#I love all the bois tumblr actually asked if i was still alive- maybe ill post some old doodles-

[pokeydapuppy]

Happy 4th Anniversary!!!

Im busy but rather this than be late/never orz

I wanted to digitizalize this or make a different painting, but timings off so I drew this during class :">

Hooray for hypmic!!!

[sophiamcdougall]

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART TWO) I am back. I have barely eaten or slept and Tumblr has tried to murder me and this post multiple times, but I have survived. Thank you for your patience.

Part One of my attempt to explain the seismic experience that is 2020 Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is here. 

Ready? I assure you, you are not, but let’s proceed. So Sanremo rages pitilessly on.  Now everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone, including your humble recapper, is exhausted, but doing the gay/chaotic best they can.

As the final battle to save Amadeus, Rancore, Italy and THE WORLD approaches, Achille Lauro has a last message for the troops. And I’m not deducing this, he literally said it on Twitter. 

...Hold me I’m scared.

Meanwhile (sort of) (go with it) (time isn’t real at Sanremo)  a minor drama  has occurred offstage. Singer Tiziano Ferro made an ill-advised joke about Fiorello’s interminable comedy bits, some idiots on Twitter ran away with it, and poor Fiorello was upset! This is minuscule in Sanremo terms. But consider the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Consider hurricanes. But who is Tiziano Ferro?

Hold on. We’ll get to it. For now ...

Fiorello is dancing seductively for an absolutely delighted Amadeus while dressed as a rabbit. And wearing a blonde wig. Is there a rational explanation for this? I mean, sort of. But also no.

And then he worries Amadeus might give him herpes, which causes Amadeus to freaking snap.

“No, no!” yells the mercurial Fiorello. Amadeus isn’t worthy of his kisses yet. He ricochets out of Amadeus’s arms and into the audience and “passes on” the kiss to a guy in the front row. 

“Incredible things are going to happen tonight!” yells Amadeus, who has no fucking idea. ”Beautiful things,” corrects Fiorello. 

But just because Fiorello is a mayhem elemental on a mission of love doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings. 

Enter Italy’s sweetheart, Tiziano Ferro.

Actually, Tiziano’s been there all along. He’s the specialest of special guests, singing through basically his entire back catalogue every night. Which why it really was unfair of him to pick on Fiorello --   it’s not his fault he’s literally got to stand there and babble nonsense for aeons on end, Tiziano! He’s just serving the hungry chthonic entity that is Sanremo, same as you.  

While the gay mayhem (the gayhem, if you will) surges around him, Tiziano  has been fighting the good gay fight in his own steadfast way, so far untouched. His mere presence is a message of hope in itself, he knows this, and is determined to make it count. Ten years ago he was closeted, convinced coming out would end his career, and suicidal. Now happily married and gloriously successful, he is here to demonstrate that “it gets better”. He radiates such wholesome joy and resilience that everyone loves him.

So anyway, Tiziano didn’t mean to hurt anybody because he would never, and now he wants to make things right. So will Fiorello forgive him?

Ah, what better gesture of reconciliation than to goofily sing a  love song written by Fiorello himself. Of course Fiorello forgives Tiziano, because Fiorello loves everyone, good and bad, (after all he loves Amadeus the most). But he is also a chaos being, and he is working harder than anyone else to channel the divine madness of this deranged Sanremo Festival into anyone who gets close. Tiziano, watch out!

Seems TIziano naively thought he could lean in for a staged, nearly kiss, but  Fiorello’s very soul is antithetical to “nearly” anything.

“My husband’s going to divorce me!”  wails poor Tiziano, but Fiorello has never felt so alive. This is Sanremo, bitches. Rules like “sixty-year-old men can’t be danger twinks, Fiorello,” have ceased to apply. He is an apostle of Achille Lauro, he has accepted the sermon of Benigni into his heart: it is time for PHYSICAL LOVE. While not quite ready (yet) to fuck everyone in the orchestra pit, he is throbbing with readiness, to frolic all over the theatre giving all the guys he can get his hands on THE KISSES OF HIS MOUTH.

Naturally this sparks further firestorms of chaos. “Do it again!” begs grizzled rocker and high-ranking competitor Piero Pelù. Electrified by the touch of Fiorello’s lips, he is later to be found running shirtless through the auditorium where he steals a handbag.

Everyone is kissing everyone, age and orientation be damned. Summoned by the gay sorcery unfolding, 65-year-old queer rock goddess Gianna Nanini manifests and is kissed worshipfully on the lips by 36-year-old duet partner Coez.

There’s also some kind of song competition going on I guess. 

This happens:

That’s Ghali, GUYS, IT’S NOT WORKING, rappers ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES ALL OVER THIS STAGE, WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.

(...  it isn’t really Ghali and don’t worry. This is a gag? Which I still don’t really get? And nor does sweet anarchist cherub Fiorello whom we will later discover is currently being physically restrained from rushing onstage to tend to the fallen rapper’s wounds.)

The real Ghali raps in Arabic which among other things is a big old “me ne frego” of his own to Italian Trump-tribute act and failed wannabe prime minister Matteo Salvini. Then he gets close to Fiorello, which can only end one way.

All the boys are crazy for Fiorello’s kisses but Amadeus still can’t have any

It’s already a difficult night for Amadeus.  TV presenter Antonella Clerici enters and far from standing a step beside him, righteously rips the piss out of him, which to be fair he accepts with grace.

And as for Achille Lauro ... ...No.  Patience. The time to bear witness to the last stand of Achille Lauro is not yet come. There are other forces stirring at Sanremo.

Chaos has its dark side.

The gun on stage is cocked and loaded. This is it. ENTER MORGAN.

... and enter Bugo,  who trails in behind Morgan, looking dazed and haunted. But whatever, it’s a million o’clock in the morning, aren’t we all. 

They start to play.  Italian Tumblr dozes fitfully on its sofa, idly crackshipping Amadeus and Fiorello. Utterly unprepared.

So most of us don’t notice what’s happening ...

... until the music just stops.

No one’s paid attention to the Morgan and Bugo in days. As far as I’m concerned Fabrizio Moro has already been avenged and my bloodlust is slaked.  The song - apparently written wholly by Bugo - honestly, isn’t bad, but Morgan’s been tuneless throughout and their duet/cover last night was cringeable. There have been some major reversals in the rankings but at this point there’s almost no way they’re going to be one of them.  And Morgan is not happy.

So Morgan changed the lyrics (and this isn’t even last-minute improv, he fucking printed it) to attack the one person who still had faith in him, blaming Bugo and Bugo alone for their poor performance so far. On live TV. In front of millions. After screaming at Bugo backstage just minutes ago. And he expects Bugo to just stand there and take it.

"Me ne frego to that shit,” thinks Bugo, and becomes the unexpected self-care hero of Sanremo as he vanishes into the night.

And that’s how I learned the Italian word for pandemonium. 

Morgan has the absolute nerve to ask what’s going on. Amadeus breaks out in visible cold sweat. Fiorello is thrown bodily onstage to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING, OH MY GOD.

It’s long past midnight and a bunch of worried middle-aged men in sparkly jackets are scampering around yelping “Bugo? Bugo! BUGO? BUGO!!!” and that, I am here to tell you, when you are already delirious from exhaustion and shitposting-induced hysteria, is more than enough to tip you right over the edge.

Italian Tumblr resigns itself to never sleeping again.The memes aren’t going to make themselves. 

Translation: ”Is Bugo there?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s Bugo gone?” “I have to go and see where Bugo is.” “Bugo left.” “BUGO!”

Morgan wants vengeance. Fiorello, adorably indifferent to the fact that he was shoved on stage to, you know, entertain the audience, wants to find the missing waif, wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup. So they both rush offstage and Amadeus is left alone in a living anxiety dream.

The audience are booing.  The 70th fucking Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is falling to pieces on his watch. For all he knows murder is going on backstage and he picked known powder-keg and scoundrel Morgan for the Festival. The buck stops with him. And he has no lines, no back-up, no idea what to do about it.

And then Fiorello, angel of misrule, avatar of lawlessness and love, strolls back onstage. He looks confident and relaxed, like a man with all the answers.  Which he is.

“Have you got Bugo?” Amadeus inquires desperately.

NO RULES, NO MASTERS, NO SPONSORSHIP MONEY. ME NE FREGO.

Everything is broken. And somehow everything is OK.

Everyone, Amadeus included, bursts into hysterical, cathartic laughter.

“Is this my fault?” Amadeus asks. “YES!” crows Fiorello, lovingly forcing Amadeus to face his sins and his nightmares in a healing atmosphere of radical acceptance and mass psychosis.

And that’s how Amadeus learned that the real Sanremo was inside us all along.  And what he needs in this glorious maelstrom was never a beautiful woman standing a step behind him. It’s a chaos pixie dream boy at his side.

It’s time to cast out toxic masculinity and become a better man.

So Amadeus wraps up the show as best he can and then out of pure human compassion, he and Fiorello personally wander the streets of Sanremo looking for Bugo until four in the morning.

Bugo and Morgan are automatically disqualified

And now let us witness the final passion of Achille Lauro. Who is this Achlle Lauro kid anyway? How intentional is all this? Is he the Messiah, or a very naughty boy?

SO YEAH. Anyway, everyone’s wondering what the fuck Achille and his producer/guitarist Boss Doms (yes, really) are going to do, and BE, next. Achille’s first three looks were inspired by St Francis of Assisi, David Bowie, and Marchesa Luisa Casati. 

So ... Freddie Mercury, maybe? Elizabeth I? Jesus Christ?  And after the flurry of kissing Fiorello whipped up .. 

Will they ... can they ... dare they...

Do you even need to ask?

I have no idea how the crazy bastards who guessed “Elizabeth I” did it. 

Achille thrusts his hips against Boss’s backside. Drops to his knees before him and lets the shape of the microphone speak for itself. Briefly chokes him. And throughout they are tender, elegant, and utterly, regally dignified.

And then, at last.

A  joyous chorus of maenad-like shrieks rings out across Europe. If you’re in the Greater London area and your ears are still sore, I’m sorry. That was me. 

That’s it. Achille Lauro and Boss Doms ascend into heaven and pass into history. 

Not even they can give more to Sanremo.

The dust settles. 

The dawn breaks.

WE FUCKING DID IT! RANCORE LIVES! WOUNDED (as are we all) BUT SMILING AT A WORLD TRANSFORMED! (Not only that but, after starting at the bottom of the leaderboard he’s been catapulted up into the top ten and wins the special prize for Best Lyrics!)

And Amadeus?

Well, let’s hear from him in his own words.

Because Fiorello asked him to, Amadeus is wearing a blonde wig to look like legendary TV host Maria de Filippi. Amadeus doesn’t normally sing, but because Fiorello asks him to, he joins him in song.“A WORLD OF LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!” they chorus. It’s the hymn of the new day. 

“He can make me do anything!” Amadeus sighs to the audience. So Fiorello asks him to slow-dance.  And they do.

The prophecy has been fulfilled. Amadeus has let love into his heart. He has surrendered to the holy power of gay chaos. He is a man reborn. 

He didn’t find Bugo on that long, gruelling dark night of the soul, because incredibly,  poor Bugo never left the theatre and spent the night literally hiding in a cupboard.

But he found something else. 

As Sanremo finally, mercifully approaches its end, Fiorello grapples him close and, all teasing cast aside, whispers fiercely in his ear:

And somehow it was.

And toxic masculinity?

To find out why don’t we - and I am sorry about this - check in on Matteo Salvini who would normally be rage-tweeting up a Trump-style storm by now. He loves bitching about Sanremo for being “rigged by the left”  or occasionally letting a non-lily-white performer win, and this year he even tried to organise a boycott. Let’s see how that’s going.

This, the gayest-ever Sanremo in history, is the most-watched Sanremo in 18 years, with an incredible 60% audience share.

“Me Ne Frego” flies to the top of the Spotify charts.  (And though the judges are still cowards and traitors who left Achille in 8th place, there is no doubt across the media who the real star of the festival was. ) And Salvini’s “boycott” just meant he effectively banned himself from making a peep about it.

So who won the festival?

ALL OF US.

Oh, you meant literally.

This guy. His name is Diodato and his song is called “Fai Rumore” (Make a Sound.) It’s fine.

And that was Sanremo. It wasn’t a dream, it was a place. And you, and you, and you were there.

[s-n-a-k-e-p-i-t]

simple questions / draco x hermione

A/N: coming @ you with some more dramione things that just live in my head rent free until they get moved to tumblr rent free

Warnings: mention of alcohol

Premise: After getting his task from Voldemort, Draco is coming to terms with the fact that once he kills Dumbledore, his life will no longer be his own. Overwhelmed with feelings he decides to do one last thing for himself.

Word count: 2k ish

- - - - - -

It was ridiculous, really, for him to be be so concerned with trivial things, the Christmas ball no doubt. But, he supposed it was a part of his acceptance. Acceptance that after this year his life would never be the same. That from that point forward he would either live forever in fear or be forever feared by others, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, neither of those lifestyles appealed to him much at all. 

He had never really wanted people to fear him, it was just easier that way. Love was complicated, but fear, oh fear was very simple and it had served him for the time being. But the fear he was used to had always been instigated by a couple of harsh words he didn’t really mean or maybe a scowl, and the new fear he would come to be controlled by would follow murder...

He’d have to take life from another human being... when he’d never even squished a bug. 

And so he sat, alone in the Slytherin common room while everyone else was at dinner, thinking about all the things he could do while his life was still his, before he’d have to murder dear ol’ Dumbledore, and his path would change forever. 

He scoffed. Tad dramatic. 

He knew he’d still have his friends after carrying out his task. After all, most of their parents were Death Eaters. One life taken by him was nothing compared to what their parents had all done. They'd be hesitant at first, but eventually would come around, especially once they took their Marks. 

A face flashed behind his eyelids and he pinched the bridge of his nose. A sinking feeling filled his stomach and he took a deep breath. That face would surely never come around, not that she thought much of him to begin with. No, he’d definitely never come back from this one with her. These last few months were all he had left with her, better make the most of it. 

She had always intrigued him and he had found it hard to ignore her. She was smart, sharp, and she challenged him in ways no one else really had the guts for. They were similar in many ways and he had come to find that he actually really enjoyed being around her. And though she had what his father had always referred to as, “dirty blood” he had found himself caring less and less about it over the past six years of knowing her. He’d even stopped using that awful word their second year after seeing how upset it had made her. He had always wondered that if things were different, if they would’ve stood a chance. And now, with this given assignment, he was sure they never would. 

His stare bored into the fire as the gears in his mind continued to turn. The reflection of the flames danced on his face and he pressed his knuckles against his lips. He took a deep breath in and a deep breath out and made a decision. “Now or never,” he breathed. And with that he stood up rather quickly, and slipped into the corridor to make his way to the Great Hall. 

- - - - - - -

Hermione had just said goodnight to Harry and Ron, who were turning in early in preparation for tomorrow’s quidditch match. Tired, but not quite ready for bed, she had decided to hang back at dinner. Ginny and Neville were carrying on a friendly, but heated debate, but even they eventually wore each other out and retired for the evening. Hermione stood to leave with them, but as they exited the Great Hall, she stopped and turned to the courtyard. It was a clear night and she enjoyed catching constellations when she got a chance. 

Draco rounded the corner, managing to keep his pace calm and his appearance normal despite the fact his nerves were eating him alive. As he made his way towards the Great Hall, assuming she’d still be at the table talking with her glued-at-the-hip companions, a slight movement caught his eye. There she was, looking up at the night sky and completely oblivious to him approaching. He swallowed hard, his nerves threatening to suffocate him.

“Granger,” he whispered. No response. She was completely mesmerized. He inched closer, as quiet as possible as to not scare her. 

“Granger!” 

She yelped, clearly startled and he instantly felt a twinge of guilt for freaking her out that badly. When she regained her composure, she raised a skeptical eyebrow to him. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She asked, her voice almost tired of having to ask that question. 

He licked his lips. His adrenaline had gotten him to her, but he still hadn’t quite planned out what exactly he was going to say. He opened and closed his mouth. He suddenly felt extremely foolish for thinking she would actually say yes to him.

“Right,” she sighed, “Well, when you think of whatever insult you want to throw my way, you know where to find me.”

She took a step, in an attempt to walk around him, but he moved to his right, blocking her path. He looked down into her eyes, feeling her breath hit his face. They were closer than they’d ever been and she was not having it. 

“Malfoy, seriously,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Granger, please, just-” he stammered.

She took a step back and he immediately felt the absence of her presence. She crossed her arms across her chest, waiting for him to get to the point. 

“I know I haven’t been the nicest guy in the world-”

Hermione laughed. Out loud. In fact, it echoed off the stone surrounding them. The sound completely engulfed him. He closed his eyes and waited for her to be done. He deserved it and he knew it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but are you trying to apologize to me? Has Hell frozen over? Are you ill?”

His hands balled to fists. “If you’d let me finish, you’d know what I was trying to say,” he clipped back. 

The amusement in her eyes returned, “Right of course, carry on.” She was mocking him. 

“Granger. I know this sounds ridiculous, believe me, I'm surprised too..” he took a step towards her. “..but, the truth is, you have always interested me.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. That was not what she had been expecting to hear.

“You challenge me in skill, you actually stand up to me when I’m, well, myself and well you’re, um,” he struggled to find the words, ”actually not too hard on the eyes either.” 

Neither was he. She banished the thought almost immediately.

“Gee, thanks, Malfoy. Can I go to bed now?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Granger, please just listen to me.” 

“Let me think about it,” she said, tapping her chin three times before replying with a short, “No.” And then she went to step around him again and he went to block her again, grabbing her wrist. Her eyes met his, they held the gaze, neither one of them daring to back down. When he blinked, she use the excuse to sweep her eyes over his face, noticing how his jawbone stood out more than usual and his eyes seemed to ache for the comfort of sleep. He slowly let go of his hold on her. Maybe he was falling ill.

“Granger. Look everything is going to hell, I’m just hoping for a glimpse of heaven, before you-you,” his voice faltered, “Before you hate me forever.”

She laughed under her breathe and muttered, “Little late for that.” And then louder, “Now if you’ll excuse me, as much as I’d like to pretend you haven’t chugged a flask of fire whiskey and there’s actually a point to this conversation, I’m going to bed.” 

She saw the hurt flash in his eyes and decided to use that to her advantage.  This time when she stepped around him, he didn’t block her. He was grasping at straws. Admitting feelings? Not something his father had prepared him for. Asking a long time enemy to a ball? Not covered in Bellatrix’s teachings. 

“Look, Gra- Hermione please just hear me out,” he tried one more time. 

She heard her first name and turned swiftly around. Curiosity danced in her eyes as she took in the sight of him. Vulnerable, pleading, honest...? She almost didn’t recognize the boy in front of her, almost. Luckily, over the past few years, she had seen this version of him a handful of times. Times when his mask slipped and she saw who the real Draco Malfoy was. Not the hard outer shell reinforced by Lucius time and time again, but someone who overcame a great deal of expectations and was tired of playing the part. She would never admit it out loud, but had he been like that all the time, she believed they could’ve been, at the very least, friendly. Her curiosity had the best of her. “What?”

He closed his eyes, another deep breath. She watched him carefully, her walls coming down, but still guarded. His eyes betrayed his normally calm demeanor. She stood, anxious in anticipation.

“Will you go to the Christmas ball with me?” He hadn’t meant to say the words so fast, but his nerves had gotten the best of him. He felt his cheeks immediately heat up, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

The words hung in the air between them. She certainly hadn’t expected him to say that. Hermione didn’t even realize her mouth had fallen open, shock written all over her face. She shook her head, as if to gather her thoughts and then took a step towards him. 

The silence was painful for Draco. His eyes remained glued to her every move as she scanned the courtyard. 

“Please?” He added with a shrug, his voice small, sounding very not like himself at all. 

Her face changed suddenly, and she spoke. “Look Malfoy, I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but I refuse to be the punchline.” 

His face twisted into confusion, hurt littering his features, “No, that’s not what-”

“Ha ha! So funny! Go ahead run back to report to your little friends and collect your winnings.” She fought hard to keep her voice steady, but her emotions were threatening to break out. She was embarrassed not just from what he had asked her, but for what admiring him just moments before. She threw her walls back up. 

“Granger, please, I just, let me prove it to you, just listen-”

“No, you listen. If this is seriously your idea of entertainment, count me out. I’ve heard enough from you and I will not continue to put up with this garbage. I refuse to play along with this stupid little act. Now if you don’t mind, I really will be going now.”

She stalked away and he let her go, watching her disappear into the darkness of the castle. 

When he was finally alone, he let out a big sigh. Perhaps he deserved this, no scratch that, he knew he did. He felt incredibly stupid thinking she would ever even entertain the idea of agreeing to go with him. He hadn’t even stopped to think about how she would take it. And now she had seen him like this. He’d really dug quite the hole for himself. 

The bells rang out on the hour and he headed back in. As he made his way towards the edge of the courtyard, he noticed a rose bush. The flowers seemed to have a soft glow under the moon and starlight. He cut a few off of the bush with his wand and stuffed them in his robes before retiring into the castle for the night. 

- - - - - - -

She laid in bed that night, tossing and turning. Sleep would not come easily. Had that really happened? Had Draco Malfoy asked her to an event? As his date? She thought of his face, giving way to his real personality. Who he was without his gang of friends, without his father, without his tyrannical leader. She had always thought he had a nice face. And though she could go without the douche personality, she did enjoy his mind as well, how he too seemed to know all the answers and how, without fail, he always managed to be the one to finish her sentences in classes. She remembered glances they’d shared, off character things he had said, and a smile she’d managed to catch a few times over the past few years. 

She thought about it all night. 

- - - -

The light peaked through her window, slowly stirring her from her deep, dreamless sleep. No one else in the room had woken up yet and so she decided to head out early and get a jump start on some reading. She threw on her uniform and quietly made her way down into the common room. 

As she sat on the couch, a new object at one of the tables caught her attention. Timidly, she tiptoed over to the table to find a single rose laying on the warm wooden surface. A small piece of parchment was attached. She picked it up, inspecting it closely, blinking several times to ensure she was in fact, not dreaming.

Just let me prove it to you. 

-DM

She put the rose into her bag, careful not to scrunch it up and sighed before exiting the common room in pursuit of the library. 

[reader-fics]

Ward (Part Two)

Find Part One here!

Warnings: suicide/assassination mention

A/N: So, it has been a while--three years or so. This story has been sitting in my drafts since April 11, 2017. Tumblr has changed so much. The Purge came and went. I have no idea how this editor works anymore. I have no idea what’s going on, to be quite frank. Anyway. This is for you all, who have stayed on through these years. Enjoy -B

"It's a good thing she's getting rest." A voice somewhere above the clouds stated optimistically.

"Yes, a good thing indeed." Another echoed, floating near another cloud.

Your head ached as if you harbored a nest of mice chewing and nibbling at your brain. You cringed just thinking of it. The voices above you were so irritating; you wanted nothing more than for them to stop. You groaned and were pleased to find that they did. Silence, comforting silence, surrounded you.

Slowly the aching in your head ebbed away like the tide going out and you were able to think clearly. You knew you were in Camelot, and what your name (and title) was, so you figured you couldn't have hit your head too hard. Before even opening your eyes you came to the conclusion that you were in the physician's chambers, or perhaps your own, and the voices you heard had to belong to the physician and perhaps his assistant. You opened your eyes. Yes, these chambers were your own.

There was no point in trying to feign sleep, you decided, so you shifted slightly to let the physician know you were awake.

"How is my aunt?" You demanded to know. Deep in your gut, you simply knew that she had to be dead, but a little voice inside desperately clung to the hope that she was not, that she was being treated the same as you and would be okay. The look on the physician's wrinkled face told you far more than words.

"I'm very sorry, your highness." He told you sincerely. "How are you feeling?"

You managed a shrug. In your present state of mind you did not notice how you were addressed as "your highness," rather than "lady," as befitting a ward. A commotion seemed to burst in through the door. You only managed to twist your body slightly to see the King coming towards you. Ah, a commotion indeed.

"Your highness, I'm glad to see you awake and well. We are very lucky you were not harmed." Arthur breezed, taking your hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Yes, I-I suppose so." You stuttered. How lucky could you be really? Your aunt, your only family in the world, was dead, and now she had left you in charge of a kingdom you didn't know was yours until only very recently!

"Tell me," your voice was stronger now, "what became of the perpetrator?"

You wanted to know the fate of the person who ripped your aunt away from you. Yes, it was magic that killed her, but you blamed the person, not the weapon. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"He was immediately arrested and placed in a cell."

"Good," you nodded, "I should like to speak with him."

What you wanted to know was why. Why would he do this? Your aunt's kingdom was friendly to those with magic, so why target a friend rather than a foe. The handsome blond king in front of you was nothing but kind, but, if you were given a choice between his life and your aunt's, there would be no choice. Why her?

"The guards found him hanging there this morning." Arthur told you in a low voice. "His arms were bound and he was gagged. We don't think it was a suicide attempt; someone chose to kill him."

You didn't know how to respond. On one hand, you were glad in a twisted way that your aunt's murderer was dead. However, on the other you now had proof that the citizens of Camelot were not kind to magic. The whole ordeal made you feel sick. Arthur did not push the matter further, and you suspected it had a lot to do with the queasy look on your face.

He didn't protest when you asked both him and Gaius to leave the room.

The guard Arthur insisted stay near you nodded politely as he closed the door behind your leaving guests. You never really knew the proper decorum for dealing with a guard, so you just bowed your head in thanks and watched him take up his post on the other side as it swung shut. Once the door closed behind him, you allowed yourself to drop the semblance of tranquility and calm you were holding.

The full force of your aunt's death hit you like falling off a horse and hitting the ground. The air seemed to be pulled from your lungs and you were floating between right and wrong, day and night. Nothing seemed real, not except for the deep ache in your chest.

If she were still alive, she'd be here now at your bedside. You remembered a time, when you were younger, when you were dreadfully ill and she, even while ruling as queen, kept a constant vigil at your bedside. She soothed your fears and was a comforting presence during those dark times.

Though she never let you call her mother--"I'm not your mother, my love. She was a much better woman than I am"--some times you simply couldn't help but think it. And now she was gone. Oh gods. Your throat tightened up and you struggled to breath again.

Your eyes slammed shut and hot tears forced their way down your face. You buried your face in your hands, wishing that everything could just go back to normal. Wrenching sobs wracked your chest, but a noise outside the door alerted you to attention.

"Your highness? Are you alright?" You heard someone ask, knocking softly on the door. You assumed that it was one of Arthur's servants he'd sent to look after you; if you sent him back Arthur would only send more. You didn't want him to worry about you. As you were just now discovering, crown rulers had numerous things to think about at all times. You wiped your eyes quickly and turned your back to the door, pulling the blankets up over your shoulders. Maybe you could pretend to be sleeping and send him away quickly.

"Yes, I'm fine, but you may as well come in." You sighed. As royalty, Aunt Lysa had warned you that you'd never have privacy when you wanted it. Apparently that also extended to mourning.

The serving boy opened the door and stuck his head in halfway, almost apologetically. When you didn't protest, he stepped all the way through the door and closed it behind him. Now that you could see him entirely, you recognized him from the feast. He had been bickering with the king over whether or not it was proper for him to wear his hat--a monstrosity of feathers and velvet, really. In the end, Merlin won and the hat lay discarded for the evening. The memory made you smile slightly, a small ray of sunshine in the otherwise desolate world. As the firelight glinted in his eyes you remembered one more thing--he was also the one to pull you away from the danger.

You may have owed him your life.

"Arthur sent me to check up on you." He explained. "He knows what it's like to lose someone you love. He had a sister..."

Morgana. You knew. She had been missing for nearly a year now. Word had spread quickly throughout the kingdoms to look for her, but everyone feared the worst. Either she didn't want to be found or she was dead. You nodded understandingly. Poor Arthur.

"You may tell Arthur that I'm fine." You sighed. "If that's all..."

"Forgive me for being bold, my lady--your highness," Merlin cringed at his blunder, "but you're very clearly not fine."

You laughed hoarsely, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

"Your powers of observation are in-credible. How much does Arthur pay you?"

"Not nearly enough." He confessed, shrugging his lanky shoulders awkwardly.

You laughed at this, but immediately felt guilty. Still, it felt good to laugh. Talking with Merlin distracted you. Maybe that was Arthur's intention of sending him in the first place.

Over the next few days, Merlin was a frequent visitor at your bedside. Your head had sustained a bit of a massive injury, and Gaius didn't want to risk you hurting yourself any more, so you were restricted to bed rest. Merlin always seemed to bring the outside in with him, with stories of the Knights and whatever stupid trouble Arthur had gotten himself into recently, and those visits soon became the best part of your day.

One evening, Merlin stayed later than usual, not leaving to serve Arthur his dinner as he usually did.

"The prat actually gave me a night off, can you believe it?" He grinned, pulling up his favorite chair. You gently smiled in response.

"Merlin, if this is your only night off, by all means don't feel like you have to spend it here with me."

"Why? I like spending time with you. Besides, Gaius would like me to improve my patient management skills. How do you feel, patient?"

"Managed." You joked.

As the two of you sat and talked, the sun set and soon your room was rather dark, save for the fire in the fireplace and the few candles on the desk. You had a candle on your night table, and that seemed like the obvious solution.

It was an accident, really. You weren't thinking. That was your problem--Lysa would always tell you; you never thought before you acted. Before you could even think of the consequences, you'd used a little bit of magic to created a flame on the candle on the table for light. You heard Merlin gasp.

"Y-you have magic?"

You stared at him quizzically for a moment, thinking. If he betrayed you to the guards, what were the odds of you surviving? You really weren't sure, but, considering that Lysa was already dead there wasn't a terrible amount left for you to live for. Even if it would get you killed, why not tell the servant about magic? A fine idea, really.

"I know a little magic. Well, it's not much at all. Every bit I've got I had to fight for. Lysa believed that a good ruler had to know about all of her subjects. The magic users were simply the more marginalized ones."

"Oh." Was all that Merlin could say.

"I supposed you'll want to run off to Arthur and have me arrested." You sighed, wishing you'd heeded Lysa's advice and been more careful. You blew out the candle, watching the smoke rise and dissipate as if it were erasing all evidence.

"No! Well, actually, it'd be very silly for me to run off to Arthur. I'd be the biggest hypocrite."

"Oh?" You pursed your lips, parroting his word back at him.

Merlin merely raised his hand and the flame grew back where it had been. He used magic, just as you had done.

"That's vexing." You commented. "How could one of Arthur's closest friends keep such a big secret?"

Merlin reddened.

"I do it so he won't have to make that choice, to let me live or break the law. I wouldn't want to put him in that situation."

"I see." Such a thing would never happen in Lysa's kingdom. Perhaps Arthur had as much to learn from you as you did from him.

"Do you really protect magic users in your kingdom?" Merlin burst out asking, as if the question had been bothering him all day.

"Of course. They're people too, and have every right to be." You told him firmly. Aunt Lysa told you the same thing when you were young, frightened of the unknown.

"I've been told magic has no place in Camelot. D'you think that's true?"

"Well, you're here and I'm here and we both have magic, so I'd say that there is a place here."

The next few days quickly turned into weeks and then months while you were amidst a whirl of funerary preparations and beyond. There was no way you could successfully take Lysa's body back to be burned in her home kingdom, so Arthur graciously built her a pyre worthy of a queen. You were the one to light the torch, making a big show of doing it with flint and stone when you really just used your magic. It felt better that way, more elemental and natural.

As you watched the flames lick at the sky, you couldn't help but feel more alone than you ever had, even with Arthur on one side and Merlin at the other. Lysa, your last living family member, was gone and she left you enough responsibility for a lifetime. Too much, even.

How on earth could you rule without her?

Arthur had graciously advocated for your coronation ceremony to be held in Camelot, rather than returning all the way home to be legally allowed to rule and then coming back to finally get on with the peace treaties. You didn't want any more delays.

You requested that the ceremony be brief and austere. Out of respect for Lysa, it was done. No banquet was arranged, no orchestra merrily playing. Arthur, being the highest power in the kingdom, was the one to formally crown you. There was no one from Lysa's kingdom of a reputable stature to do it, so it had to be him. As you knelt before him, listening to the bland words of politics and formal sanctions, he lowered the crown onto your head.

The weight of it startled you.

It was cold, and heavy, and so unlike anything you'd expected. You remained kneeling, staring at the floor and simply allowing yourself to feel. Gods, you felt this gnawing emptiness inside. The floor hurt your knees, the crown hurt your head, the circumstances hurt... everything.

"Y/N?" Arthur gently prompted. There were no spectators, no one but Merlin, there to gasp at the breach of decorum. It was just the three of you.

"Are you alright?" Camelot's king asked the new queen.

"I don't know." You replied in a halting voice, straightening up. Arthur's hand was immediately there offering assistance and you gladly took it.

"Is your crown this uncomfortable too?" You asked. Arthur laughed heartily, nodding.

"It's unbearable." He agreed.

Following dinner that evening, you cornered Merlin in your chambers when he visited, more by habit now than anything else. You were seated staring out the window and Merlin was puttering around with the fireplace, adjusting the decorative objects on the mantle out of boredom.

"Merlin, I need your help." You lowered your voice, looking out into the courtyard below.

"Yeah?" He replied casually. Even to a Queen his manners were still the same. You wouldn't have it any other way. Turning to face him, you twisted your fingers together in your lap.

"I need a distraction." You said.

"Oh?" He replied, brushing his hands on his trousers and crossing the room to the window in a few long strides. "How can I help?"

"Make me stop thinking." You looked up at him helplessly.

As if the words were a gods-given command, Merlin snapped into action and his lips were on yours in an instant, a hand wound possessively in your hair. For a moment, it was everything. It was the press of his body against yours, it was the smell of his skin, it was the taste of his lips. After that moment it all cleared away and it was a blissful nothingness that took its place.

The steadfast, proper queen you had become was able to rest, to walk away, leaving behind the person with desires and needs. You grabbed and you took what you needed, decorum be damned.

Skin sweaty and bare, you tangled in each other's arms and let the candles burn themselves out. In the quietest hours of the night was your mind the most active. Fears and anxieties about the future crept in.

"Merlin," you whispered into the darkness, "I don't know how to rule a kingdom."

"If it's any consolation," came his response, "I don't either."

You grinned sheepishly, staring up in the general direction of the cieling. Merlin rolled over so that he could kiss the bare skin on your shoulder, lips warm on cool flesh. You absentmindedly combed your fingers through his hair, and he rested his head next to yours on the pillow.

"But you're not a queen. You don't have to rule." You continued, pursuing your lips. Surely by now news had already traveled home that Lysa was dead. How on earth will they react when you return? Alone?

"True," he considered, feeling the weight of the word on his tongue. What did it mean to rule? Arthur certainly wouldn't be sitting on the throne if it weren't for Merlin, so did that make him a ruler, too? Merlin wrinkled his nose. God, he hoped not.

"The success of a king--or queen--is as much dependent on their subjects as their prowess in ruling." He said thoughtfully.

"How philosophical of you." You rolled your eyes.

"I suppose you'll just have to take it one day at a time. Start with these peace treaties. No. Start with just one. One treaty. One doctrine. Then the next." Merlin kissed your forehead.

"I suppose so." You replied, feeling at peace for the first time since before you left Lysa's kingdom.

[vertanimeni]

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (12/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake/Grounder OC

Word Count: 5,450

TW: Virus/Illness, vomiting, blood, explosives

A/N: I’m... actually being decent w the schedule for once... LOL wow~ If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. As of right now, I will be updating every Friday at 4pm EST.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

⟻ Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ⟼

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

xii. implosion.

The group entered the dropship. Finn, with Clarke in his arms, made a beeline straight for Wells, who prepped a bed for her.

"What do I have to do to stop you from coming in here?" Her question was but a murmur.

"Get better."

"If he's not sick by now then he's probably immune, like me." Octavia assured her leader. "The virus doesn't last long, either." She added casually and let Murphy and Wells dominate the conversation while she dragged Kova into a private corner. None of the others noticed — too preoccupied with Clarke and the new information.

"Did you know?" She asked when the two were finally alone.

"Know what?" They sat crisscrossed on an empty crate.

"Where do I begin?" With every point, she ticked off a finger. "The virus; Lincoln leaving to 'east of the sea and across it,' or whatever; the—" She cut herself off, lowered her voice, and leaned in close, "—the upcoming attack?"

Needless to say, she had connected a few dots on her way back to camp after her conversation with Lincoln. If she recalled correctly, Kova had returned in the dead of night, and woke up late the next morning. But didn't they have enough time to at least warn somebody? Even herself?

"Lincoln and I talked a lot that night, and when I returned, I was already tired. The next morning Bellamy woke me up to find you and I ended up having to take care of the sick here. It just slipped my mind." Kova leaned in. "Besides, if I did say anything, he and Clarke would know I sneaked out. I can't risk that, either." 'Well, now Bellamy and Miller know, but still.' Pausing, they leaned back and eyed the young woman for a second, a hint of hope in their eyes. "Are you leaving with us?"

"Leaving?"

"East of the sea and across. Floukru. Will you come?"

"…Lincoln wants me to."

"That didn't answer my question."

"You're going?"

"…If Clan Leader Luna gives me permission, then yes." It took only a brief moment of doubt where they had considered their words carefully. They weren't sure to what extent Octavia knew about their relationship with Trikru. But then Octavia's eyes glinted with curiosity—

"Kova," Finn interrupted suddenly, completely unaware of the tension between the two, "how much time do you think we have until the virus passes?"

While they were just as taken aback as Octavia was, Kova couldn't help but think, 'Ah, Finn, perfect timing. I'll have to burn some bud for him in thanks.' "It's a light strain, so a day or two more, maybe? Three at most." They replied.

“They need to stay hydrated.” Clarke’s voice rasped out from afar, catching Finn's attention.

"You need to stay hydrated." Rolling his eyes, Finn almost rushed back to her side, but Wells signaled that he had it covered. He turned back to the two and said, "If we had more time to recover from the virus, then we could fight back. We just need to slow them down. Come with me, let's go talk to Raven.” He left no room for argument and rushed past the curtains.

The two stared at empty air for a moment until Kova broke the silence. "Let's talk about this later."

Octavia pursed her lips but conceded, and the two followed Finn to a tent on the other side of the camp. Just as he pulled back flap of the door, the three heard Raven’s voice in the middle of her sentence. “—need as many rounds done by dawn as we can.”

“It won’t matter if there’s no one left who can shoot.” Finn cut in just as the three entered.

Inside, Raven stood behind a desk scattered with empty bullet shells and powder. She refused to even look at Finn, but welcomed Octavia and Kova; Bellamy and Monty leaned over a corner of the desk with a map; and to Kova's surprise, Jasper and Harper stood off to the side, shifting uncomfortably when the two noticed their presence.

Finn continued, "What do we need to build a bomb?”

Pop! went the joints in Kova's neck as they whirled on Finn, a disgusted and betrayed look on their face. They stepped back, almost tripping over the wiring of the tent. 'Finn, what the actual fuck?' They thought, and because they were never one to hold back, they said, "Finn, what the fuck?"

"Wait. Hear me out." Finn held up his hands in a placating manner. "Murphy said he crossed a bridge on his way back from the grounders’ camp. Sounds familiar?”

Their eyes softened from the sharp glare they held. While they understood what he meant, they really wish he had given them a heads up beforehand.

“Is that the only bridge around here?” Bellamy switched his gaze from the hastily made map to Kova.

“It is.” They confirmed. “Ankon bridge is the only one that connects TonDC to the rest of Trikru territory the fastest, since the forest and the river get in the way. There's another bridge far down the river, but if the warriors are planning to come though Ankon, it'll be a major setback to change their plans to the other bridge."

“The virus is fast. Murphy is already getting better and Kova thinks it’ll pass within a few days. Blowing up the bridge won’t stop the attack, but the longer we delay it, the more of us will be able to fight.”

Kova couldn't hide the flinch at the mere thought of blowing up the bridge. Not only will it be a major setback, but the residents of TonDC, Fort Nauk, and other surrounding villages will end up suffering for it. Especially the merchants.

"Even if Murphy is telling the truth — and that’s a big if — that bridge has survived a nuclear war and 97 years of weather. What do you think, Raven?”

Everyone turned to the mechanic. She paused for a moment, considering the many different ways to build a bomb before it hit her — the fuel from the Exodus ship. Her eyes sparked with sturdy confidence. “It won’t survive me. Everyone, out while I think. Get ready to head down to the Exodus site.”

Jasper and Harper were the first to leave, the former refusing to look anywhere near Kova's direction and the latter sending them a sharp glare. For the first time, Kova internally thanked Bell when he pulled Octavia out of the tent for a quick talk.

The grounder turned to the remaining two boys. "You finished with the fish?"

"Yup," Monty popped the p.

"Zoe and Drew were almost done when we left. I'm not sure who's cooking tonight, though." Finn spoke. Kova noted the subtle flinch of Raven's back turned towards the three.

"Got it. Nice work. I'll see you guys later, then."

Monty quickly said, "Sorry about Jasper, he's being a bit of a dumbass right now. Just give him time." Then, he and Finn left the tent.

The sound of metal clinking gently made Kova turn back to Raven and lean against one of the side tables in silence, mindlessly toying with one of the bullet shells, while Raven moved to work on the second desk with another map. Familiar, higher quality, with rough estimation marks at Mount Weather, the camp, a burial ground. They recognized it as the one Clarke had made when the delinquents first arrived—

A clatter and a huff caught their attention. Raven had dropped whatever she was working on and turned to Kova. "What do you want? Why are you still here?"

“What’s bothering you?”

“Excuse me?”

Being nosy with one of the few people in this camp who didn't hate them was the last thing Kova wanted to do, but they've gone on missions with people who had lingering issues from an argument right before, and it never ends well. 'Like Zoya and Zandara, when they had a fight right before our mission because Zandara thought Zoya had been stealing her food, but it had actually been their other roommate at the time.' While the memories had a tint of melancholy attached, internally, Kova didn't know whether to laugh or shiver with fear. 'That mission was the only blemish on their record.'

"Something is going on with you and Finn." Octavia had mentioned their strained relationship before, that almost everyone on camp thought he had been cheating on Raven with Clarke out of all people, but she didn't go in depth at the time, and right now, Kova really wished she had. "Do you want to talk about it?"

As if Kova had damaged the final piece of a dam on its last legs, Raven burst with a long rant. "My head still hurts when I crash landed on Earth and I'm kind of terrified of a concussion even though Clarke checked me out; I'm worried about what's gonna happen to the people on the Ark; I'm worried I'm gonna die in some war I never signed up for; and I came down here to be with the guy I've loved for years only to find out he's—?" She paused, her voice cracking. "He cheated on me? He cheated on me with Clarke, and wasn't even going to tell me about it. I had to find out myself. And I think he's still cheating, even though he says the opposite, and I—" She took a deep breath, her tense shoulders sagging. "There's a lot of things bothering me right now."

To be entirely truthful, Kova had actually expected Raven to tell them to leave her alone, or that she didn't want to talk about it, or maybe even tell them to fuck off. And while they were pleasantly surprised about the rant, they weren't going to interrupt or stop her.

She continued, “And today when Clarke passed out, Finn just caught her without hesitating! He risked his entire life for her and didn’t even think twice about it! The last time he did that was for me on the Ark, and…" Her voice trembled, and the first tears dropped and gathered at her chin. "As much as I don't want to admit this, but I think I lost him the moment he came down here. I just don't know what to do."

"Did she know?"

"What?"

"Did Clarke know that you and him were in a relationship?"

"I…" Raven recalled the sky leader's surprised face when she kissed Finn, how heartbroken she looked. "I don't think so."

"So he didn't tell Clarke about your relationship, and he didn't tell you about his relationship with her. That's on him. As much as I hate to say it, you're right. You probably lost him the moment he came down here. If he has fallen for her, there’s not much you can do about it now.” While their words felt harsh, they tried to speak as gently as they could. Raven wiped her face with the back of her hands. They weren't one to give out advice like this, but if it reeled Raven back from those types of thoughts, they didn't mind. “I'm not sure if you're angry at Clarke, but regardless, there's no point in fighting over some boy, especially one who isn’t giving you the love and appreciation you deserve, and you deserve much better than that.”

“He’s the only one I have.” It was a weak argument, and Raven's jarring quiet voice showed that.

“Then you need more people on your side." They purposely made eye contact and said, "Fuck him.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Obtaining the hydrazine from the Exodus ship wasn't as hard as Raven expected, and pouring it into a mason jar was even less. Like any responsible scientist/mechanic, Raven wore a suit — the same one she came down to Earth with — but once she sealed the jar closed and set it safely on the desk, she took it off and addressed the people waiting outside her tent. "Alright, you can come in now."

Bellamy entered the tent first, Kova following close behind—

Two hands grabbed the sides of their arms. "Boom!"

If they jumped and busted the top of their head on the overhanging lamp, that was their business and theirs only. They tried to play off the spook by clearing their throat, but that only made Raven cackle. Even Bellamy couldn't hide his snort.

Then Finn entered, and Raven's mood soured slightly. She dropped her hands from Kova's shoulders, trying to play it off as nothing and said, "You guys can relax, it needs an accelerant.” Then, she got into business on how the bomb needed to be built and placed on the bridge. “To be safe, you need to be at least 200 feet away to make the shot and not get injured.”

“Feet? Imperial system?” Kova's question was implied — 'Why use the Imperil system?'

“It’s the measuring system we used on the Ark.” Finn explained. “What do you use?”

“The metric system. We’re not animals.” They refused to acknowledge the smirk on Bellamy's face. "Does the distance you calculated include traumatic force?”

“It should.”

Bellamy laid out the billion dollar question. "Alright, who plants the bomb?"

The silence lasted well under a minute, but long enough to feel like an hour. Finn finally stepped up, and Bellamy dragged him to the map to discuss how to go about it.

Meanwhile, Raven and Kova stood side by side, speaking lowly as to not attract attention.

"So he hesitates when it comes to a bomb, with everyone's lives on the line, but not with Clarke? You see what I'm talking about right? I'm not crazy?"

"No, you're right. I get what you mean."

“Finn, we only have one bomb.” Bellamy’s voice brought both of them back to the conversation at hand, but Kova turned around and organized the bullet shells on the table, keeping their back to the others. “We need to use it to kill as many of them as possible.”

“But they don’t know we only have one bomb.” Finn argued. “If we did, why would we waste it on a bridge? It’s supposed to be a deterrent. Peace through strength.”

“The appearance of strength, you mean.” Raven countered, ignoring the look he sent to her.

“The men who built the bombs thought they were peacemakers too. How’d that work out for them?”

“They were scientists, Bellamy." They turned, eyes lowered on the bullet shell they held. "They knew exactly what they were doing while building those bombs, they definitely knew they weren’t peacemakers. They just did it for the money.” Looking up, Kova's eyes widened, face blanching, and they dropped the shell. "Shit.”

Before he could ask, warmth trailed down from his nose to his philtrum. He pressed the back of his hand underneath his nose and grimaced. "Great."

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Who else can take a shot?”

“Appreciate the concern.” His usual snark felt weak. A heavy tiredness fell over Bellamy's body like a weighted blanket, so suddenly that his head felt fuzzy. He could barely muster the energy to glare at Finn. Instead, he stumbled towards the exit. “Just make sure the bomb is packed and ready to go in ten minutes, I’ll go find someone.”

“Wait, Bellamy!” Kova called out, but he already left. "Shit, he's only going to hurt himself like that. I'll bring him to the dropship — I'll see you two later, don't die and don't get hurt!"

"Kova—!"

"Wait—!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the Ark, there had been a few rounds of the common cold and the like running around. It was hard to avoid getting sick once there was an outbreak — the quarters were too close to one another, people ate together, shared their drinks, etc, etc. Back then, everyone had to self-isolate, and those sick had to deal with a stuffy nose, running snot, and sometimes a fever for a week or two.

Those illnesses were a joke compared to whatever the fuck this virus was.

The nosebleed was just a breaking point to the onslaught of other symptoms that racked Bellamy's body. The dizziness popped up in the tent and only grew worse when he reached the campfire, the flicks of the flames staining his eyesight. He thought he might have snapped at the friends Jasper was with, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, all that mattered was getting Jasper to do the job. After making sure Jasper was at least six feet away from him, he explained what the group discussed at the tent.

Later on in the dropship, once the fever broke, Bellamy will stare into the metal ceiling and wonder what exactly did he say to Jasper that made him blanch and shake so much.

“Take the shot. You can't miss, or we’ll all die.” Once the words were out of Bellamy's mouth, it wasn't his problem anymore. He grew more delirious with every passing second, but one coherent thought made its way through. 'Dropship.'

Staggering rather than walking, he only made it three steps before the world abruptly turned white and his head felt staticky. Wind whooshed through his hair, in his rushing ears, cooling his heated and sweaty skin, and the side of his head bumped into metal before his body tilted towards the floor—

—Warm hands splayed across his back and the nape of his neck.

At first, he thought it might have been Jasper who caught him, and he tried to push him away. But then his hands landed on strong shoulders and thick arms, and even through his delirium he thought, 'Muscles…not Jasper—?'

A deep voice, surprisingly gentle for its owner, confirmed his thoughts. "Relax. It's me."

The whiteness cleared up from the edges and inward to reveal a blurry Kova-shaped blob. They tried pushing him back on his feet, but his legs and arms shook under his weight, and with another whoosh of the wind, Bellamy found himself being carried bridal style, an arm against the back of his sticky, sweat-soaked shirt, another arm beneath the back of his equally sweaty knees.

His mouth felt dry, although he wasn't sure if it was from the fever or—

Kova's cold glare fixated past him. He followed their line of sight to Jasper, who had stepped forward with his arm stretched out, as if he wanted to snatch his leader and run from the grounder. The last of Bellamy's energy went into holding up his hand in a placating manner. His voice was awfully raspy, but it got the job done. “I’ll be fine, go find Finn. Take the shot.”

Half reluctant, half relieved, the boy ran off.

"By the Gods, Bellamy. What did you say to the kid? He looks even paler than you."

Too many words. Head too heated. Bellamy thought he internally groaned, but it seemed as if he did this externally, given that Kova hushed him (gently, to his surprise). Later on, while staring at the metal ceiling of the dropship, his embarrassment over being carried so easily in such a way will turn into a frustration he had never felt before, and he'll end up kicking his legs against the bed in anger, much to the distaste of the other patients around him.

But for now, his neck lolled around, energy finally giving out, and black spots dotted the edges of his vision. Just before he closed his eyes, he heard them murmur, "Don't worry, I got you."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"…tavia!"

The frantic call of her name came from outside the dropship. The young woman in question raised her head and settled the bowl of water next to the patient she had been looking after. A few seconds of silence passed, and Octavia thought she might have imagined it—

"Octavia!"

The sound of crunching leaves turned into metal thumps. She sprung into action and hurried to the curtains, yanking the fabric back—

Kova rushed inside, bending over slightly to avoid the curtains. It was only when they straightened did Octavia notice the body in their arms, the person's face buried in their neck and nose dripping dark blood against their skin, and automatically, she pointed to the open bed at the corner.

Then it hit her — the ruffled black hair, olive skin blanched and covered with a sheen of sweat, sprinkled with freckles and blood— "Bell, no…"

By the color of his face and the spasm of his throat, Kova realized he was about to vomit any second and quickly laid him on his side, and the moment his hip met the mattress, he vomited. Some caught on Kova's pants, but they paid little mind to it as they pushed the fringe of his hair back. "I'll go get him some water."

Octavia knelt on the opposite side and rubbed soothing circles against his back. "Okay. Thank you."

On their way, they heard a faint murmur of Bellamy's voice and Octavia's quiet, assuring tone. Distracted, they shoulder-checked a passerby. Kova turned to apologize, but paused when they found Murphy's back instead. Jaw tense, they prepared for whatever verbal attack he would send them, but to their surprise, he walked off without a word.

'Oh? Maybe Clarke spoke to him.' Whatever, Murphy wasn't their problem. Eventually, they returned to the Blake siblings with a cup of water, but Bellamy had fallen into unconsciousness once again.

“Kova…"

"Hm?"

"I still have a few hours before Wells takes over this shift." Her gaze shifted, hesitant. "Would… You mind keep an eye on him?"

'Oh. She…' "Of course." They answered. "Go ahead."

Any animosity her eyes might have held this morning were long gone now. Eyes shining, she squeezed their shoulder in thanks before running off to finish her duties.

Leaving Kova alone with her brother.

Pointedly looking away from the mess, they sat by Bellamy's side and brushed the fringe of hair away from his eyes. They leaned down and pressed their forehead against his, only to flinch away. "Hot." They muttered, taking the wet towel and cold bucket of water Octavia had left behind, "His temperature is still going up." A sigh passed their lips. They dabbed at the sweat rolling down his forehead, cheeks, and neck before wrapping the towel in a neat rectangle and placing it over his forehead. “It’s going to be a long night.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Waking from unconsciousness felt like wading through tar, and it took Bellamy a moment to register the cold towel across his forehead, the warmth of someone kneeling by his side. Thinking it was his sister, he placed a hand on 'her' knee in comfort—

"You're awake." A surprised, yet quiet voice, far deeper than Octavia's, spoke.

He pulled his hand away slowly. Phlegm stuck in his throat, he tried clearing it out to speak, only to flinch at what felt like sandpaper grinding against his vocal cords.

"Don't strain yourself. You coughed and vomited a lot."

The sound of dry grinding caught his attention, and it was only then did Bellamy notice the mortar and pestle in Kova's hands. As if someone flipped a switch in his nose, the stench hit him like a sucker punch — whatever ingredients they had blended together made his eyes water and the bridge of his nose to crease.

Kova didn't look like they were doing any better, and they answered the unasked question with a wry smile on their lips. "Lime juice, onion, cloves, and ginger. Nasty combo, but it works like a charm. It's also the only thing I can make without fucking it up somehow."

His throat protested, but he managed to get one word out. "Why?"

"My younger sister would get sick often, so I learned my mom's recipe." The pestle paused, they looked at him over the mortar. Whether it was the headache from being stuck in a sick room the entire day or exhaustion from caring for Bellamy and the others around them that made their brain falter, Kova couldn't tell, but it certainly loosened their tongue. "Unless… that wasn't the question?"

With a gritty sensation clawing at his throat, Bellamy didn't want to reply, and simply watched as Kova stopped grinding. They raised the bowl to their nose, grimacing like the ingredients physically attacked their well-being, and pulled away. They nodded as if thinking, 'Yup, perfect.'

And while Bellamy couldn't tell where the fuck the spoon in their other hand came from, he knew damn well what was going to happen, and no way was he letting that monstrosity of a concoction anywhere near his mouth—

"Stop being a baby," Kova snapped after the third time Bellamy clenched his lips and turned his head away. After the fifth attempt, they let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose. "The things I do for Octavia…" They muttered under their breath, and suddenly the mortar under his nose vanished.

At first, Bellamy thought he won.

And then he watched as Kova pour the so-called medicine into their own mouth, and suddenly, he wished he had just accepted the mortar. It seemed as though the onion hadn't been properly grounded in the first place, judging from the audible crunches in their mouth. They chewed up the concoction further for good measure—

Leaned over his face—

His mouth parted in shock, eyes widening—

'Are they actually going to—?'

Three fingers pried his mouth open, and there was a plop! before the palm of their hand pressed against his mouth, letting the mushed up medicine slide right on his tongue. He gagged, but they refused to move until he swallowed with a thick gulp. God, the aftertaste was even worse than what he expected.

They were about to remove their hand, only to yelp and snatch it back, cradling it against their chest. "Did you just bite me?!"

"Fuck you."

"You fucking animal." Filled with disbelief and indignation, they scoffed and wiped their hand on his shirt, adding onto his anger. "Whatever — I only did what Octavia asked of me."

They pulled out a cup of water, and as tempted as he was to knock it out of their hands, he wanted to be rid of this awful aftertaste, now that his throat didn't crawl with discomfort. 'Huh.' His suspicious gaze landed on them. "Why are you helping me?"

"Didn't I just say?" They grabbed one of his hands and forced him to hold the water. "Your sister entrusted you to me. How could I possibly let her down? Now drink."

“You need to stay away from her.” He warned, albeit halfheartedly. His arms shook under his weight, but Bellamy managed to lift himself on his elbows. He took a sip, then gulped down the entire cup. But when he set it down on the floor, he noted the streaks of blood and the remaining specks of vomit splattered around, including on Kova's pants. Realization dawned on his face, and Kova pointedly ignored it as they took the cup from him.

“I would take you more seriously if you weren't acting like a child.” The teasing smirk on their face only riled him up more. "Besides, it's far too late for that, anyways."

The perk of his eyebrow was a question all on its own.

"Don't forget, as much as you don't like my brother, they're a thing now." They gathered the used towel and the bucket of water dyed orange from the blood. "She surprisingly understands our culture. As long as she protects my brother, and I'll protect hers." Their own eyebrows perked up, the teasing smirk growing. "Even if I don't like him too much."

Bellamy's scoff turned into a small huff of laughter. "Shut up." He looked away with a sniff. "Any updates on the bridge?"

"Finn and Jasper left a while ago. Raven is missing — no clue where she is, but she most likely went to follow them. No explosion so far." Suddenly, they looked over his head. "Clarke."

"Hey. Didn't know he woke up." The mattress dipped when she plopped next to him. Red lined the deep circle around her eyes and dry blood cracked along her cheeks to her chin, as if she had been crying.

"Finn said you shouldn't be taking shifts." They were met with a pair of guilt ridden eyes, and an exasperated sigh passed their lips. "Rest. I can handle it now that sleeping beauty here is awake." 

"Shut the fuck up." Bellamy never had the intense feeling of wanting to smack that frustrating smirk off their face until now.

In the end, Clarke nodded her agreement. Kova stood, patting Bellamy's shoulder before grabbing the bucket and the towel. "Don't die while I'm gone. Applies to the both of you."

"Got it." The two leaders rasped out at the same time.

Clarke noticed the way his eyes followed Kova until they were out of sight. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah." His scowl returned, and he struggled to sit up fully, swinging his legs over the mattress and planting his feet on the floor. His eyes caught sight of Murphy when the boy had moved to another patient. "I see you're letting him take care of the sick." Pausing, he turned to her. "You trust him?"

"After everything? No." She scoffed. "But I do believe in second chances."

His eyes flickered to the cup, then to the mess on the floor. Kova's update finally hit him. "It's almost dawn. We should get everyone inside. If we lock the doors, maybe the grounders won’t think we’re home.”

“But not everyone is sick.”

“Sick is better than dead.”

Silence stood between them for a moment. “You don’t think Finn and Jasper are gonna pull it off.”

“Do you?”

Clarke's sigh broke another moment of silence. “I’ll get everyone inside.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun rose, and so did everyone's worries. There had still been no signal from the Jasper, Finn, or Raven, so everyone assumed the worst and lined up outside the dropship, wearing makeshift masks from rags. Some even had gloves.

'With such an enclosed, small space, and no ventilation, there's a good chance a few of them will catch the virus.' Kova thought while waiting at the curtained entrance for Clarke's signal. 'But there's a chance for survival. Trikru's attack is an inevitable fatality.'

Their train of thoughts traveled to their time on the Mountain, when they and their fellow warriors had been infected, puking every few steps until it was only acid against their throat. Miller rushed past the ramp and through the curtains, carrying as many guns as his arms would allow, and Kova realized how truly weak the delinquents were. No training whatsoever in 'Earth Skills' or whatever Monty had called it before, no fighting or weapon experience, nothing. If they had landed in Azgeda territory, they would have died within the week—

Boom!

For the first time in Kova's life, an explosion brought relief.

Everyone turned to the mushroom cloud punching through the air.

"They did it." Bellamy's voice startled Kova. They hadn't realized the two leaders stepped out from the dropship.

“'I am become death, destroyer of worlds.'” A murmur came from Clarke's lips. She felt eyes on her, and turned to Bellamy and Kova looking at her with confusion. "Oppenheimer. The man who built the first—”

“I know who Oppenheimer is.” Bellamy interrupted with a small smirk.

“He actually stole that quote from a Hindu scripture, if I recall correctly. So not really his quote." Eyes returning to the mushroom cloud, fear crawled up their spine, jaw clenching, tongue feeling heavy in their mouth, and Kova signaled for Miller to take over on sending people away from the dropship.

Once they knew no eyes were on them, they snuck behind the dropship, pressing the back of their hand to their mouth. This sudden nausea wasn't new — they were well acquainted with how their body reacted to guilt and shame to this degree. But then the mental onslaught came, 'who am I?' 'why did I let them do that?' 'will TonDC and the other villages survive?' 'will Fort Nauk function without the bridge?' 'treason,' 'kill order,' 'my family—?' 

They had already answered a few of these questions when they first heard of the plan to blow up the bridge. There were countless weavers in the villages, and quite a few bridge builders from the Old families. 'They'll be fine,' The one thought cycled a few times while their body climbed over the back wall, stiff, as if on autopilot. They landed, light on their feet—

"Hey."

Kova stood to their full height.

'They'll be fine.'

"Hey." They greeted back, clasping a hand on Octavia's shoulder. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

The two trekked through the forest, following the trail of gladiolus' and lilies.

They'll be fine.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

⟻ Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ⟼

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[saezutte]

yuletide letter 2020

Dear Yuletide Writer, 

Oh, hello again. I didn’t see you there.

This year, I have transcended earthly desires and struggled to find any fandoms to request. I want nothing. I wish my cat was nominated as a Yuletide fandom so we could all write stories about her life. 

Nonetheless, I have some small requests!!!! I believe you can make me happy in ways I’ve never been happy before. I trust you. Happy end of 2020, the cursed year, I hope you are blessed with rest. 

My AO3: saezutte

My public twitter: juncassis

My tumblr: here but I do not use tumblr much anymore, sorry.

Do Not Wants

[note: I have no actual triggers, nothing you can write for me will make me any more depressed or anxious than I already am]

Death (of major/important/beloved characters)

Suicide attempts, self-harm

Rape (outright; OK with dub con, manipulation, noncon short of violent-rape-for-violence-only)

Eating disorders, body shaming

Angst without a happy ending, really too much angst at all

Established relationship

Cheating

Actual Unrequited Feelings

Pregnancy (the actual process; breeding kink is fine)

Scat or watersports

Hard BDSM or any kink complicated enough that the characters would have to discuss it ahead of time

Homophobia as a plot device

Excessive attention to identity or politics, sometimes known as “issue fic”

Note on AUs: I am ok with the usual popular AU tropes but I do not want them combined, e.g. A/B/O is fine and coffeeshop is fine, but I don’t want an omega barista getting his scent all over the lattes he makes for some alpha lawyer who comes in every morning. (Ridiculous example, but you get the point.) For AU/modern settings of fandoms with magic, I often like it when the magic is still there in the AU setting. I also like AUs which maintain the general outlines of the character’s relationships, like if the characters are childhood friends in canon, I like to keep that intact.

General preferences:

I am a pretty basic bitch when it comes to fanfic: I like it when two clueless boys pine for each other through some shenanigans and then lock eyes/lips/dicks.

If you fed a neural net every fanfic written in Stargate Atlantis fandom between 2005 and 2010, the result would probably be some nonsense I’d enjoy.

I love many tropes. Tropes! Bed-sharing. Sharing an umbrella. WASHING EACH OTHER’S HAIR? Confessions where they are having an argument and then one of them yells “Because I love you!”

I love situations where characters are forced to spend time in close proximity and find themselves with feelings.

I love fakeness: fake dating, fake marriage, arranged marriage, marriage of convenience, fake lust induced by sex pollen or heats, aliens make them have sex, whatever.

I love porn, if you want to just write me some quick porn, that’s great. I do prefer (per the established relationship DNW above) that it be first time or get together porn. I know that can make it hard to just write porn, but I don’t need much to be convinced of sex.

Nirvana in Fire (TV)

Requested characters: Mei Changsu, Xiao Jingyan

Note: I also love Lin Chen so if you want to write some MCS/LC or LC/Fei Liu or LC/MCS/JINGYAN OT3??? go for it. I am also a Nihuang/Xia Dong shipper so if you want to put that in… somehow… my gay little heart would be happy. I also like Nihuang/MCS/XJY or MNH/MCS + MCS/XJY but I’d like the focus on the men in that case!

I watched this show because someone recommended this show to me as, like, Chinese Game of Thrones but good. I think it’s genuinely one of the best TV shows I’ve ever seen. I love plots and revenge and good people doing bad things for justice. Even the ending is good for me though obviously it left me unsatisfied on several points.

I am deeply into sickly doomed genius MCS and every time he got even more deeply ill, I fell deeper in love. Every time he coughs up blood, my heart would race. I love his terrible schemes and stupid self-sacrificing choices. I find watching this show very soothing because I knew he would always come out on top in his schemes. I trust him. I love handsome clueless Jingyan and how he’s just so good (it’s terrible.) I love his mom and how much he cares for her. I love him but he is useless, he needs his Xiao Shu and I need fanfic to restore him to him.

Note: So my limited research on this says that male/male sex practices were accepted and well-known in this time period in history, so I really don’t want them thinking “oh no what are these weird gay feelings.” There are other barriers to them being together, like a ruler or official being overly attached to one person was considered very bad. I am also a big supporter of the socially-approved polygamy of this time period, so I don’t need Jingyan to refuse to sleep with his wife or something out of loyalty to MCS—he has to do it! Or all their plans are ruined! And he can enjoy spending time with her or the concubines without affecting his feelings for MCS—you could explore that complexity in fic if you like.Prompts:

Mei Changsu isn’t dead, he’s hiding again, Jingyan searches for him

They start having sex during the series, the ending is averted [somehow]

Post-canon, MCS is alive and Jingyan hides him in the palace with his consort/concubines to keep him on as an advisor without anyone objecting

omega verse where MCS was an alpha before he “died" but an omega after he came back.

AU where male/male marriage is customary (maybe aristocratic men are expected to have one male and one female consort?) and so MCS decides the best way to influence and help Jingyan in the capital is by becoming his wife or one of his concubines

anything just get them together and happy.

Tokyo Babylon 

Characters: Subaru, Seishiro

I read Tokyo Babylon as a child and I imprinted on it deeply, now I love politics, ghosts, stalking, age differences, magic. Within the CLAMP canon, I love TB for its episodic focus on smaller stories, the commentary on contemporary society, and Seishiro being an outright creep. I love onmyojutsu and exorcism and Subaru’s innocence getting ruined. I love the city of Tokyo (where I currently live! but do not be intimidated, I don’t know the city well because we’ve been in quarantine most of the time I’ve been here and won’t judge you for details.) I’m open to fics that comply with X canon or not.

With Seishiro/Subaru: It’s bad but I love that predator/prey dynamic where the predator ends up being hopelessly entranced/obsessed/in love with the prey. My read was always that Seishiro lost the bet and couldn’t admit it—he’s just, you know, killing twins to avoid dealing with his feelings! Relatable! (?!?!) Subaru, I love particularly in his evolution from innocent to adult in love to betrayed. I’d prefer post-TB fic to during-TB fic (so Subaru knows Seishiro’s deal and loves him anyway.) I am also a fan of Hokuto and you should feel free to bring her back to life to troll if you desire.

Prompts:

AU or reincarnation plot where they are Heian period rival onmyoji

Because this is such a heavily place-based series, if you are a writer who likes to play with details of real life locations, I’d be interested in versions of different “Babylons” if you have an idea for it.

Tragic first times post-TB lol

Seishiro is a virgin the first time they have sex

I’d probably love some fucked up dub con for this, however you want to play it

Honestly, do whatever you want as long as you don’t fuck me over like CLAMP did.  

プリティーリズム | Pretty Rhythm

Characters: Hiro, Koji

Pretty Rhythm came to me at a weird time in my life. I lived in a house of spiders in Yokohama and did nothing for eight weeks. King of Prism cheer screening transformed my life and I didn’t even know what it was. Then I got weirdly deep into Rainbow Live and the Pretty Rhythm franchise overall. I am a scientist of prism theory. Idk why I like it, it’s just wholesome and crazy and there are penguins and DJ Koo. I love every TRF song because I’m a 90s gay at heart. It’s truly the end point of all media development. The prism world represents the fearsome power of virtual/digital+real hybrid life. Yes, I know I’ve lost my mind. I went to one of the real Prism Stone stores, the one in Harajuku.

Hiro Hayami: one time a fujoshi asked me to describe what types of anime boys I like and the first type I listed was “prince but bad” and my example was Hiro. Hiro is the crazy gay stalker disaster of my heart. He overcomes great hardship to achieve his dreams and foolishly falls in love along the way and he does everything wrong and Koji keeps leaving him. The moment when Hiro is crowned King of Prism in Pride the Hero was one of the top ten moments of my life. I made friends who don’t even know Japanese watch the movie unsubtitled with me on my birthday.

With Koji, I’m a bit guilty of “I want to give the character I love the most the character he loves the most” so I do like him less (it would be impossible to like him equal to how much I love Hiro). But he has many good points that make him perfect, like how he also sucks underneath his chill exterior. I love to see him go apeshit.

I also love everyone else in Rainbow Live, no exceptions. I love all the girls. If you do write the girls, I would prefer they not be paired with the OTR boys. I would prefer they be paired with each other, any combo is good.

Prompts:

this is the sort of pairing where I love fic where they split up and then 15 years later meet again as washed up has-beens but there’s still time for them to find each other

Canon-compliant companion piece showing the “background” of them getting together romantically over the course of the series.

AU where Koji is a prism world fairy sent to inspire Hiro but Hiro is kind of a mess

dirty, dirty porn… let Hiro get fucked

I have a lot of doujinshi with multiple copies of Hiro (a la the Mugen Hug jump) but I’d like something where Hiro gets overwhelmed by many Kojis

They start fake dating as a publicity stunt and have to keep doing it… especially good if it starts when Koji is at max hating Hiro level

Ring Fit Adventure 

Characters: Dragaux, Ring

Keeping this one simple: I like to be encouraged to exercise by a storyline and a trainer that never mentions weight loss, lol. The world is fun and pretty and I love that buff dragon.

AND THEN THE PAIRING. I’m sure Nintendo has some market research that told them a certain subset of users are very motivated by enemies who seemed to once be lovers or best friends. I am that user.

What is up with these two? They were so in love! Now Dragaux is a horrible swole bro (not in a good bro way) and Ring is training me instead? I can’t compete with their love. It’s the only time the game makes me feel inadequate.

You can keep Dragaux and Ring as dragon/ring-like as you like. Obviously I’m down with dragon fucking but you can also make him a human fucker too. I play with Ring on the masculine voice setting for maximum BL vibes as I exercise, but, you know, it’s a ring, I don’t think it has gender. Feel free to incorporate the player or other random characters too.

Prompts:

AU where Dragaux and Ring owned a gym together and Dragaux sold out to a big chain of gyms

What happened between them when Dragaux was still captured, pre-game? Bondage… literally??

Ring is always bossing me to train, but I’m really doing all the work. Why doesn’t he fight Dragaux on his own for once?? (because the sexual tension is too powerful.)

Tragic flashback to their dramatic break-up ending with their present day reconciliation.

Player/Dragaux/Ring threesome??? I’ve unlocked the sexercises???

With all fandoms, you are free to disregard the prompts and do your own thing. If you’re not sure about me, you can probably dm seriesera on twitter, she knows what I’m into. 

Well, I suppose that’s all for now. Please stalk me online to get more details on my bullshit. I hope you have a nice time.

Best,

Caitlin 

[im-not-a-joke]

Mmh... All the field

the whole- the whole field....

thank you for asking, this is going to be one long post

Alisons: Sexuality?

asexual, unlabeled/queer romantic

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender?

they/them or he/him, nonbinary

Amaryllis: Birthday?

february 4th

Anemone: Favorite flower?

bleeding heart

Angelonia: Favorite t.v. show?

steven universe

Arum-Lily: What’s the farthest you’d go for a stranger?

probably offer a place to sleep overnight

Aster: What’s one of your favorite quotes?

“Do you think God stays in heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he’s created?”

Aubrieta: Favorite drink?

strawberry lemonade

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

my gf? yes, absolutely.

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love?

i’d like to think so, yes

Baneberries: Favorite song?

currently “better than me” by the brobecks

Basket of Gold: Describe your family.

a mess, i have three siblings, and two of them are currently living at home, we also have two large dogs

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it?

yes! my best friend anna, and her brother bryan!

Begonia: Favorite color?

purple

Bellflower: Favorite animal?

mantis shrimp

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person?

night person

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be?

dog, i want the constant love and affection

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

first a botanist, then a geologist

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children?

i want to adopt some someday! sometimes they suck, but i want to be there for someone who doesn’t have a family to lean on.

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why?

abandonment, because i’m annoying

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood.

i shared a room with my little brother until i was like 12.

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth?  

visiting all the people i love most, all of my friends, my gf, i’d call my sister

Buttercup: Relationship Status?

taken!

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go?

france

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved?

when people take the time out of their day to talk to me

Canna: Do you have any tattoos?  

nope, i do want some someday, though

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings?  

yes! i got my ears pierced twice because it ripped my earlobe the first time

California Poppy: Height?  

~5′8″

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts?

yes, and if i die before any of my friends, i’m coming back to haunt them

Carnation: What are you currently wearing?  

a floral tank top, my favorite sleeveless cardigan, and jean shorts

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight?

yes, my little brother was afraid of the dark and insisted on having a nightlight on

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged?  

my mom

Chrysanthemum: Who’s the last person you kissed?

my gf

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font?

architect’s daughter

Columbine: Are you tired?

yes, very

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to?

tomorrow i get to leave the house all day to drive across the state and it’s going to be a lot of fun

Coneflower: Dream job?

language teacher! either english to people who don’t speak it or german/french to english speakers

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert?

introvert. i’m on tumblr all day

Crocus: Have you ever been in love?

yeah, i think so

Crown Imperial: What’s the farthest you would go for someone you care about?

i’d actually die for multiple people in my life

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it?

yes! a stuffed white dog with a plaid scarf and matching antlers! my friend got it for me because it reminded her of my big white dog.

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign?

aquarius

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering?

once i came 3rd in my age group for a 5k i ran

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment?

i successfully kept a frail axolotl alive for an entire summer

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)?  

i dont care what my parents think about stuff like that, they cant tell my who i am or am not allowed to date

Dendrobium: Who is the last person that you said “I love you” to?

@byler-obsessed literally like, maybe 15 minutes ago as of writing this

False Goat’s Beard: What is something you are good at?

i’d like to think i’m decent at singing

Foxgloves: What’s something you’re bad at?

staying awake during the day

Freesia: What are three good things that have happened in the past month?

i saw my gf for the first time in months! i came out to the girls team for xc! i spent a lot of time with one of my closest irl friends!

Garden Cosmos: How was your day today?

decent, i had coach practice, which was nice

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you’re at in your life?

yeah, i’d say i’m pretty happy where i am

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two?

learn guitar

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life?

my best friends anna and bryan, my older brother, the girls on the team, my ukulele, my therapist, my dogs, the creek in my back yard, my grandma’s amish apple dumpling recipe, random internet memes, books

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed?  

listening to my spotify playlist

Hellebore: How do you show affection?

reassurance and/or talking about things that i enjoy, i’m really insecure so if i’m talking about something i like, that’s me trusting you. 

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of?

the mental health progress i’ve made

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day.

i lay in bed until like 11, then, i spend the rest of the day out with my friends, we get sushi for dinner and stay up until like 3am

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time?  

be on tumblr

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them?

i met them both in 6th grade, anna nad i were in the same science class and i met bryan at lunch, he didn’t talk to me for at least the first half of the year.

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything?

bryan, he always knows just what to say, and knows that he doesn’t have to fix my problems to be a good friend.

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have?

like, 13?

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?

my friend once told me that they couldn’t tell if i was a boy or girl upon first meeting me and it made my day.

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself?

i’m a mess, an anxious, depressed, gay mess

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself?

my hair, it’s really fluffy and soft, and just about light enough to dye bright colors

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself?  

my chest, it’s always been a huge part of my dysphoria and i want it gone please

Lilac: What’s something you liked to do as a child?

i would play dress up with my dog, he had to suffer through wearing all my old dresses, but he got treats so it was ok

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid?

my friend ry, we met in second grade, we’re still on and off friends, currently off

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty for?

in 5th grade i used the word “suck” in class and got yelled at

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about?  

see above answer

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name?

carson: christian. it’s my name because i like how it sounds, and anna really liked it too, she picked it for me.

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it.

white, suburban ohio. all the kids had cliques by the second day of kindergarten, and if you were knew, you generally had a pretty good chance of being picked up by the popular kids.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up?

i had bunkbeds with my little brother, i slept on the bottom.

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years?  

so far, not really. i’m just mentally ill and closeted, it’s not great

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom.

she likes to dye her hair crazy colors, and she used to be a beekeeper, even though she’s allergic to bee stings.

Onions: Tell about your dad.  

he rides his bike almost every day, and supports my mom in whatever she does

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents.

on my mom’s side, the kindest boomers i’ve ever met, my grandpa used to take us on “adventures” to the park and just watch us play

on my dad’s side: my grandpa loves seeing us but doesn’t get out much, my grandma laughs hysterically at every family gathering, and has all the best amish recipes

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it be so memorable?

when i turned 13, i went ice skating for the first time and fell and sprained my wrist

Peony: What was your first job?

mowing lawns

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any?

we had mutual friends and slowly ended up being close, we were in school plays and track together.

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain?

i bite down on my finger to simultaneously distract myself, focus on something else, and hold myself back

Pink: Where is home?

my best friends’ living room at 1 am, with the golden girls playing in the background

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change?

i’d go back and stop current president from becoming president

Prairie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them.

my sister, she has always been driven and passionate and talented, and she makes everything seem effortless and still gives it her all.

Primrose: Describe your ideal life.

me and my spouse and my kids amd my dogs all live in a decently spacious house in europe, my job is stable and i love my work, my students think i’m cool and come to me if they need help, i am doing well.

Rhodendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child?

i used to believe that the smoke from fireworks was where clouds came from

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life?

my best friends

Rose: What’s your favorite sound?

the sound of rain on my roof at night

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory?

when my sister, dad, and i all climbed to the top of a mountain in california

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory?

throwing up in the car on the way home for visiting my sister in new york

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want?  

a hug from anna

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things?

it’s hard because i don’t trust people

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine life without?

the internet

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night?

like 5.5 hours

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning?

to run, it makes me feel better and i love cross country

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job?

lmao i dont have one

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing?

my binder!

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic.  

the record player song but a boy

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you?

a list of reasons why you deal with me/things you like about me

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now?

the fact that this is taking a lot longer than anticipated and i don’t want people to think i’m ignoring their asks

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the past few months? What were they called?

actual books? only 2, Catcher in the Rye and the Night Circus

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year?

out with my friends

Yarrow: Do you know what vore is?

yes, and i regret it

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself.

i’m double jointed in my left pinky

[littlemissagrafina]

Fics That Give Me Feels

(Angst, whump, hurt/comfort etc.) Regularly adding new fics

Please note that some of these can and will be TRIGGERING for some so please be careful.

Depression, self-harm, mental health, death, etc. Sorry if I missed anything else that might trigger anyone (I haven't read through these properly in a while) if someone spots any triggers will you please let me know?

Stay safe babes, Agrafina out.

After the Storm Passed

Sometimes, Peter felt like he wasn't quite... real. Like maybe he wasn’t really himself but a bad copy of himself. Like maybe he’d come back wrong.

Lost boy's lullaby

"Goodnight my angel, now it's time to sleep

And still so many things I want to say."

- Lullaby, Billy Joel

Peter was surely tired and exhausted.

He has been exhausted since five... years ago? Right? He has been fighting Thanos since that time and he had been beaten up pretty badly. And of course, who would have forget the time that he actually died--disintegrating second by second on an unfamiliar planet, fighting the inevitable of fading away... fading into nothingness. He has been fighting since that time and now, he just couldn't get any break, could he?

i love you 3000, peter parker. whether you believe it or not.

what if, after seeing morgan, tony gets another visitor in the soul realm?

teach me to be comfortable in my own skin

"Mr. Stark?"

Mr. Stark hummed but did not lift his eyes from his work. "Yeah, kid?"

"Does it bother you that I'm not normal?”

Will I Ever Make A Sound?

Mental illness does not discriminate. It doesn't give a damn if Peter Parker is Spider-Man. It takes and it takes and it takes.

But there is hope. There is always hope.

By @losingmymindtonight

Being Alive (is different than living)

The lines between life and death become blurred for Peter Parker and his family and friends when Thanos snaps his fingers. But living again when you were once dead? Well, that's the hardest part. Peter finds that surviving and living are two very different things. It's a cruel and unfortunate thing to discover.

does it ever get better? (a journey through self-harm)

By @imstrandedonthemoon

the courage of stars

Peter falls silent again, exhausted, and Tony takes the time to study the kid carefully. Peter is sullen in a way he’s never seen before, shoulders hunched and weighed down by some unseen force.

He’s just not… Peter.

“Come on, Pete. Talk to me,” Tony prompts. “If you want to see the stars, I can take you. I’ll take you wherever you’d like.”

or

Sometimes, Peter can't breathe. Tony does his best to help.

+

mosaic thoughts

Tony watches, face tight with concern, as Peter swallows thickly. The kid’s hands twitch irritably where they rest on his thighs, and Tony’s eyebrows fly up at the increasingly open display of anxiety.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tony prompts gently.

Peter shakes his head fiercely again, face beginning to crumple as tears start to spill down his cheeks. Tony quickly gets up and kneels in front of him.

“Easy, kid. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just take some deep breaths and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter makes another sound before finally choking out, “I can’t - I can’t!”

or

Anxiety steals Peter's colors, but Tony's there to bring them back.

+

to build a home

After the snap, Peter comes back, but nothing is the same. He's now faced with near-crippling anxiety, depression, and PTSD. But thankfully, he's got a Tony and amazing friends and family to help rebuild everything he'd lost. Recovery isn't easy, but it's worth it.

+

teach me how to say goodbye

Tony curls Peter into him protectively. “Don’t hurt him!” Tony warns, and the man laughs.

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything. You are,” he says, placing the gun down on the floor. “Well, technically you have a choice. Either you can kill your boy, or you,” he says, pointing at Peter, “can shoot Iron Man. I’ll leave it for you to decide. The survivor will be free to go, never to hear from me again.”

(In which Peter and Tony face the hardest decision they've ever had to make.)

By @tonystarkstan

I can't find a title for this

By @justme--emily

This hit really close to home and had me sobbing.

Tell Me You'll Be Fine

"Tony." A voice, gentle and warm, spoke from behind him. Tony frowned slightly, that sounded very familiar but..

Tony turned around to look at the boy- no, the young man. Tony balked slightly.

He was taller now, definitely taller than Tony was. He filled into his body well, his muscles thicker and shoulders broader, still lean though. His hair was a little shorter, too, but it was still the same brown curls. The same doe eyes. The same trusting smile.

"You're-" Tony tilted his head, taking a step forward and huffing in disbelief. The boy- no, man, walked up to meet him, smiling softly. "Pete?" Tony asked quietly, hesitantly.

"Hey, Mr. Stark."

You should be here

Since coming back from the snap May and Peter had been moved into the tower, easing the separation anxiety between everyone.

Aunt May had become Pepper’s personal assistant which meant she could see more of Peter.

Not long after the rest of the Avengers were pardoned and moved in as well. It was a little tense to start with but soon everyone was building their broken relationships back up, a lot of crying and apologising involved.

Peter soon found himself with an extended family that he loved very much.

Now it was his Eighteenth birthday, and he’s happy. He is…

by @marvels-blue-phoenix

Through Your Tattered Window Pane

While fighting a battle he wasn't supposed to be in, Tony loses his memory. He slowly regains it, seeming to remember everyone... except Peter.

+

Am I Just a Shadow You Drew?

Tony has been distant lately. Peter learns why. [AU: No powers]

By @emeraldmoon

broken by my own hand (put back together by yours)

"For the first time he realizes how perfectly the kid fits into his life. In his arms, against his chest, under his chin, in his entire world."

What Do I Need?

He's not coming. If I wasn't such a burden to him before maybe he would have helped me now. Maybe he would come pick me up and everything would be okay. But everything's not okay because I ruined everything. I should have lied more. I shouldn't have talked to my counselor. This. Shouldn't. Be. Happening.

By @scooter3scooter

Diamond of the Day

Peter couldn't let Mr. Stark die. He wouldn't let him die. He had lost Ben, he wouldn't stand by and not do anything.

Or

The Avengers Endgame/Merlin crossover that no one asked for and made me sad

+

Tumblr Drabble/One Shots

+

Whumptober 2019

By the stunning @itsreallylaterightnow

Resetting the Bone

"Morgan was being sweet, he knew that. She didn’t understand how Peter was sick. She had heard somewhere- how nobody could guess- that he was hurt on his left arm. She knew he had done it. Not a bad guy.

She’d come up with the idea that he needed a Band-Aid to keep on his wrist. Pride glowing on her face, she made sure he had one every morning. Peter wore it all day for her.

Morgan kept giving him Band Aids every visit. She didn’t give up. She was being sweet. She was trying to take care of him. But he really wished she would stop!"

these christmas lights keep shining on (without you here)

With Christmas right around the corner, Peter doesn’t know how he can move on without Tony. Thankfully, he has his family to help him through it.

By @marvelous-writer

Just gonna let em hate

It’s not like anything changed much.

Peter is usually great brushing off all the shit everyone gives him for being himself. It usually doesn’t matter what they think; what anyone thinks really.

So why is it getting so hard for him to do that recently?

By @starrykitty013

cracks in my glass house

Since adopting Harley, the adjustment period had been... hard.

Harley didn’t seem to think Tony cared about where he went or what he did or when he did it. He’d had to bail Harley out of jail more than once already. Harley had brought home girls and boys alike on various nights, only to send them home in the morning and never speak to them again (not that Tony could judge, but by this point he’d passed out more NDAs than he could keep track of).

But it was fine. Everything was fine. Tony loved Harley. He’d do anything for him.

Except let Peter become one of those nameless faces he spent the night with.

TLDR; Harley is a ~bad boy~ and Tony doesn’t want him to hurt Peter.

New Dream

“You ever tried to escape?”

Peter chuckled. “Yeah. Lots of times I end up back here, brink of death. Though, twice Tennison was so impressed he let me have extra dinner and no experiments the next day.”

“Wow, kiddo, living the luxurious life, huh?” it was astounding how quickly they’d fallen into a comfortable companionship.

“There was a guard who helped me once,” Peter’s smile dropped with his volume. “But he had to leave. They never found out he helped me. I was hoping…”

He trailed off and shook his head. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to hitch a ride with you when Captain America comes to bust you out, huh?”

Tony’s heart jumped. Oh, kid, if you knew just how much I wished for that. “Yeah, I guess I’ll let you come along. Only one stowaway allowed, though, you hear me? No weird mutated turtles or rats or something.”

Peter laughed again, and for a moment the cold cell felt warm.

[eldritchsurveys]

641.

Would you convert to a different religion if your fiancé/fiancée was of a different faith? >> Fortunately, this was never an issue. Even if she did have a religion, there’s no obligation for me to share it. I tend to be the one interested in religions (although the jury’s still out on whether I’d ever actually feel comfortable adopting one).

The world is ending, and you can save one group of five people: who would be the five people that you save? >> First of all, if the “world is ending”, then I do not want to be stuck as one of the six humans left to deal with the aftermath and trying to survive in an inhospitable landscape. Also, this is just way too implausible a situation for me to take seriously.

Is happiness a delusion? Is happiness only real when shared? Why or why not? >>The idealisation of happiness is a bit delusional, I guess, but it’s a shared, social delusion -- just look at all the “wellness” “self-help” “self-care [the “buy this thing” kind, not the real, practical kind]” nonsense being peddled to us on a daily basis. Any feeling that is not happy-cheery forced positivity is aberrant and pathological and has to be “fixed”. That’s not a healthy way to think, and I hate that we’re all made to feel that way about perfectly normal ass emotions. I don’t know if happiness is only real when shared. I’ve always had someone(s) Inworld to share my happinesses (and everything else) with, so I can’t speak as to what it’d be like if I didn’t.

What would the cover of your biography (presumably written by somebody else who never knew you, postmortem) look like? >> I... really have no idea.

Write about a really good or creative Tumblr URL that you see frequently on your dashboard. >> inflagrante-delicatessen is a funny one.

If swear words were not things like “shit” and “fuck” what would they be otherwise? >> That’s, like, impossible for me to predict.

Write a very vivid description of what is/would have been your most perfect way to lose your virginity. What is your exact definition of ‘losing your virginity’? Also: will you/would you have liked to save your virginity for marriage? Why or why not? >> I don’t really care about this, you know? It’s not like if my first experience was earth-shattering, it would have somehow made up for all the horrible experiences I had later. I don’t have a definition for “losing one’s virginity” because that’s not a phrase I like to use. I don’t like making a point of dividing people’s experiences into “before sex” and “after sex” to begin with, but also, just focusing on a certain kind of sexual act as a “goal” to reach or whatever is... kind of weird to me. The whole shit is just weird the more I think about it.

Write a six-word fortune cookie. >> I’d rather not.

Why do you think eyebrows exist? >> I don’t have a hypothesis about this, but I’m sure there’s some educated theories out there if I was ever curious (right now, I am not).

If you could only have one contact on your phone, who would it be? >> Sparrow is the only person whose phone number I actually use on a regular basis, so, her.

Your bucket list is limited to three items. >> I don’t have a bucket list, period.

Do you wake up first or do you open your eyes first? >> I assume that I wake up first, and then open my eyes? But maybe it’s the other way around, what do I know.

Write a love/thank you/appreciation letter to someone you take for granted. >> No.

What makes you feel infinitely sexy? >> Can Calah makes me feel sexy. King Crimson makes me feel sexy. Sexiness isn’t something I feel outworld.

Make a video and talk about something for two minutes. Anything. And don’t edit out any parts of it. >> Uh, no.

Write a poem you’d stick on a refrigerator. >> Also no.

Are you afraid of aging? Why? >> I’m not afraid of ageing. I actually look forward to seeing what the rest of my life will bring, especially internally. What I am afraid of is infirmity, degenerative illness, that sort of thing. I’m afraid of losing my personal quality of life. (I know there’s a lot to unpack in regarding one’s quality of life as diminished if one develops a physical disability or something, because people live full lives with those things all the time. But I cannot predict how a change of that magnitude would affect me, personally, and I worry that I will not be able to adapt.)

Describe one time you basically thought you were the shit, when your self-confidence was soaring through the roof. This is meant to be a positive thing. >> Hm. I can’t remember a time like that right now.

If there was one person you could get drunk with and kiss and then later blame it on alcohol, who would it be? >> I would not do that.

Does perfection exist? If the word perfection did not exist, what word would be in its place? What would perfection mean instead? >> I guess the concept exists, at least. I don’t know if it’s something I can measure and perceive.

The next book you see that has over 300 pages, open up to page 136. Find a sentence you like, copy it down, and then write about it. >> I don’t feel like getting up to grab a book.

Who makes you laugh the most? >> ---

What is one thing that you are proud of, that you think lacks praise/lacks appreciation from the people around you? It could be a simple thing; it could be a secret thing. >> I don’t really seek appreciation from the people around me, so I don’t know.

If you could accuse somebody of being fake/a bitch and not suffer any repercussions, who would you accuse, and how would you do it? >> I’d really rather not. What even would be the point?

What is the funniest one-liner Tumblr text post you’ve ever read? >> Dude, there are so many funny ass posts on this website. I collect them at @officialaynrand.

Rewrite a verse of lyrics from your favorite song. They have to sound good when you sing it out loud along to tune of the song. >> Nope. But I will say that my brain insists on hearing the “heavy metal broke my [heart]” line in Fall Out Boy’s Centuries as “heavy metal Pokémon” and even though I know the lyrics I still sing it like that because it just kills me every time.

If the SATs/grades did not exist, in what way should colleges/teachers evaluate applicants? >> I have no suggestions.

Do you feel at home in your home? Is home a place for you? A book? A thing? A person? What would you want your home to be? >> I feel at home in Xibalba. I feel at home in my room here in the apartment, too. But I guess I’d feel equally at home in any place as long as I have a room of my own, a controlled environment that belongs solely to me.

Write your own eulogy. >> “Mordred Shadow Lastname wishes to inform us, the gathered, that it is just as surprised by this turn of events as we are. Except it actually isn’t surprised, or anything else, because It’s too busy being dead. Surprisingly. The unbelievably-deceased would like to request that if someone asks how it died, it will haunt whoever dares to say something stupid like ‘natural causes’. Make up a good story or pass the mic to someone who will.” Dunno what else I’d put in a eulogy about myself. That’s not really for me to write, anyway. Funerals are for the living, they can write the damn thing.

What is something you felt like you deserved or should have belonged to you, but you never got? >> There is nothing I feel that way about.

Do you feel ‘connected to nature’? Do you frequent outside? Do you believe that a connection with the earth we live on is necessary in the first place? >> I mean... I love to be outdoors, but I also love to be in a server room. I feel the same sense of awe and connection in both settings. For me, there is no real difference between the organic states and the transmuted states of matter. It’s all matter, innit? I don’t believe that feeling connected to Earth is necessary. I believe it’s healthy, sure, and common, but I don’t believe it’s unhealthy to not have that connection, or to feel connected to something else instead. It’s possible that some future generation of Homo sapiens will be born on another planet. What happens to that supposedly-innate “connection to the Earth” then? (Will they feel connected to their home planet instead? Or, something else? Or, nothing?)

Your opinion on oral sex? >> I don’t have an opinion on it, exactly. Just a preference: I prefer not to give or receive it. That’s all.

If one TV show could be real, which one would you want it to be? Which one would screw our world over? >> That is a complex question with a lot of variables and I don’t think I feel like devoting mental energy on it right now.

How many kinds of love are there? >> I… don’t know? As many kinds as people can conceive, I imagine. Or maybe it’s all just one kind, with different expressions. *shrug*???

Which word needs to exist (or be used again)? >> I mean, if I thought a word should be used again, I’d just use it. That’s literally how it works. If it’s been phased out completely enough that no one remembers it and it’s not recorded anywhere, then I can’t want it back, because I’d have to know a thing used to exist in the first place in order to want it to exist again.

What is the absolute hardest thing about staying alive? >> This pesky nag called “death” that keeps asking, “are we there yet?!” from the backseat.

What is a book that has been recognized as ‘great literature’ that you dislike? Why? >> Oh, I don’t know. The only time I ever read “Literature(tm)” was in high school, so I don’t know how I’d feel about any of it now. I'm just not really interested in it.

What is one change that you would make/have made to your life that will make/has made it better? >> *shrug*

Is everything you do for yourself? Can you truly be selfless? >> No, not everything I do is solely for myself. I do things for others as well. But I don’t like doing things for others if doing so threatens my quality of life, survival, or mental health. I don’t think it’s possible for a human being to act without a single note of self-interest. I mean... isn’t the survival instinct an instinct of self-interest?

Are you the same person you were two and a half years ago? >> I’m not the same person I was a second ago. (I also am not the same person I was about... 5 or so years ago, but that’s a... different thing.)

Can you possibly conquer the labyrinth? >> What labyrinth? Jareth the Goblin King’s? I’d try my best to conquer it if only to get to dance in the ballroom scene with him.

As a hyper intelligent pan-dimensional being, what is the answer to the ultimate question, the life, the universe and everything? What is the ultimate question? >> The ultimate question is obviously “how the fuck does CatDog poop?”

[bloodline-rpg]

Congratulations, Bigby! We have accepted your application for your OC, Tyler Orville (FC  Dane Dehaan) Please create a new blog (not a sideblog) for your character and send us the link via ask box as soon as you can. Along with your link, please let us know what lyric you’d like for us to use for Tyler in his bio if you do not wish to use the one on the skeleton. Welcome to Bloodline!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Bigby

Age: Twenty-Six (twenty-seven as of jan 26, 2020!).

Preferred pronouns: they/them

Timezone: est

Level of activity (don’t give your activity a number value, please describe how active you will be as best as possible): I work full-time midnight shifts from 11:30pm - 7:30 am. I am gone from the house from 10:30 pm until 8:30 am. I do not get online in my “mornings” but after work I’m usually on for a couple hours before bed. This is/would be my only rp group so I can devote my free time and attention to it outside of regular adult responsibilities. That being said, I do have regular access to tumblr IM and discord while away for plotting and keeping in touch/up to date.

CHARACTER DETAILS

(The Resurrected skeleton).

Character’s Name: Tyler Orville

Desired FC: Dane Dehaan

Character’s Age: Twenty-Seven

Character’s Species: Immortal Witch

Character’s Sexuality: Bisexual

CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY

Tyler lived a fractured childhood. Fragmented moments glimpsed of a possibility, at something forever out of reach. He was born sick. Sick in an ever changing way, as if the unnamed disease that ravaged his body was more than such, as if the very illness were alive. He was their first child born following two miscarriages, two elder siblings he’d never know and he couldn’t help but think bitterly that whatever awful thing nested within his being had been the root cause of their deaths.

Francine Calhoun, his mother came from a long, long line of original witches; the kind of old blood that prided themselves on their lineage so much so that inbreeding had been commonplace in generation’s past. Her courtship and subsequent marriage the kind of witch that barely qualified as a witch. The kind of witch, that if it were a mere man and nothing more; would only go to church on Easter and Christmas and call themselves a devout Christian.  In fact, Teddy Orville hadn’t been much of a witch for the last several years; a decade even, outside of the odd potion infused tea to help during the university crunch before exams anyway.

Much of Tyler’s life was spent in hospitals. Moved from one doctor’s appointment to the next; a seemingly endless stream of doctors approaching his case with first fresh faced enthusiasm and big dreams of curing the incurable before frustration, disappointment, shame…no tests they ran produced conclusive results. Were they absolutely certain it was not environmental? Were they certain it wasn’t all just in his head? What a wicked thing to ask a boy of barely nine years, far too small and too many sharp edges, sunken eyes and blood stained lips.

His parents refused to give up.

Isolated from their magical foundations (your child’s illness, your child’s pain and suffering, your damned spawn’s death is what you deserve for allowing your body, your womb, to be tainted with such a lesser man’s seed) Francine struggled to cope, struggled to combat the evil plaguing her son’s body with her magical abilities coupled with modern medicine. For the time being, Tyler was alive even if that was touch and go; would it not be kinder to let him pass? To let him go?

He drifted from palliative care back to intensive, back to long term; his education was sporadic at best. Not once did he set foot in an actual school and he longed for a life outside these walls; to be like the children he watched on television or read about in his books. He longed for some greater being to come and purge him of this wicked illness in his breast and though his parents struggled to provide him with a life; he wasn’t living, was barely surviving the day: rinse and repeat.

His life changed when he received a clunky laptop at thirteen, it allowed him an unheard of outlet to the world in forums, in chat rooms, through games. He could be anybody. Anyone but himself. And maybe in the beginning he fell in love with that anonymity. He was no longer the sad little sick boy, he could be a regular boy doing regular boy things like going to school, playing sports, and hanging out with his friends. Friends. He began to make those too.  That was new. He’d never had friends that weren’t the nursing staff in the unit he stayed at or the PSWs that came to his home when he was enjoying one of his rare “good” streaks (they never lasted).

There were other children in the pediatric wards of course, but they were never the long term kind of patients. Not like him. There were the odd handful that stayed for a couple months, and some even a couple years but…their endings were not happy ones.

Technology improved with time, not just with his laptop but with medicine. With such improvements came new hope. And new disappointment. Funny that, he thought he’d long been accustomed to the bitter taste. As he got older, his good streaks became less and time spent within the gently titled comfort of his own home became sparse until it became nonexistent. By this point in time, the knowledge of witches had become common; and some younger, braver, perhaps even brasher doctors went against the norm to seek help out in these communities but came up empty handed.

His parents were drowning in debt, in sorrow and their exhaustion showed. Tyler almost wished they hated him. Wished they’d move on. Try again with another baby, a healthy baby. Do it right this time, since he was nothing but wrong.

He’s so young. The staff whispered, pity, sorrow heavy; had been whispering since he was in the single digits. Tyler would be forever young despite being closer to thirty than twenty. His activity in his group chat dropped to an all time low, his oldest friends feared the worst.

And he discovered something unheard of.

It was the kind of discovery one could only stumble upon in the places on the internet that no one should go. Where only those with wicked intent did linger. Immortality. It seemed too good to be true, some old wives tale; some fantasy story straight out of the games he played with his friends (less and less so these days).

Only it was real.

And it was obtainable.

A cure.

I’m a real boy.

Talking about being forever young had never rung so true, the doctor’s were baffled. His family was torn between horror and gratitude. He stood in the hospital garden, barefoot with dirt between his toes (and the odd cigarette butt or two but that’s less romantic) and simply basked in the sun. It was as close to a religious experience as he’d ever experienced, and he’d spent a lot of time praying to an uncaring God over the years. Begging. Pleading. Cursing.

He sent a letter written in a terribly untidy scrawl to Carden Manor requesting the chance to relocate. To discover the culture he’d never had the chance to experience, of witches and wolves and perhaps others like him. After all, it was the only community of their people he could name and maybe he was still on the tail-end of euphoria that had him wanting to throw himself into the deep end so to speak.

Maybe there was something darker there, something darker that festered close to pain towards his parents. Resentment. Anger. They claimed to have exhausted all means but what of this? “It’s something born of the darkest of magic Tyler please…” had it been a line they were unwilling to cross? Had they known about it all along but their morals had them unable to act?  This was an old magic, this wonderful beautiful thing that had been a boon to his ravaged body. This thing that had given him a new lease on life, was to him far more a blessing than any kind of curse. Already accustomed to the taste of (his own) blood on his tongue, the need to consume such a thing to survive was such that he didn’t even bat an eye.

Anger. It simmered, boiled toward all consuming and dark. Terribly, terribly dark. A want for violence, to let his hands hook into claws and act out such emotions; revenge? He wasn’t sure. Though, Tyler was absolutely sure of one thing: he wanted away from them.

Moving to the manor was the second best thing to ever happen to him and he’s all too eager to dive into a life he never thought he’d get the chance to have.

To live.

CHARACTER PERSONALITY

It’s almost painfully obvious that Tyler’s social skills are lacking. Limited socialization during his formative years has left its mark. The bulk of his ability to interact with his peers is stilted and awkward, he can come off as blunt, flat, and even cruel. Withdrawn as though secretive (and he is hiding something, hiding who and what he used to be before his immortality) he comes off as standoffish and every bit some kind of “edgy loner kid” persona. Though he is most comfortable when alone or in front of a keyboard, residing at the manor demands that he evolve past this. As does his new lease on life. He’s trying.

Incredibly self-motivated, Tyler is almost too eager to learn more of the supernatural world to which he’s been removed from for so long. His own magical talent, lacking largely in part due to a lack of proper training. His parents, understandably, had been much too focused on his ailing health. He has a truly impressive repertoire for potions and enchantments; the kinds of witch’s work one can learn from a tome but has very little hands on experience. His frustration for his…otherness that still remains is palpable. As though he hasn’t really changed. And due to such a state, he tends to lash out at his peers which does little to earn him any friends.

He’s used to not having friends, even if he finds himself frustrated with his inability to adapt in this regard. It’s a lot more difficult than he anticipated to reshape himself into somebody, a new and improved version of Tyler Orville.

Some parts of his original self remains, a quiet thoughtfulness, an impossible patience at odds with his frustration, and an optimism he tries to keep buried deep down for fear of coming off over eager and annoying.

PLOTS AND POLITICS

Presently, Tyler stands fairly neutral on the in game political spectrum due largely in part to his inexperience. His outsider status borders on some sort of isolation; which in a way, speaks the truth. He was woefully isolated from his people and hardly had it in him to follow the news much outside of the big events. Like the world discovery their kind in 2016, he saw that; read about it. His friends in the group chat talked about it. A lot. He and his best friend, Alex, fretted in a private chat about the repercussions of such a thing.

He’s not too overly keen on the servitude aspect of other species, finds it rather barbaric if he’s being honest but is well aware of the delicate line he walks here. Outsider. He’s the son of a marrying of a strong bloodline into a weak one, he never once met his Mother’s family and knows nothing of their history. Of their possible feuds. His Father’s family could never hope to hold a torch to such greatness. Tyler straddles the line between a somebody and a nobody.

In this, he could potentially be shaped into a supported of any party with the right guidance. He has power given his immortal status and his bloodline is strong, if watered down some with his Father’s genetics. He could prove to be a promising ally to any party should they wish to court him so.

As far as plots go, I want to explore him well, exploring life in person instead of looking on from the outside in. I want him to interact with his peers from wildly different walks of life and learn more about the world. The world, his world that had been so very small has suddenly exploded into something so grand.

I also have a potential wanted connection for him to offer, in the form of his best friend Alex (who can be played male, female, or non-binary) who is also a supernatural (species up to the potential other mun) and they met playing an unnamed fantasy mmorpg. Alex brought Tyler into their group of friends and they’ve been Tyler’s main friend group ever since. Tyler has gone radio silent before, but this is something new altogether. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth and Alex fears the worst. What exactly brings Alex to the manor would be 100% up to the other mun but a reunion would absolutely be required and their future interactions and relationship is anyone’s guess!

[ixeliema]

Insecure - Shane x my farmer, Terra

By popular demand (sort of, I mean I have never posted content on Tumblr out of fear it would get stolen or that I’d get harassed for it, so “popular” means like 2 reblogs and around 30 likes, THANK YOU ALL), here’s my fic about Shane being an awkward scared bean!

Summary: Terra and Shane had grown really close over time, and have formed somewhat of a routine. Shane goes to the saloon after work, Terra meets him with a beer for conversation. When Terra stops coming to the saloon, Shane begins to wonder what he did wrong, and if he messed up.

TWs: Implied self harm near the end, Talk of Suicide and Suicide Attempts, Anxiety and Depression, General Angst, Language (let’s be honest, Shane definitely swears a lot)

Word Count: 5373

Thursday, 18 Spring, Year 2 – 3:40 PM

 I hadn’t seen her in days, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d done something wrong.

Stocking those infernal shelves day after day made it hard for us to see each other as it was, even though we’d been dating over half a year by now.

At the end of last summer, she’d approached me shyly and handed me a bouquet and a beer. The beer, I’d come to expect, as she’d began greeting me at the saloon on a nightly basis when I got there at 6, drink in hand, and during the summer, sometimes with a freshly grown hot pepper.

Even after starting my therapy, she was always there with something, whether it was a beer because I’d “earned it” or a sparkling water because I was still trying to get away from my past emotional crutch and she knew that. Hell, she knew that all too well.

But two days ago, she wasn’t there. I was worried so I sent her a letter, and even then, no response. With work, I didn’t have much time to ask around town or visit, so I’d asked Jas and Marnie to tell me if they saw her anywhere, and even then, nothing.

I was becoming increasingly more convinced that I’d upset her somehow. What had I done in the last week to upset her? Had it been my tone when we talked on Saturday? Was it the beer can on the floor when she came to see me at home on Sunday? What WAS it?

I shook my head. Deep breaths, Shane. I channeled my counsellor’s advice. “Don’t panic, just breathe.” I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

“SHANE.” Morris’ voice boomed behind me. Startled, I stood up quickly, can of chili still in hand.

“Yes, sir?” I somehow managed to say without stuttering, despite my nerves still being high from the voice behind me.

“Your shift ends in an hour and a half, and you still have two aisles to stock.” Morris didn’t really sound angry at me, but he wasn’t exactly known for being a pleasant person to work for. There was a reason the girl with the ginger hair at the counter looked like a corpse from dawn until dusk every day.

“Sorry sir, I was taking a quick breather.” I made up the excuse knowing that Morris wouldn’t care whether I was 5 centimeters from a mental breakdown or not. He wouldn’t care what I said.

“Just don’t let it happen again. You still have plenty of work to do.” He smiled at me, and I felt ill.

He turned around quickly at the sound of the doorbells jingling. “Hello, welcome to JojaMart!!”

I rolled my eyes. What, am I not allowed to breathe here anymore?

“Oh! Miss Terra!”

My shoulders shot up from the pouty slumped state they were in upon hearing her name. Terra? What was she doing here? She hates JojaMart almost as much as I do at this point.

I heard a hushed voice to Morris and rapid footsteps away from my direction. I rushed to the edge of the aisle, desperate to see her face, to ask what was wrong, if she was okay. If WE were okay.

Nothing, just the same tired cashier, and no Terra, no Morris.

I looked around a bit, but to no avail. She must have gone to his office to talk with him in private.

What for though? She literally talks shit about him every time we hang out. What would be so important that she’d be willing to talk to Morris PRIVATELY?

With a sigh, knowing that Morris would fire me if I was caught loitering around the aisles, I went back to work.

 Thursday, 18 Spring, Year 2 – 7:20 PM

 Never in my life had getting blackout drunk sounded so appealing as I sat in the corner, completely alone, and with far too many questions spinning around in my head.

Seriously, what was this afternoon all about? Even after changing out of my uniform and clocking out, Morris wouldn’t talk to me, and even if he did, I doubt he would have said anything. Not like he owes me anything, I’m just a pawn to him, and he has always made it clear he doesn’t “care” about us.

I felt my heart sink again as I remembered watching Terra walk away from the store through the glass doors in the rain, wanting desperately to call out to her but feeling completely powerless in the face of my fears and my douche of a boss.

Not even Lewis and Willy’s banter about fishing off the docks when they were young, or Gus’ finest pizza could snap me out of the funk I was in. The only thing I could understand tonight was that Terra blatantly didn’t want to see me today.

I stood up and left the saloon, far earlier than I ever had before. Maybe, just MAYBE, I could run into her, especially if she was trying to avoid me. She knew my schedule well, not like it was difficult to memorize. Wake, eat, work, drink, sleep; rinse and repeat. She knew exactly where I’d be and when, and if I had any chance of finding her, I needed to use that to my advantage.

 I started out toward the forest. Maybe she was fishing by the lake? She had a particular fondness for the dock where we’d first sat down and really talked, and she loved fishing there. Something about a “constant flow of 25-inch-long smallmouth bass.”

Upon finding nothing, I checked my phone. 8 PM. Maybe she was home? It was a longshot, at this hour, but worth a try. She really pushed her body to the limit when it came to sleeping.

I headed north to Vervain Farm, sidestepping some weeds and a fallen tree branch as I headed up the docks. Her farm was very much right in the middle of a number of small rivers, and the numerous “isles” that made up her farm were traversable only by small bridges.

“Terra?” I asked softly, almost as if my voice didn’t really WANT to be heard. Clearing my throat and shaking my head, I called again. “Terra?”

My voice echoed in the wind, as a chilling breeze swept through my tattered jacket and into my bones. No response. I approached her cabin and stood on the doorstep in the rain for what seemed like forever before I finally gathered the courage to actually knock louder than a pathetic tapping.

I heard silence, then a shuffle, and then nothing again. I knocked again, hoping she was there, but all that answered my knock was a muffled “mrow?”

Terra’s cat, Citrus, emerged from the cat door and rubbed up against my leg, before realizing I was soaked and shaking his head indignantly at me.

“Hey boy,” I said under my breath, well aware that it was cold enough to see my breath fogging up the night air. “Have you seen Terra?” I asked, stroking his fur with my cold hands.

He looked up at me, green eyes wide and curious. “Mrow?”

I sat down on the porch beneath the gable, petting Citrus for another few minutes, listening to the rain and his purring, and trying to breathe normally.

Where is she? My mind was going crazy, and I swore I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes.

I grabbed Citrus close and let out a single sob. The cat, more than a little disgruntled by my actions, meowed loudly in surprise and growled at me until I loosened my grip.

“S-sorry.” I stuttered, feeling my jaw tensing up and chattering from the cold. “I’m sorry.” I repeated, scratching the cat behind his ears.

The orange tabby mewled at me once more before reentering the house, and I sighed heavily.

Alone again.

I stood up and shook my head aggressively, feeling the raindrops flying out in all directions from my messy purple hair.

The rain had lightened up, and I knew that this was the only chance I had to get home without receiving another cold shower from mother nature.

As I descended the stairs, I swore I heard a voice inside, but then again, at this point, I was too tired, cold and sad to know if it was merely an auditory hallucination or not.

I fell into bed at Marnie’s place at 9 PM on the dot, and as I did, I tried to empty my mind of all these thoughts. Terra, my insecurities, my loneliness, everything. And as I eventually drifted off the sleep, around 2 in the morning, I dreamed of Terra and I’s first date.

The gridball game with the Tunnelers, the game where I kissed her suddenly out of excitement, and panicked, thinking I’d just ruined my chances with this wonderful woman who had given me hope again. As she kissed me back, I remember feeling everything fading into the shadows. The game’s noise, the crowd’s screams, the tipsy feeling inside my head, everything was gone. Only her and me.

And god, was it wonderful. The last Sunday of Fall, and the last game of the season. We’d won, but I barely even remember that part. I remembered the taste of her lips on mine. The faint scent of beer and fried food as I inhaled deeply, taking it all in.

Moments like that could drive an atheist to Yoba, because in that moment, I had kissed an angel.

On the bus ride home, she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, hair messy, and a little bit tipsy herself. She was just so beautiful. Even as she drooled a bit on my jacket and made strange noises in her sleep, I just fell harder and harder for this woman every time I took a breath.

“Terra, I love you so much.” I said under my breath. “You give me hope that there is a future for me after all. You make me feel like I actually mean something to someone. You give me a reason to try harder, and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

A small snort answered my statement and I felt my face start to hurt from how wide I was smiling. “Terra, I think that I want to marry you someday. No, I know I do. Terra, I want to make me the happiest man alive…god this sounds so cheesy. I’m trying to say that…I love you. And I hope I can make you happy for the rest of my life.”

After the bus stopped in Pelican Town, I woke her and walked her home, thanking her for the wonderful time, and laughing at her jokes and her story about a funny dream she had on the ride home.

Of course, she didn’t know what I’d said, but I did. And those words were tattooed on my heart now. I want to marry her. I really, REALLY do. But I can’t propose without a Mermaid’s Pendant, and lord only knows how the hell you get one of those anymore.

Morris appeared in my dream, sly and shrewd. I knew he knew something, but there was no point in asking what he knew, because he would never tell me so long as he lived and breathed. He owed nothing to a stupid subordinate.

The night was long, and full of miniature dreams and nightmares in which I was alone and drowning in my fears.

God fucking damn it.

 Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 8:20 AM

 A rolling fog had settled over the valley, and the walk to work was much chillier than usual.

The milky white haze was so thick that I could barely to the end of Marnie’s cow paddock. As I continued my walk, I wondered if maybe Terra would answer her phone.

I dialed her number and stared at her contact name as it rang. It read “Brat” with a purple heart emoji. I always wondered if she had me named something in her phone, especially since she was literally the only person in my contacts WITH a nickname.

“Hi this is Terra,” Her voice jolted me out of my daze.

“Terra, oh thank god, I was so worried—”

“Unfortunately, you caught me in the fields, on in the mines, or…whatever. Anyway, I’m not able to talk right now.” I exhaled. God, I was so stupid. Was I so desperate to hear her voice that I didn’t realize I’d gotten her voicemail? It’s not like I hadn’t heard it before.

I hung up. Even if I could competently leave a voicemail without enough “Uh’s” and “Um’s” to outdo Jeff Goldblum, I didn’t know what I’d say to her, much less if she wanted to hear it at all.

I sighed heavily, feeling like all my happiness was draining out of my fingertips into the foggy air.

I clenched my fists, in a vain attempt to stop myself from feeling so rotten. I didn’t have much say right now. After work, I could go to Pierre’s, or sit outside her house until she got home…actually no, the last one would just come across stalker-y. And at this point, the last thing I needed was to drive her further away.

God damn it! Damn it damn it damn it!

I kicked a rock into the mists of oblivion, hearing it splash into the river. I needed to get my dumb ass to work before I lost my job. Not like anyone else in town was hiring, so I’d be fucked if I lost the job.

So, dragging my feet more than I ever have in the past, I dragged my shallow corpse of a body into JojaMart.

 Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 4:40 PM

 10 minutes until my shift ends. I said to myself, feebly attempting to ground myself in reality after the most out-of-it shift I’d ever had, even including all the ones I’d been forced to work while hungover.

The clock’s incessant ticking had me so high strung I was convinced that the next tick I’d hear would make me break the fucking thing over my knee.

A constant reminder of where I was, that ticking. A steady reminder that I’m wasting away stocking canned goods in a dead-end town for a corporate dunghill while the love of my life refuses to speak to me.

My eyes felt hollow, like they weren’t really seeing things, more like they just stared off into the blackness of nothingness and stayed there.

The snapping of Sam’s fingers in my face startled me back into reality. “Earth to Shane, hellooooo.”

“Sam?” I sounded almost drunk in my bewilderment, which wasn’t ideal right now. The last thing I need is for my coworker to think I’m zoning out because I’m drunk off my ass on-shift.

“Yeah, me.” He grinned his borderline obnoxious sunshiny smile. “Your shift ended like, 3 minutes ago. You’re usually out of here in a flash.”

I stared back at the clock I’d been fantasizing about murdering, surprised. He was right somehow.

“You’re one to talk, your shift ends at 4, what the hell are you doing here still?” I retorted, indignant at the younger man’s tone for no good reason.

Walls up.

“I fell asleep in the break room, don’t tell Morris.” He sniggered; way too proud of himself. “You going to the saloon? I’ll come with. I’ve got about twelve games of pool to lose tonight.”

I wasn’t thrilled by this bright and smiley tagalong, but it wasn’t like he was wrong. Where the hell else would I go? Not like anywhere else felt right today.

May as well let myself relapse like the coward I am.

“Sure. Give me a second to get out of this shitty uniform.” I said, disappearing into the break room.

 Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 5:10 PM

 Sam wasn’t a bad guy really, but right now he was the worst guy for me to be around. He was too cheery, and far too talkative.

I thought the clock was annoying, but Sam reminded me far too much that I was a total wet blanket just by breathing with a smile.

“How was work, dude?” My mind didn’t really register the question until I heard the bells jingle as the door shut behind us.

“Uh?” I answered gracefully. “Oh, right. Work. Uh, um.” I stammered. Pathetic, Shane, you seriously suck shit at conversation. Why does anyone bother with you to begin with?

“Yeah, work. Good ol’ Joja.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Long day, huh?” He seemed sympathetic, but to me, that meant pity. And I didn’t need his pity.

“Yeah, sure.” I said.

Walls fortified.

“You okay?”

The fucking worst question of all. In the deluge of questions this kid asked me, that one bothered me most, and for really no good reason.

It made me angry, it made me want to cry, it made me want to scream, and it made me, most of all, just feel empty.

“Not really, Sam. Please stop talking.” Was the politest response I could manage.

Sam raised his finger as though he had something to say, but quickly decided against it.

Good. Please stop pressing me before I throw myself in the river and pack my coat full of stones.

We walked in silence for a while until we were passing the Mullner’s house, when Sam piped up again with a smile. “Hey Shane, I think tonight will help you get your mind off of…whatever’s going on.”

I stared at him, actually stopping in my tracks. Why did this kid sound so fucking condecending? And why did he give two shits about my mental wellbeing?

No one gave a shit about that, except Terra, and now she was gone.

“Why are you acting like you know me?” My voice was steeped in venom, probably more so than I’d intended. “Why do you give a fuck what’s going on with me?”

Sam stopped too, staring at me, worried.

“Stop acting like you understand me. It’s pissing me off.” I felt my face getting hot. It wasn’t anger, it was tears. “Get lost, kid.” I suppressed a sob, hurting my chest and making my eyes burn with tears.

Sam stepped toward me. “Shane, I didn’t mean—”

“SHUT UP!”

I turned around quickly as the tears fell. “Just…please…go away.” My voice choked. “Pl…ease.”

Sam took a deep breath, and then grabbed my arm, dragging me around the corner and through the door of the Stardrop Saloon.

“What the fuck are you--? Get your hands off me! Let me go! Get off!—” I struggled against his grip, but to no avail. I fell to the ground, and Sam dropped me. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice.

“Shane?”

Turning around in a daze, I saw Terra. Golden earrings, brown hair tied neatly in a bun, familiar purple sweater, leather boots, and gorgeous blue eyes. My heart stopped for a moment, and then began rushing again as I realized I was still crying, on the floor, and in complete disarray.

“Terra—! I, um, hang on, I, wait, uhhhh…” I panicked and basically spilled out words like a semi-truck carrying nothing but alphabet soup crashed into a wall.

“Shane, what’s…?” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh my god, Shane.”

Her arms were around me instantly, her lips on my forehead, and suddenly I couldn’t feel anything. Numbness covered me the instant her hands made contact with my skin, and I couldn’t hear anything.

None of the noise from the tavern, none of the eyes staring, none of the tears on my cheeks, just her arms around me. I felt like I was home again.

I snapped out of it to hear Terra apologizing profusely, on the brink of tears, as I stared into nothing. “I’m so sorry, Shane, I didn’t think about how you’d interpret my actions, oh my god, I’m so sorry…”

“F…for wh…what?” I rasped, throat dry from dehydration. “It’s…my fault. Right?”

She stopped moving, stopping to stare at me. “Wh…what?”

“I fucked up…and…you…you finally realized…that I’m…just a…piece of shit.” I was dizzy, and Terra was growing increasingly more concerned.

“Baby, baby no!” She shouted her pet name for me, turning a few heads from the arcade area. My face was burning. No no no no don’t look at me. I bit my lower lip, suppressing a sharp inhalation that would have certainly made me start hyperventilating.

“Baby I…” Terra stopped and sat back, staring at me. “I was gone because I was…” She paused, pursing her lips.

“I was looking for this.”

She reached into her sweater and revealed a blue conch shell on a leather string.

It was a Mermaid’s Pendant.

Everything went white for a moment. Wait. She wasn’t serious, was she?

Me?

 I stared at her in complete shock, jaw gaping, breathless and completely incapable of saying anything. “Terra, you…”

“Shh.” She put her index finger to my lips and put the necklace around my neck. “Shane. Breathe.”

Right about now I noticed exactly how many people were surrounding us. Almost everyone from town was here. A Friday night at the saloon was busy enough already, but there were some new faces, like Jodi and Caroline, both of which I’d never seen in here before.

Everyone. Sebastian, Abigail, Alex, Willy, even LINUS, was staring down at us, as I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. She’d been planning this for days. Everyone was here. For us. For me.

“I…” I cleared my throat, scrambling to sit up straight, and try to recover whatever dignity was not currently ablaze in the depths of hell. “I…”

Terra looked concerned. Oh my god, she thought I was going to say no.

She’s just as scared as I am about what this means.

“I accept!!” I shouted.

Silence, then eruptions of applause.

Terra tackled me with a hug and began to cry into my chest. And unbeknownst to even myself, so did I. Gus cheered and turned on the jukebox to the oldies channel he always played. Sam smiled down at me, Sebastian congratulated me…Lewis tried talking to me about how to go about arranging a wedding, but I couldn’t hear him.

I was far too busy crying. Someone, no, not just anyone, TERRA, just told me that they want to spend the rest of their life with me. ME!

Part of me wondered if it wasn’t somehow just an elaborate prank, but the tears in her eyes and the pendant around my neck snapped me out of that illusion immediately.

Terra was going to be my wife.

Holy shit.

 After the commotion died down I asked her everything I’d been meaning to ask over a well-deserved beer and basket of chips. “Why did you actively avoid me for the last week?”

“I’m a really bad liar and I know how perceptive you are, and I was really worried you’d find me out. I wanted to invite everyone because they’re all really important to me, but it was hard getting around without running into you.”

She looked incredibly guilty, and I felt my heart tighten at the sad look on her face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I laughed a little. “Just…give a guy a warning…or something.” I took a huge sip of beer. “I mean, I was basically staying up all night thinking you were ghosting me because I left a beer can on the floor when you visited on Sunday.”

“The what?” Her oblivious question made me realize exactly how stuck up in my head I was about the whole thing, of course she hadn’t even noticed.

“Wow.” I exhaled. “I feel…stupid.”

“That makes two of us.” She replied, putting her head gently on my shoulder. “I didn’t even think about how this might affect your anxiety.” She bit her lip. “God, I’m an idiot.” She slumped, seeing her so broken up over my mental state destroyed any lingering doubts I may have had about how genuine she was being with me.

“Terra, baby…I…” I stopped. I was about to tell her that she wouldn’t have HAD to worry if I were normal, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t great at sitting and talking feelings with a borderline stranger, but there was one thing I’d learned in abundance in the short time since I began therapy.

I couldn’t keep blaming myself for everything. I would consume myself and end up even worse off. And it had been a battle to stop, especially considering recent stressors.

“We both messed up, baby.” I answered. “You made a mistake, and I got super worried and convinced myself that you were breaking up with me in a slow and painful way. And worst of all, I was convinced I deserved it.” I paused as Terra looked up at me. “Baby, I want to marry you. I’ve wanted to marry you since that night at the gridball game, but I’m such a goddamn trainwreck that I wanted to get better before I proposed. I…”

“I wanted to be worthy of you.”

Terra looked into my eyes with a lot of confusion and a lot of love.

“That’s when I decided I wanted to marry you, too.” She blushed a deep pink and looked at the floor. “I…heard you saying how much you loved me in my dreams.”

I froze. Wait. Had she also heard the—

“I heard you tell me you wanted to marry me, too.”

I felt my face burning. Fuck. I was hoping she wasn’t going to say that.

“After a few days of thinking about it, I decided to look into how to propose.” She continued, laughing. “I eventually found out, about halfway through winter, that I needed to propose using a Mermaid’s Pendant, which can only be received from a ghost you can find in the RAINY season.” She scoffed. “I was really angry about having to wait, actually.”

Seeing her pout about this was adorable, even though I had no goddamn clue what she was talking about with a “ghost” and the “winter” and “rain.”

“I only got the pendant yesterday, actually. I was on the beach at like 6 PM and I saw the Old Mariner standing on the island across the bridge.”

“It cost me a lot of money, so I spent the rest of the night at the beach, fishing up some big fish to sell to repair the dent in my funds.”

Wait. “How much did it…cost?” I said, concerned.

“It’s…not a big deal now. I got the money back from a good harvest and quality fish.” She smiled a toothy grin. She knew what I was doing. I was fishing for a reason to blame myself, and she put an end to that right quick.

“Hey Shane,” Sam’s voice came from behind me. “Hey dude.”

I turned to face him. “Hey…uh, I’m sorry about earlier.” I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. This kid was just trying to help and I’d just yelled at him and made myself out to be a total ass.

“No, no, I get it, man.” He held up his hands as his two friends ducked out the doors of the saloon. “I would have been really confused and angry too. And I know now that you have a lot of anxiety and…a lot of baggage.” He paused, glancing at me, as if looking for approval. “I shouldn’t have forced you, and I’m sorry too.”

I smiled, and Sam looked at me as though he were witnessing a unicorn cantering through the fields of heaven. I guess it really was true how little I smiled in public, good lord. “I appreciate what you did for me, Sam.” I put my hand out to shake his hand, and he reluctantly accepted. “Thanks.”

“For…wait, what?”

“Thank you for being such a good friend to Terra, and for helping me out, even though I’ve been nothing but unpleasant to you.”

“Uh, no problem, man, I just…I’m glad that it all worked out.”

Sam ducked out, and I felt my nerves cough and sputter out like a dying lawnmower.

“Shane,” Terra said my name and snapped me out of my drowsy stupor. “You should get home. You’ve had a long day.” She smiled. “We can get together and plan the wedding tomorrow. I’m thinking the 22nd would be a good date.”

Wedding. God that word sounded foreign to me.

“Alright,” I sighed. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Waving at Gus and Lewis as I left, Terra and I ventured out into the cold.

As we started toward Marnie’s ranch, I paused.

“Wait, Terra, the 22nd is a Monday.” I felt my heartbeat trying to race, but falling victim to my slightly intoxicated bloodstream. “We can’t possibly get married then, I have…ugh…work.” I grimaced.

“Oh, about that.” Terra laughed. “I may or may not have prematurely gotten the next week of work off for you by talking to Morris.”

The pieces connected suddenly. “Wait, that’s what you were doing?”

“Well, yeah, what, did you think I went in there to blow the bastard? I’d rather die.” I laughed loudly at her crudeness, spooking a rabbit into a bush nearby. “It wasn’t easy. We can do Monday, Tuesday, any day. I just think that Monday is best because then we’ll have a whole week to move you in and get adjusted.”

Moving in? Oh god, that was something that made my heart leap. I’d be living with Terra. Holy shit. Married and living with the love of my life, and by MONDAY? This was clearly all a ridiculous dream.

“Fuck, pinch me.” I said breathily. “I have GOT to be dreaming.”

“Why so?” She laughed. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.” She added coyly.

“Oh shaddup.” I retorted. “I…still can’t believe any of this is real.”

She leaned over and kissed me square on the lips, tilting her head to the right and bending into me with a passion that not even the horniest dream could manifest.

Her tongue danced behind her lips, asking permission, and I opened my mouth, allowing her access, grunting slightly as her hands caressed the back of my head, stroking my hair.

She pulled away, leaving me wanting more. “Are you convinced now?”

I shook my head. “God damn, how did I get so fucking lucky?” Laughing, I caressed her cheek, kissing her forehead. “Seriously, what did I do to deserve you?”

She beamed at me, grabbing my hand and continuing to walk toward Marnie’s. “You went through hell every day, waiting for someone to love you.” She turned back. “It took me…a long time to realize what I felt for you. I realized rather suddenly actually, after…that day.”

She couldn’t meet my eyes for that moment, and I knew that it still haunted her. The blood, the broken glass, the cuts, the beer, everything. I realized in that moment what I would have lost, had I succeeded. I would have missed out on everything good that had ever happened to me.

She interlaced her fingers with mine. “We fit like a pair of puzzle pieces.” She said. “And without you, I don’t feel like I’m complete anymore.”

“Terra, I…I don��t think I knew what “complete” felt like until I heard you talking to me when I was resting at the clinic after…all that. I heard you saying that you might love me, but that being in love scared you. You kissed my cheek, my bandages, and when I officially “woke up”, I just remember feeling…whole.”

Terra blushed. Clearly we both had said things to the other when they were “sleeping” that we were shy about saying to the others’ faces. “Terra, you’ve made me the happiest man in the world, and EASILY the happiest man in Stardew Valley.” I said, turning to her.

I took her hands in mine and kissed her gently, feeling all the worries and fears of the day wash away like the tides rolling out to sea. “I will never stop loving you. And I will do my damnedest to make you the happiest woman alive.”

“I love you.”

[nehawriter16]

5.11.19 - my life is falling apart and other updates.

Hello internet.

Just wanted to talk today. I like Tumblr because not many people I know follow me on here. Also there isn’t a word limit, and sometimes a girl just wants to rant.

So this is me releasing all my thoughts into the world today.

1. ACADEMICS

I quit chartered accountancy. Just woke up one day, and told my parents I couldn’t do it anymore. That was a long week at home, and I know they’re disappointed in me. All along I’ve been a bright student, somebody who never disappointed and they could brag about at dinner parties. But this course cut me open. It hurt me, it sent me crumbling and it dragged me through hell. In the movie Dear Zindagi, Alia Bhatt is in therapy and Shahrukh Khan tells her that sometimes we keep doing the hard thing because we think we have to. And we forget that its okay to pick an easy way. I guess that’s what I’m doing. I’m choosing the easier way because the harder way made me unhappy, it made me unhappy to the point where I didn’t want to be alive anymore.

So the new plan is that I will give my GRE and apply to Masters in Finance courses in the US. Preferably in the STEM field, because its easy to get a work visa after graduating if you’re a STEM graduate. Do I think this is the perfect career path for me? No, absolutely not. But do I think it will do me good to finally move the fuck out of home, have a change of continent, meet some new people, and have the college experience I always felt I missed out on? Yes.

So this is what we’re doing. My GRE is in 12 days. I am barely prepared.

2. DRIVE/PASSION

I always had a passion for writing. I knew when I discovered it that it not only brought me joy, but I was pretty damn good at it. Unfortunately being brown, and coming from a family of people who had all built their career from scratch by making practical decisions, because they didn’t have a choice due to their humble backgrounds, I was always told that writing was a futile thing and would just be a hobby, not something to be looked at as a career option. I disagreed. Having made a bit of money from it now, I still disagree.

But I’ve been brought up in the lap of luxury and I have a pretty high standard of living. I like my weekly Starbucks and I go to bars that don’t have happy hours. I enjoy the bimonthly staycation in a fancy hotel, and I hate repeating outfits and thoroughly enjoy fashion, so I’m always buying new clothes. It makes me happy to look good.

So yeah, I agree that since I haven’t had the liberty to pursue writing full time, I haven’t yet found a way to make a living from it. Maybe it’s a risk, and a back up plan is advisable. But all I know is writing is the only thing I feel like waking up to do. Even now, when my life is falling apart, it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.

Growing up I was always a hardworking student. And if I wasn’t, my Mom made me that way. She would yell if I got bad marks, and she always encouraged that I at least be in the top ten in class. Even the school I went to was pretty much only concerned with academics. And so due to the environment and brainwashing, I did well. I stayed in the 90 percent lane all my life, all the way up to twelfth grade. In my junior college I had two of the worst years of my life. I was molested by my co caption for months on end, and I couldn’t escape him. It was constant mental, emotional and physical turmoil, more so because I couldn’t tell anyone. Despite how insanely difficult it was to spend six hours every day in the place where my molester showed up every day, I still managed to keep my grades high. I scored 92 percent, and my parents were happy.

I had no passion for finance, but since I had proved to be so bright, my parents said the only thing to do now was four years of Chartered Accountancy. After that, my life would be sorted. I passed the first level by studying for 2 months, while other people attended classes for a year. I passed the second level too. I got into one of the biggest global multiconsulting firms in the world for my internship, and my parents were happy. My life was on track, and it didn’t matter that I was crying in the cabs home from work because I was so miserable. It didn’t matter as long as the plan was being followed. After all, the plan was being followed and I was so goddamn close to the finish line.

Two years into my internship I decided I needed to quit, or at least shift to a smaller firm. The pressures in this one were too much and I was so sad I could barely make it out of bed. So I told my parents I needed to study for my finals, and they got me out of it. My mental health was derailing – but oh boy, was this just the beginning. I moved to a smaller firm and pretended to stay home on the weekends and study. Instead, all I did was lay in bed with YouTube videos playing on loop because I couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts.

2017 was the year my boyfriend broke up with me too, so all kinds of shit was hitting the fan at the same time. I was fucked up in every way. I started using alcohol to fall asleep, to wake up, to do pretty much anything actually. To engage in social situations, I’d carry around a quarter in my bag and drink it in the cab. It eased my anxiety and helped me smile at people in a more convincing way.

2018 sucked. So did 2019. These two years are a blurry flatline in my head. I have been drowning like the ground I walk on is quicksand, and the more I struggle to get out, the more it pulls me in. When I look back at my life’s work in the past two years, I see nothing. Nothing that counts as an achievement anyway.

I wasted them while everybody else was putting in the work to get into ivy league schools or pass exams, get their first real jobs kickstarted. I lay in bed and watched every tv show there was to watch with the curtains drawn. I ran through horrible men and gave my body up to practical strangers that I felt nothing for, and the ones I liked left me, like they always do. Yeah, I wrote two books. Made enough money to support my alcohol addiction, my shopping habits, my vacations and staycations. I blew it all off on the temporary ride of whatever would bring me happiness in the moment.

I lost myself. I lost myself to illness and addiction and worthless friends and denial. I’m still lost. I used to have a drive in my body, something that said wake up and get things done today. Instead, I’ve been doing the zombie shuffle through my own life. Sometimes I wake up and my first thought is – “How long till this day is over.” I count the hours until I can crawl back into bed, till its an acceptable time to go to sleep. Because the only place I don’t feel like my brain has a fucking dense fog rolling through it is when I’m sleeping.

I used to be brilliant, and I’ve lost my shine. I’ve lost my willpower, my ability to be the hardest working person in the room. I have gotten self destructive to the point where I procrastinate and procrastinate and then it’s too late for everything. I am so fucked up, you have no idea.

I don’t know what I should do to bring that feeling of wanting to do something perfectly back. You know, the feeling of studying so hard you know everything on the test. The feeling of being the best, no questions asked. The feeling of answering questions in class and submitting assignments on time and just…enjoying the process of academia that I used to love so much. But I guess in depression, your brain sort of grows old and tired. It can’t remember things. It doesn’t want to move, or think, or do anything difficult.

My memory is deteriorating and the moments I’m supposed to remember and the information I should retain? It gets lost more often than not. And I am so scared to assess the scale of this incompetency that I just don’t even try because whenever I do, it’s all so overwhelming and all the trauma from Chartered Accountancy comes swirling back to hit me in the head.

3. BODY IMAGE

As a result of my constant sadness, I had to find ways to make myself happy. The periods of happiness lasted for a short while, but I rode the highs to the fullest because I knew the darkness would be back eventually. I turned to alcohol and marijuana and nicotine, to the point where every three or four days I would need one or the other, if not all three in combination. I would drink every night to be able to fall asleep. In my cupboard there is a special collection of all the wine bottles that have acted as sleeping pills.

I also began to eat junk food, because carbohydrates make you happy before they make you feel like shit. All addictions are like that, actually. Swiggy was my best friend, and my array of lovers : greasy Chinese, McDonalds, any dessert place – just whatever was bad for your skin, fattening, but would be brought to you by a wonderful man on a bike no matter what the weather was, and was easy to eat and throw all evidence of out later and forget that somewhere on my body, this food would settle into another ugly layer.

In the middle I got sick of myself and went to the gym, started going at it hard. My body improved and the endorphins were definitely helping, but a few months in I stopped waking up. My brain said it didn’t want to anymore, and I, the slave to my depression, caved and listened. I haven’t been since. The swiggy orders keep coming in every day and I keep throwing the containers into the trash, changing quickly from one outfit into another so I don’t have to see what I look like naked.

But I know. I somehow hate myself for the disgust I have for certain parts of my body, and then for the part of me that knows it wants to “fix” them all, but is in constant battle with the part of me that says I shouldn’t feel guilty for taking up space or for being a curvy girl. But body positivity isn’t about a number on a scale, its just about whether you like your reflection in the mirror, whether it makes you happy. Mine hasn’t made me happy in a long time. But then again, what the fuck has?

Sometimes I’m in trial rooms with harsh lighting and I just stare at myself and call myself horrible names. I keep the lights off when boys come over and the clothes come off. I keep saying, “I have to lose 10 kgs,” but I keep ordering from Swiggy every time a depressive episode rolls in to make it go away.

I keep setting deadlines, like, “After this month, I will cut out sugar!” and “After this exam, I will go back to the gym!” but then I fuck up and I’m like, oh well. Maybe next month.

The bottom line is I despise my body and the way it’s started to look. It doesn’t help that my Instagram feed is full of women with perfect skin, defined abs, and perky butts with chiselled features. I want all of that. I want to feel beautiful, and beautiful is hard work. Which, of course, my brain pines after, but never actually lets me get out of bed to do.

4. DATING/LOVE

My last serious relationship ended in 2017. I briefly dated somebody exclusively in the beginning of 2019, but he turned out to be the biggest asshole of them all, and “didn’t realise” he was using me to get over his ex-girlfriend. He broke up with me over text, pretty much cheated on me, didn’t even explain himself until I found out from some mutual friends. After that I was done, I couldn’t take love anymore. I couldn’t let anybody in because every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended with me being the second choice or me being dumped or betrayed and left hurt and broken for years.

The trauma is too much. So I decided I was never going to let anybody leave me again or enter my life and find a permanent place in it. I became the biggest fuckboy of them all, despite my conscience that has always been a good, kind and sensitive thing. This player thing really isn’t for me, but it was fun for a while to trump boys and play mind games and make them feel inadequate about themselves, to stand them up and never call back and ask them to leave my house after I had gotten what I wanted, to only call when I wanted it again.

I purposely picked out the worst, baddest ones. Then I tamed them by being even worse than they were. In May I began speaking to somebody who was fun and hilarious and good looking and well off and who made my brain feel alive again. Every time he texted me I caught myself smiling, and all our conversations consisted of saying witty sarcastic things to each other. We went on one date and he kissed me in the car, but for some reason in real life his life was so different from mine, that I declared the kiss good (he put his hand in my hair and grabbed, in a non hurtful but very I’m-super-into-this way, ooofff) and the date a disaster. I don’t know whether I was just in denial of my now strongly sprouting crush, or whether I actually hated it.

As the months passed, I tried to get him to go out with me again. I’m not much of a pursuer, because I have always been the one who gets pursued. But this boy was different. We would talk a lot over DM and we would make fun of each other and his life was fabulous and exciting and I watched from the outside, and built him into a much grander version of who he is in real life. I do that. What made him even more attractive was that he didn’t want me, and I couldn’t figure out for the love of God why not. I thought I was the whole package, and I even started to act out a little bit in the psycho way he told me he liked his women, which is SO TOXIC but I had actually felt something for somebody after so long that I didn’t even backtrack. Anyway, it soon became clear that it was not going to lead anywhere because he just disappointed me, didn’t show up, and my ego took a hit. I let it go, mostly. Or I will, as time passes.

I think I deserve love. Not the makes you feel good and carries your bag when its heavy kind. I deserve the love that I am ready to give – the grand romantic gestures that would be so dumb, but somehow he makes them work. The cant live without you love. The we’re best friends and teammates and nothing, not even distance, not our past demons, will keep us from making it work. I want the kind of person who is so sure of who they are, so internally confident, and so absolutely sure that I am their soulmate that I convinces me. I don’t want to meet a lot of wrong boys, goddamnit. I’ve done my fair share of the wrong boys, I’ve paid my dues for the amount of hurt one person is supposed to have. Now I just want the right one.

Deep down, I know he’s not here. Not in this city, because that would just be a cruel joke. Imagine meeting your soulmate and then having to go to college in six months. Fucking shit. If the universe even pities me a little bit, it wont do that to me.

I sometimes wonder if my life only stays on track if my romantic life is going well. I mean, when I dated my last serious boyfriend, I had it all – I was skinny. I had a prestigious internship. I was passing my exams. The writing was flourishing. This is a very scary thought, because I don’t want to depend or co exist on somebody else for my happiness in any way. But I cant deny the fact that my entire life fell apart when that last boy, who I loved with all my heart, broke up with me. It hasn’t been quite the same since.

His life is going spectacularly well, though. Lots of women and a great job and enough money to buy plane tickets to different cities to meet these women when he wouldn’t even drive down three hours to see me in a neighbouring town. I hate how unfair life is. He’s found some amazing people that he has feelings for, that like him back, even though he’s the one who broke my heart. And I still haven’t found a single person who even makes it to the second date, and the only one who did was just using me as a placeholder while his cheating ex girlfriend took a vacation from their relationship. So how the fuck is that fair? Am I being given the worst kind of experiences because my broken heart produces a special brand of my best writing? If yes, then I’m tired. I’d rather be a mediocre writer, but I cant spend my whole life being abandoned and cheated on and dumped and taken for granted, especially when the kind of love I can give is loyal and abundant and pure.

  That’s it. Those are my issues, or some of them. Honestly I’m tired of typing and want to retire to my safe space that is my bed, and the deep dark comfort of unconsciousness. I just thought I might feel better if I could release this into the world, before I feel a little better and write another post manifesting what I envision my life to be next year.

If you made it to the end, you truly love me and care for me. Thanks for sticking with me, I guess. I hope things get better. I used to say that the good thing about rock bottom is that there’s nowhere to go but up. I wish there was some kind of tracker that told you when you’d actually hit rock bottom, because all I do is keep on fucking sinking deeper and deeper.

[rowe-v-theworld]

I had this saved to my drafts last night aND TUMBLR ATE IT so here I am, back at it again! Allow me to introduce y’all to Sutton Elijah Rowe -- Resident poet, artist, drug dealer, loving grandson.. you know, nothing out of the usual 👀Some of y’all might remember Sutton’s twin brother Sydney from the first iteration of veritas. Don’t worry, Sydney’s still around and more extra than ever, you can still see some of his stuff on Sutton’s blog. He has a tag! Now. Without further ado. Let’s get into this jawn.

Sutton Elijah and his identical twin brother, Sydney Cliffton (ayyy), were born in Louisiana but were raised by their grandmother, “Ma”, in Texas.

lamao except not Houston they lived like 3 hours away under the poverty line.

For a period of time as children (when their mother was still alive, she has since passed to illness and let's not talk about their father, thnx) they were in and out of shelters. They were 7 when they moved to Center, Texas, spending the rest of their adolescence at Ma’s. 

Sutton has 5 younger (not including Sydney THOUGH SUTTON IS THE OLDEST JUST PUTTING THAT OUT THERE) “siblings” who he adores. So he came from a PACKED house. Sutton is fairly quiet despite the LOUD household he grew up in. He leaves most of the talking to Sydney but he’s charming in his own right. He’s the cool quiet kid naw’mean? 😎

As he and Syd were the “men” of the house they worked from the age of 16 while attempting to keep up with school. But customer service positions were never really....Sutton’s strong suit. Because fuck the man (like the saying but also Sutton and Sydney are the gayest so...)

Anyway, he hung around a lot of street corners and got into some trouble as a teen. This was his first introduction to drugs and dealing. 

Of course, Ma wasn’t going to have her 16-year-old on the fucking streets so she forced him to work at his great Uncle’s dusty bookstore called Shades of Afrika. L A M E

Sutton’s Uncle was a writer and eccentric, he couldn’t pay much, but needed the help and the arrangement was mainly so that he could keep an eye on Sutton. 

At first, Sutton hated working in the basement of the old building. It was basically helping the old man archive all of his crap — books, masks, boxes upon boxes of Africana, masks, speeches, records… But it quickly became the best form of punishment. His Uncle really encouraged him to get into poetry and eventually spoken word and to keep up with his artistic practice.

Sutton stayed off of the streets for a while, but times were rough and let’s just say dealing paid for their application fees for St. Etienne.

Sutton and Sydney are the first in their family to go to college, both receiving a full scholarship to St. Etienne — Sutton for English, Sydney for Dance. 

Ma is very supportive of her babies.... But like Sutton is on his way to receiving a degree in English and Fine Arts, and Sydney a degree in Dance and Women, Gender, and Sexuality studies so… She can’t help but pray they actually get jobs after graduation.

Sutton got into too many fights as a teen, where Sydney could talk himself out of most situations Sutton's two options were run or throw punches. If you want to tell the twins apart, look closely at their faces. Sutton, no matter how hard he tries, can’t get rid of the dark circles under his eyes.

Sutton was the deciding force in choosing St. Etienne. He wanted to be as far away from Texas as possible.

The plan had always been to stop dealing when they got to college. Sutton had promised his grandmother he’d stay away from it. But it continued (at first) because of financial stress at home. 

Sutton feels a twinge of guilt about breaking his promise, but he justifies it by saying he’s doing something for his grandmother for once.

As far as Daisey is concerned Sutton is was (yikes) her supplier. It didn’t take long for him to be the guy on campus. Sutton can hook you up with whatever you need -- Pills to help you study, pills to help you sleep, hallucinogenics, grass, pretty white powder. Whatever. Whenever. And for a good price.

St. Etienne is so far from what Sutton is used to. The feeling of being out of place has never gone away, though he’s not shy. Sydney is the more approachable -- more talkative and warm -- Sutton gives off a cool, laid-back demeanor that seems to do well for him.

That said lol guess who has an anxiety issue?? This kid. Sutton will have a panic attack then throw on some shades and skateboard away from his problems. It’s fine.

Connections!

Drug du jour: Sutton is the drug dealer on campus so there’s a lot there to play with. Maybe your character has brought from him before. Or is a regular. Maybe your character disapproves? Lot’s of options here!

Reading Rainbow: Sutton is in the book club and is also a TA most likely for an English course/Intro painting course SO if you need a tutor, are also in the book club, or are an artist Sutton could be of assistance.

I won’t hesitate bitch: Give me drama or give me death

I hope he likes boys: Crushes! Flirtationships! Wingmen/women! Exes!

A mess ✨: Sutton really only show’s his more anxious side to Sydney but if you get to know him close enough he’d be more willing to let you in and even ask for help. He’s been struggling the past year especially.

Paint me like one of your french girls: Sutton is that kind of artist that will like, stop everything to take a picture of a leaf or tell you to STAY RIGHT THERE because you have now become his muse and must sit for 3 hours while he paints you. This is your life now.

//Phew, ok. That’s all for now folks. I’ll post on discord and you can hit me up there or here if you’d like to plot! :*

[torestoreamends]

Mine to Make: Chapter 3

Scorpius tells his dad about Albus, Albus makes an ill-advised trip to see his parents, and then the boys find themselves on an accidental date.

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, so binge ready away if you want! Here on tumblr I’ll be posting a chapter every day until it’s all done. 

Read it on AO3

*

III Grounded

“I-I don’t know where he went,” Scorpius says, voice shaking with fear and choked with tears. “I promise you, he didn’t tell me.”

“But you knew he was leaving?” Professor McGonagall asks, in a calm, almost kind tone that’s a stark contrast to Harry’s rage.

Scorpius looks up at the three people ranged behind the desk – Professor McGonagall, Harry Potter, and Ginny Potter – and he barely moves his head when he nods.

The explosion is instant.

“You didn’t tell anyone!” Harry shouts, voice ringing through the room. “You knew he was going to run away and you didn’t bother to mention it? Not to me or your dad or-“ He rakes his hands hard through his hair, making it stand in end. “This is an admission of guilt. The only person who could have done something and it conveniently slipped his mind to mention it.”

Scorpius is trembling now, shaking so hard his teeth are chattering, and he’s afraid his knees might give out, but the nearest thing to hold onto is the edge of Professor McGonagall’s desk, which is far too close to Harry, so he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands and sways on the spot.

“Harry,” Ginny says softly. “Please don’t. It’s not his fault.” She’s been crying the whole time too. Her face is red and blotchy, and she’s clutching a soggy handkerchief.

Harry turns on her. “Scorpius is the last person who saw Albus before he left. Scorpius was awake when he ran. Scorpius knew his plan and didn’t tell anyone. We all know the rumours. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

Scorpius stares at Harry in abject horror. He wants to argue but there isn’t enough air in the room for him to use to speak, and even if there was he has no idea what he’d stay. Luckily Professor McGonagall is difficult to render speechless. She draws herself up to her full impressive height and faces Harry.

“Potter. I know that you are extremely upset right now, but if you continue to talk about Scorpius like this I will have to ask you to leave my office.”

Harry’s jaw tightens and his eyes narrow. “Fine. I don’t want to be here anyway. I’m going to go to the Ministry, and my Aurors are going to search every inch of this country until we find Albus. And we will find him.” With that he turns on his heel and stalks from the room.

Three days later, Albus hasn’t been found, and the first headline appears: Suspect Number One – The Son of Voldemort

 Scorpius slips in through the front door of the Manor as quietly as he can and tiptoes across the hall to the grand staircase. Everything is dark and silent; it’s got very late in the time it’s taken Scorpius to finally walk away from Albus, check in at work, and get back here. His dad should be asleep, but Scorpius has no doubt that he’ll be waiting up somewhere, and he doesn’t need any questions asked, so absolute silence is the best option until he’s ready; until he knows what he’s going to say.

He’s never going to be ready. He’s never going to know what to say. Today has been... today has been a lot.

He sinks onto the bottom step and buries his face in his hands. Behind his closed eyelids he can see the image of Albus, a new permanent imprint. Not Albus as he was, but the Albus of now, with that roughly shaved hair, the murky brown eyes, the silver studs and rings in his ears catching the light, but still small, hunch-shouldered, insecure even in that body, wearing the same forest green hoodie as he’s always worn. An even more striking, disarming version of Albus than the one that’s been living in his memory for so long.

And as he remembers how Albus had tried to reach out to him before they parted, as he remembers how desperately he’d wanted to take the hand that was briefly offered to him, it hits Scorpius that he really, actually saw Albus today. Albus is alive. Albus is real. He knows where Albus lives. He knows how to contact him. Albus is once again a tangible presence in his life. And with that thought the shock and relief and emotion of it all overwhelms him and he starts to sob, noisy, body-shaking sobs. The tears are hot and wet and he’s crying so hard that his face starts to sting. He’s crying so hard that he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps on the landing above before it’s too late.

“Scorpius?”

He jumps and looks up to see through his tears the blurry outline of his dad standing at the top of the stairs. Instantly he tries to hide his face, and starts scrubbing the tears away on the sleeves of his sky blue work robes.

“Dad,” he says, with a choked half-sob.

The wooden staircase creaks as his dad descends and stops a step above him. “I saw you coming up the driveway,” his dad says. “And I was going to ask how your day was, but I’m assuming it wasn’t-“

“I’m fine,” Scorpius interrupts, sniffing and wiping his nose. “Everything’s fine.”

“You’re crying,” his dad says, moving down onto the same step as him and sitting beside him. “And you’re shaking. You don’t seem fine.” His dad puts a gentle hand on his arm. “Is this to do with work? Was it the league? Did someone hurt you? Attack you? Scorpius-“

“It’s not about that,” Scorpius says, twitching his arm away. “I’m not hurt, or- It’s not about the job. It’s- it’s something else. A-and I’m not upset, I’m just-“ He makes a gesture with his hand and isn’t entirely sure what he means by it. Overwhelmed, probably. Struggling to get his head round everything.

“You can tell me anything,” his dad murmurs, voice soft and warm. It’s a tone Scorpius has become used to hearing from him over the years. It’s comforting. It reminds Scorpius a bit of Astoria; how she used to speak to him when he was having a bad day and she knew he wanted to talk but wanted to make sure he knew he could. There’s an openness to it. No expectation of anything. Only a promise to listen whenever he’s ready.

Scorpius looks at his dad and tries to work out what to say. He appreciates the opportunity to talk, of course he does, but that doesn’t mean that he can say what he needs to say. This isn’t just about him anymore.

“Something happened,” he says carefully. “At the grounds. I-I saw something I didn’t expect to see. It was a lot to take in. That’s all.”

His dad purses his lips. “That’s rather cryptic.”

“I know.” Scorpius bows his head. “I know, but I can’t... I can’t say more.”

“Was it something bad that you saw?” His dad asks, and Scorpius realises from the worry in his eyes that he’s thinking of bodies or torture or something equally horrific.

“No!” Scorpius says quickly. “No no. Nothing bad. It was-“ He looks at his dad, and he realises that more than anything in the world he needs to say aloud what’s happened. He needs to tell someone. Because at the moment it’s this bizarre thing that’s locked away inside him, almost like a dream, but if he says it aloud then that will make it real, and he desperately needs this to be real.

“I found Albus, Dad,” he breathes.

For a moment Draco stares at him in silence, and Scorpius wonders whether he’s actually heard. Then Draco draws in a long breath.

“Did you just say... that you found Albus?”

Scorpius swallows and nods. “He was with the league. We went for coffee and a walk. He told me where he lives. We-“ He wants to tell his dad about how Albus looks now, how Albus still knows about his love of iced tea, how they’d talked for hours like they’d never been away. But his dad’s face looks like thunder, so he bites his tongue and waits for the explosion.

“You know where he lives?” His dad asks, and there’s a hopeful urgency in his tone that Scorpius knows isn’t good.

“Yes, he told me, but-“

Draco gets to his feet and strides across to the coat stand by the door. “Come on, get a coat. We’re going to tell Potter.”

“No!” Scorpius flies to his feet and stands firm on the steps, not moving an inch. “Dad, no. I’m not telling Harry where Albus lives. And you’re not either.”

Draco folds a long, black coat over his arm and faces Scorpius. “You have one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever encountered,” he says. “I know I don’t need to tell you what taking this information to Potter could do for you. This is an opportunity, Scorpius. This is a brilliant opportunity. You can clear your name. I bet he’d even promote you for this. You could have everything you’ve always deserved.”

Scorpius twists his hands together and interweaves his fingers. “I-I know,” he murmurs. “Dad, I know. I’ve thought about it. But... it’s Albus. He’s Albus. He’s- I can’t do that to him. I can’t betray him like that.”

“He betrayed you,” Draco points out, taking a step back towards Scorpius.

“He didn’t mean to,” Scorpius argues. “He was running away. He didn’t know how things would turn out. No, I’m not doing this.” He moves one step down the stairs, so he and his dad are exactly the same height, and he can look his dad squarely in the eye. “You know what he means to me, even after all this time.”

There’s a pause, then Draco sets his coat aside and walks back towards Scorpius. “What does he mean to you, after all this time?”

Scorpius puts a hand on the bannister and grips it tight. “He means... I don’t think I can explain it yet. But I think...” He slides his palm over the smooth, varnished wood, inspecting the fine grain and watching the dust swirl away into the air. Finally he looks up at his dad. “I think I’d like the chance to find out. And if I do this I know I’ll never get that.”

His dad scrutinises him, piercing silver eyes cutting deep into his soul, and Scorpius is more than happy to let his dad find whatever he needs to there. Whatever it is – strength, love, determination – his dad needs to find enough of it, with so much conviction, that he can’t say no.

Finally the sharp gaze softens, and his dad nods. He crosses the rest of the space between them and stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking at Scorpius. When he speaks his voice is low and full of concern. “I need you to promise me that you’re going to be exceptionally careful around Albus Potter. We both know what he can do to you, how much he can hurt you. I don’t want to see you hurt like that again.”

Scorpius rubs his fingers together and looks down at his feet. He remembers only too well what it feels like to have his heart obliterated by Albus Severus Potter. But he’s older now, and stronger. His heart is in his own hands, and he gets to decide what happens to it. He’s not going to let anyone break it again. Not even Albus.

He lifts his chin and looks his dad in the eye. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

His dad gives a curt nod. “Good.”

 Albus walks through the city as the sun sets. His head is buzzing. His feet don’t want to stay still. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone. The longer he stays alone and free to roam the city, the longer it’ll take for the bubble to burst. He wants to keep feeling like this, like his heart is full to the point of bursting, like he’s found some sort of tether to his old life and it’s stopping him floating away forever. He feels grounded, and for the first time in a very long time he’s very much okay with that.

His feet take him to the edge of the bay, and he stands among the flowing tides of Muggles making their way between bars and restaurants, enjoying each other’s company, and leans against the railing so he can stare down at the dark water lapping below. A fresh breeze blows on his face and the moon shines down overhead. Everything in his carefully created world is different now. Scorpius has smashed through his walls with ease, and now Albus doesn’t quite know who he is or who he wants to be. He feels wrong footed. But at the same time he feels very very right.

He rests his forehead on the cool metal railing and breathes in lungfuls of salty sea air. Despite everything, he doesn’t feel off balance or confused. In fact there’s an intense clarity to his emotions right now, and it’s that which he doesn’t quite know how to deal with. There’s too much going on in his brain to process any of it, and the knowledge that he needs to go and find Delphi isn’t helping. She’s the last person on earth he wants to see right now. But he also really doesn’t need to end up fighting with her, and in the end that’s why he turns his back on the sea and starts walking back towards the training grounds, carefully locking all his emotions about Scorpius (Scorpius Scorpius) away to deal with later.

He finds a quiet street and Apparates the rest of the way once he’s ready, and when he appears outside the gates she’s sitting there waiting for him, perched atop the wall, swinging her feet back and forth, the heels of her boots knocking against the bricks. When she sees Albus she folds her arms and her expression turns to one of supreme irritation.

“And where in Merlin’s name have you been for the past seven hours?”

“I was walking,” Albus says. “Sorry I’m late.” He goes over and tries to kiss her on the cheek, but she catches hold of the front of his shirt and shoves him away hard, so he reels back and stumbles off the edge of the pavement into the road. She may not look it but she’s very strong.

“No,” she says. “Not today. I’m not happy with you, Albus.”

He sighs and runs a hand over his prickly mess of hair. “I know. Delphi, I’m sorry. I lost track of time, and then I needed to think. A lot has happened today and-“

“You needed to think about Scorpius Malfoy,” Delphi says, hopping down from the wall and glaring at him. “Am I right?”

“Well, yes,” Albus admits. “But-“

“You do not need to think about Scorpius Malfoy,” she says, stalking across the pavement towards him, so he stumbles back several more steps – it’s a good thing this street’s always so quiet. “Do you understand me, Sev? Scorpius Malfoy doesn’t ever need to enter your thinking, because he is in your past, and this is your future, and what do we say about the future?” She looks at him expectantly, eyes bright, and he knows what he’s supposed to say, but he can’t make himself do it.

“Delphi, this isn’t about the past, or-“

“Albus Severus Potter,” she says, in a dangerously low voice that makes his heart race.

“Don’t say my name,” he murmurs, unable to make himself look at her.

“Then tell me what we say about the future,” she replies, in a soft, light tone of voice that sends shivers down his spine.

“The future is ours to make,” he mutters, staring down at the ground. His cheeks are burning, and he feels angry and humiliated, both by his own stupidity and by this feeling she sometimes gives him that he’s weak and useless; that he lets her down in everything he does. He’s let her down today, he knows that, even though he can’t help but feel that maybe he hasn’t let himself down, but maybe his standards are lower than hers.

She steps up to him and puts a gentle finger beneath his chin, lifting it so she can look into his eyes, and he lets her, even though he doesn’t like it, even though right now he hates her a little bit.

“This is your future,” she says softly, in a voice that usually makes his stomach swoop, but today just makes him feel queasy. “Albus. Sev. You’ve found where you belong. Those people from your past never really cared about you. They made you run away, and we found you and gave you a home. You don’t need Scorpius, Sev. He’s part of a past that was so unkind to you. Leave him there. Please. For you. Don’t let him break your heart again.”

She’s right. It would be far more sensible to leave Scorpius behind and stop thinking about him. It would be easier to keep running like he has for the past seven years. But what she doesn’t understand is that Scorpius never hurt him, Scorpius never broke his heart. Of all the memories he has of his past, the ones of Scorpius are the very best. Having Scorpius back in his life isn’t going to hurt him, it’s going to heal him.

“The future is mine to make,” he murmurs, a little stronger this time.

He wants Scorpius Malfoy in his future. He always has.

“Yes it is,” Delphi whispers, cupping his face gently in both hands, her fingers soft against his cheeks.

He closes his hands over hers, and meets her eyes. “I’m sorry I took so long to get here.” He lets his fingers entwine with hers, and gently removes her hands from his cheeks. He doesn’t let go though, he keeps holding her hands, turning her palms upwards so he can run his thumbs over them. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“I wasn’t waiting the whole time,” Delphi says, expression brightening. She gives a little shrug and frees her hands from his. “I was actually talking to some people. I’ve arranged a little meeting. Some sponsors want to see you. Tonight, in fact. Will you come?”

Albus digs his hands into his pockets. He can hardly say no to her now, after everything that’s happened. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a little bar,” she says. “In London, The Scythe. We’re going there.”

Albus smiles. “Sounds like a cheery place.”

Delphi smirks. “Oh it is. Come on.” She grabs hold of his hand and they Disapparate.

 The outside of the bar is dingy and grim. Albus knows they’re in Knockturn Alley because there’s nowhere else he’s ever been on earth that’s so shadow strewn and dirty but still bustling with people. Delphi looks incredibly pleased with herself as she leads the way inside. They go through a black door beneath a peeling sign in the shape of a scythe, which creaks as it swings in the summer breeze.

Inside, the bar isn’t actually that bad. Albus has learned never to judge an establishment by its exterior. Lots of these places look awful outside by design. It’s meant to discourage anyone unwanted from coming in. Some of the most exclusive clubs he’s been to have had doors beside dustbins. There was even one in Russia where they had to climb through a manhole into an abandoned sewer to get in, and that was a beautiful place with opulent chandeliers and gold leaf everywhere.

The Scythe has low ceilings and the windows are entirely blacked out. There’s a deep purple enchanted light bathing the whole bar. Thick, sweet smelling smoke hangs in the air, and Albus isn’t sure whether it’s safe to breathe, but thankfully before he has chance to worry, Delphi tugs on his hand and leads him up a set of black painted stairs to a secluded, smoke-free upstairs room.

This upstairs space is small and intimate, with a spindly black table and chairs, whose backs and legs look as though they’ve been sharpened into skewers. This room is lit in silver, like it’s flooded with pale moonlight, and there’s a single bartender standing behind the tiny private bar. He’s not the only person in the room; a pair of figures sit at the table, sipping blood red wine from delicate glasses.

Delphi swoops over to them. “I see you’ve started without us,” she says. “I hope there’s some wine left.”

The two of them get to their feet, and one – a woman with her blonde hair up in a serpentine coil on top of her head and held with a single pin that’s set with a sparkling emerald – moves to embrace Delphi.

“Evelyn,” Delphi says brightly, kissing her on both cheeks.

“Delphini. You’ve grown. Although your dress sense is still terrible. You could look so nice if you tried, and if you spent a little money.”

Delphi laughs, a bubbly, high-pitched laugh that Albus suspects might be fake. “If only I had a little money.”

“Nonsense,” Evelyn says, batting her away. “From what I’ve heard you’re doing remarkably well for yourself these days.”

“Because she’s not spending all her money on clothes,” says the second person – a tall man with the same blond hair as the woman, and a face that is almost too sharp and defined to be handsome, a little stark and somehow haughty. “Little sister,” he says, taking Delphi’s hand and kissing it.

Albus blinks in surprise. He knows nothing about Delphi’s family. The idea of her having relatives, siblings, is too bizarre to comprehend. He’d thought she was just like him, a loner without a family.

“I’m not your sister,” Delphi chides, pulling her hand away. “As you well know, Aloysius.”

He smiles. “Cousin, then. It’s been a long time. I hear you’ve been abroad.”

“Europe,” Delphi says. “Exploring the business opportunities there. With-“ She turns and gestures to Albus. “My protégé, colleague, and friend. This is Sev.”

Albus steps forward and shakes both their hands. “Pleased to meet you Evelyn, Aloysius.”

“So this is the famous Sev,” Aloysius says, crushing Albus’s hand in his grip. “You’re smaller than you look when you’re flying.”

Albus gives him a smile that doesn’t nearly reach his eyes, and digs the tips of his fingers into the soft parts of Aloysius’s hand, hoping to bruise. They both hold on for a second longer before they let go. “Small is helpful,” he says. “I’m more manoeuvrable than everyone else. And aerodynamic. It helps me to win.”

“That’s good,” Evelyn says, “because winning is what we’re interested in. Will you sit and join us for a drink?”

Albus and Delphi both sit, and Albus busies himself with drinking away as much of Evelyn and Aloysius’s money as he can. The wine is expensive, he can tell, and the meeting is dull – he hates business talk – so drinking is the only way to liven it up.

“We were just talking about the Ministry,” Evelyn says. “They’ve been conducting more raids around here. It’s a good job that this place hasn’t been touched yet. I’d hate for anything to happen to it.”

Delphi rolls her eyes. “They’re interfering everywhere. We had a visit today from Magical Law Enforcement, didn’t we, Sev?”

Albus looks up from his wine and nods. “We did.”

Delphi looks at him like she expects more, but Albus doesn’t know what else to say. In the end she takes over.

“They’re trying to shut down the league, but we’re not going to let them. There are a lot of people invested in the racing. We need it to survive.”

Evelyn shakes her head. “Potter likes to interfere.”

“He does.” Delphi gives Albus a pointed look, and he nods quickly.

“He- He hurts people,” he says. “He makes things difficult. I’ve never known why everyone loves him so much. I... I certainly don’t.” He drains his wine glass, and the bartender comes over to fill it up for him.

“Harry Potter doesn’t have many fans here,” Delphi says with a grim smile. “We hate him.”

Albus thinks that hate is a very strong word, but then he thinks about all the fights he had with his dad, all the pain Harry caused him over the years, and he nods. Delphi looks satisfied.

“Anyway, we didn’t come here to talk about Harry Potter. As irritating as he is.” She fishes a little black book out of her pocket and carefully flips to a marked page. “There are plans to discuss.”

Albus has never seen the book before, and he’s curious about what plans Delphi has – she doesn’t normally show or tell him anything beyond the things that directly and imminently concern him – but when he tries to look over her shoulder she inches the book away. At that point talk turns to business, and he stops paying much attention.

He’s vaguely aware of them talking about him and the league, and about ‘furthering Delphi’s interests’ whatever that means – probably just giving her more money. The day has been too long for him to be bothered with following complex negotiations, and by the time he’s drained the bottle of wine he has no hope. It all sounds important, he probably should know what they’re saying about him, especially what Delphi is agreeing to on his behalf, but he can’t gather his brain together enough to comprehend.

At some point someone slides him a shot of something, or maybe there’s more than one shot over the course of the evening – and he downs it without much thought. His mind is elsewhere, somewhere in heaven, if heaven is a leafy park in Cardiff with Scorpius Malfoy.

All he wants to do right now is go and lock himself away safe in his house and lie awake for hours thinking about Scorpius’s face, and his hair, and his height, and how much he’s grown up over the years. He might also want to run up to the Manor and… But even his alcohol sodden brain knows that that would be a very stupid thing to do. What he doesn’t want to do is sit here and listen to Delphi talk business until he falls asleep.

He gets to his feet, and he knows it must have been an unexpected movement, because the other three are all looking at him.

“I’m going to the toilet,” he lies. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Will you be okay?” Delphi asks, and Albus sighs.

“I’m an adult. I think I can manage to go to the toilet without everyone worrying about me.”

When they’d arrived, Albus hadn’t realised how uneven the floor is in this little upstairs room. He realises now though, as he stumbles his way across it, trailing his hand against the wall. The stairs creak as he carefully descends, off balance and trying not to fall headlong down the whole flight. When he reaches the bottom someone takes hold of his arm, someone tall and blond and skinny, and for a mad second he thinks Scorpius is there steadying him, but of course Scorpius wouldn’t be in Knockturn Alley, and when Albus looks up he’s disappointed to see an unfamiliar face.

“Are you alright?” The man asks.

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” Albus wonders aloud. “I’m fine. I’m going home. Can I Apparate in here?”

“I don’t think Apparating is the best-“

“Well going by Floo will make me throw up,” Albus says, pulling his arm away. “I’ll go outside. Thank you.”

The blond man follows him to the door. “Be careful,” he says, holding the door as Albus trips on the threshold and stumbles out into the cool night air. “Don’t Splinch yourself.”

Albus pulls a face. “I hope not. I hate Apparating. And I’m terrible at it. This can only go well.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a couple of Sickles, which he presses into the man’s hand. “You’re not Scorpius but I like you. Have a drink on me.”

The man laughs. “Thanks. Who’s Scorpius?”

“Someone special,” Albus tells him. “Someone I missed.” And, because he’s drunk, and the man is the closest to Scorpius he’s going to get tonight, he leans in and kisses the man on the cheek. “See you, Not-Scorpius.” Then he stumbles round on the spot and by some miracle manages to Apparate home in one piece.

It takes him ten minutes to find his keys, and another five to get the door unlocked. When he’s inside he goes to the kitchen to find some water but instead discovers one of the really good bottles of local beer that he’s kept for a rainy day. He’s missed the stuff so much while he’s been away that he starts drinking again. After that he doesn’t remember much, and the next thing he knows he’s bathed in dazzling morning sunlight and his head really hurts.

With a groan he rolls onto his front and buries his face in his pillow – how he made it to bed he doesn’t know. He doesn’t feel entirely human right now. He feels like hell. His mouth is dry, his head is aching, he can’t tell if he’s about to throw up or whether he’s starving hungry, plus his scars are prickling again. It’s not a great start to the day.

He drags himself upright and runs his fingers over his head, then he looks up and checks the time. Already early afternoon, which means he’s late for training. Really late. Several hours late. Maybe it’s late enough to decide not to go... Hopefully it is.

He staggers upright and goes in search of water, food, and Painkilling Potion. About half an hour later he’s feeling at least vaguely human, enough to decide that even if he’s not going to the training ground, he should at least go flying. He’s supposed to race later, assuming Scorpius hasn’t shut everything down by then, and-

Scorpius.

That happened yesterday. Scorpius happened. And now Albus remembers why he was drinking. It all comes flooding back in an instant, and he sinks onto the edge of his kitchen table and buries his face in his hands. He’s woken up hungover in a different world. What does he do now?

You fly, he tells himself. Like you’ve always done.

So he Disillusions himself, grabs his broom, and takes flight from his bedroom window, disappearing up into the clouds above the city.

There’s something about flying that’s always cleared his head. It’s easier to think up here. Among the clouds the troubles of the world melt away, and he can focus on what he needs to focus on, and what he needs to focus on now is working out what exactly Scorpius being back in his life means.

After he ran away he decided that he would never see any of them again. It had to be that way. As unhappy as he was, he knew that if he didn’t have a clean break then he’d end up falling back into his old life. His future had to be a completely blank slate, and that meant he wouldn’t see any of his family again, not Lily and James, not even his mum, and it meant he wouldn’t see Scorpius again.

But now... well now he has seen Scorpius again, and there’s no going back from that. And if he’s seen Scorpius again then what does that mean for the rest of his life? What does that mean for his mum, who he’s missed so desperately for so long? What does it mean for Lily and James? He’d like to know what they’re doing these days at least. What does it mean for his dad, who’s Scorpius’s boss? If Scorpius agrees to keep seeing him, if Albus becomes a temporary, or even more a permanent, fixture in Scorpius’s life then surely his dad will find out at some point, and that’s a terrifying thought.

When Albus was little he and James would build elaborate houses out of Exploding Snap cards, and at some point, no matter how careful they were, there would always be a single spark from one of the cards that would blow the whole pile sky high. Albus suspects that Scorpius is his spark.

He’s spent years creating an elaborate new life for himself, away from everyone he’s ever known and loved, and now, with the acceptance of this one person back into his life, the whole thing is going to come crashing down around him, and the worst thing is that he can’t bring himself to mind too much. Anything is worth it for Scorpius.

And maybe it’s an opportunity too. He really has missed his mum, and if he’s letting one person back into his life then why not two?

Under his bed at home there’s a little box full of letters. His parents have an exceptionally clever owl, and she’s managed to find him even without an address on several occasions. He’s had cards from his mum for each of his birthdays, and for Christmas too, and he’s had short letters from her at other times during the year as well. He doesn’t read them – he could never bring himself to do it – but he keeps them locked away in the box, because he’s never been able to bring himself to throw them away either.

He writes his own letters too. Whenever he feels lonely or upset or lost he pours all his feelings out in words to her. He doesn’t send any of the letters – they’re locked in the box too – but it helps to pour his heart out to someone. It would be even better to talk to her in person though, and he misses her hugs. Her hugs were the warmest, most comfortable things in the world. It’s been a long time since he experienced a hug like that.

If the future is his to make, and he wants Scorpius to be part of it, then he wants his mum to be there too. It’s not his ideal future without her.

So perhaps this is what having Scorpius back in his life means: a life full of everyone he’s missed all these years. And if that’s what having Scorpius back means then he’s even more determined to make it happen.

He sinks down below the clouds to check where he’s got to, and he realises as he does that this whole time he’s been flying arrow straight. Below him is a familiar little village, with its pub and post office and village green. And there’s the winding road leading out of the village towards the two houses perched at either ends of a shared meadow and orchard. The rickety, multi-storey construction of The Burrow, so clearly magical, with the extra rooms tacked on the sides in the most impossible arrangement. And on the other side of the orchard, the low, two-storey farmhouse, with climbing roses scrambling up the walls and around the door, holly bushes lining the path, and the broom-shed round the side that Albus would hide in when things got too much inside the house. Holly Cottage. His parents’ home.

The second he realises where he is he nearly falls off his broom, but he manages to cling on, and he starts fumbling in his pocket for his wand. He needs to make sure he’s definitely Disillusioned because there are people in his parents’ garden, and the last thing he needs is for someone to look up and recognise him.

He pulls his wand out and taps himself twice on the head, muttering the charm. Then he does it again for good measure, and a third time. Definitely invisible. Definitely.

He tucks his wand away and catches his breath, leaning forward on his broom to peer down into the garden, even though he knows it’s the last thing in the world he should be doing. Immediately he recognises his mum’s flaming red hair, and he grips the handle of his broom as tight as he can in both hands and rests his chin on the varnished wood, staring at her, trying to drink in every last distant detail of the way she’s sweeping up blossom and stray bits of mown grass. And then he focuses in on the other figure, and with a sickening lurch of his stomach he recognises his dad’s messy black hair, the grey of his waistcoat, the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There’s earth on his dad’s hands, and it looks like he’s- Despite himself Albus grins as he sees his dad pluck a gnome from the ground and start swinging it around. His dad is de-gnoming the garden.

He floats steady in midair, watching. His parents are chatting away as they work. He can tell his dad is complaining about the gnomes, and his mum is laughing. They look so happy and relaxed together. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen them like this. Is this what they’re like without him in their lives? Has him leaving made things easier for them?

His vision starts to blur, and he tilts his head, resting his forehead against his broom handle and closing his eyes as tears choke him. Maybe they don’t need him. Him coming back might be what he wants, but... But what about them?

He swallows hard and forces himself to keep watching. He sees his dad wipe the dirt off his hands and onto his trousers. He sees his mum go over and bat at his hands, pointing towards the open back door. His dad catches hold of her and kisses her, then he releases her and disappears inside, leaving her alone, smiling after him. But then, as the kitchen door closes he sees her sigh and pause for a moment in her sweeping. He sees her lean her chin on top of her broom, and now it’s like all the weight of the world is on her, compressing her, making her shoulders sag and her head bow. And it might be wishful thinking, but he wonders if the happiness he saw before was as much an act as the one he puts on to convince Delphi, the world, and sometimes himself that things are okay. Maybe his parents are hurting just as much as he is.

He drifts an inch lower on his broom, drawn in by the scene below. But as he does, his mum suddenly looks up. She looks to his left, then she looks past him, and then she looks right at him, and he stares back, meeting her eyes. And even though he knows she can’t see him, that he’s invisible, his heart still pounds in his chest and he turns and flees as fast as he can.

By the time he gets home his Disillusionment is wearing off, so he dives from the clouds to ground and lands behind a bank of bushes in a park near his house. It’s a mostly magical neighbourhood, so he doesn’t worry too much about being seen with his broom as he walks home, but he’s still glad that it’s quiet around.

As he walks he reels from the near miss with his mum. He knows she can’t have seen him, but she looked right at him. If his charm was even a little bit shoddy she might have glimpsed an outline or something. It was stupid to fly so low. He should have stayed in the clouds and not hung around. After seven years of being so careful he’s going to get found, not because he lets himself be but because he’s too stupid to control his curiosity.

He’s so frustrated with himself that he’s not paying attention to where he’s walking, and the next thing he knows he’s walked straight into someone coming out of one of the side streets.

“Shit,” Albus says, reeling backwards. “Sorry, I wasn’t-“

“You know, you’re a lot easier to find than everyone’s been thinking for the last seven years. This is the second time I’ve run into you accidentally in two days.”

Scorpius is grinning at him, and he doesn’t seem at all upset that Albus has just nearly sent him flying.

“Oh,” Albus says, blinking at him in surprise. “It’s- it’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to find out why you weren’t at the training ground today,” Scorpius says brightly. “I missed you.” His tone softens and his smile dissipates a bit. “I was worried something had happened to you. Are you okay?”

Albus sighs and shifts his broom to his other hand. “Let’s see. I’m hungover, I slept in until about two in the afternoon, I just saw my parents for the first time in seven years, and I got the fright of my life when I thought my mum had spotted me. I can’t say it’s been the best day so far.”

Scorpius’s eyes widen. “You went to see your parents?”

“Not on purpose,” Albus says quickly. “By accident.” He sets off walking again, holding his broom over his shoulder.

“How do you accidentally go and see your parents?” Scorpius asks.

“I was thinking-“

“Dangerous.”

Albus elbows him in the ribs. “I was flying and thinking about what might happen now you’re- now I’ve seen you again. I was thinking about how I want my life to be. And I sort of ended up there... by accident...”

Scorpius looks at him for a long moment, lips slightly parted, like he’s about to say something but never gets there. Finally he swallows. “You mentioned you’re hungover. Do you want to go and get coffee?”

Albus groans. “That sounds like heaven. Let me dump my broom and I’ll come.”

“Okay,” Scorpius says softly. “Let’s do that.”

Ten minutes later they’re sitting in Albus’s favourite coffee shop. Albus is nursing a cappuccino, and Scorpius is meticulously making himself the milkiest, sugariest, weakest cup of tea Albus has ever had the misfortune to encounter. It looks foul, and it’s certainly a waste of a number of excellent tea leaves. Scorpius has always been like this with his tea, but Albus thinks it might have got worse over the past few years.

“So,” Scorpius says finally, giving his disgusting creation one final stir before licking the spoon and setting it down on the edge of his tea cup. “Why are you hungover? Is this what illegal broom racers do?”

Albus rolls his eyes. “Not every night. Delphi wanted me to go to a business meeting. Drinking was the only way to liven it up.”

Scorpius smirks at him. “You got drunk at a business meeting.”

Albus takes a sip of his coffee and tries to look lofty. “In my defence, the business meeting took place in a bar, and our sponsors were buying the drinks. I just took advantage.”

“You could say you made a shrewd business decision,” Scorpius says, still smirking as he blows on his tea to cool it.

“Exactly,” Albus says, licking his foam moustache away.

“And... your parents,” Scorpius says, smirk fading. “You said your mum almost saw you. Albus...”

“I was invisible,” Albus says, wiping his finger round the rim of his cup to scrape up some of the foam before it dries out. “But she looked right at me. I don’t think she saw... I can’t tell though. I’m really terrible at magic, Scorpius, even Disillusionment Charms, and I practice them all the time.”

“You were never that bad,” Scorpius says, fiddling with the lid of his teapot. “You just lacked confidence.” He looks up at Albus. “I think you could have been brilliant if you’d been able to realise how capable you were. I think you still could be. If circumstances changed.”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know. I try, I- I’m good at flying, Scorpius. That’s about it. Even Delphi says so.”

Scorpius picks his teacup up and takes a sip. “Disillusionment Charms are NEWT level magic. There are wizards at work who can’t do those, and it sounds like you’re using them routinely.” He gives a small shrug. “Just saying.”

“Anyway,” Albus says forcefully, wanting to change the subject. “The point is that I nearly gave myself away, but...” He twists his cup around in his hands and stares down at the bits of chocolate still sprinkled across the top of the foam. “But it was nice to see them. To see her. I’ve missed her a lot. There are things I’d like to talk to her about. Lots of things.”

“She’s missed you too,” Scorpius murmurs. “I’ve never spoken to her, but I know... I know she’d give anything to have you back. I think if you wanted to talk to her you could. I think she’d be safe. I don’t think she’d turn you in, or... She loves you, Albus. A lot. She’d want you to be happy.”

Albus runs the tip of his finger over the foam, scraping up those last bits of chocolate and trying to imagine what it would be like to actually talk to his mum again. It seems like an impossible dream. Terrifying. An insurmountable challenge. But it might be worth it...

He shakes himself and looks up at Scorpius. “What happened at the training ground? Did I miss anything exciting?”

“Not really.” Scorpius leans back in his seat, holding his teacup delicately between his hands and frowning as he tries to remember. “I was fact finding. People were surprisingly helpful, once I threatened to arrest them on the spot.” He shoots Albus an angelic smile, and Albus stares at him.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Albus asks. “Arrest people?”

Scorpius shrugs and sips his tea. “I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Arresting people is sort of what we do.”

“You haven’t arrested me yet,” Albus says.

A smile spreads across Scorpius’s face, and there’s a new gleam in his eyes. “Do you want me to?”

Albus pulls a face at him. “Not particularly.”

“And if I was going to arrest you,” Scorpius says, “what would I arrest you for?”

Albus considers for a moment. “Well I’m an illegal broom racer, so that’s a good place to start. I’m also a runaway. I Apparate without a license. I’m a magical liability. I’m generally a bit of a disaster. I think I’d arrest me for my own safety.”

“I told you,” Scorpius says, “you’re not a liability, you just lack confidence. I’ll tutor you if you want.”

Albus blinks at him. “Will you?”

Scorpius smiles. “I might make you pay me, but of course I will.”

“How much?” Albus asks.

Scorpius scrutinises him for a moment. “I’ll think about it. As for the other things, running away isn’t illegal, just ill advised. The broom racing thing... I’m dealing with that. I hope I won’t have to arrest you... Apparating without a license is just idiotic, but I know you’ve had the lessons at least, and it’s fairly obvious why you’re doing it. And you being a disaster isn’t a criminal offence, it’s a personality trait. So really,” Scorpius flashes him a bright smile. “I think you’re safe from me.”

“I also really want to kiss you,” Albus says. He knows he says it rather than thinking it because he hears the words float out of his mouth, and once they’re out he can’t take them back, so while his cheeks feel like they’ve been burned by Fiendfyre, he busies himself drinking his coffee as fast as he can so he can make a run for it.

“That’s also not a criminal offence,” Scorpius points out after several seconds of stunned silence. “I can’t arrest you for that. I can’t even blame you. I have been told I’ve grown into a rather handsome young man.”

Albus looks up at him. “Who told you that? I mean it’s true, but-“

Scorpius grins. “My dad.”

“Oh.” Albus sets his coffee cup down and gets to his feet. “I should probably leave now, I- What time is it?”

Scorpius glances down at his watch. “Nearly six. You have a race tonight, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I should have been there an hour ago. Shit. I need to go home, and- I need to go.” He runs for the door, glad to have an excuse to run away that isn’t just his own idiocy. He makes it outside and turns a circle on the doorstep, perplexed and dizzied and overwhelmed by the past couple of hours. This is what being around Scorpius does to him. He can’t function anymore. Or maybe he’s never been able to function and Scorpius has made it worse.

He’s still dithering and trying to work out if he actually needs to go home and get anything, or if he can Apparate straight to the stadium, when the door opens behind him with a soft tinkle of the bell, and Scorpius joins him on the doorstep.

“I thought you were late,” he says.

“I am, I’m-“ Albus nods. “I’m going. I just don’t know which direction I’m going in.”

Scorpius takes a breath. “Well, while you’re standing here dithering, I just thought I’d let you know that I’d quite like to kiss you too.”

Albus stops dead on the spot and stares at him. “What?”

Scorpius nods. “It might not help you make a decision about where you’re going, but-“ He takes a step closer to Albus and reaches out to touch his cheek. As his fingers make contact Albus’s body freezes up, from shock and amazement and sheer delight.

Scorpius looks him right in the eyes, and this close up Albus can see that his irises aren’t really grey or silver. They’re a very pale blue, and there are bits of sea green too, and tiny flecks of brown, and the myriad colours are even more beautiful than pure silver or pure grey.

“Is this okay?” Scorpius whispers, studying Albus carefully.

All of Albus’s vocabulary has disappeared in the last two seconds. His brain has gone into meltdown. He doesn’t remember how to speak or really do anything. So instead of trying to answer, he stretches up on tiptoes, cups Scorpius’s face in his hands, and kisses him solidly.

Scorpius inhales, lips parting, and his fingertips press into Albus’s cheek. Albus tightens his hands around Scorpius’s face, holding him steady, and he dares to run his tongue along Scorpius’s bottom lip, feeling its warmth, wondering if he’s just imagining the taste of tea. He deepens the kiss, wanting to taste more, wanting to find out exactly what every inch of Scorpius’s lips feel like and taste of, but by some miracle Scorpius’s brain is still intact, because at that point he pushes Albus very gently away.

“Y-you have to go,” Scorpius says, voice shaking. “You have a race. Albus.”

Albus drops his hands to the collar of Scorpius’s robes and grips him, trying to steady himself. “Shit. I do.”

“Go,” Scorpius says, pushing at his chest. “Go and fly.”

Albus draws in a long breath and doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to. Once again he has that sense of being grounded here with Scorpius, tethered to himself and to his life. “Right. I’m going.”

Scorpius smiles and brushes his fingers along Albus’s jaw. “You don’t look like you’re going.”

Albus lifts his head and looks him in the eye. “I’ll win for you.”

Scorpius’s hand slides down to his shoulder. “Just be safe. There’s a reason it’s illegal.” He hesitates for a moment, then leans in and plants another soft, sweet, breathtaking kiss on Albus’s lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Albus releases him and stumbles back a couple of steps, head spinning. “Yes,” he says. “See you- see you tomorrow.” And he turns on the spot and Disapparates.

[fourtrisheafanfic]

UNCLOAKED: Chapter 4

JONERYS FANFIC

Also on Ao3: (X)

Start of story on Tumblr: (X)

Rating: Mature

Chapter Summary: Jon and Daenerys unite as husband and wife…in more ways than one. This chapter is fluff and smut. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 4: The Secret Wedding

Author’s Note: I had so much fun with the JONERYS VALENTINES prompts that week…and I didn’t think I would make it..but I did!  I posted 7 for 7!  Check out these jonerys works, I love them all. Also, there are so many beautiful works (fics, art, collections of images) that were shared. Just search #jonerysvalentines on Tumblr.

Day 1 - - Feb. 14: Dark!Jon or Dark!Dany (Money Well Spent)

Day 2 - - Feb 15: Fairy tales (The Big Bad Wolf)

Day 3 - - Feb. 16: Oh, No! We’re Forced to Share this Bed!  (One Bed, Two People)

Day 4 - - Feb. 17: Public Sex (Dust of Snow)

Day 5 - - Feb. 18: Pregnant Dany (Insatiable and Pregnant)

Day 6 - - Feb. 19: Forbidden Love (Not Good Enough)

Day 7 - - Feb. 20: FREE CHOICE (Money Can’t Buy Me Love)

CHAPTER 4: The Secret Wedding

Walking quietly through the halls of Winterfell, the small party stops to ensure the change of guards Sansa and Davos orchestrated is still in place. With Sansa at the front of the group she glides with a sense of purpose as she leads Jon and a few members of their wedding party with ease. Jon would think she wasn’t nervous, if he hadn’t noticed that her hands are trembling anxiously.

Sansa is very happy that her brother has found love and is getting married, but she is well aware that the Northerners will not be thrilled about this secret union. Even worse than Jon having bent the knee, will be the assumption that he was foolishly seduced into doing so.

Sansa has spent the last few months listening to the gripes and grumbles of the Northern lords. They have proven themselves to be very fickle when it comes to the leadership of their King and now even more so with the Dragon Queen present. She is concerned how they will perceive this union, especially as it will have been a secret.

As Jon trudges through the halls he begins to question his insistence in marrying at the Weirwood tree. He would be just as married to his queen had the ceremony taken place in the study by Daenerys’s chambers. They probably would have been married already instead of sneaking through the halls of Winterfell.

Deciding to make the secret walk in two waves, to avoid larger problems that would occur at both Jon and Dany being caught together sneaking through Winterfell and towards the Godswood. It would be too much to explain, so they split their party in two. Jon despised the idea of leaving Daenerys behind but in the end was convinced it was necessary. Walking with Jon is Sansa, Davos, Sam, and Missandei. Jon insisted that Arya stay behind and stay by Dany’s side at all times.

Words were not needed as Jon asked his youngest sister to stay with the queen. Her face expressed that she understood, she would kill anyone that tried to harm his bride.

Standing in front of the Weirwood tree Jon faces Sam, purposely looking away from the direction in which Daenerys will be coming from. Feeling nervous, he wants to concentrate on his friend for a moment. The dawn is approaching, the sun will be rising soon enough. Jon finally smiles, he hopes that the soft glow of the rising sun will smile upon the exchange of their vows.

Sam is anxiously reviewing his notes, he seems more nervous than the groom is. Jon smiles at his closest friend, happy that Sam will be the one to perform the ceremony. Sam frowns suddenly, he seems to be lost in deep thought.

“Sam, are you ready? You seem distracted,” Jon says quietly, hoping that all will go as planned.

Sam smiles broadly, although seeming a little wistful. “I was just thinking of my father, if he could see now... Performing this union I mean.”

Jon stiffens, remembering that Sam had taken the news of the death of his father and brother exceptionally well. But now Jon is second guessing his choice to request Sam marry them. Maybe Jon had asked too much of his closest friend. It was Daenerys, who made the decision during battle to have Drogon enforce her stance of power, which resulted in Sam’s father and brother being burned alive.

“Sam….” Jon begins.

Realization crosses Sam’s face as his eyes widen. “Oh Jon, you misunderstand. I meant what I said earlier, I bare no ill will towards the queen. It is a war, and she offered them a choice. My father made his decision and my brother, who was also a grown man, then choose to follow our father to his death. After you and I spoke, I actually spoke with Tyrion in great detail about what was said and how it happened.”

Sam shrugs his shoulders, the hurt evident in his features. “It was hard to hear that my father, even until the very last moment, wanted Dickon to choose live. I say that because this is the same man that threatened to have me killed in a hunt had I not given up my birthright as he demanded of me…” Sam’s voice trails off. “Well, it is what it is. If anything, I struggle with the ability to feel forgiveness for my father, even in his death.”

Relieved that Sam is not harboring ill will towards Daenerys, Jon can only nod. Having known Sam for many years, and knowing the man he has become now, Jon can see the maturity the years have brought him. Jon remembers the young man Sam was as he shared the story of what type of man his father had been. His father sounded despicable, even until the very end. Old man Tarly’s loyalty to Cersei would have come to a head with Jon’s mission at one point or another.  

“It is hard to make peace, especially when they are gone,” Jon admits softly, his mind straying to his father. Actually, his uncle Ned. Jon has had to put those emotions in the back of his mind as he needed to focus on the living, and the life he desires with his queen.

Jon is still not at peace with the lies that Ned surrounded him with throughout his life. Logically, Jon recognizes the inclination of his uncle to honor Lyanna’s dying wish. But at some point, after Jon had repeatedly asked his father so many times about his own mother, he wishes that his uncle could have at least told him the truth. Even if he had only told Jon, and no one else.

The last time Jon saw Ned Stark was as a young man, leaving his home so that he could join the Night’s Watch. Even then, Ned couldn’t tell Jon the truth about his parentage.

Of course he could have. Ned made the choice not to.

But…

Had I known my true lineage, then I would have known that the Dragon Queen was indeed my aunt from the first moment I saw her. My heart possibly not opening to her the way a man loves a woman.

Instead Daenerys is the woman I will marry, she is meant to be my wife and me her husband.

“Jon, it’s time,” Sansa whispers excitedly and nods her head for Jon to look behind him. Sansa’s words interrupting Jon’s thoughts. Arya is standing beside her, grinning. “Daenerys will be escorted in by Tyrion for the marriage ceremony and everyone else is ready to begin.”

Jon steals a quick glance, all of the people him and Dany wanted to be present are standing and ready to witness their union. Smiling Jon turns to give Sansa and Arya a quick hug each.

“I’m sorry about Bran… I tried,” Sansa begins. “He didn’t look at all surprised this wedding was going to take place. But he insisted that he needed his rest.”

Arya scowls but manages to remain quiet. Not understanding how their younger brother could miss this. How the boy he once was, would be okay with skipping the wedding of Jon to the woman he loves.

“It is okay, I am trying to come to terms with how things work for Bran now. This moment is about my joining together with Daenerys. I am just glad my sisters can be with me right now,” Jon says thankfully. “Having you both here, is really important to me. So thank you.”

Arya and Sansa move to take their place, standing and ready to watch Jon take Daenerys Targaryen as his wife. Jon faces Sam while moving to stand beside his best friend.

It is then that Tyrion and Daenerys appear, walking towards the Weirwood tree, walking towards Jon.

Although Jon has already seen her dress, and he is pleased the stain was indeed barely noticeable, watching his beloved approach sends a thrill throughout Jon’s body. She is here, and she is his. Jon’s heart aches with joy and excitement.

“She is a vision, Jon,” Sam whispers to his friend. “I’m happy for you, brother.”

Jon can’t look away from her, the sun’s gentle glow lighting her beautiful features, the perfect dress and the happiness he sees reflected in her face. She loves him, and everyone can see it.

As Tyrion and Daenerys walk further into the Godswood, her eyes beam with pleasure at seeing her handsome groom. Jon is waiting alongside Sam, while their guests form an aisle.

Sam walks forward. “Who comes before the Old Gods this dawn?”

“Daenerys of House Targaryen comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” Tyrion says, his eyes shining brightly at the King of the North.

Jon steps forward, standing directly in front of Dany. Their eyes lock, both unable to turn away. She longs to be in his arms, moving even closer as their faces are now only inches apart. Their bodies leaning into the other.

(Image credit: Original edit made by Tumblr user @jonerystargaryensfan  I made the image a little darker to reflect the early dawn – check out her awesome work, so many jonerys edits)

Tyrion finally clears his throat, signaling for Jon to speak.

“Jon Snow, King of the North. Who gives her?” he asks quietly, still staring into his bride’s beautiful face.

“Tyrion of House Lannister, and Hand to the queen.” With that Tyrion steps back to stand by Jorah, who is stone faced while his eyes are filled with conflicted emotion.

Tyrion knows that the old bear is love with her, and that he loves her enough to want her to be happy and loved. Tyrion also knows that Jon does love their queen, with his entire heart.

“Queen Daenerys, will you take this man?” Sam asks hopefully, almost as he fears she may say no.

Dany smiles at Jon, her eyes suddenly wet with tears. “I take this man,” she says absolutely.

Sam speaks loudly, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Jon quickly takes his cloak from around his neck and places it around Daenerys’s petite shoulders.

The couple share a smile before standing side by side to face Sam, Jon nods that they are ready to continue.

Jon puts his left hand out, Dany places her right hand to rest on top of his. Sam readies the cloth that will go around their hands, binding them.

“In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words,” Sam instructs while tying the sash around their hands, tying them together.

Both turning away from their tied-hands to face one another, the couple speaks their vows, simultaneously committing their lives to each other.

Jon: “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am HERS and SHE is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

Daenerys: “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am HIS and HE is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

The small group cheers quietly for the marriage of their King and Queen. Jon leans close to press his lips against his wife’s mouth.

Arya smiles, wiping tears away from her cheek. Her mind wandering to Gendry, they had discussed marriage earlier that day. She loves him, she knows he does. But things have moves so quickly, and she still needs to have that important discussion with Jon. She suspects that Davos may know more than he lets on as well. He has been studying her closely all evening long.

As all gather to congratulate the newly married couple with hugs and handshakes Sansa tries to pull Jon and Daenerys aside while also signaling for everyone’s attention. Tyrion and Sansa exchange a look, both being on the same page.

“Everyone, now that the king and queen have wed, we need to decide on a plan. We should agree what will be said. Let’s regroup to the study, we can…” Sansa gets out before Jon interrupts her by placing his hand on her arm for a moment.

“Sansa is correct, we must plan for our next steps now that the marriage has taken place,” Tyrion interjects strongly.

“Everyone, Daenerys and I have just been married and it is already almost morning. Soon the castle will be up and our faces will be expected to be seen. We would like to have some time to be married before the new day starts,” Jon insists as people chuckle. Daenerys smiles shyly as Jon brings her hand to his lips. “Tomorrow morning, first thing. But for now, I need to be alone with my wife.”

Arya is also anxious to get back to her room where Gendry is waiting for her. “It is very late, I for one am tired and would like to get back to my chambers. Can we please just discuss this tomorrow morning after breakfast?”

Jon smiles at Arya appreciatively, not knowing her ulterior motive for wanting to return to her room. Dany raises her eyebrows at Arya knowingly, causing Arya to blush.

Tyrion, nor Sansa, look pleased but they also know this is one argument they will not win. .

It is settled, the next phase of plotting will wait until after breakfast.

The King and Queen want to make their marriage official.

++o++

Opening the door to Daenerys’s chambers Jon takes a moment to scoop his bride into his arms as she giggles wholeheartedly and wraps her arms around his neck. Kissing his jaw and then down his neck slowly, Dany murmurs sweet words of love. Kicking the door shut with his foot Jon walks with purpose to their bed.

Unable to tear his eyes away from his wife’s beautiful face, Jon whispers, “I love you, I almost can’t believe that you are mine. My precious wife.”

Drowning in his eyes, so full of love, Daenerys opens her mouth to speak but only a small sob escapes. She is completely overcome with emotion, finally married to the man she adores. Jon smiles tenderly before pressing his mouth to hers in a reassuring kiss. He plans to show her with actions how cherished she is.

Standing her gently at the side of the bed Jon holds her face in his palms before kissing her, pressing his lips to her. Daenerys groans as she immediately deepens the kiss.  Her tongue seeking entrance that he gladly gives. Clutching at his clothing desperately, she pulls his body closer to hers.

“I love you. Jon Snow, my beloved husband,” she whimpers before kissing him again. Her body is overcome with desire as she longs to feel his naked body pressed against hers. “Make love to your wife, make me yours in the eyes of the gods and your people.”

Jon groans enthusiastically, knowing that they will consummate their marriage in this room shortly. The blood rushing to his eager cock. His temptation is to take her quickly, to make her cry out his name as he makes love to her.

Jon turns her wife around to face away from him, his strong arms wrapped around her for a moment. Holding her close he kisses her neck, feeling her tremble in his arms. Slowly his hands move across her body, touching and caressing her as he feels her under his fingertips. His hands slowly loosening her gown as the cool air hits her breasts, just a little more until he can slide the dress down her lithe frame to the floor.

Grunting with satisfaction, Jon sees the exquisitely embroidered small clothes that his wife is wearing under her dress this time. Earlier Dany had managed to pull it down while he was distracted. Dany wiggles in his arms in order to turn and face him. A satisfied grin as she sees the dark desire in his eyes. Reaching slowly between them her hand touches his stomach before gliding lower, until she can feel his hardness from over his pants. He is already very aroused, he wants her as badly as she wants him.

They need each other.

With eyes locked, Jon’s throat hitches as his wife pleasures him over his clothing, teasing him slowly. Closing his eyes he welcomes the delight that rolls over his body as he resumes touching her body. His hands are loving and determined to make her feel loved. Cupping her breasts in his palms he enjoys the fine fabric that still lies between them. Rolling her nipples between his fingers before teasing them with a small pinch, Jon relishes in her loud gasp. Feeling her teats pucker Jon leans down to take one in his mouth, in between kisses he lowers Dany’s small clothes off and down her shoulders.

Dany loosens his breaches to push them down his hips while wrapping her hand around his cock. She gives him slow and gentle pumps, enjoying the way he hardens in her hands even more.  

“We need to get these off,” Jon says while stripping his bride completely naked. “I need to feel you…all of you.”

“Same for you, dearest husband,” Dany giggles as her hands frantically pull at his remaining clothing. Jon groans as he helps her to rip the remaining articles off his body.

Finally both naked, mutually taking in the sight of the other, their arousal growing as they know the other is anxious to have them.

Jon guides Daenerys to lie on their bed, climbing gently next to her. Kissing slowly, hands continue to roam smoothly over each other’s body.  Jon’s eyes widen as he sees numerous bite marks on her beautiful skin, marks he had made during previous heightened moments of pleasure between them. Tracing the marks tenderly Jon’s eyes meet Dany’s as she realizes what he is doing.

“I need you so much, I lose myself when I am with you. When I am inside of you. Especially for those special moments when you and I become one. I don’t know where I end or you begin,” Jon says hoarsely. The desire to take her quickly is bearing down on him.

Dany moans at his words, her hand slipping to stroke his hard cock. She parts her legs, wantonly, beckoning her husband.

“Dany…” Jon says painfully, she has no idea the lengths of his desire, how much he wants her, needs her even.

“Please, as your wife…I need to feel you close to me. We can go slowly the next time…but for now, I want you to claim me,” Dany begs. “Make me yours. Take me.”

Jon grunts while rolling over to settle between Dany’s legs, moving her knee up so that she is completely open to him. Gripping his cock and running the head of his penis up and down her wet folds, then circling her bundle of nerves causing Dany to gasp loudly.

Holding each other tightly Jon pushes into his wife and grunts as they become one. Laying still for a moment Jon kisses Dany as she wraps her arms around him.

“I love you, I am so happy we are married. No matter what happens, we will have this moment,” Dany whimpers, the feeling of her husband on top of her overwhelming her with feelings of passion and adoration.

Jon groans as he kisses her passionately, his hips slowly working in firm steady thrusts as he begins making love to his wife.

Dany gasps as his cock slides in and out, his hand then sliding between them to gently caress her clit.

“Come for me baby. I want to feel you tighten around me,” he whispers in her ear as she cries out for him. Jon kisses her gaping mouth again as he slowly strums on her bundle of nerves.

Dany groans wildly, her body bucking to move against Jon desperately. Her orgasm is powerful as she cries out his name. Begging him to keep going, “Please don’t stop. Don’t stop! Jon! Jon…yes, my love…yes!”

Jon closes his eyes, her sweet pussy clenching around him as she comes loudly. He holds still while she comes down from her high.

Calming herself, Dany buries her face in his neck…kissing his warm skin softly.

Jon resumes gently making love to her, slowly as she holds him. Dany closes her eyes, her flesh still feeling sensitive as she enjoys the feeling of him making slow love to her.

As Jon nears his climax his thrusts become more frantic, pushing up on his arms as his hips jerk against her. Moving her knee to her shoulder Jon takes her quickly and hard. Dany watches appreciatively as he takes what he needs. Dany’s hands move to hold his amazing butt, urging him to take her hard.

A loud groan as Jon pushes in deep as he finally comes, his seed releasing. His eyes closed tightly as his body shudders against her. Feeling his ass clench, Dany moans with delight as she squeezes him.

Knowing his seed is releasing into her barren body, Dany feels a pang of guilt. Her eyes suddenly glistening with tears, blinking rapidly she desperately tries to push away her guilt and despair. But it was too late, Jon saw the sadness in her eyes.

Eyes then closed, Dany leans up to kiss him, she doesn’t want to ruin this moment. It being their first time together as husband and wife. Jon kisses her back slowly, lowering his weight on to her cautiously as they hold each other closely. His cock softening and still inside of her.

Leaning his forehead against her before asking, “Dany…did I hurt you? Can you tell me what happened just then?”

“It’s not important my love, just hold me and never let me go,” she whispers, hopeful he will leave it alone.

“I prefer you tell me the truth, what is going on in your mind? You are my wife, you can tell me anything,” he presses, knowing that she is upset about something.

Dany opens her mouth to repeat that nothing is wrong, or to deflect…except the truth comes tumbling out instead.

“It just hurts my heart, that I will never give you a child. I just know you would have been an amazing father,” Dany whispers sadly, her eyes filling with tears. “I would love nothing more than to carry your baby, to make you a father.”

Jon wipes away a tear that fell down her cheek. Kissing her cheek softly after. “I promise you, Daenerys…I am the happiest I have ever been and you are enough.”

Dany feels a drop in her belly, the guilt eating away at her. “You say that now. But maybe if you had married another...when her belly was swelling with your child...I would’ve been nothing but a distant memory!”

Jon sees the genuine hurt in her eyes, she looks so sad. How can he explain to her? He wants her more than any child.

“Dany… You are everything to me,” Jon says firmly. “I would rather have a life with you by my side then a house full of a dozen children. It hurts me that you doubt me.”

Dany finally smiles, because she believes him. Relieved to see her calm demeanor, Jon smiles back before dipping his head to kiss and suck at the soft flesh of her breasts. Dany closes her eyes and enjoys the love he is showering on her. Moments later she can feel him hardening while still inside of her.

Releasing her nipple with a loud slobbery kiss, Jon suddenly pops his head up, a wicked smile on his face. “Besides, I can now be a father to your dragons…if they will let me!”

Daenerys laughs loudly before her mouth falls open in ecstasy as Jon begins moving slowly, soft hard thrusts as he is fully aroused again.

Jon kisses her passionately while taking her, pushing into her body so he is fully sheathed by her loving body. Before leaning in for another kiss Dany nips at his lip while meeting his thrusts with her eager hips, “As long as you don’t call them beasts again!”

Jon smiles against her lips, making a mental note not to piss off his wife or their dragons again.

At the moment he concentrates on making love to his beautiful wife as she moans and withers against him.

He plans to show her what a beast he can be.

++o++ Chapter End ++o++

Next chapter here: CH 5

[lunamanar]

Hey, Luna, are you still doing the ask thing? If so, I was wondering if you had any headcanons regarding the Leonhart and Heartilly extended families? As in, do Squall, Linoa or Ellone have other still living relatives? People always talk about the parental issues in this game, but the rest of their families possibly being around never gets brought up.

I’m always “doing the ask thing,” haha~ 

(pardon me I’m gonna ramble real quick and then I’ll answer your actual questions)

I actually used to do this quite a lot before I got a new job and had to move my entire family of three people and eight(8, VIII) cats 500 miles northbound. Which was…incredibly stressful, and I just had no energy or brainspace left at the end of each day to communicate much, if at all, with large groups of people. So this stuff was right out. It pretty much tore me away from tumblr for a year and a half. I’ve been really bummed about that and kept trying to “get back into it,” but my several meager attempts at jumping back in got sidetracked by life responsibilities, and especially with tumblr’s new restrictions on external links not being searchable, the whole trawling for art thing I used to do just isn’t as feasible at this point in time because I have to edit each post very carefully so it will still show up in a search. That’s time-consuming. Maybe when I go back to 3rd shift in December (I hope) I’ll be able to art-hunt “full time,” again, but I just have a limited space in which to do that, now. 

However, I can still do asks! And I really enjoy them, they’re fun and engaging and, hell I admit, I like it when people want to hear my opinion on things. But I was having a hard time, uh…asking for asks, haha. It felt too much like I was begging for attention. But then stuff happened and I had the worst pain spike I’ve had all year, and I kinda just broke down and said I needed a distraction. My chronic pain issues can be absolutely debilitating, and can lay me flat in bed for days (I had to take two days off work last week). But if I can manage to engross myself in something creative, it’s like a shot of cortisone. I think I get something of a rush, an adrenaline/endorphin kick out of it, and it does a lot to mitigate whatever the hell it is that causes my problem. I mean, that’s probably true of a lot of illnesses; you get attention and positive feedback and your brain rewards you with pleasant chemicals. But whatever, it worked and now I feel like I’m getting back in the game. I just have to keep the momentum up, now. 

*cough* Ahem. So you asked me a thing. I will answer. 

I do have headcanons about Squall’s extended family, specifically. I’ve not built out Rinoa’s yet…partially because it just never really comes up in the stories I’ve either plotted out or written. So I can’t answer that part of it–yet–but I can talk about Squall’s. 

Working backwards: starting with Laguna’s side, Laguna is the oldest of two siblings, and not one, but both of them are kinda “black sheep” in the family. Partially it was their upbringing; Their mother, Elga Loire, was overworked and underappreciated, often working two jobs to keep food on the table (which she did very well). She didn’t have a lot of time to spend with her kids because of this, and the main reason for it was that their dad, Sevren Jr., was…kind of a loser? I mean, no, that’s not a good word, but a lot of people would call him that. He was an inventor. And always, always on the verge of the one that would make it big, this time. Automated chocobo saddles, “sliding” shoes to make walking more efficient, paramagic-powered chairs….yyyeah. You get why they were broke all the time. Sevren often traveled to demonstrate his newest creations, so he was absent a lot of the time, too. But when he came back, he would always bring the boys–Laguna and River (you must see where I’m going with this double-entendre)–some new toy or strange item from whatever country or town he’d visited. 

This was fascinating to Laguna, in particular. Even as a kid, he dreamed of traveling the world. When he got older, joining the army seemed like the fastest way to do that, soooo….he roped his two best friends into joining with him. Heh. 

Now, River…wasn’t into that stuff so much. He thought it was silly. He preferred to help Elga when she was at home, and even when she wasn’t, he ended up doing a lot of the house chores while his older brother went out and nearly died repeatedly trying to do dumb things. River was ‘fine’ just keeping to himself, reading and listening to music when he could get the radio to pick something up. As he grew up, he became a bit of a…punk? Like, he would be listening to Bad Religion in 1992. On the other hand, maybe Dream Theater when he was feeling happy. I imagine him looking a lot like Leon in KH2, but with hazel eyes (Sevren’s were brown) and no Griever all over his clothes. He cut his own hair so it always looked a bit jagged and unkempt, and he left it semi-long. Just generally prescient. He became pretty resentful of authority because he saw how it treated his mother and conspired to keep them all poor, and him too, when he got old enough to get a job (Laguna never had one until the army). It made him all the more determined to help his mother (and father, to an extent) weather the storm until the tides changed. 

But then…well. They changed. But not for the better. Their dad died, and very suddenly, of an embolism. And, bitter as she was about having to support the family nearly single-handedly, Elga Loire loved Sevren quite a bit, and fell into some pretty deep broken heart syndrome. Inconsolable, she lost both her jobs. Laguna had already traipsed off to the army with his friends, and wouldn’t be aware of any of this for several weeks. River was left to care for their mother alone, and although they owned their small home, she had to sell it just to make ends meet. She moved in with a friend, and River…well, she sent him to the army, too. She insisted, thinking it was the best way to get both her sons out of this mess. Laguna already seemed to be doing well. 

River did not do so well. He survived boot camp, but deserted his first year in service. 

Laguna never heard from him, after that…and their mother passed away not too long afterward. 

So…that’s Laguna’s end of it. As far as anyone knows, River is still out there. But Laguna hasn’t seen him in nearly 30 years. So, Squall has a missing uncle out there, somewhere, maybe. 

Raine’s side…haha, geez, I might need to make a chart. In some ways, Raine is easier because she has no siblings and doesn’t know who her dad is. But I’ve traced her lineage back a bit further, and it gets…weird, in places. I might not be able to describe all of it, here. 

Raine’s mother’s name is Gale. Gale is still alive, and Squall does meet her, once. It’s a solemn, one-time meeting, more an acknowledgement than a reunion. But it’s good. Gale is very practical. She never married, and never told Raine’s father she was pregnant (she didn’t like him for a permanent fixture). She was also a businesswoman. She owned and ran a hotel in middletown Dollet for many years. That’s where Raine got a lot of her experience before setting out on her own. Gale has sandy brown hair that she keeps short, and looks a bit like a taller Ellone in business casual, haha. But, but–those blue eyes. She has those. Her relation to Squall is evident. 

It’s important to remember that although I enjoy both “he named himself” and “it’s Raine’s maiden name” theories, I’m pretty firmly in the camp of Raine’s last name being Leonhart. The story of Gale’s mother, Shiara (this is Arashi [storm] with the syllables reversed), depends on it, because she is the originator. I can’t detail the entire thing here–just too long–but the brief synopsis is that Shiara was a sorceress, in a time when sorceresses (”witches”) and “resistance” groups hell-bent on killing them all were in a state of cold war with one another. When Shiara became a sorceress, she panicked and ran away. She ended up being captured by one of these resistance factions, and had what I can only call a very complicated relationship with the faction’s leader, Dericho (this is the river Jericho with the first letter changed, making it phonetically very similar to Derecho, which is yet another type of storm). 

Dericho’s faction was called, yes, the Pride, and they operated under a familiar leonine emblem. Of all his ancestors, Squall probably most closely resembles Dericho facially. Dericho is slightly shorter, his hair is a bit darker, and his eyes are a bit more on the grey side, but his posture, the way he carries himself, his facial expressions, his voice, even the sweep of his hair and the length he tends to keep it are all very familiar. A lot of those qualities were apparently recessive and just skipped a couple generations before thy found a match and popped up again. 

How Shiara came to have Gale is a story I’d personally rather tell in prose, but I will say that it was Dericho who essentially named her, telling her in all his years of vetting people who want to be worthy of being called a Lion, Shiara was the only person he’d met with the heart of one. She carried that with her the rest of her life.

She is not, sadly, alive, having died at a ripe old age (and not terribly, since she was prepared with a willing successor nearby). She never actually told Gale about her powers, and to the very last, Gale never knew. The touch of sorcery ended there, seemingly. Dericho is also gone. 

But I’m not done yet. One more generation, and this time, Hyne’s power is quite evident. Dericho’s mother, Hanwei, was a sorceress, his father was her knight, and they were quite open about it, feeling safe with it in their particular neck of the woods. Dericho was very familiar with the touch of his mother’s magic–she used it with him the way any mother would use a gentle hand, soothing scraped knees, gently grabbing his arm to pull him out of trouble–from fifteen feet away. His father, Mael[strom], was quite happy in his service to his wife and sorceress, and both Dericho’s parents loved him very much. When they embraced him, he could feel their connections tangling around him, and it was a very comfortable, safe way to be a child. 

Of course, we can’t have that, can we?

When Dericho was about 5 or 6, they had been attending a fair that ran late into the night. Dericho started to nod off, so they went home early. It was a short distance, so they decided to walk instead of paying to ride a carriage to their home. Unfortunately, as you can probably guess, they were ambushed, by a particularly nasty faction called the Ridgebacks. Upon discovering Hanwei was a sorceress…well, let’s say the result was not pretty. At all. Dericho watched both his parents die, and his mother in particular, because she had no nearby successor. He was then “adopted” by the very faction who murdered his parents before his eyes. 

Without going into specifics, they took this traumatized child, a blank slate, and turned him into one of them. But…not quite. By 17, Dericho didn’t know any other way of existing than as part of the factions, anymore, but he knew he still hated the Ridgebacks for what they had done. He murdered his “mentor” of a dozen or so years, killed several people, and took several more boys near his age on his way out of that particular clan. He started his own faction, with his own rules, and one was a “special” way of dispatching witches without having to burn them to dust. The Pride made their name on this and other standards which set their bar just a tad higher. They’d been in operation for almost ten years when Shiara showed up. 

Then, as I said, things got complicated. 

I should also note that Shiara and Dericho both lived in Centra. It was not long after Shiara flew free that the fateful Lunar Cry occurred, which deposited the Crystal Pillar and destroyed a third of the continent. Shiara barely escaped that disaster with her life…and her newborn daughter. 

So….yeah, I think that’s about it, for now. If I ever get to working out my Rinoa’s tree, maybe I’ll put that up here as well, but for now, Squall’s all I’ve got, and his is hell in a handbasket. 

I hope you enjoyed it, though!