to transport your soul to higher planes, to

The original Theosophical statement that you have a "higher self" inside of you, that you should aim to merge with to become whole, to

The re-written Theosophical statement that actually no, it's not your higher self, it's your immortal spirit that reincarnates and binds with mortal souls over and over and over again, to

The Neo-Theosophical belief brought about by self-proclaimed clairvoyants who believe that you can create fully conscious beings by yourself, and also that whenever you picture an object you're actually creating a spiritual version of that object, to

The Modern Western Esoteric belief that you can create Magical entities, but they are simple in nature and exist only as parts of yourself, to

The ?????? belief that these entities are not only not just parts of your aura, but are real full beings in your head, that they can gain sentience/consciousness by themselves, escape control of the creator, and can be destroyed once they do so. (Sidenote, if the Friar Tuck tulpa was conscious, surely by destroying it she like...committed murder?? Destroying what she claimed to be a sentient, conscious, free-thinking human being, that's...that's murder right? Ok fuck I don't have the time or energy for THAT rabbit-hole right now, back to what I was saying)

"But what does this have to do with Tulpa Systems?"

Don't worry, we're getting to that now.

In around 2009, the term "Tulpa" began being used as a term for a sort of "more real" imaginary friend. "Tulpamancy" as it became to be known was a small subculture found in certain online communities, including Reddit and 4chan way back when. "Tulpamancers" believed that these beings were at least somewhat conscious and autonomous. The subculture of Tulpamancy became far more popular with the creation of Bronies, a nickname given to adult fans of the My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic cartoon TV show. Bronies also came from 4chan. (Although calling them simply "adult fans of a kid's show" doesn't exactly explain the whole story. The Brony fandom is somewhat infamous).

Essentially, lots of Bronies wanted to be friends with their own versions of the Pony characters, and believed they could "create" sentient versions of these characters to live in their heads. Some wanted to do this for....nsfw reasons.

This progressed further, and the belief that you could create conscious beings along with severe misunderstandings of what it means to be a System eventually lead to the existence of "Tulpa Systems". The American Psychological Association has records of a survey done on people who claim this practice, and found them to be primarily Euro-American, White, Upper-Middle-Class, and aged from teenager to young adult, and that they "cite loneliness and social anxiety as an incentive to pick up the practice". (Note: The source cited above contains significant inaccuracies relating to the nature of Dissociative Identity Disorder, and is also not a study of the validity of Tulpa systems. It is merely a survey of those within online Western Tulpa communities. DID will be discussed later, and is different to how this source describes it. This survey source is only being used for its information on "Tulpa System" demographics)

Now. Why do people hate them?

The problems with Tulpa "Systems":

1) The blatant disrespect towards Buddhists and Buddhism. The idea of Tulpamancy and the creation of Tulpas was stolen from them, the meaning absolutely bastardized and warped by numerous Westerners over the course of the next hundred years, changing multiple times so it "fit" different beliefs - including being redefined TWICE by the same person, Helena Blavatsky, the creator of Theosophy. Even then, the bastardized meaning of Tulpa had nothing to do with creating conscious beings until that Thought-form book. And then it was changed another few times over more decades and is now used by white Western teens and young adults to apparently ""create conscious versions"" of their favourite characters, ocs, or even just types of people. It's hugely culturally appropriating.

2) You cannot create conscious beings. It is neither scientifically nor neurologically possible to create consciousness. Humans can create things that appear to be conscious, and the human mind is fantastic at believing itself, but humans have been studying consciousness and its creation for decades now; I have tried and tried and tried to find a sliver of evidence anywhere that it's possible, and I can't find it. If you or anyone else has evidence that it is, please let me know.

3) Even if Tulpas are real (they're not - most academic literature I've seen refers to them as a form of induced hallucinations, as does one of the wikis; induced hallucinations is what you can safely say they're most likely to be), people with Tulpas still aren't systems, because of what systems are. Systems are not multiple consciousnesses in one mind - rather, they are one consciousness that has split off into separate parts/alters. Comparing cases of multiple consciousnesses to cases of separate parts of one consciousness is damaging to systems as it plays into the old stereotypes and outdated information surrounding "Multiple personalities", a misconception that systems are trying very hard to get away from due to the stigma surrounding it.

4) I can't believe this is something that has to be said, but encouraging young people over the internet to deliberately give themselves hallucinations is probably a bad idea.

5) The Tulpa "System" community is incredibly predatory, to singlets and systems alike. Since spreading further than the old Brony communities, online Western Tulpa communities will often rope in lonely, depressed or anxious young people and will convince them that this will help them with those things or even fix their problems. I've seen kids as young as 13 on this very website saying that creating Tulpas will help them be a part of "one big happy family"; I've even seen it where kids from abusive homes - people who do not have actual support from their real families - are convinced by the Western Tulpa community that creating Tulpas will help them.

It hurts systems too, and not only with the language misuse; I've seen plenty of cases where young, vulnerable systems are roped into this and end up entirely convinced, for months (sometimes years), that they created their system on purpose - this is especially true for systems who do not remember their trauma, which is very common. Once they realise that this wasn't the case, the damage is done and the system as a whole is much worse off for the experience. It's incredibly difficult to accept you're in a system, yes, but it is much harder to try and pick up the pieces and work on communication after you've spent months or years telling yourself that you quite literally made it up. This is even more the case given that some Western Tulpa communities believe, like Alexandra David-Néel, that these consciousnesses should be destroyed if they become destructive. Many systems have persecutors, which are alters who harm the system in some way. Acting like these persecutors can or should be destroyed due to their destructive nature is unbelievably damaging. In fact, I decided to make this blog after yet another system I saw had once thought they were a "Tulpa System" and had been severely hurt as a result.

TLDR: "Tulpa" and "Tulpamancy" are stolen terms that represent ancient and important Buddhist practices that have been appropriated time and time again until we reached today's Westernized definition, which started regaining popularity between 2000 and 2010 due to Bronies wanting to have their favourite characters as irl friends. Since its popularity, the Western "Tulpa" community has started co-opting terms like "system", despite systems being inherently different from Tulpas (even if Tulpas are real). There is also zero evidence, past or present, that humans can create consciousness, and the idea that we can is often used to lure in young and/or vulnerable people and convince them that creating Tulpas will help solve their problems - whether those problems be depression, anxiety, lonliness, or even things like living with abusive families. Systems are also harmed in the process, as young people who have just realized they are in systems can become convinced that their system is actually "Tulpas" - i.e. things that they made up - rather than alters or parts, which is incredibly damaging to the system as a whole.

[love-toxin]

cw: injuries, yandere tohma, gn! reader

"so...how long do I have to play along with this little game of yours?"

the question spills out of his mouth without warning, yet each word is methodical, careful, like he's practiced it a thousand times before. the teapot clutched in your hands nearly slips out and shatters over the table you've laid out for the two of you, but the warmth of the porcelain fortunately keeps you steady enough until you can set it down in the space between you two. Tohma was kind enough to bring you a gift after spending awhile away, tending to his duties--so it's only natural that you would take him out for some tea in exchange. it's courtesy. it's expected.

but his question certainly is not.

"I...I have no idea what you're talking about, Tohma."

"really?"

he's sat cross-legged for some time now, waiting as you ordered the tea and offering you some idle chit-chat befitting a pair that haven't seen the other in a while. Tohma has always been your friend even when you were young, but as is custom in a place like Inazuma, your relationship has evolved throughout the years. there are things you can't say anymore, things that would ruin your life if you were caught doing them...and now, you fear, the glint in Tohma's eyes may be an omen that he's about to commit one of those unholy acts.

"come on now, sweetheart, everybody can see the truth for what it is. there's no need to hide it any longer."

he's purposely tiptoeing around the question, waiting for the pieces to click in your mind. he need not say anything at all, however--the way he looks at you in this moment, and the purpose with which he stands from his place at the tea table is enough to set your jaw tight and your eyes to darken.

"you know that I was always meant to be your husband. to be there for you through thick and thin, to care for you when we're both old and gray-"

he takes a few quick steps around it to get to you, to kneel at your side and reach out his hands to pull yours into them, and it's all you can do not to flinch away and risk the image of impropriety. but you've endured this lecture before, and the only thing screaming inside your head is for you to resist--just resist, don't listen to a word he says, and bite your tongue of any insult until he finally gives up and gets the hint.

"Tohma, stop."

"-to treasure you like no one else will. I understand your point of view, I really do--we're still young, and the world outside of Inazuma seems so big and grand...but you have to realize that the time to settle down is coming for us."

he rubs his thumb over your hand and smiles in your direction, but you can't meet his eyes. and then it's slipping out of your grasp and raising up to your face, and you feel yourself stiffen all over as Tohma gently cups your cheek, his gaze lowering towards your mouth as if he has an idea of what he wants to do. but that would be grounds for you to shriek for a guard, and you're entirely certain that that's the only reason he bites his lip to stave off the desire.

"you were always meant to be mine. you believe in fate, and you've always put your trust in me...so why not let me help you?"

that last part comes as a whisper, the tearoom private but the walls still thin. one of the many secrets you've entrusted to Tohma over the years is your disagreement with Inazuma's strict laws, as well as the etiquette that comes with being a member of the higher class. you've always despised being noble, and Tohma has always understood you, at least you thought so....but ever since he's gotten this ludicrous idea in his head, you've known even less peace than usual.

"I've said it a dozen times, Tohma, and I won't say it again. I'm not marrying you."

you do your best to spit the words out with as much venom as you can muster, yet you still feel the twinge of anxiety at snapping at him so informally. it could spell the end for you quite easily, but when your eyes are drawn back to Tohma's expression, all you can see is bliss written all over his face.

"...even laced with contempt, my name sounds so sweet on your lips. you've so much wit, so much grace, and your beauty leaves me breathless...I know how little you think of me, but-"

fury shoots through every vein of your body, and you know it's the wrong move when you slap his hand away from your face, the smack like a thunderclap in the small space of the little tearoom.

"enough, Tohma! enough. do yourself a favour and stop speaking to me--in fact, I dearly hope you never say a word to me again."

each finger on his hand twitches, only to close in a tight fist and sink back down to his lap. you try to avoid his gaze in this moment, but even turning your head away you can still feel his eyes staring right into your soul.

"you know I can't make that promise. you know that I love you."

that word makes you stiffen, your grip lock on your noble dressings, your blood turn to ice in your veins. you've avoided that for so long but it follows you like a demon, and it's eyes glow a verdant green as Tohma's words melt into your skin and eat you alive from the inside out.

"this feeling of yours....it's not mutual, Tohma. just leave it, and leave me."

you say so, but you're the one that stands from the tea table in the end, and Tohma jumps to get to his feet to follow you. he trails on your heels as you step with purpose towards the door and slide it open, the cool chill of Inazuma city in the night prickling your exposed skin. the blond hurries to get in front of you, and the moment you spot a few other citizens on the path this late at night, you tilt your head down and pray to the gods that Tohma won't force you into impropriety.

"...I see. you won't budge on this, then...I will have to accept that. but may I at least escort you home? I can't in good faith allow you to wander alone in the dark. I still care for you."

he looks down on you with a softness to his features, and you hate how easily you buckle under any sort of pressure from him. you prided yourself on not giving in before, but when you're not alone it's not nearly as easy--you have to piece your words so carefully together, and by the time you think of an excuse it will already be too late for you to reject his offer. so with as subtle of a huff as you can manage, you speak softly under your breath that you suppose that's fine, and grit your teeth as you thank him for the offer. and Tohma is all too relieved to stand beside you as you walk down the hill and leave the prying ears of the city, the silence near unbearable between you as you meander through the path cut down the middle of the farmer's fields.

"seems there's no one around. not a surprise for this time of the night."

it's not a terribly long walk back to your family's estate, but Tohma still evidently feels the need to speak up as you reach the end of the gently sloping hill. Konda village lies within sight in the distance, and you feel the tension weigh heavy on your heart as you count the steps closer and closer to safety. relative safety that is.

you're so focused on paying him as little attention as possible that you don't even take notice to his hand drawing closer to yours and his eyes wandering up and down your figure, practically salivating as the flames in his chest burn hotter and hotter, until the moment he can't take any more and he grabs you by the shoulders to stop you and force you to look him straight in the eyes.

"now, you're going to listen very closely. I'm going to give you a little gift, because I love you so very much. you get a minute's head start."

the shock catches you off guard to the point that you bite your own tongue, fear and panic shooting through you like icicles that make you freeze in place. Tohma's expression is so intense he nearly appears feral, pearly teeth glimmering in the light from the moon as he grins down at you like a predator examining their prey.

"here's the deal, sweetheart--if you can run all the way past Konda village, you win. but if I catch you, I win, and you must uphold your promise and marry me in a month's time. and if you win, you'll get your wish--I'll never speak a word to you again."

terror grips you even harder than Tohma is, and at his proposal you whip your head towards the village in the distance and then back to him. if he's seriously not making some kind of sick joke, then there's absolutely no way you would ever make it. you're not a fighter, you don't even know how to hold a sword much less have a vision, and you've seen the kinds of things Tohma is capable of....he'll catch you before you make it anywhere close.

"Tohma-"

his gaze lingers on you for a moment, before he turns you in the direction of the village and pushes you forward, only hard enough for you to stumble a bit. you want to question him, to try and talk him down from such an insane idea, but once you hear him start counting down aloud your feet move on their own and you take off in a pitiful run down towards your target. the night air whips by your face as you try to sprint as best you can, yet your robes that give away your nobility get caught on your sandals and trip you up enough that it makes your heart jump into your throat. your heart pounds in a cage that feels too tight, the air heavy and raw in your lungs the longer you fumble your way forwards in the night. even your tears feel cold as they stream down your face, and if speaking wouldn't expend your precious energy then you would surely be wailing for Tohma to stop, please, he's scaring you. especially once you hear his footsteps take off, and it feels as though his warm breath is right on the back of your neck.

but even so, you look up within moments to find yourself in the middle of the quiet little village, the lanterns dim and only the glow of the moon casting light on the humble little buildings. the panic ceases but resurges just as quickly when you remember that you're not safe yet, that the entrance to the village is still a few hundred metres away--and you can hear Tohma panting now, at a distance close enough that he'll make a grab for you long before you'll ever get there. but there's something you know that he probably doesn't remember, and it might just be your saving grace as you duck into the shadows and skirt around the mayor's house just as he skids into the path of the village. you fear in the pit of your stomach that getting the top off the well that you used to play near as children would make a great deal of noise, but you hurry forward and find it open--and just as you swing a leg over to climb inside and pray that Tohma doesn't think to look for you here, your foot slips on the stone that's still damp from the rain and your world is overturned as you fall through the air. it's not far enough that you can scream or grab for purchase on something, but when you land you hear the sickening crack of something breaking and pain that shoots through your leg so quick that it almost makes you black out.

but something worse is yet to come, and it's Tohma's voice calling out your name, before you look up to the sky and your heart just sinks as you watch his face pop into view over the side of the well.

"oh, archons--baby, are you all right?! did you hurt yourself?"

he hops over the edge quite easily and falls steady on his feat, not even having broken a sweat from chasing you as he hurries to your side and props you up in the crook of his arm. and despite still feeling that twinge of discomfort and panic from him touching you, the agony sets in so deeply that you cling to him without realizing as tears pour down your face and you struggle to breathe.

"let me see...yeah, that's definitely broken. c'mere, I'll help you up.."

just brushing the pads of his fingers over the rapidly-swelling skin of your calf makes you flinch and cry out with pain, and it's obvious by the deep bruising how bad you've hurt it--you wouldn't be able to climb out of here if you tried. but Tohma finds so little trouble in heaving you up into his arms that it's laughable....it would be funny how sincerely you thought you could get away in the first place, if you weren't experiencing the consequences now. and only now is it starting to sink in that you lost, even though he isn't rubbing it in your face. yet.

"poor thing--that was scary, wasn't it? aren't you glad I was here?"

despite how despairing you look, he rubs his cheek against yours as he holds you tight. you realize now how much he's always wanted to do this, and how he's dragging this all out while he has the chance to do it without anyone watching....it's such a rare opportunity, but you don't feel nearly as lucky as he does.

"I'll always be here, sweetie....in sickness and in health, right?"

he murmurs into the shell of your ear, before pressing a kiss to it right afterwards as he reaches out to get a foothold so he can lift you out of here. all you can think about now is how your chance of escaping him has slipped away....and now, your status is a death sentence in the hands of the man who saved your life, and will ask for nothing in return but your gentle hand in marriage. how romantic.

[crewofthegoldrush]

I'm feeling bad that I don't have any new art to share and probably won't for a few weeks, so to make up for it and to give myself a kick in the pants to get working on this, I want to share the full "prologue" for fool's gold 2

I don't usually like to reveal a lot of my works in progress because I really do like the surprise, but I'm okay posting this because everything is going to get a new coat of paint, it features a conversation Ive already drawn, and I'm no where near finished editing. The final print will be longer, new/fixed dialogue (I don't always remember to write Monty with her cowboy accent lmao) and more exposition but for now, I hope you enjoy a draft!

ONE

You tap the floor twice with your tail, your signal that you were finished for today, and let her help you pick yourself off the floor. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were tryin' to beat me."

Aubrey's lip turns up at the side. "Of course I'm trying to beat you."

You watch her settle against the ship's railing, familiar even on this ship that wasn't yours. You take your place next to her, hyper aware of your petulant body language. You take a swig from your flask, offering it to her after cleaning the spout with a gold glow.

She raises a brow at the metal container, eyeing it wearily, and you manage a grin. "It's just water."

Looking more at ease, she shakes her head anyway, and you let it hang limply in your hand as you fold your arms on the banister.

"Something is bothering you."

You glance at her; Aubrey has mimicked your casual position but her eyes are as intense as they always are as she simply watches you. "It's been months since we started this, Aubrey. Shouldn't I have more than the basics by now? It shouldn't be this hard, should it?"

You were certainly better than where you were when you started. But compared to her, who had picked up firearm training so well that you had very nearly finished her gun by now, you feel indignant at your slow progress.

Aubrey hums. "You don't need to be so hard on yourself. As you've said many times, your heart is not fully in it yet, right? Your magic is improving and there are plenty of regular distractions."

She was right about that - it was hard to truly focus on leisure time when the two of you were still expected to handle your regular duties, now, you suspect, under the watchful eyes of the Tains. Nevermind the fact that, with your ship still seized, you and your team were attending to various matters, both personal and necessary. You yourself had taken up bounty hunting again to keep your coin stock healthy enough, and there were days you didn't see Harper at all.

"Besides," she continues, gesturing for you to hand her your flask, and you do. "Muscle memory is one of the first things you need to train. You are not there yet, but I'm confident that you will."

She tucks your flask away. "You are too stubborn for the case to be anything else."

You grin at her backhanded compliment and the way she just stole what she probably assumed was indeed alcohol from you, something Harper would do for Demetrius. "I can always count on you to humble me, darlin'."

"Just do your homework. Which you haven't been, I've noticed," she adds with a humorous look. 

"Like you said, I've been keepin' busy."

Her gun and silencer were almost finished (as was the one Tequila begged you to make for her), but it wasn't just that - you had taken it upon yourself to keep an eye on almost everyone's business. 

Including hers.

"Speakin' of homework - have you been doin' any of those readin's?"

A few months had passed since Lohn Ender, the professor who studied all things dreams in Koranburg, had written you back to let you know he was not able to accommodate a visit, and that if you wanted more information you would need to come see him in person. A firm 'no,' considering he and the other professors were assuredly not pleased that their object of interest had been seized by another country.

But you had a back up. Arthur Weekes, Breezy's father, was an expert in his field about the planes of your world and beyond. You had reached out to him to ask for any and all reading recommendations on the subject of Dal Quor. He had responded eagerly and sent more than just recommendations but a whole crate of books as well.

Breezy had only been a little weirded out that you were now pen pals with her parents, but otherwise seemed to find the situation delightful.

You had loaded these books up in the library, telling Harper that you had faith in Mr. Weekes to be objective, and that if she wanted to pull on this thread, you would help her.

It was a hard topic to broach for the both of you. You had learned from Harper that the creatures known as the Inspired - the ones that your whole crew had seen in their dreams thanks to the proximity to that crystal - were supposed to be angelic, protecting the country of Riedra, and you firmly believe she genuinely thinks this. But she had also learned that you and your team had witnessed Dal Quor first hand and that there was nothing angelic about it. You have no doubt she believes you, and them - they did not know she was from Riedra, and have no reason to be lying about this.

It was not your place to question her handlers - far be it from you to 'splain to an assassin spy a damn thing about her own country. But the conflicting accounts was intriguing to both of you.

Aubrey leans against the railing, looking out over the docks. "Some. It's certainly strange to read about dreams. But it's familiar. I never used to have them before frequenting Khovaire, so I had to be taught how to correspond in ornoric language."

You turn your head at her sharply, shocked and immediately invested. "You've never had your own dreams?"

You watch her think that over, as if unsure what or how much to tell you. It wasn't unusual for her to speak about her past as Aubrey, but it was certainly rare and she was selectively forthcoming, compared to Harper who seemed to have less issue giving you pieces of her past so long as she was vague about it. "Mostly, no."

Her eyes dart around the deck where you two are quite alone, a motion you probably would not have noticed had you not been so blatantly staring.

Again she hesitates, but then admits, "In my country, we dream what the Inspired wishes, as you saw. They protect us from evil spirits that can take over a dream; to do otherwise is dangerous, unnatural. But I soon learned that…I've realized that this is how everyone's nights are, and that it is normal.

"When I am like this," she continues, gesturing to herself, "I can resist dreaming, should I choose to. It was a bit difficult after I lost that journal, but I still can. But as Harper, when I am with you all - I do dream more and now that I know it is normal…it is harder to resist."

You tilt your head, thinking about how seeing her dream in Dal Quor was how you knew she was alive after the mutiny. "Was it a comfort then? The crystal?"

Aubrey glances at you with a look you can't completely read, but it is pleasant. "I suppose. I find many things a comfort as Harper these days."

You grin. "It must have been buckwild for you when you first had a nightmare."

She gives a bark of a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Don't remind me. Apparently even toddlers dream and I certainly handled it like one, I imagine."

"Tell me about it?"

She rests her chin in her palm. "Like hell."

You burst out laughing. "Fair enough. So tell me this then. If you can choose to resist dreaming as Aubrey, but Harper can't - or doesn't, or however…who do you sleep as?"

It is very rare that you can take her by surprise but you see the question jolt her, her eyebrows raising, body straightening, hands dropping from her chin. Her eyes stare ahead at nothing before falling to her hands against the banister, brow furrowed in thought. You get the feeling she wants to shift. 

"I - "

The question sounded innocent on the surface but you realize the full implications of what you have just asked her to admit. Does she duck her head, pretend her doubts are fantasy, rely on what she knows as Aubrey and resists? Or does she embrace the possibility of what Harper has taught her and allows herself to dream?

Is that something you could ask her to say out loud?

Aubrey does eventually open her mouth to say something but you interrupt her.

"- I also gotta know," you say, leaning over dramatically, practically pressed against her shoulder, "d'you still sleep naked? I think that's a better question, actually."

Again you see the surprise clear on her face before her cheeks turn a touch pink and she snaps an indignant, "For Khyber’s sake, Montgomery."

But her lips turn up just enough, especially as you grin wickedly at her. She pushes your face away. "I'm never living that down am I? You will give me no peace, will you?"

Her fingers pressed against your cheek, you smirk at her. "Maybe if you'd admit it was funny as hell, I'd be inclined to forget it eventually."

Aubrey gives you - not a smile, but she certainly isn't frowning or scolding you. "In your dreams, as they say."

She straightens, pulling her hand away. "Now, if you are finished humbling me, I think I'll get some sleep. And you should as well, yes? You have a Gala to prepare for soon, do you not?"

You beam - how could you forget? "I get the hint. G'night, darlin'. Don't be late for firearms trainin' tomorrow."

"When am I ever?" She leaves you with, before nodding her good night to you and turning away.

Her hair is turning brown when you call out to her. "Hey -?"

She pivots, looking back at you and you see her face is still Aubrey's - she looks pretty damn good with dark hair.

"So - 'man of my dreams' - phrases like that don't mean much where you're from, huh?"

"No," she says simply. "But I can be taught, I'm finding."

With a shift in her stance, your flask sails towards your head with a speed and precision that takes you by surprise; by some miracle, you catch the damn thing an inch before your face.

"As can you. Good night, Sheriff."

You watch her shift to Harper, who gives you a final smile. You give her an admittedly dopey one in return, and as she walks away you think perhaps that was your answer.

You picture her with blonde hair; pretty damn good too.

--

hey look if you don't include obvious foreshadowing is it really a prologue?

Thank you for reading this preview for pure gold! I'm really excited about this one. And I'm just going to apologize now for how very mushy this fic will be, but if you've been following me all this time I have a feeling that will not be a surprise

I'm most excited for the chapter leading up to their date, which features a sort of cat and mouse game between them in a casino that was just as fun to draft as it was to play (watching the other players get actively invested in helping me was a delight I can't express) with a payoff that I still cherish & feel thankful for to this day - and it wasn't even the kiss! I really hope I do it justice

[breitzbachbea]

Ohh how about a director's commentary on Sophie's character :o

OHHHHHH THAT'S A GOOD ONE LET'S TALK ABOUT THE BEST GIRL

Send me a ⭐ for a director’s commentary on a story/section of a story/line I wrote

I think I made most of my Hetalia OCs, if not all, back in 2013 when I first got into the show. I've had a certain fondness for England (& FrUK) back then and was a big fan of the that one fanon version of Scotland, by an artist called repoko, I believe? That still meant, back then, there were three open opportunities for OCs from the British Isles, so I made a Wales, Northern Ireland and Ireland. Which I will use in my writing until the day I die, thank you very much, the canon versions change nothing. I was here first, motherfucker.

Either way - I haven't written anything set in the Hetaverse with them in years and I would approach them differently nowadays as well. In regards to how they're portrayed in LFLS: The two Irelands would have a much more fraught relationship with each other and Northern Ireland would be far more disillusioned with the world. I like one excellent interpretation by @oumaheroes on the uk bros and I'd broadly say that my OCs would work the same way in the Hetaverse. I also wouldn't use the same name in the Hetaverse as I do in LFLS; again, I named them when I was far younger knew far less about the world and the history of Ireland. I like the name Liam for Ireland and Ava for Northern Ireland. Although Orla would also be a nice option.

One more funfact before the rest goes under the cut: Soph's very weird hairstyle (a bob with bangs but a chinlong streak of hair in the middle, which she pins behind her hair) comes from my inability to draw 😆 I had the little art booklet that came with a special edition of Vol. 5 and I absolutely adored the way France's hair was drawn in it. However, I wasn't good at drawing it. So once I had drawn Soph and realized I had drawn a drastically different hairstyle than I wanted ... I didn't backpedal like "Oh, I can't draw it yet, but no, it is supposed to look like this!". I simply went "Guess that's her hair now" and ran with it. Luckily, in "Irish Problems" I had the chance to give it an in-story explanation.

Here's by the way the kind of hairstyle I was aiming for:

Sadly, I can't provide well what I achieved instead since I have no fotos of Soph in left profile saved, but let's say I aimed for the sky and shot myself in the foot.

Now, about Sophie O'Connel in Like Father Like Son:

Her character was introduced into Irish Problems more like an afterthought than a central pillar of the story. In my Hetaverse writing, the two Irelands didn't get along very well, but I knew I had to change this if I was to write them as siblings. (Or maybe Republicanism had gotten the best of me by then, who knows. I'm just kidding.) Paddy was the person through which recent Irish history with the Troubles was viewed, at least in theory. Sophie did retain some ties to Northern Ireland, with her brother having bought/rented her sheep and the land in Northern Ireland and she was always spoiled by the Scottish, Gavin and his father William in particular. Aside from this though, Sophie is very little informed by the history of Northern Ireland.

Part of the reason may also be that I made the non-sensical choice back then to split Nothern Ireland and Ulster into two different characters. Hannah, Gavin's girlfriend, is that Ulster OC and originally from Belfast. If I did intend to do more parallels between history and LFLS, I could use these two to represent two different strains of people with different histories and realities in Northern Ireland, though ... Not that it matters much, since Like Father Like Son tries to stay faithful to the characterisation of Hetalia and I love to be inspired by history, but there are no allegories to be made.

Thusly, Sophie is primarily a very lonely teenager, who's trying to juggle her normal life with the burden of her patchwork family's way of life. A lot of the characters in Irish Problems and the first half of Italian Affairs lack, if not character, at least narrative purpose. So Soph's primary function is to explore the nature of grief and loneliness. Slowly, as I manage to establish the world around her in her POV chapters, it also becomes a story about growing up. I always joke that Soph's subplot is the YA portion of the book, but it's the truth. While she is of course not singular in her theme of grief or family, Sophie is outside of the political framework of LFLS for most of it. The focus is on herself, the comparedly smaller stakes of teenagehood and young adult life. This also means she gets to experience and express her emotions in a different manner that's probably more akin to how the reader does. I think that is part why Soph's chapters tend to resonate so well with some people; her despair does not need to be extrapolated. She doesn't have a fight or flight instinct kick in that postpones it. She wallows in her powerlessness, because it has no dire consequences for her.

Aside from all of that, it is a lot of fun to write Sophie and see where the story will take her. While I don't think her journey of finding her place in the world will necessarily facilitate positive character growth with her surroundings, it'll be interesting nonetheless. She's much like her brother, loud, boisterous and equipped with a good sense of humour and a mischievious streak. Plus, she knows what she's invested in and is willing to work for it - You don't know how hyped I am to write more Soph farmwork. To let her be an even more pragmatic person than her brother suits her, I think. The same Irish fighting spirit, but not as worn out as the lads around her are.

[wordchemist]

Waves

Written for the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 'Rise and Fall'.

I keep meaning to introduce this world and these characters properly, but I haven't had a moment for that yet. I'm enjoying writing these snippets though!

-

The meeting was just beginning to break up. More people than usual were lingering this week, and Caryl had to admit that it was hard to want to leave when the atmosphere tonight was so jubilant. There was so rarely anything for them to celebrate.

The curfew wouldn’t wait for celebrations, though. They gave Haris a small nod and he moved off without hesitation, murmuring to each group.

They continued to tidy away papers as the room began to empty. It helped to pretend they didn’t notice that there was far too much silence hanging around all of a sudden. Besides, the last thing they needed was to leave any of this hanging around. The Security Force already had far more information about their plans than they would have liked, thanks to Evalin.

At last, there were only a few more stragglers. Haris appeared at their elbow. They flinched.

“Sorry.” He smiled, and began to stack a few more papers. “Should have let you know I was there.”

“It’s not your fault,” they said, waving it off. “Just. You know. Hard not to feel a little wound up.”

“There’s a lot to be agitated about,” he agreed easily.

He kept helping them, passing them the last of the leaflets to stash out of sight, but they had the sudden and dreadful feeling he was about to talk about something else. Pre-emptively, they glared.

“Please don’t say anything.”

He held up his hands. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

They put a draft of a broadcast they’d drawn up onto the pile with just a little too much force.

Their glare deepened. “Just don’t.”

“Well, since you won’t tell me what you don’t want me to say, I’m going to say it. Jami wasn’t here tonight.”

“I don’t see why that’s my concern.”

To their great displeasure, he didn’t respond, just let the silence between them build and build and build. They couldn’t take it.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“I’ll go and speak to them.”

“Good.” He turned to them, and despite knowing better, they met his eyes. “This could all be about to rise faster than we know. It’s going to take all of us to manage it.”

If only he wasn’t right.

But he was, and so they found themselves going straight to the promenade. It was a calm night, and the water was rising and falling gently beneath the weathered wooden floorboards. They tried to focus on that rather than the steadily rising, childish pull towards resentment.

The argument hadn’t been Jami’s fault.

But it hadn’t been theirs, either, and having to fix it rankled.

Jami was there, though, of course, silhouetted against the waves at the very edge of the pier, a shawl clutched tight around their shoulders.

“You didn’t have to come and find me.”

They didn’t have to speak first. That was something, at least.

“Yes, I did,” they sighed, finally letting the anger fall away. “You were right.”

“I shouldn’t have said it like that, though,” she said, looking at them properly. She had been biting at her lips again; there was just a little trace of blood at the corner of her mouth.

“I probably wouldn’t have listened if you’d said it any other way,” they admitted.

The admission made Jami laugh. “Someone has to defend this whole mad idea to the end.”

“And someone else has to be there before their ideas lead them somewhere stupid,” they added drily.

Jami was still grinning at the beginning of that sentence, but the smile fell away slowly.

“Do you never wonder if this is all getting out of our control?”

For a second, they considered swallowing their words. What good would that do, though?

“What alternative do we have? People are angry. That’s not going away. If we try to direct that anger, moderate it, surely the only thing we’re doing is good.”

A particularly unruly wave crashed against the wood. Jami jumped away from the splash a little, but they didn’t move.

Jami shook her head. “I worry what direction you’re taking this in.”

They shrugged. “Then come back. Help me guide it.”

“That’s not my job,” she replied, but she was already reaching out, taking Caryl’s hand.

[cynicallystiles]

Seasons of Love: The One with the Cabin

Disclaimer: Moodboard made by me. Pictures found on Google!

Author: @cynicallystiles

Request: @itrocksmysocks​ basically requested this by making me obsessed with the triplets a year ago.

Warning: Swearing. Slight sexual content.

Notes: Chapter four is here! The whole thing still isn’t finished ahead of time like I wanted. Annnnndd I’m already falling behind schedule lol! Thanks for your patience! Please COMMENT/REBLOG if you enjoy it!

Pairing: Kallie Hayes (OC) x Mendes Triplets

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Chapter Three Chapter Five

Words: ~5.37k

"Kalliope!" The sound of her name accompanied by excessive knocking stirs her awake abruptly.

She startles and rolls off the bed onto the floor. "Ah! Jesus, fuck!" She groans and sits up, rubbing her shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" Her sister asks through the door, and Kallie can hear the amusement in her tone.

Pulling herself upright, she glances at the bed and sees Shawn's smooth, muscular back. "Fuck," she mumbles, barely holding in a laugh. "Uh...yeah! I just tripped getting out of bed!" She calls back with a little chuckle.

"It's nine right now, goober. Figured you'd want to be up in time to shower and help with breakfast," Cassie chuckles before her footsteps recede down the hallway.

Releasing a breath of air, Kallie turns back to the bed to find two brown eyes looking at her. "Jeez!" She gasps and closes her eyes to normalize her fast-beating heart. "When did you wake up?" She asks when she opens her eyes again.

"Hard to sleep with all the noise around here," Shawn teases. He rolls over and stands, allowing the sheets to slide off of his almost naked body. Kallie's eyes watch his muscles tighten as he stretches his arms above his head. "I can feel that ya know," he laughs.

She scoffs and stands to make her bed as he finds his clothes. "No, you can't," she argues with warm cheeks as she finds a loose shirt to pull over her shoulders. "I told you you weren't supposed to sleep here!" She groans and starts pushing him toward the window.

"Hey!" He protests as she gets the rope ladder. "You're the one who told me to hold you more," he reminds her and opens the window quietly.

As she secures the ladder to the window and rolls it down the side of the house, her eyebrows furrow. "No, I didn't," she denies, focused on making sure he won't injure himself.

"Yeah, Kal, ya did," he insists while hanging halfway out of the window.

Kallie shakes her head. "Well, I don't remember. Now, go! Before, anyone sees you," she giggles and places her palm flat against his forehead to push him down the ladder.

Shawn quietly enters through his front door and tries to sneak upstairs. His foot doesn't even hit the first step when a voice behind him makes him jump. "Where the hell have you been?" Turning, he sees Peter and Raul entering from the living room.

"Just went for a morning jog," he chuckles nervously.

Peter squints at his attire and crosses his arms. "You don't look like you went for a jog," he accuses suspiciously after seeing no sweat despite him wearing pants and a hoodie in hot weather.

"It was a light jog," he shrugs innocently, "didn't want to stink too much for breakfast since you two always take the hot water."

Raul rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "Well, I showered last night. So, there's water left to clean up before we head over," he explains casually.

"Wait," Shawn stops leaning against the railing and takes a step forward. "You never shower at night," he states in confusion.

He just shrugs. "Yeah. Kal and I got a little messy last night," he chuckles and heads back into the living room, ignoring the twitch of Shawn's eye.

The boys arrive at Kallie's just as she's setting down the final plate of food on the table. Her hair is still damp around her shoulders from the shower, barely curling as it dries. Conversation flows chaotically while the boys catch up with Cassie and her moms.

Shawn catches Kallie's eyes as she takes the last sip of her almond milk. She asks him what's up by pinching her brows together. He nods subtly toward the kitchen. Concerned, she stands up.

"I'm gonna start clearing the dirty dishes," she informs everyone as she gathers some plates.

Shawn follows suit. "I'll help," he offers.

"But, cleanup is my thing," Peter points out in confusion.

Patting his shoulder, Shawn takes the dishes he's holding around the table. "Relax, for once. I've got it covered." He disappears into the kitchen after her.

"What's going on?" She asks in a hushed tone as she leans on the counter next to the sink.

Setting the dishes in the sink, he crosses his arms and turns to her. "What exactly did you and Raul get up to last night?" He sighs.

A chuckle slips past her lips before she sees the distraught in his eyes. "We just got ice cream and went to the park," she explains with a shrug.

"And that's it?"

Kallie lets her mouth part in surprise. "Should there be something else I don't remember?" She didn't like the accusation in his tone and Shawn's increasing jealousy was starting to irritate her.

"No," he deadpans, looking out the window above the sink. "It's just that Raul said you guys got messy but you didn't have dirt or anything on you when I came over."

Kallie clicks her tongue and scrunches up her face. "Are you kidding me?" She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms as well. "We got a little childish and were fighting with the ice cream, Shawn."

"But, you-" he begins but she inhales deeply and he cuts himself off.

"I got it in his hair, but he only got it on my arms. It was easy to wash off in the sink before you came," she scoffs.

He drops his arms and steps toward her. "Sorry, I just-"

"I know what 'you just'," she sighs in disappointment. "You can't keep getting jealous every time I hang out with him. Or Peter."

Looking at his feet, he mumbles, "I know."

"I think we should pause this," she declares quietly.

He quickly looks up to meet her eyes. "What? No! I'll stop being jealous. I'll-"

"It's not about that," she lies. She could feel things getting complicated between them and she didn't want that. "We're gonna be at the cabin all summer and there won't be time for it anyway. I don't want to ruin our last summer there with the drama if we get found out."

Nodding slowly, Shawn starts to calm down a little. "That makes sense. But, what about when we go back to university? I mean, we all still live together," he points out.

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," she admits. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." As Kallie finishes her sentence, Peter wanders into the kitchen. "What's up?" She asks with a gentle smile, causing Shawn to look toward the door.

He shuffles shyly toward them, causing her to giggle. "It felt weird sitting out there not doing the dishes with you," he admits with a small grin.

"Then, come help me, Penguin. Shawn is terrible at rinsing," she teases. Shawn meets her eyes with a silent look of fading sadness as Peter sidles up close to her with an enormous grin at one of her many cute nicknames for him. He watches them bump shoulders and giggle before leaving with a sigh.

Later in the day, the boys help load Kallie's bags in the back of Shawn's Jeep before they start their trip to the lake. After hugging her moms and Cassie, they all head out of the house.

"Lemme guess...Kallie gets front seat as always," Raul teases, heading for the backseat.

Shawn nods with a cheeky grin, but Kallie also heads for the backseat. "Actually, I wanted to share the back with Peter..." She sneaks a glance at Shawn who has shock written on his face. He's worried that this 'pause' might be about more than she's letting on.

"Why though?" He clears his throat as Peter catches up to them after saying extended goodbyes to her family.

She shrugs while Raul is already riding shotgun. "This time we're learning sign language." Kallie then looks at Peter as she teases, "We've only got around two weeks left to become fluent."

His eyes flit between Shawn and her, picking up on the unsaid tension between them. He's quiet. But, he's not stupid. Peter lets his features melt into a smile that puts Kallie at ease.

"Sweet!" Peter jostles her by the shoulders excitedly before opening the door for her. With a small glance at Shawn, she gets in the backseat. "Wait...is the sign for 'cabin' this...or...this?" He asks to distract her from whatever is upsetting her. She chuckles as he slides in next to her practicing two gestures that look similar, but neither are anywhere close to meaning 'cabin'.

Clenching his jaw, Shawn slides into the driver's seat and pulls out of the driveway. The usually short two-hour drive to Muskoka was going to feel a lot longer without Kallie up front with him.

The first time that the Mendes' took Kallie to their beautiful cabin at Lake Muskoka was the December after she had first met the boys. Before she was allowed to go, their parents had to meet her parents. They ended up getting along so well that they invited her parents and her sister along as well.

After finally pulling up next to the cabin, Shawn flings off his seatbelt and races toward the door. "I gotta use the bathroom!"

Both of their parents chuckle. "We told you not to drink a whole hot chocolate before we even left Pickering, son," Manny reminds him playfully.

The adults work on unloading the bags, while the rest of the kids pile out of the vehicles. Kallie's eyes are immediately drawn to the lake nearby, covered in white. "Woah," she breathes out, a little intimidated by how big it is.

"You remembered your skates right?" Peter asks from a few steps behind her. She nods silently, not wanting to say that they all had to go out and buy new ones for this trip.

Before Peter can make more conversation, Karen calls out to them, "Lunchtime first! Then, you can skate all you want!"

"I'm starving!" Kallie declares with a giggle as she loops her arm through his. He's a bit surprised but he doesn't say anything as they walk quickly back into the house.

Peter is helping Kallie shed her coat just when Shawn comes back from the restroom. "Kallie, come sit next to me! I'll share my Oreos with you," he entices her.

"Oh, okay!" She says with a small glance at Peter. Shawn is so excited that he runs to the dining room without looking back to save their seats. Leaning toward Peter, she whispers conspiratorially, "You can sit on my other side if you want."

He nods happily and they join everyone else for a quick but filling lunch. Raul is the first to finish. He practically flings his dishes in the sink before issuing a challenge. "Last one on the ice is a loser!"

There's a brief second of silence before the sounds of chairs scraping on wood and dishes clanging overlap. Each one hurries to put their dishes in the sink and get their winter gear back on. Shawn is second out the door not long after Raul, both carrying their hockey skates by the laces.

Cassie and Kallie are neck in neck as they fly through the door in their many layers with brand new ice skates in their mittened hands. They get to the edge of the lake and make quick work of changing their footwear. Cassie throws herself onto the ice in third place, not even caring that she has no idea how to work the skates.

When Kallie knots her last lace, she stands up and puts her mittens back on to dust off the snow on her jeans. She hesitates at the edge, uncertain of how to get started. Her right blade almost touches the ice when she hears the door close in the distance. She looks back to realize that Peter wasn't racing with everyone else.

He takes his time to make his way to the lake while the grownups file out of the cabin behind him. They go about getting the fire pit going so they would all have somewhere to warm up in between activities.

Peter has a bag slung over his shoulder that looks a lot like the one he keeps his drawing stuff in. Kallie was going to wait for him to catch up, but Shawn skids to a stop mere inches from her.

"Let's go, Kal!" He urges and takes her hand to pull her onto the ice. "Once you get going, it'll feel easy!" She tries to protest as he pulls her further onto the ice, too far away from the bank to leap to safety.

Her skates glide along easily as Shawn skates backward, pulling her by the hands. She looks up to see Raul skating in a figure eight, while her older sister seems to be catching on fast. Raul breaks his formation to speed past and bump Shawn's shoulder.

"Hey! I'm gonna get you for that!" Without thinking, he lets go of Kallie's hands to chase after Raul.

She automatically bends over slightly to gain some kind of balance, arms outstretched in front of her in case she falls. Slowly, she pushes off one foot to slide a little faster. An excited giggle escapes her as she continues to practice this in a safe little circle.

Deciding that she's got the basics down, she stands up straight. Her arms stay poised to catch her if something bad happens but she manages to skate in a wider circle. She picks up speed and feels the cold wind whip at her face.

A little further ahead, she sees that her path is going to cross with Shawn and Raul's. The two of them were done with tag and were now racing in a circle. This makes Kallie realize very urgently that no one taught her how to stop.

Panicking, she tries to veer to the left. The tip of her skate catches a chip in the ice and sends her sprawling toward the bank of the lake. She sits up with a hiss, clutching the knee that took most of the impact.

"Kalliope!" She turns toward the sound of her name and finds Peter gliding toward her from the bank. She watches the way he tips his foot upward to use the back of his blade as a brake. He squats down beside her and looks at her knee. "Are you okay?"

She purses her lips and looks away, embarrassed about the crash and burn. "Yeah, it's just scraped," she mumbles, noticing his drawing materials scattered around his bag as if he dropped them in a hurry.

"Then, let's go again," he replies simply and stands up while holding out his hands for her. Kallie turns her head sharply toward him. "I promise I won't let go of you until you want me to."

His reassuring but crooked smile made all of her embarrassment go away. He doesn't care that she's bad at skating. It also made her happy that he would stop doing his favorite thing to teach her how to skate. So, she grabs his hands and lets him help her up.

Peter begins explaining all the "do's and dont's" of skating on lake ice. Apparently, it's different from skating rink ice. He tells her a fun fact about penguins and she laughs, bringing Shawn's attention back to her once again.

He skates over quickly and takes her hand that's not clutching Peter's forearm. "I can teach her from here! You probably want to go back to drawing anyway," he dismisses Peter.

"I don't wanna slow you down," she offers. "You play with Raul while I learn the ropes and tomorrow you can teach me hockey!" He looks at her skeptically, glancing to Peter on the other side of her who is pretending to be very interested in his skates. "Promise."

He nods. "Okay, if you're sure..." Kallie smiles in return and Shawn can't help but smile back. "Be careful, okay?"

"Always, duh," she teases before turning back to Peter. Shawn hears the conversation fade as Peter leads her around the lake. "So, penguins really build nests out of rocks?" She laughs.

He nods with a chuckle before spending the better part of two hours patiently teaching her how to skate. Once he's sure she's got it, he lets go and watches her glide ahead of him. She's so enraptured in skating that it takes a minute to realize he's not holding her hand.

Kallie immediately digs her heel into the ice and turns back. "Hey!" She crosses her arms with a pout as he skates up to her.

"What?" He laughs, "you were doing amazing!"

Her lip quivers the slightest bit and she avoids looking directly at him. "You promised you wouldn't let go," she murmurs.

"Kalliope," Peter breathes out her full name guiltily, "I'm really sorry. You were just doing so good and that's how mom and dad taught us how to ride bikes...so I figured..." he trails off with a shrug.

She sniffles and he's unsure if it's because she's sad or because of the cold. "Don't do it again," she pleads before carefully unfolding her arms to her sides.

"Promise," he instinctually replies. She raises her eyebrows at him. "For real this time." Peter grins and takes her hand tightly in his. Kallie can't help but smile as he pulls her along the edge of the lake.

"Moms! Look! I'm doing it!" She yells in excitement at her mothers. They both get up and quickly make their way to the edge of the lake with their cameras.

Proud looks cross their faces as they capture the two of them skating close together, hands tightly clutching each other. Manny and Karen come up behind them and share a knowing adult look. Cassie skates over to get in the pictures before Raul and Shawn join. Soon there's a picture of the five of them all wrapped around each other that they have framed and hanging on the living room wall of the cabin.

Kallie runs her fingers along the wooden frame of that picture in the living room, in the exact space on the wall that it's been hanging for about twelve years. She grins momentarily, the nostalgia quickly fading to sadness as the reality of it all hits her. This is probably the last summer they're gonna spend together here.

As the door creaks open and the boys clatter inside with arms full of bags and laughing, she shakes herself out of the sad mood. "I could've helped carry my stuff in, ya know!" She chuckles and moves to close the door behind them.

"That is absolutely not happening on our watch!" Shawn spouts nonsense while he struggles to keep a grip on her duffles.

She nods empathetically before taking them out of his hands with zero effort. "Seems like you need to hit the gym, Mendes," she digs at him as he automatically stands up straighter without the extra weight of her bags.

Kallie makes her way upstairs toward the bedrooms while the boys stare after her. "How is she doing that?" Shawn muses out loud and with a little envy.

"When did she get more ripped than you, bro?" Raul teases to Shawn's chagrin.

Peter interrupts as he walks backward toward the stairs. "She's always been able to carry her weight. You two have just always been too busy staring at her ass to notice." With a smirk, he spins around and jogs up the stairs, bags slung over his shoulders.

"Okay..." Shawn stretches out the word. "But, when did the runt start lifting like that?" Raul laughs out loud while he jostles Shawn's shoulders and shoves him toward the stairs.

When they were younger, the boys would share one room, the girls another, and both sets of parents had one to themselves. Since they're here by themselves, each could have their own for the whole summer. Kallie stands in the hallway debating which one to take as the boys catch up to her.

"What are you doing?" Raul questions with a chuckle. "Unpack so we can hit the lake before dark!"

She looks between the four doors and then the three boys. "Who's staying in what room, though?"

"Well, which one do you want?" Peter asks her and she quirks her brows together.

"Whichever one is left after you guys pick." She says it so simply. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The boys loved that about her. She always made sure they were taken care of.

"Dibs on mom and dad's old room, then!" Raul shouts before taking off toward the end of the hall.

"No fair!" Shawn shouts after him.

"I'm the oldest! Of course, it's fair!" He calls back.

Peter chimes in with a laugh. "Technically, Kallie is the oldest! But, whatever!" He shrugs.

"Guess I'll take our old room," Shawn sighs, unhappy with being cheated out of the master bedroom.

As he wanders back in the direction of the stairs, Peter touches Kallie's elbow gently. "You okay?" She'd gone quiet since looking at the door to the girls' old room.

"Mhm," she takes a deep breath and zones back in on Peter's concerned look, "promise." She forces a small smile.

"You can have the room your moms used," he offers kindly. "I don't mind staying in the smallest one."

When she glances back at the door, she can't bring herself to disagree. "Thank you..." she says quietly. He nods in understanding. "I haven't been able to go in there since..."

"I know." He takes her hand and squeezes it before going to settle into his room. She stands there for a second more before heading to her moms' old room and unpacking briefly.

That room holds a lot of memories for her. For all of them really. Not all of them good ones, though. She finds her favorite swimsuit and throws it on before putting her hair in a single braid. Meeting the boys out front, she doesn't fail to notice how all of their gazes linger on the dips and curves of her body. She shakes it off and heads to the water with them in tow.

Later that night after everyone's showered and dinner was long over, she sits on the bed in her room scrolling through Pinterest for new recipes to try. A knock draws her attention to the doorway where Raul leans against it.

"Hey," she sets her phone in her lap, "need something?"

He shrugs, almost stepping into the room but hesitating. "Just wanted to make sure you're doing okay," he confesses. Kallie takes a deep breath. "We haven't been back here since senior year..."

"Yeah, I know," she deadpans and looks toward the window. She closes her eyes and sighs. "Sorry. Thank you, I'm fine."

This time, he doesn't hesitate to enter and sit at the edge of her bed. "You don't have to apologize. It's okay to not be fine." He sets his ringed hand atop her knee over the blanket.

"I know," Kallie pauses, "I know that." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than him. "It just feels wrong to not be fine, ya know?" She shrugs and plays with the yarn of the blanket.

He chuckles lightly. "It's also okay to be fine." She glances at him before he continues. "I know you miss her. But, you can miss her and move on. Lin wouldn't want you to be sad forever. That's not who she was," he comforts her.

"I don't wanna move on, Raul," she whimpers finally and reaches her arms out to him. He instantly brings his arms around her waist and squeezes her tight.

"That was a poor choice of words on my part," he admits into her hair. "I meant..." he pauses, struggling for the right thing to say as he rubs her back soothingly.

Kallie rubs her nose along his neck and he stills. "I know what you meant." She sniffles and pulls back from him, wiping at her wet eyes. "Thank you."

"I'm just down the hall if you need anything," he promises as he gets up. She smiles softly at him as he leans in and kisses her forehead. Sighing at the soft gesture, her eyes close in response. "Night, Kit Kat."

She fights a grin. "Night, Playboy."

Kallie lays back on her pillows as Raul leaves. She's about to turn out the lights when Shawn walks by toward his room. "Hey," she calls softly. He freezes and backtracks a few steps to be in the open doorway.

"Hey, Kal," he replies while sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Her eyes flick to his chest and his lack of a shirt before reeling in her thoughts. "Everything okay?"

He heads into her room and closes the door behind him by habit. Her eyes widen and he realizes what he did. Shawn turns back to open it but she stops him. "It's okay, you can leave it closed," she chuckles.

"Right..." He makes his way over to her and sits gingerly on the bed. For a minute, they just sit in silence. It stretches on awkwardly since they haven't really talked since she asked for a 'pause' on their pact. "I'm really sor-"

"I just wanted to-" They both pause after talking over each other and giggle. "You go." She nudges his hand with hers, leaving it close by but not touching.

He nods. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how I acted this morning," he begins timidly. "It was wrong of me to accuse you of anything and to not trust you."

"It's okay," Kallie responds automatically even though Shawn shakes his head. "No, it really is. I get the whole sibling jealousy thing. It's not as intense with my sister but I get it," she chuckles and he cracks a grin. "You're all my best friends and I don't want to cause trouble between you three..."

Shawn sighs. "Is that why you paused us?" He questions. Slowly, she nods and he closes his eyes to compose himself. "Thank god," he breathes out. When he opens his eyes, she has a confused look on her face. "I'm relieved that it's not because of me or something," he laughs.

"No!" She laughs too. "I guess I just wanted to cut it off before any complications started messing with our Musketeer dynamic." His eyebrows scrunch together, wondering what she meant by that. "Never mind," she scoffs, changing the subject, "I'm glad we cleared this up though, eh?"

He blinks a couple of times, his mind trying to find what exactly has been 'cleared up.' "So, this means..." Shawn stalls, hopefully sending the message for her to finish the sentence.

She giggles and finishes it, "That once we go back to Toronto...we can unpause." His lips pull into an elated grin, causing her cheeks to blush for no reason. "We're all gonna be really busy, but if our schedules allow...then, yes. We can unpause," she informs him.

"Yes!" He cheers before catching himself and regaining composure. Clearing his throat, he responds, "I mean, thank you. I would very much like that. And I promise to keep my jealousy in check from now on."

Kallie nods like it's an appropriate response. "As you should," she giggles.

"I'm gonna leave before you change your mind," he declares. Before he does, Shawn leans in and places his lips on hers briefly but passionately. He pulls back with a knowing look. "Just to leave you wanting more until the next time, eh," he teases as he practically sprints to the door.

She throws a pillow at him and misses. "Goodnight, you heathen!" He rolls his eyes and disappears down the hall.

After a moment, Kallie turns out her light and closes her eyes to go to sleep. She tosses and turns for a while before throwing the blankets off of her in frustration. She grabs her phone and unplugs her charger from the wall before creeping down the hallway.

Quietly, she raps her knuckles on the bedroom door a few times. A few seconds pass and she hears him call out in a whisper-yell, "It's open!" She carefully opens the door, trying not to make it creak, and peeks her head in.

"Hi." She hesitates in the doorway, looking around and then at her feet. Taking a deep breath, she tip-toes in, closing the door behind her with a light 'click.'

Peter turns his book over and lays it open in his lap when he realizes she just walked into the room she hasn't step foot in in almost four years. "Hey, Kalliope." She smiles softly as her full name leaves his lips. Kallie doesn't know why, but he's always called her by her full name. And he's the only one who does.

"I forgot to bring Copper," she admits, dragging her feet as she walks toward the bed. Silently, he flips the blankets over so she can crawl in next to him. He knows she can never sleep without her stuffed fox. The only way she can is if she can cuddle someone in his place.

Kallie quickly tosses him her charger to plug in. Then with a childlike grin, she crawls over him to settle in under the blankets. Peter looks away as the T-shirt that she's wearing lifts up, exposing her underwear slightly. He didn't want to, but he notices that they were men's boxer briefs and he has to stifle a laugh. Kallie always prefers comfort over anything else, gender norms be damned.

She's about to cuddle into his side when she realizes that he's shirtless. Swallowing slightly, she tries not to rake her eyes over his smooth chest and the way his butterfly tattoo accentuates his bicep. You wouldn't know it when he's wearing his sweaters, but Peter stays fit.

"I can put on a shirt if it'd make you more comfortable." He snaps her out of her daze when he notices her staring.

Kallie quickly makes her eyes meet his warm caramel ones. "No, you don't have to do that," she breathes out, "I was honestly just thinking about the last time I saw you shirtless."

"Oh..." A blush crawls along his neck and up to his cheeks. "It's been a minute, eh?" He chuckles. She tips her head to the side and pulls up one shoulder in a shrug with a giggle.

With a comfortable atmosphere, she scoots closer and he lifts his arm to make more room. Kallie leans up and kisses him on his cheek, lingering a second longer than usual. He breathes in deeply, notes of cherry blossom drifting from her hair. When she pulls back she looks at him for a second before laying her head down on his chest.

He makes sure she's comfortable before pulling the blankets back up and positioning his book so that he can hold it with one hand. His other gently caresses her side and rubs circles into her back. Peter begins to read out loud even though Kallie doesn't know what the book is about. Truthfully, she never cares. She likes him reading out loud to her because of the sound of his voice mixing with his heartbeat under her ear.

Occasionally, he lifts his hand up to play with her hair or run his fingers along her scalp. She hums contently and cuddles closer when he does. He finishes his chapter and sets the book on the nightstand before turning out the light. He wraps both arms around her and settles into the pillows.

His hand finds hers in the darkness laces their fingers together. Carefully, he brings her knuckles to his lips and lets them linger there. When he's finished, he rubs her knuckles with his thumb. "Goodnight, Kalliope," he whispers, assuming she's asleep.

Kallie's head nuzzles his chest and he feels her lips brush the skin of his collarbone before pressing in for a long moment. She angles her head up to his ear and whispers back, "Goodnight, Peppermint."

Tag List: @marissje​ @mariamuses​

[godlydolans]

Something Borrowed {e.d.}

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N was the woman Ethan Dolan cheated on his wife with and between the wife and the mistress, the wife always wins. Well, three years later, the wife is no longer alive and Ethan has recently found out he has a son with the woman he had left.

Warning: Angst and a confusing plot.

A/N: Guys, I am so sorry for this mess of a fic. I've been building this universe in my head for almost a year but I seriously can't write so please enjoy whatever abomination I've written down and do feel free to ask me any questions you may have about the plot, characters, etc. I know I haven't done a good job explaining everything in this fic.

At 9 o’clock on Christmas night, Y/N found herself in Elijah’s room, somehow squeezing her form into his bed with him tucked into her left side while Irina was laying her head on Y/N’s right side. Y/N couldn’t quite fit into the bed which was meant for her three year old little boy, but she still managed. Her legs dangled over the edge and she basically had to lay Irina on top of her in order to fit all three of them together but she really didn’t mind.

“And finally, they got Cinderella to try on the shoe.” Her son didn’t like to go to bed without hearing a story from her. Elijah was very much like her in that aspect, he loved hearing stories just as much as he loved telling them. When Y/N was young, her grandma was the person who’d tell her all these exotic tales before she’d go to sleep. Since her son didn’t have a grandma until recently, Y/N took on the role of the storyteller, reading baby books to him ever since he was in her womb. Usually, Elijah didn’t ask to hear princessy tales because he had already heard lol of them so Y/N always did her research on new stories so she could deliver her son with stories he’d never heard before. But since his beloved sister was spending the night for the first time and it was her wish to hear Cinderella’s story, Y/N launched right into it. “And guess what?”

Irina’s little head popped up from Y/N’s arm and she gasped, her blue eyes wide in wonder. “The shoe fit her?!”

“Yes!” She answered with equal enthusiasm. “The shoe fit her perfectly because it was made especially for her by her fairy godmother, you know?”

“And so the Prince married her?” Asked Elijah, making Y/N turn her head to look at her son. He had heard the tale many times but the smile he wore on his face at this part of the story always made her heart happy. Her precious boy always beamed with joy when poor Cinderella finally got her happy ending. Elijah was a sucker for happy endings.

Much like she used to be when she was his age.

“Yeah babe, the Prince was informed by his soldiers that they found his Cinderella and he came to her house in his white horse, took her to his Palace and made her his Queen.” Y/N smiled, pulling Elijah closer to her. The temperature outside had dropped below freezing. Snow could be seen falling from the sky, through the glass window the curtains of which were not drawn completely.

“And she lives happily ever after?” Irina grinned, hope laced into every word.

“And she lived happily ever after.” Y/N confirmed with a smile on her own face.

“The Prince was handsome, Y/N?” Was Irina’s next question.

“He was very handsome, babe. And he was very kind-hearted. He loved Cinderella and he never let anyone hurt her ever again.”

“He was handsomer than my daddy?” Irina stared up at y/n with wide, inquisitive eyes and Y/N’s heart sank.

Was he 'handsomer' than her daddy? Y/N looked at the curly hair on top of Irina’s head and immediately got reminded of the times she spent with Irina’s daddy’s head on her bosom while she lazily ran her fingers through his curls. She looked at Elijah and the hazel eyes he fixed on her made her remember all those nights she spent talking to his daddy about anything and everything, wrapped up in her white sheets and his strong arms. Her son looked heartbreakingly similar to his father. Irina had bits and pieces of her mother’s features in her, but Elijah almost didn’t possess any physical features from Y/N.

It was something that had made her cry overwhelmed tears when she’d first held him in her arms after bringing him into the world. Ethan was etched into every feature of her son. That fact just made pushing his memories out of her head that much more difficult. She still managed to do it though and she is proud of that fact.

“He was handsome like your daddy, sweetheart.” Y/N settled for the simple answer. She didn’t want to tell Irina that the Prince was more handsome than her father. That might have started an argument if she’d have gotten offended. Also, Y/N didn’t want to say yes to a question like that because if she was being honest with herself, there really could be no one more handsome than Ethan. Yes, there could be people just as handsome as him, but not more handsome than him.

Elijah was slowly dozing off beside Y/N and Irina had yawned twice since the story ended. They had had a long day today. It was Christmas, after all. Elijah had been the happiest little munchkin the whole day, spending his first Christmas with his father and his family. A happy Elijah meant a hyper Elijah. He had been so hyper the whole day, the poor boy had exhausted himself by the time dinner rolled around.

“Y/N?” Irina whispered, her hand came up to Y/N’s cheek and she turned the older woman’s face to look down at her. Y/N raised an eyebrow and smiled at Irina’s cute gesture. Y/N hadn’t known the little girl that long, but she noticed how Irina liked to hold people’s faces while talking to them. It was like she didn’t want the eye contact to break. She didn’t like it when people looked elsewhere while talking to her. “You are very pretty.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at those words.

“Like a princess. And I like your voice.” The little girl was smiling with her eyes and she looked exactly like her mother when she smiled. Y/N’s heart squeezed painfully at the resemblance. This little girl was adorable and she liked Y/N. If only she knew how much her mother had hated Y/N, she wouldn’t be smiling up at her with twinkling eyes.

Irina would hate her too.

Y/N was no princess.

Blinking back the tears that were slowly gathering into her eyes, Y/N cleared her throat and managed to push out a small smile. Hers wasn’t as genuine as Irina’s. Then again, she wasn’t an innocent little girl like Irina.

“Thank you, Irina. You are really pretty too.” Y/N brushed her curly hair back and kissed her forehead. “And it’s time to sleep now, okay?” Irina nodded. “If you need anything, come to my room.”

Giving a sleeping Elijah a kiss good night, Y/N slipped out of bed and covered the little kids with Elijah’s blanket. Turning the lights off, she turned for the door but halted when she found Ethan leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed at his chest and a small smile on his lips. Y/N blushed to the root of her hair. “Ethan?”

He pushed himself off the doorframe and began walking toward her. “Just wanted to say good night to the kiddos.”

Y/N nodded, stepping aside so he could get to Irina. She watched silently as he leaned down and kissed the side of Irina’s head, causing her to smile and kiss his cheek in return.

“Good night, princess.”

“Good night, Daddy!”

Ethan then walked over to Elijah’s side and gave his forehead a kiss. Y/N curled her arms around herself, the tears coming back up. She had never thought her baby boy would ever get to experience a father’s love. She didn’t think he would even get to meet Ethan. Watching Ethan with Elijah never failed to make her eyes water. Ethan was smiling down at his children, watching Irina turn to her side and throw her arm around Elijah as she closed her eyes. He thought he would break down in tears right then and there.

“I love you two.”

Feeling like an outsider watching Ethan interact with his children, Y/N quietly exited the room and decided to distract herself with cleaning up the table and doing the dishes. It worked for some time before Ethan decoded to join her there too. She didn’t even have to turn and look to know he was in the kitchen. She could sense his presence, feel his molten honey gaze on her back. Closing her eyes, she sighed.

She had spent three long years mastering the art of blocking off each and every thought of Ethan’s from her mind. When he had left her, it had felt like her whole world had stopped. She hadn’t been the woman she used to be before Ethan and she certainly was not the woman she was with Ethan. He had left and he had forever changed a part of her. It felt like he’d almost flipped the switch of emotions in her when he’d left her. The only person she loved from that day till today, was her son.

Yet, she still managed to sense his presence whenever he entered a room. She didn’t like that one bit.

Without lifting her gaze from the bowl she was cleaning, Y/N said, “Thank you.”

“For?” Ethan inquired. She had put her hair up in a bun which made her slender neck look longer from the back. Y/N had always been stunning but she somehow got even more beautiful in all these years she spent away from Ethan.

“You know what for.” Y/N turned just enough to flash him a barely there smile. It took him by surprise because although it was barely a smile, her lips had still tipped up and that was the most he had gotten from her recently. Y/N Y/L/N didn’t smile. Not at Ethan, she didn’t. Ethan dared to walk closer to her until he was standing beside her. “You didn’t have to bring Elijah back but you did.”

Y/N wasn’t close with her parents and she had no siblings so she and Elijah only had each other to celebrate Christmas with. Her baby boy never had any family besides herself in all the three years of his life because his father had left her before she even knew she was pregnant with his child. She had tried to tell Ethan about her pregnancy after she had found out but he had never picked up her calls. After giving birth to Elijah all alone, no one there to sit with her and hold her hand as she went through the worst pain of her life, Y/N had given Ethan one last call.

That one had been picked up but not by Ethan. It had been his wife on the line. The same wife he had cheated on, with her. Y/N had never called his phone ever again.

Three years later, life so cruelly brought Ethan back to her doorstep and he found out he had another child besides his precious daughter. Y/N let Ethan into her sons life because he was his father, he had the right to know his son. She didn’t want to take away Elijah’s chance of knowing his father either, so with Ethan came his extended family and Elijah finally had a big family.

He adored his uncle and aunt and, oh lord, did he love his grammy Lisa with all his heart. Today was the first Christmas Elijah was to spend with Ethan and his family and Y/N had allowed Ethan to keep him for the day.

There was no chance of Y/N tagging along for the celebrations because none of Ethan’s family liked her. Why would they? She had been the other woman in Ethan’s marriage.

The thought made her wince.

Y/N had been totally prepared to spend Christmas alone but late in the afternoon, the doorbell had rung and she had opened the door to a very hyper Elijah, a smiling Irina and Ethan wishing you a merry Christmas.

He had brought Elijah back for her but when he and Irina began to leave, Elijah started crying. He had been so happy all day, Y/N didn’t want to be the reason for his tears so she asked Ethan to stay.

And now here they were.

“I couldn’t take away your son from you on Christmas day.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Her eyes came up to his for a split second before she looked back down. Ethan wanted to take both her hands in his and place a kiss on each hand. He wanted to take her face in his hands and make her look into his eyes. He wanted to lean in and kiss her rosy lips until she smiled.

She always used to smile when he used to kiss her. Ever since she came back into his life, Ethan had barely seen her smile if she wasn’t directing it at her son. It pained him to see how hollow her eyes always looked when she wasn’t looking at her son.

He had broken something in her when he’d told her he couldn’t continue to see her because he’d gotten his wife pregnant, three years ago. He had seen the colour drain from her face that day when he’d told her he was going to mend his marriage and the first step in that direction was breaking things off with her. She hadn’t said anything then, just like she doesn’t say anything now.

Ethan wished she would let him mend her. He wanted to fix what he had broken all those years ago. He desperately wanted back the Y/N who had mended him when his strained relationship with his wife had broken him.

It’s ironic how Y/N came into his life when he was at his lowest and she helped him feel again. She offered him a shoulder to lean on when he desperately needed one, she offered him her beautiful kind smiles, her welcoming arms, her encouraging words, her heart.

It’s funny how Iris never did.

And it’s sad how he threw it all in her face and left.

“Y/N,” Ethan reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a blue velvet box. She frowned at him when he extended it to her. “Merry Christmas.”

Y/N was looking at him with confusion swimming in her eyes. It was like she couldn’t fathom why he’d get her something for Christmas. God, what had he done to her? She questioned every little thing people did for her, like she could simply not stomach the fact that people could still offer her things without asking her for something in return.

“You didn’t have to do this.” She spoke barely above a whisper and her hands remained at her sides. She didn’t once try to take the present from Ethan.

“I wanted to.” He admitted, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed in nervousness. His cheeks were feeling hot.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“You have given me Elijah. What gift can be more precious than that?” Ethan genuinely didn’t deserve to slide into her and Elijah’s life as easily as she let him. He had honestly thought Y/N would be difficult about him spending time with her son. She had single handedly raised him thus far, Ethan had never even known he had a child apart from Irina and it wasn’t Y/N’s fault he hadn’t known. It had been him who had ignored all her calls when she’d tried to tell him. He had thought she would just ask him to see her again, that if he got back in contact with her, she would somehow convince him to fall back into her and he couldn’t let that happen. He had promised Iris that Y/N had been a mistake and that he would never do anything to jeopardise the relationship he had with her again.

Well, Iris was now buried in St. Jude’s Cemetery and Y/N ?

It seemed like he had killed a part of the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

Right now, she was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t comprehend. She looked pretty indifferent still, but those eyes held a spark in them. And then she spoke what was on her mind and Ethan’s heart shattered. “Are you giving me this as a payment for having Elijah and and raising hi-“

Ethan’s eyes widened and he instantly dropped his hand back to his side. “What?! Y/N, is this how low you think of me? I would never-I just wanted to give you a Christmas present, that was it.”

“Why though? I’m not your family? I’m not your friend? I’m basically a stranger to yo-“ There it was. That flicker of emotion in her eyes. She didn’t look indifferent anymore. She looked angry.

“A stranger?” Ethan whispered in disbelief, every word that came out of her mouth slicing a gaping wound into his heart. “After everything we’ve had-“

Ethan noticed how Y/N locked her jaw at his words and crossed her arms across her chest. A defensive stance, a brace to protect her heart.

“What have we had, Ethan? Huh?”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll tell you. We were nothing but fuck buddies.”

Ethan winced, bile rising to his throat. His fist tightened around the velvet box exactly how Y/N’s words tightened an invisible fist around his heart.

“We fucked and you used me to numb the pain your alcoholic wife caused you and when you didn’t need me anymore after her recovery, you left. Simple as that.” Y/N’s throat felt chocked up, revisiting the darkness that had started in her heart and slowly spread everywhere, both inside and out. She gave him everything she had, went against everything she had taught herself about self preservation, brought all her walls down so he could enter and ruin her. He did exactly that. “I was the other woman and women like us get exactly what I got. I got you for a few months and I dared to forget that you would always belong to your wife. You did the right thing, going back to her. You did the right thing by not leaving the woman you married for the whore you cheated on her with.”

“Stop!” Ethan saw red when she called herself a whore. She didn’t even flinch, didn’t even blink. She just stared at him with the same indifferent look in her eyes that haunted him in his dreams. Those eyes held the entire universe once. Now, there wasn’t even a flicker of light in them.

What had he done? Had he really made her feel like she deserved what she got? Did she really think herself to be a whore? Ethan couldn’t even bare to think of the word and there she was, saying it like it meant nothing.

“Ethan. You don’t have to do all this for me.” Y/N pointed to the present he’d bought her. She didn’t even see what the box held inside it, she didn’t want to. “When you said you wanted to be in Elijah’s life, I understood we’d have to see each other sometimes. I’m his mother, you’re his father, that’s the only relationship we have. You don’t have to build another one.”

Ethan just stood there, stunned into silence while Y/N just turned right back to the sync and began loading up the dishes into the dishwasher. He couldn’t believe this was the same woman who was telling bedtime stories to his kids just a few minutes ago. She was a different person around Elijah, even Irina. It was like she only turned on her emotions for the kids and the rest of the world got her ice cold glare.

He didn’t realise he had been standing beside her, looking at her like he was trying to look for traces of the old her, but he got snapped out of his train of thoughts when she cut him a cold look and announced, “I’ve prepared the guest room for you. There are blankets and pillows and two water bottles. Ask me if you need anything else, I’ll be in my room.”

In direct words, she meant to say, “Leave me the fuck alone.” So he did just that. With a heavy heart, Ethan pocketed the necklace he had bought her, feeling hurt beyond measure that she didn’t even open the box and see it. Then again, what did he expect from a woman he screwed over so bad? He stole one last glance at her, hoping to find her looking at him but she was still very much engrossed in the dishes. Ethan pressed his lips together and made his way into the guest bed room.

That’s what he was in her house. A guest.

What had he done?