#and heaven is on life support and he spent many years help that mess

[occult-castiel]

Takes place s15, night before they try and take Chuck down

It's quiet in the bunker, the night before it's all going to end.

Jack's waiting with Billy, and Sam decided to try and get some sleep sometime after dinner. Dean's been in pajamas just as long, but hasn't fallen asleep by the time Cas slips into his room.

Cas has a bottle of whiskey in hand, fifty-five years old and smoother than anything. It only takes ten minutes for Dean to get him to take his damn shoes off for once, and another thirty seconds to discard both his jackets and tie.

Then he pats the foot of the mattress, and they take turns doing pulls straight from the bottle while they talk.

Dean's propped against his headboard, mostly empty bottle of booze in hand, when it happens.

Dean wets his lips, and his eyes dart from the bottle to Cas and repeats. They settle on the whiskey when he speaks. "So. Got any regrets? Y'know. If we all die."

Cas lifts an eyebrow. "This isn’t the first time we've been at the end of the barrel, so to speak."

Dean's lips quirk up for a moment, somehow still happy at idioms and pop culture references when they come from Cas. It falls as fast as it's there.

Dean clears his throat, sits up straighter. "Yeah, but not like this man."

"That's true." He plucks the bottle up, takes one last swig.

The liquid burns. It shouldn't, like the room shouldn't feel cool, and his shoulder shouldn't ache. But the slow slip of his powers is one more thing going wrong. You have to draw the line in the sand somewhere. So he's already decided he doesn't care, as long as there's something for tomorrow.

"Never thought fratricide would be on my list of sins," he says as he caps the top, passes it back.

Dean's eyes search him, a sharp clarity cuts through any buzz, and he takes the time to examine.

"Yeah, but you lived a long time. Doubt that takes the cake."

He scrunches his nose. For an angel, killing God should top the list.

"It doesn't."

"So," he shifts closer, "what's the big one?"

It's obvious, and he isn't stupid. There's only one reason to ask this now. To press the issue.

His answer is short, to the point. "You."

Dean flinches, his head jerks away. Cas lifts his hand to grab his shoulder, but stalls. Leaves it stuck in the air between them from a moment.

"Dean, look at me."

He doesn't. 

Carefully, Cas moves his fingers to Dean's cheek, directs Dean's gaze towards him with a barely-there press.

"You haven’t misread anything. I merely wish... circumstances were different."

Cas drops his hand, let's them both lay in his lap. 

When Dean speaks. His voice is quiet. "Different how?"

He gives a humorless laugh. "I wish we didn’t meet in Hell, for starters."

Slowly, Cas looks back up. Dean sits the bottle of alcohol on the floor with a clank. Smooths his tshirt out. 

When he talks, he tries to smile. It doesn't touch his face. "What, think we would've met in Heaven after I kicked the bucket?"

And then Cas laughs once, more genuine, but still too close to bitter. "Not at all. But I think you know that's not what I meant."

It's meant to be an offer, one last chance to back out.

Dean's younger darts out, west his mouth. "Then tell me."

It figures this would happen just in time for Cas to not be able to give it. Not fully. He twists the cuffs of his shirt between his fingers as he talks.

"I wish we met..." he sighs. "Somewhere normal. A place where you weren't forced to hunt, and I wasn't like this," he gives a vague motion to his body. The one he wasn't born in, the one he only has because Heaven and Hell wanted to ruin everything. 

Dean looks him in the eye, listening. The bed makes no noise when Cas leans a little closer, propped on the ball of his hand next to Dean's knee.

"And then I'd wish we'd talk long enough to want to again. Have this… courtship process in the right order, without all the mistakes and lost time."

"Yeah?" Dean's voice is weak.

He nods. "I regret that we can't be normal, and have a proper first date. It isn't your usual method, but you care about what's expected when you think something is important. We'd have that, in another time."

And it's what he deserves. An average life in all it's forged beauty. Not a string of disasters.

It's almost funny, to imagine. Maybe in a far off reality, they'd get married, and Jack would be a normal kid they adopted. And Sam would've made an excellent lawyer.

Dean’s hand slips forward, gripes his wrist. The hold is loose but firm, and everywhere his skin touches burns. He's shifted enough so they're inches apart, breathing the same air.

"Y'know I— I would. I'd do it proper now, Cas. Still can, just one more fight. We can have it, if you want."

The words sting. He doesn't know.

"I just want everyone safe. But—"

Cas glances at their hands, maneuvers them just enough to tangle their fingers.

"But, to clarify, you take the cake. Not having you. I wish I spent the last handful of years living here, at the least."

"You say that like it's too late."

Because it is. It is too late, and the vocalization of it chokes his throat closed. He flicks his eyes to the wall, tries not to see Dean in his peripheral either. 

There's a warrant above his head, just waiting for the right moment, and Dean doesn't know. He'll be confused, lost. More lost than Cas ever thought when he made the deal, and he's left their son the job of explaining it. Because it won't be eons. Every day is numbered.

He doesn't realize his hands are shaking until Dean grabs them.

"Cas?"

It takes a moment to work past the knot in his throat. "It feels that way."

"Hey," Dean lifts a hand and cups his face, firm. "It isn’t too late. Look at me Cas."

He doesn't, but he also doesn't fight it when Dean guides his gaze back. 

There’s a pleading quality to his face. Intense, sharp. The one he gets when he thinks he can convince someone of anything as long as it's right. 

It's the kind of look that can convince an angel to fall, in his experience.

So he looks at Dean's mouth instead, watches the way his lips wrap around the words when he speaks.

"It isn't, Cas." 

Then Dean kisses him. Tentative, soft. Like Cas might break.

Every muscle Cas has freezes. It shouldn't be a surprise, but once you've thought about something enough times, the reality is always shocking.

And Cas can't move.

Dean's lips are plump, and the two of them slot perfectly together. But this isn't something they can do, not now, not with the Empty, not when they’ll need him in the fight tomorrow—

And then Dean tilts his head just so, and any thoughts of tomorrow, any reservation he should have, leaves.

That one movement is the freshest breath of air he's had in months. Longer, even.

Dean's hand moves to his waist, and he surges forward, haphazard and messy. Dean takes it with a grunt and a fleeting smile Cas can only feel.

It's Heavenly.

Their teeth clank, and the taste of whiskey in their saliva is the sweetest thing on the planet. The smell of Dean's cinnamon-scented shampoo is like a familiar blanket, and he's drowning in all of it. 

Kissing Dean isn't like anyone else. It's like slipping headfirst into an endlessly deep bath. He'd only had one once, but it was soothing and warm, a nice simulation of the best embrace he could think of at the time. And this is so much better.

He barely notices it when Dean's hand guides him back into place, then slides it around his neck.

Decidedly, Cas flicks his tongue over Dean's lips. A soft, nearly broken noise catches itself in the back of Dean's throat. Cas pushed in further, weasels a hand to Dean's chest, makes him lay down properly. He climbs on Dean's lap without breaking them apart.

He buries his nose into Dean's cheek, presses their faces together. When Cas drags his teeth over Dean's bottom lip, he moans.

He shivers when Dean tugs his shirt up, the cool air a shock to his heated skin. Dean's hand travels under, paints up his back in a smooth, slow drag. Cas breaks the kiss just so he can breathe.

Their foreheads meld together, and their breaths run ragged. His heart thumps in his eardrums with each inhale. His skin is probably as red as Dean's, flushed deep, mouth puffed red and kiss stained.

After a moment, Cas falls limp, nested into Dean's side. 

Dean accommodates him effortlessly. His hand is still a comforting weight on Cas' back, even if the rumbled dress shirt digs into his skin.

When the subtle shake of his hands doesn't fade in the less intense position, he buries it in Dean's shirt.

As subtle as possible, he breathes deep. Once. Twice. Three times.

How he's still alive is a mystery.

Maybe the Empty would think it'd be funnier if it waited until after the battle, or at least in it's best interest. Maybe it's okay, for the night.

His eyes drift up, and Dean's smiling at him, a soft, private thing.

"See?" He says, "Not too late."

Cas twists himself up, brushes their lips. It has an addictive quality to it, the act. Especially when Dean leans in, and slides his fingers through Cas' hair.

And he’s still alive.

When they part, Dean schools his face into neutrality, his body tenses. He runs his hand through his hair once more, trailing down until he holds Cas' face firm.

He opens his mouth. Screws it shut. Opens it again.

"I'm in love with you."

His heart misses a beat, but the rest of him relaxes a fraction more. Tense in a way he wasn’t aware.

There’s a vehemence in the words, a truth that's a half step away from an accusation. He's had to have thought about it, combed the words over on his head until it was second nature.

Cas has known long enough it shouldn't be a surprise, but it still sends a little shock of thrill through him.

Cas takes in a shaky breath. Blinks a few times. 

Dean's sea-glass green eyes are beautiful.

And he's surviving this conversation.

"I know."

Dean’s eyebrows pop before he grins, full-faced and toothy. "Are you seriously referencing Star Wars at me?"

Cas' lips curl up. "It’s possible."

Dean doesn’t say anything, just leans in, kisses the side of Cas’ hair, right above his ear.

Cas runs his fingers along Dean's torso. After a few strokes, Dean catches his hand. Slots their fingers together.

Cas speaks, "I—"

He closes his eyes as goosebumps creep along his back.

You are alive, he reminds himself. He's survived the rest of this without being whisked away. He licks his lips and starts again.

"I've loved you so fully in the time we've known each other, that whatever I was before may as well not exist."

And it's the truth. An existence of obedience, where any insolence was erased, wasn't much of an existence at all. 

And yes, he loves Sam. And Jack is his son, their son, and he'd die for him. Die for any of them.

But in all his time, nothing has ever been like Dean.

Dean's laugh breezes through his hair. "Geez Cas, tell me how you really feel."

"Tired." He shakes his head, deflates a bit. "Or terrified. Hard to tell."

And then Dean pulls him in, hugs him for all his worth.

"Me too, but we're going to win this. And we're all gonna get out. You're going to, cause I—" his voice breaks off. He takes a deep breath, crushes Cas against him, slotted hard under his chin. "I won’t lose you again. I can't. So just trust me on that, okay?"

When Dean puts it like that, it sounds so simple. Of course they'll be fine. Everyone lives. Things work out, and they'll be tangled together on the couch watching Netflix next week. Of course.

It's simple, the image of contentedness. Dangerous. Clinging onto now is stupid enough.

But Cas doesn't miss a beat when he answers, the word quiet against his chest. "Always."

Dean's finger turns his face up, and his small smile splits into a sloppy grin. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and the beauty of him catches the air in his throat.

There's only so much time to appreciate it.

The hand on Cas' back moves up, and fingers thread through his hair with a gentle reverence. When he guides their mouth together, Cas sinks in easily. 

He'd be a fool to feel settled, or safe, and he doesn't. Not truly.

But he can have this. And some part of him does think it could be okay.

He's never been in the business of underestimating the Winchesters, realized that mistake in the first apocalypse. So maybe it'd be a bit foolish to start now.

And if not, at least there's tonight.

[quilleth]

Blorbo Bingo for your favorite MXTX character? :D

>:3 This is a tie between Xie Lian and Shang Qinghua (i know. you're so shocked by this information) so I did both xD Idk what to think about some of the categories but still xD

Xie Lian

Explanations and Shang Qinghua bingo under the cut because otherwise this is going to be very long and that will bother me lol

May be feral: my good dude spent an entire book going feral and burnt down a capital. like...he may have gotten over that but the potential's there xD

Can do no wrong: so a lot of the crimes were like...kind of orchestrated by someone else pulling the strings. but also Xie Lian should get to go ape shit if he wants. he's dealt with people and the heavens for 800 years.

Actually the Favorite: mine and also many characters in the book. this is not a good thing for him xD

Cryptid: the gods on his return "the fuck?! he's still around?!"

The adult in the room: specifically when around Feng Xin and Mu Qing xD

Accidental father figure: he saw Banyue and little Pei as humans and went oh these are my children now. and Lang Qianqiu. And then also took over taking care of Lang Ying

In desperate need of therapy: are they really an MXTX character if they aren't? (ok maybe some side characters don't, but not in TGCF!)

Angst machine: i'm once again just going to point to the entirety of book 4 and also anything with Jun Wu

Eats out of the garbage: this is basically just canon xD

Honorable mention: certified himbo. Xie Lian's not dumb of ass enough to actually be a himbo but he's close xD

And Shang Qinghua

May be feral: he did orchestrate the immortal alliance conference thing, and kicked lgj's ass. and successfully worked as a spy for at least a couple decades. like sure most of it was because of the system threatening to kill him again, but still!

Started out as a joke character: me at first: teehee hamster man is funny. after reading more: oh no...oh shit..i'm attached. aside from the fact i was already a little biased going in because i saw fanart of moshang before i read the book and went "yesss! the Height Difference, idiots to lovers rep we deserve" :3

Can do no wrong: he's a gremlin and i support him. also customer service and admin people should get to go ape shit every now and then. as a treat. yes i'm biased

bastard (affectionate): see above

pathetic meow meow, a soggy rat: i can't explain this one except that he's very sad and very pathetic

in desperate need of therapy: he needs some serious help with self worth, and the anxiety, and the everything from his first life/ family. and also to be blanket burritoed and given cookies and cocoa

angst machine: listen. he's funny and amusing on the surface but everything with his family and giving up on everything he wanted just to scrape by a living, and having no friends, and the (erroneous but he didn't know that at first) knowledge that the person he's closest too was going to kill him. again. like...please. i will cry

a muse sent by the gods: i have had so many fic ideas over the last year and written so much and that hasn't happened in a long time!

it's not their blood, i promise: see may be feral

relate to them maybe a little too much: oh look that one is a cynical, anxious MESS of a human being that has no idea how to be around other people because his parents fucked him up. mood. also living the height difference lifestyle ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

Chihuahua energy: he is shaking in his little booties because someone looked at him and now he's spiralling wondering what weird thing he did. or a demon threatened to eat him. or both.

honorable mention: eats out of the garbage. like...the boxes of instant ramen aren't garbage, but they're certainly not healthy xD has he had a decent meal ever in either main sv events or as an adult in his first life? possibly but not often!

[enthusiasticharry]

Maybe one were Y/N is a virgin and Harry is her first one but he is so horny that he goes to far or something...

Try Again Later

summary: you're a virgin, and think you're ready to have sex but you quickly learn you're not. 

word count: a lil’ 2.6k word blurb of smut and a small little scene that some people may find uncomfortable, so this is your warning. (not proofread again, i'm too tired.)

You weren’t completely sure about how you’d gotten yourself into this position. It was a good position, to say the least, but one that you hadn’t expected but wouldn’t change for the world. It wasn’t as though in the past you’d shy’d away from relationships, because that hadn’t been the case. You just hadn’t met the right person. 

Fresh out of university, you certainly hadn’t given any thought to your love life. It was almost as though for the past three years you’d been in a bubble of your university work and not taken any notice of anything around you. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just different to the people you were friends with. 

That was until you met Harry. 

It was completely on a whim that you met him, but you couldn’t be more thankful for that whim. You were in one of your favourite bookstores, flicking through the Historical Fiction category to add a little to spice to your quite bland reading habits that you’ve had over the past three years when he mistook you for an employee. You had started talking, and you obviously explained that you thought he was talented and that you liked his music and the rest is history. 

It’s hard for you to believe that was only a few months ago. 

“Whatcha doing?” You jump out of your skin, placing a hand firmly to your chest to calm the hammering that he had caused. 

“Fucking hell, H.” You sigh, “Give a woman a warning. You can’t just sneak up on me like that.” 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders in a hug, placing a small kiss to the top of you head, “Where’s the fun in that?” 

He laughs as you roll your eyes. 

“It’s only fun for you.” 

“I know.” He drops a kiss to your neck, “Missed you, that’s all.” 

“You saw me this morning.” 

“That was hours ago!” He counters back, “Can I not miss my girl?” 

He’s always been good at making your heart flutter, “Course you can. Just be a bit louder when you greet me again.” 

“Will do.” He presses his teeth into your skin gently, “I think it’s time for you to put this away.” 

You try to hide the small smile that flutters onto your lips, “I need to get this project done.” 

“I’m sure it can wait.” He starts to trail his hands down your body, “Missed you.” 

“I know.” You sigh, “You’ve already told me.” 

“Missed you in more ways than one, love.” 

Sex was something that you two had spoken about, but not a lot. You weren’t ashamed, or anything, you had no reason to be, but it was just a sensitive topic and Harry understood that. He never did anything to make you uncomfortable, he checked you were okay with everything that you two did. He was amazing. 

Going into your relationship with Harry, you knew he wasn’t a virgin. It wasn’t something that you focused on for too long because it could send your mind spiralling and you tried to do that as little as possible. 

It hadn’t come up in conversation un til the first night stayed over, which was a month into your relationship. Since you hadn’t been in many, and Harry had been in a few where he admitted that he went too fast and it consequently made it harder, you both decided to take it slow and you were okay with that. 

Harry was human though, and he was attracted to you and even though he wouldn’t dar do anything if you weren’t comfortable, you couldn’t blame him for trying. 

He was a little shocked when you told him you were a virgin, and you weren’t surprised. What did surprise you, however, was how supportive he was. He asked you questions, made sure you were okay to answer them and you did just that. You explained that you weren’t against relationships, of having sex, but you just hadn’t found the person or really had the want to do it with anyone just yet. 

After finding that out, you were scared that he’d ask you to leave. Anyone would be scared of that but he didn’t. He kissed you like he hadn’t before and you cuddled and watched films until you fell asleep. 

You slept over more after that, and you started noticing small things that he’d do that you didn’t know if you found flattering or confusing. You’d sometimes wake up, and you’d feel something resting upon your behind. It, of course, sparked a curiosity in you but before you could say or do anything about it, he was kissing your cheek and getting out of bad and to the bathroom. 

This continued for a couple of weeks, or so, until you finally grew the balls and said that even though you didn’t think you were quite ready for sex, you were open to doing other things. 

You had no idea what you’d been missing. 

In the past, there had been many occasions where you’ve felt a little stressed and needed to relieve yourself. That was nothing compared to the way Harry’s fingers and tongue made you feel. It was almost as though you became addicted to his touch, and he certainly didn’t mind. 

He helped you navigate your way through pleasuring him. One of the things you were most nervous about was the fact that you had no idea how to pleasure a man properly apart from what you watched in porn and on TV. Harry had no problem teaching you how to make him feel good and you eventually ended up being a pro, if you do say so yourself. Harry certainly had no complaints. 

He was happy. You were happy. Everything was content within your relationship. He knew that at this point, that was all you were comfortable in doing and he wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t wan to do. That didn’t mean that he didn’t think about what it would be like, feeling you around him. It was an orgasmic thought in itself. 

It’s hit a point where you’re also curious. In your mind, you think you’re ready. You hadn’t spent every second of every day thinking about it, obviously, but the few times you had thought about it, it wasn’t as nerve wracking to you as you had found it. There was still a part of you that had worries and fears but you knew that Harry would do everything in his power to make sure that wasn’t the case. 

You were ready, or at least you thought you were. 

“This morning wasn’t enough?” Your tone is teasing, his lips parting in shock as you swivel around in your chair so that you’re facing him. 

“This morning was plenty enough.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your cheek, “I’d love to wake up with that every morning.” 

This morning, for some reason, you had a sudden splurge of confidence and after feeling Harry rutting his hips into your behind in his sleep, you decided to wake him up in a way he was certain to enjoy.

He certainly enjoyed waking up to your lips around his cock, his eyes fluttering open to watch you rhythmically bounce your head up and down upon him. He felt as though he was in heaven, and he words couldn’t describe how he felt. 

“In your dreams, H.” 

“You are my dream.” 

“Always the charmer.” You giggle as he drops down upon his knees in front of you. 

He smirks, “You fell pretty quickly for my charm.” 

“Not just your charm.” You counter, “You have a pretty nice ass as well.” 

“Always knew you were a bum girl.” 

“What can I say?” You shrug, “It’s perfect and so plump. Like a peach.” 

You knew exactly where this was going. If it hadn’t been obvious before, the feeling of his hands dancing up and down your clothed thighs certainly made it obvious. 

“Can I take these off?” He asks, letting his hand mess with the drawstring of your jogging bottoms. 

You hum, watching as his fingers undo the bow and hook into the waistband. You lift you hips up, making it easier for him to pull the material down your legs. It hadn’t occurred to you that this would be happening today, so you hadn’t really dressed for the occasion but that didn’t matter. 

“Watermelons?” You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at his reaction to your underwear, ones that you had bought on a whim, “Nice touch.” 

“Thought you might like them.” You bite your lip. 

“I love them.” 

He kisses your knee, starting there and working his way up the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs open as he does so. It was slow, sweet and sensual but also had you withering in your seat. You started to breath quicker, the feeling overwhelming your senses all of a sudden. 

You jump slightly at the feeling of a kiss to your clothed clit, the throbbing between your legs intensifying by the second. 

“Soaked for me poppet.” He starts to run his finger up and down your centre, feeling your arousal that had started to soak through the think material of your underwear, “Got yourself in a little bit of a mess.” 

“S’your fault.” Your back arches off the seat as he presses a kiss to the top of your pubic bone, “Fuck, H, stop teasing.” 

“Why?” He pouts, looking up at you from in-between your legs, a sight that you want imprinted on your brain forever, “I quite like teasing you.” 

“Prepare to be teased later then.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Make me come.” You sigh, “Then I might reconsider.”

“Your wish is my command, Darling.” 

He presses a small peck to your clit, teasing you before he wraps his lips fully around your sensitive nub. The pressure of his lips, mixed with his tongue lapping and flicking at a quick speed you’re putty in his hands. He knows the exact pressure, the exact speed to have your toes curling and erotic sounds leaving your mouth. 

“H.” You drop your hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, doing a mixture of pushing him further into your core and tugging his hair, “Faster.” 

You whimper at the sudden coolness, “What?” 

“Faster.” 

“Oh?” He tilts his head to the side, “You want it faster.” 

Letting out a groan, you push his head back down towards your heat. He laughs and flicks his tongue, up and down before sucking gently with his lips. You soon feel his finger dancing up and down your slit, collecting wetness that laid there before pushing his finger in, just the one for now. 

“Harry.” Your fingers dig into the arm of your chair, “Another. I want another.” 

Your wish is his command. He pushes a second finger in, and uses his free hand to push your stomach down so you stop moving your hips.

You’re unsure whether its the pleasure you’re feeling, or the way you feel for man between your legs but your muttering the words before your brain can catch up. 

“I want you.” 

His movements stop, his eyes lifting to look at you. 

“Wot?” 

You swallow briefly, “I want you.” 

“Like now? Do you want me to do something else? How to do you want me?” 

“H.” You rest your hand on his cheek, “I want all of you. I’m ready.” 

“Are you sure?” He furrows his eyebrows, “If I’ve pressured you in any way, you don’t have to do anything.” 

“Harry.” You smile, “I’m ready.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” 

You squeal as he wraps his arms around your thighs, picking you up and walking you towards your bedroom. He captures your lips, and you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongues. He drops you upon the bed and removes his shirt, exposing his tattooed torso to you. 

You pull your shirt over your head, your nipples immediately pebbling at the cool air and the nerves that bubbled in the pit of your stomach since you hadn’t worn a bra. It was started to become hard for you to differentiate from your arousal or nerves. 

“You sure about this?” You watch as he unzips his trousers, discarding himself of the fabric and the restraints of his boxers. 

“Positive.” You swallow, flicking your eyes from his throbbing member, stood proud at the end of his happy trail and his face. 

His eyes flicker over yours once more and you smile, offering him a small nod of reassurance. You did want this, with him of all people. 

You watch in shock as he walks over to the bedside cabinet at his side of your bed, reaching into the drawers and pulling out a condom. 

“Were you expecting this to happen or something?” 

“No!” He’s quick to respond as he opens the packet, “I just wanted to be prepared.” 

“I’m only teasing, bub.”

You don’t watch him as he puts the condom on, instead you lay back on the bed and look at the ceiling. You try to contain your breathing as he does so, focusing on the fact that Harry was going to do anything in his power to make you feel comfortable. 

“Are you 100% sure?” 

“Yes Harry.” 

“Okay.” He hovers over you, “I’ll go slowly.” 

He does, for the beginning. He watches the discomfort on your face as he pushes in, inch by inch. That is until all he can feel is you squeezing around him, tight and warm. He tries to be slow, and wait but once you nod your head, he can’t help but thrust his hips back and forward hard. 

You were uncomfortable. It hurt, not as much as you thought it would, but it did. Harry was enjoying himself, and you could see the pleasure laced over his featured but you weren’t. You had a sudden urge to cry, which you didn’t think was normal but you closed your eyes to mask it. 

“Fucking hell, love.” 

You bite your lip to suppress a sob and that when you push his body away, uttering a, “Stop!” 

Harry’s face drops, a look of concern over his features as he looks at you. He almost cries out himself when you reach for the duvet to pull over your body. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

You manage to not let out any tears, which your thankful for, and you shake your head. 

“I’m sorry, H.” You shake your head again, “I don’t think I’m ready still.” 

“Hey.” He drops down next to you, reaching over to take your hand in his, “It’s okay, yeah? It was probably my fault.”

“It wasn’t!” 

“It was.” He admits, “I went too far, and I didn’t check on you. I’m sorry, baby.” 

“H.” You touch his cheek, “It’s not your fault. It’s mine for being a pussy who’s too scared to get dicked down by her boyfriend.” 

“You’re not a pussy.” He shakes his head, “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s no pressure to do anything, okay?” 

You lean forward and peck his lips, “I know.” 

“I love you, YN.” He smiles, “I would never want to do anything that would upset or hurt you. I’d hate myself.” 

“I love you too.” You beam. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, “And you didn’t do anything to hurt me, I swear.”

“Good. That’s good.” He drops his head to your shoulder, “We’ll just have to try again later.”

“Try again later.” 

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.14

Chapter Fourteen: Sunflower: Things are really looking up. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2k Warnings: maybe a swear word or two, but really just fluff

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A/N: i know i probably sound like a broken record, but thank you for your continuous love and support! i probably wouldn't have finished this fic series if it wasn't for y’all, and now we are almost at the end! after this chapter, there is only the epilogue left omg!!! also, shout out to @ellesgreenaway​ for the song suggestion that titled this chapter! 

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Spencer’s arms were wrapped tightly around your frame, reminding you without the use of words that he will never let you go again. His hot breath hit the back of your neck. It sent a gentle shiver down your spine causing you to flutter your eyes open. As you adjusted to the bright morning hues, you could feel his heart beating against you and a sleepy smile circled your lips.

There was no better feeling than waking up next to Spencer.

With him by your side, greeting the day was easy. It came slow and relaxed, as if the universe was commanding you to bask in this comfort for just a little while longer.

This is what harmony really felt like.

The second you stirred in your comfortably warm spot, and turned so you could admire the sleeping man next to you, he also opened his eyes. A smile instantly graced his features.

“Good morning, doctor.” You whispered and leaned over to peck his soft lips.

“Hmm... Good morning, how did you sleep?” The handsome doctor asked, his hand travelling to your face and brushing away any signs of sleep. You swayed into his touch like a magnet before replying; “Would you believe me if I said it was the best sleep I’ve had in months?”.

Spencer chuckled airily, his hand still caressing along your cheek. “I don’t know if I believe you, but I definitely am flattered.”

“As you should be, doctor.”

In a split-second, his lips slanted over yours in one of those open-mouthed kisses, tender yet extremely passionate. His fingers tangled in your hair, as he pulled you in as close as it was humanely possible. It always amazed you how your lips fit so perfectly together like two puzzle pieces.

After what felt like a glorious eternity, the brunette doctor slowly drew away. He placed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before rolling onto his back, one arm draped beneath your neck and hand resting on your shoulder.

“What would you like to do today?” Spencer asked, looking up at the ceiling. You contemplated his question for a moment, but before you got a chance to answer, the sound of your phone ringtone caught your attention.

Sitting up, you reached over to the bedside table and quickly answered the incoming call, “Hello?”

“Oh thank god, you’re alive!” Penelope breathed a sigh of relief on the other line. “We were all worried sick! I even stayed with Tara last night just in case you came back here.”

“I’m okay, don't worry guys.” You replied, glancing briefly at Spencer who has since gotten out of bed. He leaned down to kiss your cheek and exited the bedroom to give you some privacy.

“Well, you’ll get a talking to about not calling or texting later. But for now, how did it go? Tell me everything!” She asked and you couldn't help but giggle, “It went well, Pen. Like really well.” You replied.

Garcia squealed. “AHH! I am so happy for you, sugar plum! You and our lovely resident genius are just meant for each other. A match made in heaven!”

The smile gracing your features grew wider by the second. “Yeah, I’m glad it worked out in the end.”

“Like I knew it would! Now, you get back to whatever it is you were doing and I’m going to update Tara with this wonderful news. Should I tell her she needs to start looking for a new roommate?” She teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“Firstly, nothing untoward is happening.” You began, but Garcia was quick to interrupt you,“Riiight... I’m gonna pretend like I believe you, honey. Love you, have a great day and we can catch up on Monday.”

“Love you too, Pen.” You giggled back before the call ended.

Gradually, you scrambled out of bed and with a light bounce to your step, you joined the hazel-eyed doctor in the kitchen - where the smell of freshly brewed coffee overpowered your senses.

“So, how much trouble did you get in?” Spencer teased, as you rested your body weight against the counter next to him.

“Surprisingly, none at all.” You replied with a shrug. “She’s happy for us.”

Spencer glanced at you briefly, a smile circling his lips. “That makes two of us.” He stated in a low tone and you blushed ever so faintly.

“I forgot just how charming you can be, doctor.” You reacted, earning yourself a kind-hearted laugh. The melodic sound caused your heart to flutter, and you proceeded to tilt your head up and attach your lips to his.

The kiss was short and sweet, reminiscent of many you’ve shared previously. When you pulled apart, Spencer handed you a cup of coffee, and the two of you made your way to his couch.

“Have you given any thought as to what you’d like to do today?” He asked before pressing the mug to his mouth and taking a sip.

“Well, we’ve a lot of catching up to do, doctor.” You replied, throwing your legs over his lap. “I honestly wouldn't know where to start.”

“Y/N, we’ve our whole lives to make up for lost time.” He retorted, and you couldn't help but smile at the thought of growing old with him. “Let’s just take today to enjoy each others company. The sun is out, maybe you want to go for a walk? Or we can stay in and watch a movie?” He suggested.

You took a quick sip of your coffee. “We could actually do both of those things today, doctor. And if you’re good, I can even cook us dinner later.”

Spencer smirked. “If I’m good?”

You nodded, a stupid grin plastered across your face.

Truth be told, you had forgotten just how effortless everything was with Spencer. Your mind was continuously flooded with memories of your time with him. Even when you were apart, you’d get bombarded with thoughts of how uncomplicated the most menial tasks were with him. Although those memories didn’t compare to the serenity you were experiencing right now. Nothing compared to living in the moment with him, again.

The day you spent with Spencer had an unsurprising natural flow to it.

The brunette doctor first drove you to Tara’s, so that you could shower and change out of the pyjamas he lent you. While he waited for you to get ready, he enjoyed a conversation with Tara and Penelope. A conversation about the diamond ring he still carried with him everywhere - but that wasn't for you to know.

The four of you enjoyed a nice breakfast before the girls waved you off for the day. Spencer took the liberty of choosing the park for your walk. Hand in hand, the two of you looped around the paths for hours. Hours of laughing, chatting, and reminiscing. Hours of pure unfiltered joy.

Next stop on the unspoken agenda was the grocery store. Arguably one of your favourite places to go to, especially with the handsome doctor. While you picked out what you needed, Spencer guessed the ingredients of each item you placed in the metal cart. It was no surprise he was always correct, but honestly, that almost made the game more fun.

Back at his apartment, he helped you unpack the bags and proclaimed himself your sous chef. You wanted to protest, tell him to sit down and to let you cook alone, but Spencer wasn't having any of it - “My kitchen, my rules.”. The statement earned him an eye roll because you were sure the last person to actually cook anything proper in his kitchen was you, years ago.

With his... assistance, it took about three hours to make a simple recipe. And once you were finished, the kitchen looked as if a tornado had passed through it.

“Looks like we’ve an evening activity lined up.” Spencer joked, analysing the mess around, and you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

“Can’t wait.” A detectable hint of sarcasm in your voice.

The two of you ate in congenial silence - the first one of that day. It didn’t bother either of you, however. If anything the moment proved just how comfortable and at home you felt around one another.

The move to the couch after dinner was effortless. Spencer picked a movie, one you’ve both seen before so you could cuddle up to one another and talk about random topics without worrying about missing the plot.

It wasn’t until Spencer’s phone rang that you realised how disconnected from the outside world you’ve both been all afternoon.

“I’ll grab it for you, doctor.” You quickly jumped up on your feet before Spencer could do anything. You briskly shuffled around the sofa until you reached the coat hanger by the front door. As you searched the pockets of his jacket for the phone, your fingers brushed against something else.

The ringing stopped when you retrieved the item.

“Spencer, what’s this?” You asked, brows furrowed together.

The brunette doctor turned around. His gaze travelled to the small box you were holding up and he swallowed his breath. Shit. He completely forgot that was inside his jacket, which was ironic considering his eidetic memory. Not to mention the fact he’d been carrying it everywhere he went.

Spencer immediately jumped up from his seat. He appeared in front of you in a flash, his hand wrapping around yours and the box.

“This is definitely not how I envisioned this moment. But then again, when it comes to us, nothing ever goes as planned.” Spencer began, looking into your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but ehm, I’ve known I wanted to be the man you marry since before we even started dating. You’re the most patient, caring, loving, and not to mention beautiful person I’ve ever met. I am extremely lucky to have you in my life.”

Your eyes glossed over with tears as Spencer continued, “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. The journey you and I have been on so far is more than your average couple goes on. Which proves that together we are extraordinary.”

He took a deep breath before retrieving the box from your grasp. He slowly got down on one knee and proceeded to open the small box, causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. I understand that you may not be ready to take this next step with me yet, therefore this is more of a promise rather than a question.” He licked his lips, fighting back his own happy tears as yours trailed down your face.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me, one day?” Spencer asked and your heart soared at the question.

“Of course, yes. Yes, yes, yes! Yes!” You squealed, holding out your hand. The hazel-eyed doctor didn’t waste any time to put the ring on your finger, a goofy smile visible on his features. He then stood back up and kissed you with all his might, as you wrapped your arms around his neck and melted into his embrace.

“I would marry you in a heartbeat, doctor.” You mumbled against his lips.

Effortlessly lifting you off the ground, Spencer spun you around. The two of you laughing uncontrollably, basking in the love you were both experiencing. Your fingers tangled in his brown hair, as he trailed sloppy kisses across your jaw and down your neck.

“I love you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before pulling back to look at your face, his hazel gaze locking with yours. “I love you too.” You exclaimed in a hushed tone and pecked his lips.

Gently, he lifted your hand to admire how the ring looked on your finger. His lips twirling upwards even more, as if that was even possible. Both of you felt as if you were on cloud nine.

This is what the rest of your life felt like.

I promise I'm the one for you Just let me hold you in these arms tonight

-

A/N: ahhh we’re almost at the very end, i can’t believe it!! as always i’d love to hear your feedback! thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

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story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0, @calm-and-doctor, @halseysunset, @ellesgreenaway, @chipot-lol​

tags not working: @radtwinkie

[ofbooksandaesthetics]

Battle of the Bands

Attack on Titan/ Shingeki no Kyojin 

Levi/Reader

Modern Band AU

Summary: As the guitarist of The 104th, you are invited to play with your favourite band The Scouts. 

Warnings: slight profanity but not much 

Author’s note: I listened to Queen of White Lies by Orion Experience 10 times in one bus journey and couldn’t help but imagine Jean singing it about Mikasa. And voila! This imagine was born :) 

From a young age, you’d always been obsessed with music. From your dad playing jazz on a lazy Sunday afternoon to your mum playing R&B as she cleaned, you had always been surrounded by it. It followed you everywhere so it was no surprise when you were gifted a guitar for your 9th birthday. 

You spent hours each day practising fingerpicking, then moving onto chords and then fully-fledged songs. As you grew so did tastes - and your guitar collection. 

Before moving into the 6th grade, your family moved for a new job, leaving you without friends and having to start a new life in the city of Trost. The one thing that was ever consistent was the strings of your guitar and the beats from the speakers, which became your solace in the coming weeks. And said beats caught the attention of your new next-door neighbour. 

Jean Kirstein was also massively into music, and when he walked past your house he could hear the amp blaring from your open window. He became enthralled and would often leave his window open to catch even just a few notes. 

The Saturday before school started, Jean was forced by his mother to introduce himself to you (she said you had to have at least one friend before starting school) and by doing so Mrs Kirstein caused a life long friendship to bloom. He was forced into your house by your mother and lead upstairs to your room. He was greeted by band posters, from MCR to The Beatles, and an acoustic and electric guitar hanging on the wall side by side. But what caught his gaze was the massive “SCOUTS” poster above your bed. 

“WOW! That’s so cool, you like The Scouts!” He exclaimed as he entered your room, causing you to jump from your magazine and stare at the brown-haired boy invading your space.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” You shouted, giving your mum a quizzical glare as she smiled at the boy's excitement. Your voice seemed to pull the boy out of his oasis and he met your eyes with a blush and a shrug.

“I’m Jean. My mum sent me, we live next door.” Before you could introduce yourself, he had already started to speak again “I’ve heard you playing your guitar. You’re really good!” 

At this your mum left the two of you two it, only returning 3 hours later to find you both on the floor, with you playing whilst Jean sang along. Noticing the time, Jean jumped up remembering his mum warning to be back by dinnertime. 

“It’s been great meeting you! If you want I can meet you outside on Monday and I’ll introduce you to my friends. They’d love to hear you play too! Connie’s really into the drums and Marco has been learning bass.”

Hearing this your eyes lit up and your mum’s heart warmed at the idea of you finally enjoying your new life.

“That sounds great, I’ll see you then!” You called as your mum lead him out.

                                         4 YEARS LATER

The years passed quickly and it didn’t take you long to forget the pain of your old life and become enamoured with your new friends. Jean did indeed introduce to his friends Connie, Sasha and Marco, and it didn’t take long for you to become the best of friends. The five of you would all meet Connie’s garage, sometimes just chatting but more often than not bringing along your instruments for a jam session. Four years went by of you playing lead guitar, Marco jamming on bass, Connie smashing on percussion and Jean accompanying with his gruff drawl, whilst Sasha sat atop of the counter, sadly not having any musical talents other than occasional tamborining. And the four years went by easily until Sasha let out a suggestion.

“You guys should start a band. Like a proper one, with gigs and shit” She declared, soon after stuffing her mouth with a cake Mrs Springer had brought in. 

“See at least someone appreciates my musical talents” quipped Jean with a quirk of his eyebrows, causing you all to laugh. 

“I’ve got to admit, I’m down! We’ve been playing for years, we even played at last years prom.” Seeing no reason against the idea, you voiced your opinion. 

“Yeah but that was prom. We know all of them anyway, if we did gigs it would be to strangers and critics and stuff” Huffed Connie. 

“Yeah, and potential talent scouts! Imagine if we got signed! What do you think Marco?” Jean turned to face he freckled boy awaiting his response. 

“I guess it could be fun.” He said, tilting his head to the side and turning to Connie. “I think we should” 

With a consensus of four out of five, all eyes were set on Connie, pleading him to agree. He spluttered, not expecting you all to be serious. After a moment of staring at you all incredulously, he finally gave in.

“Fine! But if we got told we’re shit it’s on you guys” He sighed, but was drowned out by all your cheers. 

                       2 YEARS LATER

After that day, you had all put in the effort to perfecting your craft and coming up with your own songs. You and Jean would have weekly sleepovers, pulling all-nighters to get the perfect verses. And it wasn’t long until you booked your first gig, which was a success. Nearly the whole grade had turned up to support you, and you soon became a local legend. And in honour of them, you had named your band The 104th, due to being the 104th grade since your school was founded. 

Your increased fame, got you gigs outside of Trost, on larger stages than the small bars you were used to. You had released your first album and we’re having a small jam session, when Sasha’s, who had taken up the role as manager, phone rang. You all carried on with your conversation until Sasha quickly stood up and ran across the room, her voice getting slightly louder, causing you all to stare at her.

“OMG! That sounds great, we can be there for the soundcheck in less than an hour. Thank you so much, for this opportunity. We appreciate it! Thank you, bye!” She exclaimed with wide eyes as her smile grew and grew. After ending the call she whipped around, before letting out a screech 

“OI, OI! What’s going on?” Asked Connie, as he walked up to Sasha flicking her forehead as she squealed again. 

“GUESS WHO’S OPENING FOR THE SCOUTS?!” She all but screamed whilst running to the front of the garage and throwing your jackets at you all. Realising what she meant you stood in a state of shock before opening your mouth. 

“What do you mean? Opening for The Scouts. As in THE SCOUTS? They’re playing tonight, we can’t open for them.” You justified, meeting Jean’s stunned gaze. 

You two had always imagined what it would be like to meet your legends, let alone open for them. After your initial meeting, the two of you had gone on for hours about your favourite songs by the band and sang along to them. You had even let him in on your crush on the lead guitarist, Levi Ackerman, for heaven’s sake. As good as an opportunity this was, you were a nervous wreck. It was one thing to play on the same stage that your favourite band had stepped on, but to play with them and meet them. That was a thing of its own. 

You were knocked from your thoughts by a shoe to your head, and as you focused back in you watched Connie running around like a headless chicken. Attempting to back up his drum kit, he panicked until Sasha assured him there’d be one there for him. The rest of you seemed to kick into action and you ran about gathering your equipment before rushing home to grab gig-worthy clothes. You all met up back at Connie’s house before all piling into Jean’s minivan. Connie and Sasha were as loud as always but you, Jean and Marco seemed to still be too shocked to talk.

As you rolled up to the venue, you saw a queue of about 20 Scout super fans lined up three hours before the gig even started. You wondered how many were your fans, as Sasha had sent out announcements on every social media site possible after you guys left. You hauled your guitar case out of the van before following behind Sasha into the main doors of the venue. The crew were rushing about everywhere, and if you weren’t already used to the atmosphere you were sure you’d pass out. As you walked into the main hall, your eyes fell to the band on top of the stage. All five of you froze, in the realisation that you were in the same room as your childhood heroes. Putting your kit down, you watched as Hange Zoe lazily sat on her drum set, tapping out a quiet beat, as the lead singer Erwin, counted in the beat. Miche Zacharias swayed his hips as he set out the bassline, and Levi almost languidly strummed his electric guitar. 

The five of you were pulled behind the stage before you could watch their practice start but you could still hear it as they performed their soundcheck. Experienced in the world of gigs, the four of you prepped your instruments, tuning them in case they had been messed up in the hurry of your departure. And by the time you’d finished the Scouts were walking towards you. Hange greeted you first. 

“HI! OMG, we’ve heard so much about you guys. You guys are practically famous around here!” She blurted out, her excitement surprising you all. Connie seemed to be frozen as his inspiration complimented you guys. Miche let out a greeting and moved on to sit down. Leaving Erwin and Levi in front of you. Erwin stepped forward and placed out his hand, shaking and greeting you all individually. Now there was just Levi left. 

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but blush, as he gave a small nod. Appreciative of the small gesture, you calmed slightly until Jean ruined it

“HI! We love you guys so much. Y/N even has a crush on Levi!” He blurted, his face turning bright red after realising what he had said. You gasped and without thinking smacked him across the head. 

“WHAT THE HELL’S WRONG WITH YOU? WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?” But before you could apologise and defend yourself to Levi and Erwin, you were escorted to the stage for your own soundcheck. Glaring at Jean, you got in position, and were done in half an hour. 

After the soundcheck, you were given time to rest, giving you all time to calm down, after the more than lively introduction. You eventually forgave Jean for his outburst but not without consequences. He would be carrying your gear for the next year’s worth of gigs.

You hadn't yet gained back the confidence to talk Levi but had spoken to the other members of The Scouts. Miche and Erwin told you about how their touring band had ditched them last minute and how they needed another opening band pronto. You were astonished to find out that Hange herself had requested you guys, but it filled your heart with warmth knowing someone as famous as her held your small-town band in high regards. 

Everyone could sense your apprehension to talking to Levi but we’re all shocked when the quiet man joined you whilst getting a drink. You almost blushed when you noticed him next to you but pushed the feeling down and smiled at him. Although Jean had embarrassed you beyond belief, there was no reason to push away your childhood dream and miss the opportunity to talk to him. 

“You know you we’re what inspired me to start learning the guitar?” You said. Levi didn’t reply but you decided his silence wasn’t in annoyance. “My parents were always super into music anyway but when I heard your guys' debut album it pushed me towards the guitar.” You watched him finish making his tea and leave but before he sat down, he turned his head over his shoulder. 

“I’m glad to hear it” He replied, turning again and leaving. You smiled, happy that he didn’t think you were a complete freak. 

                      2 HOURS LATER 

The time had finally arrived. From the side of the stage, you could see a sea of people filling the venue and could hear the symphony of chatter. The boys were stood next to you, panting with nerves. You had never performed to such a large crowd before. You took a sharp breath before turning to them. 

“Come on boys! We’ve done this before and we’ll do it again. This is just another small step before we get our own main stage like this!” Your small pep talk seemed to calm the boys and caught the attention of Erwin and Levi who were waiting to watch your performance from the side-lines. You smiled at the two but we’re now filled with dread as you realised they would be watching. You threw that fear away and gave Marco a side hug as you fixed your strap, and then followed Jean to the stage. 

The lights blinded you but once your vision cleared you all but gasped at the sheer amount of sweaty bodies in front of you. You beamed brightly and gave a wink to a figure in the balcony. At least you could seem confident even if you were dying inside.  

The beat of the drum surrounded you and Marco’s strumming blared out from the amps. You started plucking at your guitar and forgot about the crowd. Jean’s gravely word floated out into the dark room, and it was easy to forget you were on a stage and instead it felt like you were back in Connie’s house. As the song reached the chorus, you and Marco joined in, accompanying Jean. Eventually, you loosened up to a point where all three of you were able to dance slightly to the beat during the bridge. This seemed to get the crowd going even more and you let out a laugh, completely forgetting your inhibitions. [I imagined them performing Queen of White Lies]

Once the song finished, Jean introduced himself, and you prepared yourself for another half an hour of playing and dancing. But it passed quickly and before you knew it you we’re all sat on the sofa. Connie was still flushed chugging on his 3rd bottle of water whilst the rest of you leant back with smiles upon your faces. Your attention was piqued as The Scouts took the stage and you all shouted words of encouragement to them. This brought a smile to their faces, including a small smirk on Levi’s. You all rushed to the sidelines to watch and we’re in awe as you saw the four of them play as if they were reading each other's minds. It was as if they were symbiotic, each knowing what to do without even the slightest hesitation. 

Even though you tried to focus on all of them, your focus always came back to Levi. You watched how his brow rested into a scowl as he neared a faster part of the song and how he threw his head back when lost in the moment. Your eyes widened when he took his shirt off after four songs, which Jean noticed, and started to nudge you for. Time seemed to go by so quickly that you barely noticed them finish their final song. They waved to the crowd as they left but stayed in the wings as the crowd screamed for an encore. Erwin still seemed to smile and nudged Levi towards the five of you. 

“Do you guys want to join us for the encore?” He asked gruffly, his eyes set on you. You looked at the rest of the band and you all nodded before you verbally replied. 

“Of course! What song are you thinking?” 

“Nirvana - Love Buzz? You guys know it?” Miche asked, wiping some water from his chin. You all nodded in unison and before you know it you were all kitted up and back on stage. 

The crowd went wild seeing both The Scouts and The 104th back on stage and you couldn’t help but smile as you found Levi stood next to you. You guys let loose on the song and you even attempted to have a little contest with Levi during the guitar solo for dominance. This gained a smile for the man, and you guys finished the song in no time. 

Leaving the stage for the last time, you gave out a clumsy bow before running off stage. You guys went to get changed and pack up your gear but before you could get in the van the Scouts we’re back in front of you. Erwin took the lead yet again. 

“We loved having you guys on stage with us! And after some thinking, we’d love it if you replaced our old band with us on the rest of the tour.” 

At this Jean slammed the van door and stared at Erwin in shock. The five of you looked at each other in shock. The silence was eventually broken by Connie, who let out a scream as he ran around the van, followed by Sasha letting out profanities. The rest of you gushed and thanked the other band profusely not knowing how to appropriately respond. After formally Sasha accepted the other, Hange launched into giving out hugs, whilst Miche and Erwin gave out handshakes. Levi ignored the rest of your bandmates and made his way to you.

“I look forward to more guitar battles.” Levi remarked as dryly as ever but with a small smirk playing on his lips. Luckily this time, the others were too distracted and you were able to reply with some confidence. 

“You mean to look forward to losing right?” you quipped, knowing this would be the start of something great. 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

A Darcy Day Off

As promised, I present ~6,800 words of a sick, miserable Fitz/willi/am Dar/cy. I’ve been working on this on and off for an embarrassingly long time so I’m glad to finally clear it out of my WIP folder to make room for new things. But honestly, it was a pleasure to write, and I hope some of you take pleasure in reading it as well!

Definitely he first chapter, and honestly the first 2 chapters are mostly exposition, so if you want to skip straight to the sickfic goodness and reduce the word count, head to chapter 3. But I had fun writing (and worked hard on) the banter and conversation in the beginning, so I opted to keep it. 

( @chezsnez @empresskaze @groundcontrol21 you all asked so nicely, so I hope this is what you were looking for! )

1.

“Darcy, dear, what’s keeping you? I thought we were to meet in the library for tea,” Elizabeth called. She found him still in his study, hunched over the desk. She danced to his side, planting a kiss atop his head. He leaned against her briefly in greeting.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I had more business to attend to today than I’d realized. Just finishing up now.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then his nose, trying to be rid of a tickle that had been infuriating him all day.

“Always at your work. I wonder our estate isn’t the finest run in Britain. And here I used to think people of high class such as yourself worried for nothing but amusing themselves all day.” She gently rubbed his neck where she knew he always got an ache when he wrote. He kissed her hand fondly.

“You are of such a class, too, now, my love. And how do you know it isn’t the finest? I’d be willing to wager a year’s salary this estate could be measured against parliament’s own estates and be proven worthy, if I have anything to say about it.”

“You pour your very soul into all that goes on here, and it’s one of the many things I adore about you. I am proud every day to be the mistress of such an estate. Only I wish you wouldn’t work so hard and take more time to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Are you accusing me of ignoring you, dearest? Only say the word and I would throw all my responsibilities to the winds and devote myself fully to your entertainment.” 

He kept his tone light and playful, teasing her, but looked at her closely even as he did. Had he been neglecting her too much of late? He had had several pressing business matters on his mind these last weeks, and he knew he had been at his desk more than usual. Lizzie had not complained of course, and had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but the last thing he would ever want to do is make her doubt where his priorities lay, namely that she was foremost in his mind and heart, and in all things.

“Not at all, for you well know I’m quite fond of my own company. However, I can't help but worry about you. You put too much responsibility on yourself; you are positively careworn these days. I only wish your more lighthearted side could see the light of day now and again, and not just when we’re alone.”

“I am my truest self when I’m with you.” He kissed her hand again, then rubbed his nose. “I will always struggle being lighthearted while working. The two have never gone hand in hand in my experience; gravity and soberness were expected whilst doing business in my growing years under my father, and others. All the more reason I have need of your influence.” 

She kissed his head again. “Very well, I accept the mantle of helping you find levity in your working hours. If only so that the strain you put on yourself will not affect your health. You put on a casual, careless demeanor in public, but I know better. You bear the weight of the world on those broad shoulders of yours, and that is a burden no man is meant to carry, even by his own choice. So come now, and join your wife for tea. The letters can wait another hour or so, surely.

“Indeed they can.” He stood and stretched stiffly. The chill winter wind howled outside and the sound made him shiver, glad for the roaring heat from the fire nearby, and in every room in the house as he moved to escort his wife to the library. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The couple spent a pleasant hour or two in their favorite room in the house, chatting warmly at times, and sitting in comfortable silence at others. The relentless wind made Darcy feel sleepy and lazy, and he wanted nothing more than to take his wife’s advice and take the rest of the day to relax. He would have been content to remain here for the rest of the evening with his favorite person and simply read and chat and perhaps nap. But he had two more letters that needed to make the post tomorrow, and if he did not finish them now, he never would. He stood quietly and brushed his lips across his wife’s cheek. She nuzzled back, then watched as he lingered before the library fire longer than necessary, warming his hands and rear.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ve developed a slight headache is all, and it makes the task of my remaining letters all the more daunting.”

“I can imagine. I wish you would take a day off sometime soon, so that you may rest for longer than a few hours at a stretch. I believe it would do you wonders. Winter is generally a time for peaceful contemplation, but it’s been a frenzy of activity for you these past months. You are overdue for some leisure, my love.”

“You are right, as usual. Sometime very soon, dearest, I will take a week or two off and we will spend all the leisurely hours together you could wish. Perhaps we’ll even have a romp outside in the snow. Within the next month, once this mess is more or less cleaned up. Would that suit you?”

“It would suit me very fine indeed. While you could never be accused of neglecting me, I have been missing my husband of late, most especially his smile. That has been the most absent part of you.”

“For that I am sorry. I don’t like to bring my business affairs into our life together. My lovely, patient wife. You are too good to me.

“Well and I could say the same of you, so there. Enough of that. Come kiss me again, then go to your work before you fall asleep standing up.”

“As you command.” He was truly in danger of this, as he felt his lids growing heavier all the time, so he forced himself to move away from the pleasant heat, going to her side and kissing her fully this time, savoring her sweet lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Away I go. See you soon, darling.”

 Mr. Darcy could not rid himself of the clinging fatigue for the rest of the evening. His remaining letters took longer than usual, and he knew they were not as well done as they ought to be, but at least they were done. When they were finished, he tossed his pen aside eagerly and stretched his stiff neck. Perhaps he should take those leisure days sooner rather than later. He really hadn’t been feeling his best lately, and the wintery weather that had had them in its grasp for weeks certainly wasn’t helping. Also, he missed his wife, though he had just seen her. He missed spending time with her, and not just in stolen hours here and there. 

Right now all he wanted was to curl up beside her in bed, and talk of sweet nothings, and perhaps make sweet love. Hopefully that would help shake this irritating headache. Yes, they were long overdue for quality time spent together. He would make arrangements for some time away immediately, hopefully as early as a fortnight from now. The thought immediately made him calmer as he finished up a few small things, then hurried to find her and begin the more pleasant part of the evening.

2.

“Heh-KERRR-CHOOOOO! Heh- heh- KITSHHH’CHOOOO”

A bellowing sneeze startled Elizabeth from her book the next morning, and the even louder one that followed caused her to go investigate it’s source. To her surprise, following the sound of the miserable sniffles led to her husband’s study, where she found him ineffectually wiping his dripping nose with an already-damp handkerchief. 

“My dear Mr. Darcy, is that you making all that racket? My heavens, bless you! I don’t know as I’ve ever heard a sneeze so resounding in all my life. Were you holding it in all morning for it to grow to such a volume?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffled sourly. “It was merely a sneeze.”

She quirked an eyebrow, amused. “I would beg to argue. You sneeze particularly violently, my dear. Likely because, as I noted, you hold them in until you can’t anymore.”

“Well, since you are evidently the expert,” he muttered as he pressed on with his work, coughing softly. 

She rarely saw this severe, prickly side of him these days, and this, more than anything else, concerned her and made her know he shouldn’t be teased at present. He really must be feeling poorly. She moved to his side and pressed against him as she had the day before, rubbing his shoulder. He did not respond, physically or otherwise.

“You are unwell, my love. You should go take some rest. You quite look as if you have gotten the wrong end of this cold of a sudden.”

“I am fine. Don’t worry yourself. I am only in need of some tea and I shall be quite well.”

“I’d be happy to fetch you tea, but I’d be happier to fetch it for you in bed, or at least in your chair in the library. I fear these large windows will do you no favors with the draft.”

“I have many things I need to see to today. I cannot take time to rest. And all my files are here in the study. I haven’t been ill since I was a boy. I’m certainly not going to be ill now.”

Lizzie sighed and shook her head at the foolishness of males. “Have it your way, then. I’ll see you get some tea. Was there anything else you’d like?”

“Just a scone or two. Thank you, dearest.” He finally turned his gaze to her, and she saw true gratitude there, despite the reddened, watery eyes and dripping nose. “And forgive my rudeness when you came in. You startled me, but I should not speak to you like that. Please forgive me.”

“Of course you’re forgiven, and I am sorry I startled you. You know I only worry about you because I love you.”

“As I love you, my Lizzie.” He coughed wetly into his handkerchief. “Now please, if you’d leave me. I really do have much to do, and you are ever my truest distraction. I will see you this evening. And please know, I am doing all this so that we can have our time together very soon.”

“Yes, my dear.” She sighed softly and made her way out, stopping one of the servants to request her husband’s tea and scones. She gave explicit instructions for the type of tea and what was to be in it, things to soothe an aching throat and ward off fever. If he wouldn’t have a care for his own body, she would be forced to do it for him. She only hoped he would see reason sooner than later and take himself off to bed before he caught his death in that drafty study.

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, Darcy was endlessly studious and conscientious, not to mention stubborn, and so he stayed in his study, or was running around with different servants and community members all day. He did his best to conduct his business as excellently as ever, despite how very unwell he was beginning to feel.

When their paths would cross later in the day though, she could see he was flagging. His cough had become quite the nuisance, and his nose and lips were raw and chapped. Dark circles began to show under his eyes, vivid against sickly pallor. Every now and again, she heard a massive, wet sneeze disturb the air from wherever he was. She gave him sympathetic smiles and little encouragements whenever she could, but what she truly wanted was to see him to bed and tend to his every need there. The misery on his face made her ache for him. If only he wasn’t so proud. And yes, stubborn.

She was quite relieved when he joined her at their evening meal, wearily announcing he was done working for the day, and she told him such. He was quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the evening, aside from his frequent sniffles and coughs, and the occasional explosive sneeze, which never failed to make her jump, even as they became more and more frequent. 

Taking his lead, she also said very little, reading exhaustion in every line of his frame, especially as his sneezes and coughs harshened. If she had been another woman, and he another man (indeed, her parents came to mind), she would have said again that she wished he would take the day off tomorrow. But it was not in her to nag, and if she had he would only have become angry, or withdrawn completely. She had said her part this morning, and she knew he had heard her and remembered. What he did from here was his choice alone. 

She watched him unobtrusively as he dozed by the fire that evening, feeling such love in her breast for her dedicated, hardworking husband, but no small amount of worry either. They had been married nearly three years, and she had never once seen him ill. She hoped it was truly only trifling, as he kept insisting it was whenever anyone asked. 

They went to bed earlier than usual, her feigning equal tiredness for his sake, so he wouldn’t feel he was being a burden. But indeed, all she wanted of the rest of this day was to lie beside him in bed, perhaps rub his back, and just be near him for whatever he needed. To her delight, that is exactly what happened. He said very little, and asked for nothing, stifling sneezes now and again even as his frequent, chesty coughing fits worsened, but merely lay beside her and let her rub away at his aches and chills as he fell asleep.

3.

Darcy and Eliza were both early risers, and both loved to greet the day while it was still fresh and full of promise. Being the man though, Mr. Darcy was always up and about before his wife, for it took him far less time to dress, and there were several things he liked to see to before breakfast, though he never neglected to kiss her goodbye as he left.

Imagine her surprise then, when the next morning found him still soundly asleep beside her when her maids came in to help her dress at their usual time. The sound of their arrival woke her, but her poor husband hardly stirred. She hurried out of bed, calming the poor, startled ladies in hushed tones, assuring them they had done no wrong. They helped her dress and fix her hair simply and comfortably before Elizabeth shooed them out again, saying she wasn’t sure what they should tell the other staff, as she had no idea what mind her husband would be in when he finally woke. 

Lizzie sighed as they left. Now it would be all over the house that he was sick abed, and who knew what other irrepressible rumors. He would hate that. However, at present it was the truth so he would just have to deal with it whenever he woke. In the meantime, she picked up her book and read in the chair by the fire, wanting to be close when he woke.

That turned out to be shortly thereafter. He first began to toss and turn a bit, then he started to cough, then he nearly made her jump out of her chair with one of his tremendous sneezes. 

“Heh -KER- CHUUUUHHF!” The noise was thick and miserable-sounding, more than hinting at painfully clogged sinuses and a raw, scratchy throat. While he was mopping the mess from his face with his handkerchief, his lungs decided to take their turn at clearing themselves as well, and he erupted into a series of wet, strenuous coughs. 

She made her way to his side during this sad display, gently stroking his tousled hair as he quieted. He groaned softly when he was able and pressed into her embrace, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, eliciting a cluck of sympathy from his wife at his sorry state.

“My poor dear,” she murmured. “Your health is much worse this morning.”

“Mby head is like a lead weight od the pillow,” he croaked. “Fatigue weighs dowd mby limbs dreadfully.”

“Then you will not work today?”

“Mby wise wife advised that I look after mby body more, and today mby body tells mbe I must rest, so rest I shall,” he murmured sleepily. “As long as you’ll keeb mbe company?”

“I would love nothing more. This is perhaps not the leisurely day we had hoped for, but I’ll accept it just the same." She tenderly caressed his cheek, frowning as she felt it. "You are terribly feverish, darling." Yet she hardly needed to feel, for just by looking at his flushed, sweaty face and seeing him shake with chills, the fever made its presence known.

"And yet I'mb chilled to the bone. I had forgotten how beastly udpleasant it is to catch cold," he rasped with a thick sniffle.

"Indeed, it makes one feel for your poor sister all the more. It seems she is laid up with a cold every other week. Now, how does tea appeal to you? And perhaps some food? You hardly touched supper last night."

"Tea would be lovely. Mby abbetite still eludes me however. But, if only to please you, I would try sumb toast and an egg."

Lizzie had servants running for his requests in short order while Darcy tended to his nose, blowing it over and over, soaking through more than one handkerchief. His tray was delivered in record time. Seeing it arrive, Darcy slowly levered himself to a sitting position, pressing a hand to his temple.

"Mby head is throbbi'g," he mumbled.

Elizabeth pressed the cup of tea into his hands, looking sympathetic. "Drink some. It may help your head."

He did as he was bid, drawing his knees to his chest like a boy as he drank while she rubbed his back. However, another tremendous sneeze almost made him spill the whole thing. 

“Ah- ah- KITCHSHOOOOO! Ugh…” He sought his handkerchief desperately, and when Elizabeth handed it to him, he pressed it harshly against his streaming nose to stem the flow, groaning as he did. Elizabeth hastily took the teacup from his again, for it seemed in danger of being upended at any moment.

"Bless you! My poor dear, what can I do for you? Besides keeping a stack of handkerchiefs here for your poor nose."

"I would ask you to help mbe dress in a few moments," he said, his voice muffled behind the fabric as he tried to rub away the headache between his eyes. "While I will be as quick as I cad, I must speak to mby steward and give hib sumb idstructions for mby absence."

"Can you not write him instead? I fear for you going out in the cold, lest this settles in your chest."

"Mby head aches too miserably to do a probber job with writing. I fear I would forget somethi'g crucial. Ndo, I'll quickly  go dowd and speak to hib, and thed I'll return. Ndo going outside for mbe today, never fear."

She sighed and nodded, knowing he would not be dissuaded. "At least finish your tea and try some egg before you go so you don't collapse on the stairs."

"I'mb far from collapse mby dear, I assure you." His general appearance said otherwise though, as he had been miserably coughing into his handkerchief throughout the whole conversation, and had yet to stop shivering. However, she held her tongue and served him breakfast instead. 

Lizzie saw he made an effort to eat as much as he could, and though it was only a few bites, she was slightly placated. She knew he would not relax until he had set what affairs he could in order. So, after his tea was gone, when he rose and began to dress, she assisted him, for she realized the sooner he left, the sooner he would return.

"I'd rather not ri'g for mby valet, as I'd be worried I would sdeeze on hib," muttered Darcy, looking embarrassed as she straightened his jacket while he futilely tried to blow his nose, which only served to make him cough yet again.

"It's no trouble at all, dear. Only please hurry back. I truly worry for that cough." 

"I'll be back under your watchful eye as quick as I cad, dearest," he murmured, grazing her ear with his lips as she slipped an extra handkerchief in his pocket. With that, he was gone, his boots thumping down the hall wearily.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time dragged as she waited for him. While she knew he could take care of himself and she didn't need to be here the moment he returned, she also knew he would want her to be. Her husband was a strong man, but at times like these, he depended on her, and she was not about to disappoint him. So, while there were plenty of things she could have seen to around the manor herself, she waited in his sitting room with her needlework, keeping the fire high. 

Finally she heard him in the hall. She rushed to open the door as he shuffled in, looking spent. 

 "Darcy dear! I expected you an hour ago!"  she said, helping him shed his coat. Suddenly she felt his shoulders hitch under her hands as his breath scissored:

"Ktt-tsshhEEW!" The wet spraying sneeze was his response, only partially stifled by the sodden handkerchief he held. She blessed him worriedly as he again mopped his face.

"I'mb sorry, dearest," he finally managed. "I was stobbed many tibes between mby study and here to answer questions. I cabe as quick as I could."

He fell wearily into the chair nearest the fire with a deep groan and a deeper cough. He bent to try and remove his boots, but his efforts were hampered, as his nose streamed dreadfully if he bent over. He had to keep a hand pressed to his face as he tried to undo the fastenings with the other. 

Elizabeth knelt in front of him and gently pushed his hands away, loosening and removing the boots herself as he leaned back in the chair, sniffling wetly. 

"Thagk you, mby love," he croaked. 

"Here, have some more tea, I've just had Mary bring some. There, now what suits you best? Shall we cover you warmly and sit here by the fire, or would you like me to fetch you some soup? I won't ask if you want to call for Dr. Bishop yet since I know what you'll say, though I have half a mind to."

"There's ndo need for the doctor," replied her husband. "Whad I most want right now is to lie dowd and sleeb sumb few hours yed. Mby mind is sluggish. I cad hardly grasp on a thought except how exhausted I amb."

"Then take my arm and let's get you to bed, poor man. I imagine some more sleep will do wonders for you."

"I don't need help walki'g mby dear, I'm not invalid, only full of cold." Even still, he took her proffered arm as he stood and rested a hand on her shoulder warmly as she led him to the bedroom.

"That may be, but I'll see you there myself just the same to make sure there's no distractions along the way." She kissed his hand and caressed it fondly as they made their way to the bed. She helped him remove all the clothes she had helped him don not long before and replace them with his nightshirt. While he clearly needed to sleep, he also seemed loath to let her out of his sight. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment with her pressed against his side. She scratched his back fondly. 

“You should lie down, dear. You’re more asleep than awake.”

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her unexpectedly, burying his face in her abdomen with a weary sigh. Elizabeth was slightly startled, but gladly reciprocated the embrace, burying her face in his hair. Her husband was an affectionate man, but not usually physically so. This gesture from him, while not at all unwelcome, was unexpected. 

“I feel terrible,” he groaned, barely audible, leaning most of his weight against her. “Mby body runs amok with mbe.”

“So it seems. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this cold of yours on anyone.”  

She held him for a few peaceful moments. Just as she was about to again suggest he lie down, for it seemed he was in danger of falling asleep against her, his back twitched violently and he tried to pull away.

“heh-GIHH’CHOOOO! Hehht-kk’CHOOOOOF!” 

Neither had time to react as poor Mr. Darcy sneezed thickly, his face still pressed against his startled wife. She couldn't suppress a little gasp as he pulled away, stammering apologies and wiping his traitorous nose. 

She was silent a moment appraising the state of her dress, then an unladylike snort of laughter escaped her, sending her into a little fit of giggles even as she comforted her overwrought husband, pressing him gently back against the pillows. 

“It’s all right, my love. Such things happen. ‘Tis only a dress, and I have plenty more. It seems neither of us are coming away from this cold of yours unscathed. But there now, you’re completely spent. You can hardly keep your eyes open, red as they are. Take some more rest, my love.”

“You’re too good to mbe,” he croaked, fighting against his heavy eyelids but already nearly asleep, the handkerchief still in his limp hand on the bed.

She reached out, caressing his face and brushing hair from his brow. “No more of that. Close your eyes and sleep, for how else do you expect to get better?” She clucked her tongue softly again. “You really are painfully warm, poor man. It is most worrisome,” she said, more to herself than him.

“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, the last word turning into a snore as he finally gave in to the needs of his body.

~~~~~~~~~~

4.

That was to be the last interaction Mr. Darcy would remember for quite some time. He fell into a deep sleep then, and everything that happened over the next few days would be blurred flashes in his mind at best, hazed by illness and fever.

Of course, the same could not be said for Elizabeth. After he fell asleep, she left him and tended to some of her duties around the manor (after changing her gown, naturally). She did not want to hover in the sickroom, both for her sake and his, so she forced herself to stay away for several hours, knowing he would ring if he needed something.

Still, in the late afternoon she returned, unable to stay away any longer. He was exactly as she had left him, snoring softly. He didn’t seem to have moved at all in his sleep, which was most unlike him. She again went to feel his forehead, sensing something amiss. He was much warmer than before. A knot of worry pulsing in her heart, she tried to shake him awake. He opened his eyes and seemed to look at her, but she could tell he wasn’t truly awake, and didn’t respond when she spoke to him, only grunted and coughed, trying to roll over and sleep again. 

Without further ado, she sent for Doctor Bishop, pacing the halls outside Darcy’s rooms until he arrived, wringing her hands in worry and opening the door to check on her husband every few minutes, to ensure he got no worse.  

The doctor arrived quickly, heading right into the sickroom. He did a thorough examination, listening to Mr. Darcy’s heart and lungs, checking his pulse and 100 other things. Darcy woke briefly a few times, but only managed answers of a word or less before he dozed off again. His large frame looked somehow both bigger and smaller than it should, curled up limply on the bed, with only his breathing as evidence of life. After he was through, the wise doctor scrutinized his patient, deep in thought. Elizabeth remained silent, waiting with baited breath. Finally the doctor turned to her. 

“You said he’s been overworking himself and run down lately, yes?”

“Yes, doctor. Business has been troubling him of late.”

“Hm. So it seems. Well, overall his vital signs are normal for a man with a cold. I see nothing overly alarming, excepting the high fever. That is a touch worrisome, but can at times be seen in such cases. No, I don’t fear any illness has befallen him except what you’ve said, a bad cold. I think he’s simply exhausted, and this cold has caught up with him and brought everything down at once. I’ll wager the fever will subside in a day or two, and the rest in the days after that as long as he gets the rest he sorely needs. I shan’t prescribe him anything except what he already has here with you, Mrs. Darcy. Let him sleep as much as he wants, keep him hydrated and don’t cover him too warmly, and I think this will run its course soon enough.”

It was as if great weight fell off her shoulders as he spoke. “Oh, thank you doctor! Indeed, I shall do just as you say, and make sure he does as well.”

“Please do. The stubbornness of the Darcys is well known to me, for my father and his father have been treating this family for generations. I’ll come round to see him every day until I’m satisfied he’s on the mend, if that suits you.”

“Oh, yes please, and thank you kindly. You have my deepest gratitude, sir.”

“My pleasure, madame. Until tomorrow.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

With a huge sigh of relief, Elizabeth collapsed on the chair at her husband’s bedside. After a moment, she found his hand under the quilt and held it, needing to feel his touch, even if in unconsciousness. After a moment, he unexpectedly squeezed it. She looked up to see his eyes were fluttering closed, but his face was angled toward her now. She took a moment to appreciate that fine face, though currently his nose, cheeks, and eyes were matching shades of red against the sickly pallor over the rest of him.

She sighed and softly kissed his hand. “Get well soon, my dear.”

He certainly took his time doing so, or so it seemed to Eliza. Either she or Georgiana were at his side at all times. He slept constantly, barely waking even to drink water. He spoke hardly at all and asked for nothing. He would intermittently shake with chills, or else sweat profusely. He sneezed in thick, messy fits, several at a time, but then would go hours between, until the sensation again overpowered and woke him. He coughed more often, since that it seemed he could do even as he slept. 

Yes, he slept, but he was overall restless. Noise in the room roused him. He stirred when he was touched. He stirred when he coughed. He woke when he sneezed. His sleep didn’t seem peaceful, which was perhaps why he never fully woke, because he wasn’t fully resting. 

The first night, Elizabeth slept in her own rarely-used bedroom (she much preferred sharing his), wanting him (and herself) to rest as much as possible. The second night though, she was achingly lonely, missing his touch, his voice, and his smile. So, she crawled into her usual place beside him in his bed, pressing herself against him. She found herself cold, as she had been since he was ill from the worry, so his warmth was more than pleasant. 

She herself relaxed immediately as soon as she was against him, but more surprisingly, so did he. He didn’t wake and hardly stirred when he felt her, but his breathing quickly deepened and he relaxed more fully as they rested against each other. Basking in the sensation of enjoying one another’s touch, they both slept the whole night that way. 

~~~~~~~~~~

More than 48 hours after he first fell asleep, Darcy finally woke up completely. Naturally, it was a sneeze that did it. 

“Heh’gihh’CHUUUHFF! AHHGK-CHOOOF! … ow….”

Something in the tone made Lizzie turn. She had been sitting facing the fire with her needlework, but glancing at the bed, she saw her husband sitting up, one hand to his temple, the other wiping his nose, and looking aware of his surroundings for the first time in 2 days. She dashed to his side, feeling his forehead at once.

“Bless you, dear. My, but it’s good to see you awake! Oh, and your fever is much decreased, how wonderful! How do you feel? Is your head hurting you? Here, drink some water, the doctor said you’re likely dehydrated…”

She wanted to prattle on, but she saw he was a bit overwhelmed, so she forced her tongue to be still. She gently grasped his hands, to calm him as well as herself, and kissed them fondly. She then handed him a glass of water, and he drank gratefully as she looked him over. He seemed a bit better, but he continued to look around in a dazed way.”

“Have I been asleeb long?” he finally rasped, his voice totally gone, and still stuffed tight with congestion.

“I would say so. It’s been two days darling.” She did her best to keep the worry and accusation out of her voice. He couldn’t help that he’d been ill.”

“Two days?! Good heavens.” He fell back against the pillows with a groan and a cough. “Ndo wonder I feel so sluggish.”

“Yes, but it seems you needed it. The doctor has been out every day, and he says you were suffering from exhaustion. Your body was taking the rest it sorely needed.”

“So it seebs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Sumb better, I thingk,” he said with a wet sniffle. “Less fevered. I am still weary, and will sleep another night soundly through, but I hope I’m on the mend now.”

“As do I.” She kissed his hand again, squeezing it tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

5.

Mr. Darcy was indeed on the mend. He was moving about his rooms freely the next day, and 2 days after that, he was allowed by the doctor (and his wife, grudgingly) to resume his duties, though at a reduced basis, for his cough still lingered, along with some fatigue. Yet he was incredibly cheerful to be leaving his rooms, and everywhere he went, he had a spring in his step.

That same day he was freed found Elizabeth curled on the settee in her rarely-used personal sitting room, wrapped in a coverlet and trying to read. However, her dripping nose and throbbing headache prevented her from making much progress in the story. 

A barking cough burst out of her against her will, making her drop her book. With a feeble groan, she reached down to retrieve it, holding a handkerchief to her streaming nose. She had known she likely wouldn’t escape catching her husband’s cold, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. However, she was not about to spoil his first day of freedom with her own illness, so she was hiding here to avoid him as long as she could.

Just as she was thinking this, she heard his boots in the hall, and she suppressed another groan. He knocked softly, then peeked in the door, looking happy as well as confused when he saw her.

“Mary said I might find you here, but I thought she must be mistaken. Whatever are you doing? I was hoping to meet you for tea.”

She took a breath to answer, but instead the urge to sneeze snuck up on her. She shoved her elbow against her face, turning away from him to stifle the stubborn urge harshly:

“HXXT’GH! HNNKT! HXXTCH! Guh…” she mumbled at the end, which turned into a painful cough that she hardly had breath for.

Darcy was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her arm and feeling her forehead just as she had his so many times the past few days. Concern and regret crossed his face. “You have a fever, dearest. It seems I’ve shared my cold with you,” he said, stifling a little cough.

“You always were the gentleman, never failing to share with a lady,” she groused weakly.

His low chuckle was warm. “I’m truly sorry. Yet I heard you hardly left the bedchamber while I was ill, so I suppose it was inevitable.”

“Especially since you sneezed on me,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

“Indeed,” he chuckled again. “I’m sorry for that as well. But now, enough talk. Rest your voice. Come up to bed and I’ll see you get some tea and toast.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to go to bed, did that occur to you? I’ve spent all week in that bedchamber and I’d prefer to not be forced to go back,” she muttered petulantly. 

“I can tell you’re feeling unwell, for you’re never so irritable. That more than anything tells me I must see you to bed immediately.” His tone indicated some teasing, but mostly seriousness. Without further ado, he scooped her up in one motion and stood, carrying her toward their bedchamber, a little smile playing around his lips. 

“Why you--! I’ve never been thus treated in my entire life. Put me down, you terrible man!” Yet she couldn’t keep from laughing, miserable though she was, which of course turned into a cough. She hadn’t felt so ill in a long time. In fact, the overwhelming urge to sneeze was coming over her again. She struggled weakly to free her arms from where he had them pinned, but it was too late: 

“Hhh’rrrrushh’eeeew! Herrr’CHEW! Hihhh’knn’CHOOF!” She sneezed explosively against his chest, covering them both in the spray. His steps paused as he looked down at her, open-mouthed, while she stared back, reddening in embarrassment, but slightly triumphant.

“...bless you, my Lizzie,” Darcy finally said, an odd smile on his face.

“Thank you. I’m terribly sorry!... But what choice did I have, when I can’t move my arms? Now we’re even, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled again as he resumed walking. “And I suppose if you must sneeze on someone, it’s best if it’s me, as I can’t very well catch this cold again. But all the more reason for me to see you to bed. You look a mess. In the loveliest possible way, of course.”

“How charming you are, Mr. Darcy. You have quite a way of flattering a woman.”

He chuckled again, but by this time they had reached his bedchamber. He deposited her on the bed with the utmost gentleness, and proceeded to assist her in changing into more comfortable clothes. She shivered miserably as she changed so that her teeth nearly chattered. Darcy tucked her in warmly and quickly rang for some tea, then began to remove his own boots and coat. She watched him curiously, though with heavy eyes, for she suddenly she found herself exhausted. With pleasure she realized he planned to join her in bed. 

He did just that a few moments later, pulling her close against himself and wrapping her in his big, warm arms. She nuzzled in gratefully with a sniffle and a cough. He buried his face in her hair as they settled, coughing as well. 

“What are you doing, Darcy dear? I thought you had many things to do today,” she mumbled, already nearing sleep. “You’ve had so many days off yourself. You needn’t take another for me, though it seems we’re quite a mess still.”

“This has become the most important thing I must do today,” he yawned. “You were a saint to look after me this whole week, so now I must return the favor. I’m not likely to let an opportunity pass to spend time with you after these past weeks, for I’ve learned my lesson.  And I too am already weary, for this cold hasn’t quite left me. A nap would suit me fine, especially if I can warm you in the process.” 

When a servant arrived with tea, no one greeted him, and when he opened the door with the tray, he found it best to simply leave it nearby and duck out again, for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were fast asleep. 

[fantasyinvader]

Beat Binding Blade tonight

So, right off the bat I'm going to admit. I abused the arena and save states. This is a really, really hard game. And while I enjoyed it, I'm going to give three things I didn't like about it.

1)Enemy reinforcements arrive at the end of the player phase, and can attack during the enemy phase. That is unfair, especially when I assume that parking a unit on the spawn point will prevent them (It doesn't) or my healer just happens to be in the area. I like difficult games, but when I fail at something in those I want to feel like it's my fault for doing so. When I die in Bloodborne or lose a unit in Fates Conquest, I'm willing to accept it because I felt it was fair (plus I'll just restart the chapter in Conquest anyway). I could have not died if I had played a little better. This game was not fair when it did that.

2)The supports. A lot of the stuff about the characters is locked away in their supports, since this is one of the old Fire Emblems where it throws units your way because it's assuming you didn't reset the game when one died. They don't get cutscenes to be important, and with only five supports per character (barring if one dies, then any unit that had supports with gets those supports back). And even then, getting an A rank doesn't pair up any units except for Roy. So you don't get to play love doctor here, it's only really there for the stat boosts. But in the case of my boy, he needs those supports in order for his character to fully come through.

3)I can take 8 units into the final battle, and they're the only ones who get full ending cards. Everyone else just gets a single line. Kinda weak if I use someone like Fir for most of the game, but bench her at the end to give Rutget Durandal.

Even with my cheating, I still enjoyed this game. Mostly for the story. When Fire Emblem first appeared in Smash Brothers Melee, as a kid it instantly caught my attention. Roy and Marth just looked so cool with their swords and armor (true fact: My favorite design for Link is the Skyward Sword design, simply because it has chainmail under the tunic. I get it, the tunic is iconic but SS's Link just looks practical), and I preferred Roy because I though his fully-charged shield breaker hurting him was cool. I even keep a Cipher card of his in my wallet for good luck. I wanted to know what Fire Emblem was, what kind of game it was. My friend showed me a screenshot of the upcoming GBA game in Nintendo power, which I got for the following Christmas (sadly, I didn't get Sacred Stones as I got a PS2 the following year). I loved that game, but the idea that I was playing as Roy's father always was a bit of a sour point for me. It's because of that game when I got a 2DS a decade later, because I wanted to game but kept getting pulled away from my console, I eventually went back to Fire Emblem.

And, I'm going to admit, Binding Blade hurt me because I played Blazing Blade first. It really did. I mean, Hector dies early on, Lyn is presumably dead hell a lot of my old comrades probably died in this war, Eliwood's wife dies shortly after they are married while Eliwood is more useless than ever, the kid I saved in Bern becomes a genocidal maniac, and the fact that the characters of Blazing Blade kinda caused this to happen by releasing the seals on the Legendary Weapons in their own quest... It kinda bugs me that the Legendary Weapons I used in Blazing Blade are in their trap filled storage places. Like, who returned them there? And if I have characters from that game returning in Binding, I find it strange they don't comment on needing them again. But this is a case of the game trying to be a prequel to a story that wasn't written with it in mind.

But at the end of the day, one thing just kept popping up in my mind. Binding Blade is the antithesis of the Crimson Flower route from Three Houses. I know they said Genealogy of the Holy War was an inspiration, but I can't help it. I've seen so many people try to praise that said route as some sort of denouncement of the rest of the franchise. That it's about putting power in the hands of the people (it's not) instead of having some Lord be the good king. Granted, the Mandate of Heaven seems like it's a running theme of the series, so without understanding what that is I can understand why people don't grasp what that part of the message. But Binding Blade, it just hit so many things on the nose that I needed to say something.

So without further adieu, I'm just going to bring up a few points.

With Regards to Humanity

It's interesting how both Zephiel and Edelgard come at this from different angles. Sure, they both lead wars of conquest across the entire continent, and I'm guessing Zeph didn't tell his troops what he was planning on doing once he won so there's likely a level of deception going on there as well. He really doesn't care for his fellow man, and the game goes out of it's way to show us why. Hatred, greed, or even selling out your people in the name of self-preservation. The game doesn't shy away from showing us any of this, saying that it's wrong and thus why Roy has to kick some guy's arse. Zephiel knows this, but in Edelgard's case? She's out there fighting for absolute power, destroying anyone who won't bend the knee to her while those who do out of self-preservation like House Gloucester are rewarded for it.

In essence, Edelgard is everything Zephiel saw wrong with the human race, she is why he felt we needed to go extinct. The very things he condemns humanity for are the things she reward. Zephiel would have actually handed over power to those he felt deserved it if he had won, whereas Edelgard is demonstrably shown to hold onto power until near the end of her life. One wants humanity dead, the other wants all the dragons. They even oppose each other in their classes. Edelgard is based on the red emperor archetype, she wears red, her class is the heavily-armored Emperor and her weapon of choice is an axe. Zephiel is a king, armoed but wearing purple and he uses a sword in battle.

Even if they both have screwed up history with their family's due to their father's inability to keep it in his pants, they're both presented as villains despite being ideologically opposed which goes to show with Fire Emblem the method IS the message.

Ancient Wars, Super Powered Weapons and Lies.

War of Heroes vs. The Scouring. The former is an event where the full details are shrouded in mystery, up to the player to piece together the clues and figure out the truth for themselves...or in Crimson Flower's case, ignore the truth and act out in your ignorance.With Binding Blade though, when the truth starts coming out, it hits hard. I mean, right from the beginning of the game we're told man was the one who broke the peace by attacking the dragons, but then we learn that those legendary weapons messed up the environment, resulting in dragons needing to use human forms only to be slaughtered by man. Dragons were blamed for the environment, the people who used those weapons were revered as heroes. We don't know why mankind launched their attack, but we do know that they weren't able to slay the Demon Dragon, one who had her soul destroyed in order to control her, because the Heroes felt sorry for her. It's making dragons out to be the victims here, much like the dragons in Three Houses. But Crimson Flower only serves to demonize them, acting like they can't understand humanity when the dragons in that game are a lot closer to humans emotionally than the ancient dragons in Elibe.

The Elites in comparison weren't heroes, and that lie has been confirmed as Rhea trying to make peace.

The good ending for Binding Blade is being able to save the dragon whose soul was destroyed, whereas Crimson Flower ends with slaying a dragon after you've spent the entire game triggering her (and is the ending that leads to oppressive rule under Edelgard, in addition to the only ending without sunlight. What? You thought you'd get the good ending when her final boss theme was playing on the last stage?). Also, you need all the Legendary weapons in order to unlock the final stages, which all play into the big mystery. Crimson Flower requires the player to not understand that the world-building was done to support fighting against Edelgard instead.

Merits of a leader

Let's not beat around the bush here, Roy will not carry you through Binding Blade. His bases are low, and while he has good growths he is unable to promote until the very end of the game. Even then, you need to save the Binding Blade's usage to ensure you get the good ending. Roy is also very unsure of himself, thrust into a position of leadership despite his young age. But look at what happens when he succeeds, he manages to overcome the odds and take down the mightiest army on the continent. At the end of the game, he's shown himself as more than capable of leading. Not to mention, he also believes that humans and dragons can live together, even seeing this in Acadia (and if Ninian was his mother, he's unknowingly proof of this as he is 1/4 dragon himself. May explain his poor bases). If he marries Liliana, he even becomes a King for likely much of the same reason Byleth does in SS/VW (most leaders are dead following the war, plus combining his territory with Ostia which had already taken over Lyn's land after she abdicated/married Hector). Roy learns the truth as already established.

Compare this to Crimson Flower Byleth. Byleth leads the Black Eagle Strike Force, but credit for it goes to Edelgard. Byleth never gets any recognition for this, no position of authority despite proving themselves, instead that goes to Caspar Jenkins of all people, and ends the war continuing to fight TWSITD from the shadows to support Edelgard's regime. And if you read between the lines, Edelgard is NOT a good leader, resorting to bribes, threats, cronyism, secret police, propaganda, and even TWSITD's support and later stolen tech in order to maintain her rule. Byleth lost whatever emotional development they got from White Clouds during this route, once again becoming the Ashen Demon, and is even willing to let themselves die if they can't keep their “humanity” in check showing a distaste for their own draconic heritage (showing humans and dragons can't live together in this timeline). They didn't grow into being a leader, they devolved into being Edelgard's unthinking muscle. Byleth never learns the truth in this route, falling for Edelgard's manipulations resulting in them losing Enlightened One/Nirvana status.

Not to mention, Heroes Relics have really low weapon levels. In theory, they can be used by anyone but only safely by those with Crests and most fully with a matching Crest. Legendary Weapons, on the other hand, can be used by anyone with an S rank in their type. Your characters have to EARN the right to use those things and you'll need them to deal with all the Manaketes during the final level, whereas Relics aren't exactly that level of broken.

Honestly, seeing the ending of Binding Blade and Idunn recovering put at least one tear in my eye. Crimson Flower's just made me feel like the game was calling me an idiot (which considering the Nirvana/Enlightenment thing, it kinda was). I would love if Binding Blade got the Echoes treatment, or even if they just did a GBA collection for the Switch. But after all these years, one thing is as certain now as it was when I was a kid.

In this house, ROY'S OUR BOY!

[finalgirlbrainrot]

I have two unpopular opinions 1) if roles were reversed and Dean was the one drinking blood, Dean stans would have excused the shit out of it and even liked it. 2) if none of Dean's trauma was addressed and ignored (like most of Sam's trauma is) Dean stans would fucking riot.

intensely aggressively strongly agree | strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

(sorry in advance, I ranted A Lot)

2) I'm gonna start with this one. YESYESYES I mean dean stans are already constantly unironically whining that dean's traumas never get acknowledged (EVEN THO IT'S LITERALLY NOT TRUE, HIS TRAUMAS ALREADY GET ACKNOWLEDGED MORE THAN ENOUGH. EVERY TIME HE STUBS HIS TOE. EVERYONE IS CODDLING HIM AND ASKING HIM HOW HE'S DOING. HALF THE SHOW IS LITERALLY DEAN MANPAINING ABOUT HIS TRAUMAS - but apparently that's not enough for them, so I can't imagine the uproar if it was actually true). meanwhile sam's traumas either get ignored or they get treated like a fucking joke? well I guess it's just another tuesday

I've also seen a lot of dean stans moaning about sam "forcing dean to talk about his traumas", because apparently sam actually acknowledging dean's traumas and encouraging him to open up about them and being always supportive af because he actually cares is unacceptable (and I'm willing to bet that if he didn't acknowledge them, they'd still complain because sam literally can't win no matter what he does)

but dean ignoring and never acknowledging sam's traumas (not even when he's directly responsible for said trauma) or making them all about himself (mystery spot, hallucifer, soullessness, gadreel possession) or vilifying and victim blaming him (being force-fed demon blood, soullessness, gadreel possession) or using said traumas to justify his actions (hallucifer) or making cruel, disgusting and unnecessary jokes about them ("you had a girl inside you for a whole week" [meg possession] "you know how wrong that sounds, right?" "you've like an episode of teen mom" [gadreel possession - let's talk about how these two in particular are a thousand times more disgusting than the rest since he's actually joking about a violation he's directly responsible for] "smores foot" [bmol torture] "crybaby pie" [cole torture] "you saw the [devil's] john [or butt]?" [the cage] dick of death jokes right, left and center) is perfectly acceptable behaviour

1) again YESYESYESYES. I mean, this isn't even a hypothesis, we already have an extremely similar storyline for dean - the moc - and everyone made excuses for him and glorified him, even tho he was worse than demon blood sam in every possible way

actually I wrote a rant on reddit a couple of days ago about the awful double standards between demon blood sam and moc/demon dean. I'm gonna paste it here because I'm Bitter Af

comparing demon blood sam and moc/demon demon is ironically and hysterically bitter because, logically, no matter how you spin it, s4 sam is much more understandable and easy to sympathize with - both in intentions and actions - and should have the moral high ground, while s9-10 dean was flat out awful and damaging. yet both the show and the fandom crucify sam and treat dean as some poor victim or a great martyred hero who made some great noble sacrifice and I just... don't get it. so let's break it down:

> reason for drinking blood / getting the moc

- sam: exorcising demons without harming the host, thus saving people (which apparently isn't that relevant to dean) and killing lilith, first because she sent his brother to hell and then to stop the apocalypse and because she was an actual threat

- dean: because he couldn't face the consequences of his actions after the gadreel mess and decided he wanted to kill abaddon, who, at that point, wasn't even their problem (she only became a real problem in 9x17, when they learned about the soul harvesting, so unless dean has some sort of prophetic knowledge, he had no reason to take the moc in 9x11) and was a real threat to no-one but crowley

> trusting / working with a demon

- sam: I've already said this before, but ruby was a master manipulator and went to extraordinary lengths to gain sam's trust and even managed to fool every single demon (aside from lilith obviously). as far as both brothers knew, she's done nothing but help them, saved their lives multiple times and helped them save others, fixed the colt for them, was there for sam after dean died, is basically hunted by other demons for helping them, has risked her life for them several times and even got tortured for them and was helping sam to go after the demon who was trying to start the apocalypse. sam had absolutely no valid reason not to trust her. I'd really like someone to look me in the eyes and tell me that, if anyone did everything I mentioned above, you wouldn't trust them

- dean: trusted a demon who they knew is extremely untrustworthy and self-serving and only does what's in his best interest and has screwed them over one way or another every time they worked together and has hurt people they're close to

> level of manipulation involved

- sam: as I already said, ruby was a master manipulator and spent two years carefully manipulating sam to get him to do what she wanted. not the mention everything azazel did to get him there, lilith pushing his buttons at every turn to get him to kill her and the manipulation from heaven as well, who were lying to the boys at every turn

- dean: while crowley was manipulating him, the level of manipulation isn't remotely comparable to the one sam went through is s4. crowley saying “let’s kill abaddon” and pretending to be afraid of cain is not comparable to a plan that’s been set on motion since the beginning of time and crowley wasn't the only one involved in dean getting the mark. cain was involved as well and he wasn't manipulating him (unlike sam, who was being manipulated by everyone involved). on the contrary, he was completely honest with dean and even offered to tell him more about the mark and DEAN REFUSED (like can you imagine how many problems would've been avoided if dean sat on his ass for one minute and listened to cain's warning???)

> actions

- sam: in s4 sam was trying to use something that was forced on him when he was six months old, and that he hated about himself, to do good because he felt like he had to and was literally SAVING PEOPLE and trying to stop the apocalypse, I literally still don't get why he's vilified for it????? in s4 sam killed a total of one (1) person: the possessed nurse and while that was obviously bad, 1) he was clearly upset about it and 2) I still haven't seen one (1) valid reason for why she's any different from the demons dean drained and killed in swan song or from any of the other possession victims they killed with the demon knife or the angel blade

- dean: meanwhile dean was going around murdering people left and right (also another example of fandom double standards: everyone defends moc!dean and demon!dean because "he only killed bad people" - which isn't even true, but let's say he was - and yet, I seem to remember a certain kitsune named amy pond, who was ALSO killing bad people (and not for the lolz of it, but to save her son) and dean killed her and the fandom defended him back then as well. is killing bad people okay only if dean does it?), tried to kill sam, beat cas bloody

> keeping secrets

- sam: keeping his powers and the demon blood a secret was his god given right, since it affected no-one but sam himself and the demons he was exorcising. not to mention, he had pretty good reasons for not telling dean, considering his bigotry, black and white views and judgmental attitude. and yet, he was, and still is, vilified by both the show and the fandom for keeping secrets and dean even punched him for not telling him about his abilities (something in particular about this point that absolutely drives me up the wall: in 4x04 sam accidentally revealed that he knew about what azazel did to him and dean got mad at him for not telling him about it, even tho dean himself found out about it and didn't tell sam and no-one - not the show, not the fandom and not even sam and dean themselves - notices the hypocrisy. they're literally saying that it's okay for DEAN to keeps something about SAM a secret from SAM, but not okay for SAM to keep something about HIMSELF a secret from DEAN. if you don't think that's super fucked up, then I don't know what to tell you)

- dean: no-one says anything about dean keeping the effects of the mark a secret, even tho, unlike s4 sam, lying about the mark directly affected other people and put everyone around him in danger, including sam

> general treatment

- sam: everyone treated sam like a monster in s4, dean straight up called him a monster, told him he'd hunt him if he didn't know him, forced him into a torture-detox that almost killed him, tried to control him and refused to see his point. at the end of s4 sam apologized to dean. in s5 dean repeatedly told him that he doesn't trust him. sam was blamed for everything that happened in s4 and his mistake kept getting brought up even seasons later

- dean: everyone and their mom was coddling him and helping to get rid of the mark. everyone considered the mark to be the problem, not dean himself. sam was unconditionally supportive. dean never once apologized to sam for any of the awful things he said/did to him while he had the mark. sam never once blamed dean for anything that happened in s9-10 and instead placed the blame on crowley and none of the things dean did ever got brought up again

> at the end of each arc

- sam: paid for his mistake by sacrificing himself and jumped into the cage and saved the world and got tortured by the devil himself for centuries

- dean: paid for his mistake by having his mother brought back to life

send me unpopular opinions

[moonlightchild-otome]

Ikemen Vampire - Jean d’Arc Route Summary Chapter 10

here is the tenth chapter!

to clarify again, I’m not very good at japanese so if anything is wrong or weirdly translated everything is on me.

of course there is going to be some spoilers so do not read if you don’t wish to know jean’s story yet.

*also little bonus at the end about Jeanne d’Arc real story! of course you don’t have to read it to understand his route in the game but it’s very interesting :)*

The Count tells MC the history of the war between France and England, also known as the Hundred Years’ War...

【 Comte 】  Jean was a soldier who led the French army during the Hundred Years War.

Jean fights for his country, France and defeats the English army. Jean d’Arc, soon after the defeat of the enemy, becomes a true hero for his people.

However, such glory won’t last for Jean :( 'The most tragic end of the world's heroes', as they say.

In the course of the battle, Jean was captured as a prisoner of war by the enemy. The King didn’t want to help him for some reason. 😡

And of course... 🙄

【 Comte 】  Jean was convicted of heresy and it has been decided that he would be sentenced to fire.

After Jean's death, the king ordered a re-examination of his treason and found him to be innocent, and he went down as a hero of France.

The fact that Jean never knew went down as a hero after his death and this won’t change the fact that he died as an innocent. The protagonist is angry because it doesn't make any sense.

From the bottom of my stomach, I feel a mixture of anger and frustration.

Here, the MC asks the Count a question. “Why did he bring him back to life after such a death?”

There's something different about the Count returning the great men of the mansion and Jean.

The MC wonders if Jean really wanted the Count to bring him back to life. Before the Count can answer, Jean appears, interrupts him, takes the MC by the arm and leads her away.

【 Jean 】  One look at this man's face is enough. I don't like it. Let's go, woman. 

As soon as they arrived in the library, Jean seems to have calmed down a little lets go of the MC's arm.

The protagonist apologises for trying to find out about his past without his permission, but Jean says that's okay. Jean says it's okay, because his life has been written about in books anyway. However, he says that he doesn't want the Count to tell her about it.

【 Jean 】  ...It's not enough to say I hate it, it's too much.

Jean says that he is not a hero and that he is no different from the children's book he used to read, The Ugly Duckling.

it hurts me so much that this is the way he perceives himself when he deserves all the love in the world </3

Jean's gaze fell on the book 'The Ugly Duckling', which was still on the table.

That’s it for chapter 10!

here is some real background info about the real Jeanne d’Arc! She is such a brave and interesting historical figure. The epitome of a real badass, fearless and powerful woman.

so, the hundred years' war, if we summarize as much as possible is a series of armed conflicts that began in 1337. which opposes the kingdom of france and the kingdom of england.

in 1328 at the death of king charles iv, the question arises as to who will inherit the french crown.

one then has the choice between the cousin of the preceding king philippe de valois and edward iii the king of england who by his mother isabelle is also a descendant of the french throne.

you can imagine putting an english king on the french throne, wasn’t seen very well. 

edward not happy, which led to a succession crisis, which lead to the hundred years' war.

obviously this conflict, quickly overcomes a simple succession crisis.

it's a mess.

what you have to remember, is that the english are gradually invading part of the kingdom of france.

in 1415, after the battle of azincourt and the english victory, the english king henry v controls much of the north of the kingdom of france, including paris for that matter.

but it is far from being the only concern.

what you have to keep in mind is that the king of france at the time, charles vi, is reached at rather regular intervals of madness.

this obviously prevents him from administering the kingdom properly.

as a result, in parallel with the conflict with the english, a real civil war breaks out.

to find out who between his son the heir charles and his cousin the duke of burgundy will be able to take back the reins of the kingdom; the duke of burgundy is supported by the burgundians who will end up allying themselves with the english and the son of the king the heir charles is supported by the armagnacs.

but during this time, charles is betrayed by his own father who disinherits his son and after his death, gives the crown to the english.

i warned you that it was really messy.

and it is in this incredible mess that our jeanne arrives.

and where exactly does jeanne come from? from domremy.

she is also often called the virgin of orleans.

she is associated with the city of reims, but jeanne was originally born in domremy.

and where exactly is this place? domremy is this little town to the west of the city of the vosges department, on the banks of the meuse river.

isn't it pretty?

this is jeanne's birth house,

she would have been born around 1412. the building classified as a historical monument since 1840 includes in addition to a cellar, three large rooms originally used to house the whole family, her parents and four siblings.

according to jeanne's trial, it is here that she would have learned to sew or weave which were two occupations of the young girls of the time.

her father was a ploughman, so she often had to look after the animals.

and since she is very pious she spent a lot of time praying.

she went on pilgrimage at least once a week, for example in the notre dame de bermont chapel, about three kilometres (as the crow flies) from her birth house.

and jeanne d’arc, as you may have guessed, wasn't always called jeanne d’arc.

no, in history she has had different names and official nicknames.

there are of course the best known ones: the virgin of orleans, jeanne the virgin or even just the virgin and in the vicinity of domremy she was also called the jeannette de rommée, in connection with her mother's name. she has even signed several letters with the name jehanne.

and it's even more complicated if you're interested in her surname “d'arc”.

which was originally written darc, without the apostrophe. here again there have been many variations, and i'll mention a few of them: tarc, dars, darx and even d'ailly or daly according to the phonetic transcription of her name, with a lorraine accent. from there we move on to duly, then du lys.

when the king ennobled jeanne and her family, it is written on the deed, la dame du lys in reference to the royal coat of arms.

this is the magnificent bois-chenu basilica, which was built between 1880 and 1940 in honour of jeanne.

and for the record, this incredible basilica was sometimes considered to be the place where jeanne would have heard voices.

however if we refer to the trial, it is in her father's garden, near the house, that jeanne would have started hearing voices, celestial calls, coming from saint catherine of st. margaret's and the archangel saint michael.

the divine mission entrusted to her was very “simple”.

she was only commanded to be a cavalier, to cross a kingdom occupied by the english to go and find the future charles vii and convince him that she is the one sent from heaven.

to help him to take his place on the throne by her coronation in reims.

to show him how to liberate the kingdom of france, of the english presence.

it seems to be an easy enough mission for me. 😅 (nope)

so obviously you can imagine that the people didn't take her seriously right away. it took a few years before she managed to convince the world that she wasn't completely crazy.

- jeanne?

- yes?

- this is the voice.

- is someone talking to me?

- you are the chosen one, jeanne, join me.

- yes, i'm coming.

- i hope you like human barbecue. (ok i'll stop :/)

how is the legend of jeanne forged? how does one go from being a peasant girl eager to help, to jeanne of arc, heroine of the kingdom of france?

this is le centre d’interprétation (the interpretation centre), which is just behind jeanne of arc's birth house and retraces her youth and adventures.

her journey is incredible, at 17 years old, jeanne can't stand not doing anything anymore, she has been hearing voices urging her to act for four years now.

so she decides to return to the châtellenie de vaucouleurs, to meet captain robert de baudricourt, one of the king's faithful followers and after several vicissitudes, she manages to convince him. it wasn't easy, i remind you that her main point was that she hears voices. but yeah, he finally agrees to send her with an escort, join the heirn in chinon.

the journey is quite long and above all risky, we are talking about more than 500 kilometres and in this period of turmoil, the dangers were quite present especially if you look at the map, one realizes that the small expedition crosses areas not controlled by the enemy coalition.

fortunately, everything went well for jeanne, who arrives at her destination on march 1429 and gets an audience with the heir two days later. he was quite suspicious of this young woman at first, who claims to hear divine voices but according to the story she made a revelation to him that we don't know which eventually convinced him.

for the entourage of the suitor of the throne, it's not that simple and you can understand them, betting on jeanne is a little bit like a poker game. so they insist that she will be given a few interrogations, she is questioned about her life, about her morals and finally confidence is established, she is equipped with military equipment. she then undergoes mini combat trainings and here we go, her dream is about to come true, she joins a supply convoy in blois and on april 22nd, with more than 4000 men, she is headed for orléans.

the arrival of jeanne of arc changes many things.

her faith, her confidence in victory gives hope to the soldiers and to the inhabitants, who are filled with new energy. they manage to win in less than 10 days, 10 days and the english are obliged to give up their plan, which consisted of taking the city and then attacking the south of the loire.

jeanne who comes out of this battle with this image as a victorious, ultra badass woman and just earned her nickname... la pucelle d'orléans (the virgin of orleans).

thanks to her victory in orleans, jeanne thus becomes a kind of national heroine. she represents by her fame and her qualities, a not insignificant asset for the heir in his fight against the english and the burgundians.

but what makes a real difference is less her qualities as a war strategist and more her ability to charm and to galvanise the troops and the inhabitants along the way.

it's quite simple, before jeanne's arrival, the english had a reputation for never losing their invincibility.

and jeanne achieves the feat of restoring confidence in a possible victory.

it gives the impression to the troops that they are going to receive a kind of divine help and it changes everything in the soldiers' minds, all the more so because before her arrival there was a prophecy, who said that a virgin would help defeat the english so when jeanne arrives, everyone thought "it's ok, we're saved"!

jeanne persuades the future king to start a ride to reims who is in the middle of enemy territory, to be crowned.

jeanne thus succeeded in carrying out one of the following missions which were supposedly entrusted to her by the voices she hears; in other words, since she has succeeded, she is necessarily an envoy of god, and that for the mood of the troops, it makes a huge difference.

unfortunately after the time of victories comes the time of defeats.

after the coronation, the king and jeanne no longer really agree. she is convinced that her mission is to keep the english out of france.

the king, for his part, is longing for a little rest.

for example, he does not feel at all capable of taking back paris, while jeanne, a little bit stubborn, goes there anyway and suffers a failure.

on top of that she is wounded, she gets a crossbow arrow in her thigh, moreover, she breaks her sword which had for all victories...

it's a bad sign.

some people think that the virgin is abandoned by god. some time later jeanne went to compiègne, a city besieged by the burgundians and by some english contingents and once again it goes wrong, she is taken prisoner in may 1430, by the burgundians.

she tried to escape, but all her attempts failed and in november of the same year, she was sold to the english. jeanne is then taken to the castle of rouen, where members of the church judge her for heresy.

the trial was to say that charles vii was crowned thanks to a witch, she is also blamed for everything and anything, for dressing in men's clothing,

for deferring directly to god's judgement without going through the church, for hearing the voices of demons and not of saints.

jeanne really plays her life on each of her answers, in addition, she faces accusers totally committed to the english cause on her own when she was only 19 years old.

moreover, the witnesses are obviously not chosen at random, everyone who could speak up for jeanne is under pressure. everything is being done to ensure that she is condemned. finally, she ends up at the stake, on the market square, and we make sure there's nothing left of her body, to prevent it from being turned into holy relics.

and then after the end of the hundred years' war, i.e. almost 25 years later, the church reverses this first court decision. king charles vii wants to wash away the insult that was done to him through this trial and he pushes jeanne's family to ask for a review. pope calixtus iii agreed and jeanne was rehabilitated in 1456. the investigations carried out are more serious, many of jeanne's contemporaries jostle to plead in her favour and even people who had once spoken badly of her finally return to saying good things about her.

the first judgement is broken and the young woman's memory is rehabilitated.

an unusual little fact in the end - many people have not been able to admit that the story of the virgin ends up on a pyre. for them it was impossible, this story was too beautiful, this too extraordinary woman.

and it went far enough that people found stories of women, who a few years later claimed to be the real jeanne.

just imagine them saying stuff like "oh yeah, yeah it's me i didn't burn at all, my face has changed a little bit but it's me, i assure you, believe me, really".

a certain claude des armoises is said to have pretended to be her, in the metz region. after having acquired a certain renown, having been given gifts by former relatives of jeanne; she even went so far as to meet two of the virgin's brothers, who (hold on because it's completely insane) believed her.

they really believed it was their own sister who had died at the stake.

it's a crazy story!

well, we don't really know if they really believed it, or if one pretends to believe it for financial reasons for example.

in any case, this woman, who was talked about everywhere, is unmasked by the king himself, so that this fraud can be stopped.

in the end, i find this story quite unusual.

here are the friends!

i hope it wasn’t too long to read (it probably was) and that you have learned two, three little things on our dear jeanne d’arc. after all, she is one of the most famous women in history!

[seimeiorigin]

It’s time to forget Yuzuru Hanyu

(written on 27th Feb)

I think my obsession with Yuzu is not healthy. I need to do something to stop obsessing over Yuzu and get back to my normal life. I thought I should write down what I am feeling to see if it helps me let go of him. And where better to leave these thoughts than in the care of people who feel the same way?(If you are a translator, feel free to sub this for non-English speaking Yuzu fans  )

I am a 50 year old Australian woman and as a long time fan of the art of figure skating I was usually only interested in watching the women. The last time I watched was during the era of  Tonya Harding,  Tara Lipinsky and Sureya Bonnely. I was a fan of Kurt Browning back then as my only favourite male skater.   

15 days ago I saw a random you tube video of Parisienne Walkway and was immediately struck by the power, grace, beauty and effort of Yuzuru. I had never seen anyone like him and I thought  that his performance was the best skate I had ever seen. Little did I know....In the last 15 days I have felt the need to see more of what he does and so have spent every free hour of my life watching Yuzu's performances, sometimes over and over as in the case of Seimei, P walkways and Masquerade.

I am obsessed with Yuzu and I deeply regret that I was not along for the ride of the last 10 years. I google for the latest Yuzu news everyday and when I find something written in the last week it is like finding a gold nugget! I have read many of the blogs about Yuzu (thank you blog writers), read the news articles, watched interviews and never have I felt the lack of a second language more keenly. A massive thanks to everybody who English subs Yuzu content. 

I think about him when i should be working. I stay up late watching videos and am so tired in the morning. I am trying to find places I can buy Yuzu merchandise but alas, there are no places here to do so. I look at my phone lock screen (Seimei) a hundred times a day just to remember that this man exists. Yuzu has taken over my life. 

What is it about Yuzu's skating that makes me want to watch again and again and again?The crosswalk in Seimei. Oh mi god. Such attitude. I have never seen attitude like this on the rink before. A challenge to all watching: "Do not mess with me!"I have watched the videos about the making of Seimei and am enamoured of how much work went into this program, right down to Yuzu recording his own breath to help with the timing of his opening movement. The full program is breathtaking. I love every single moment of every single aspect. After having watched the making of Seimei video i understand so much more about what I see on the ice - the spells he is casting as the character and how that translates into artistry. The speed. The effort. The more videos I watch about Yuzu the more times I watch Seimei.  For example, Yuzu says in one interview that  at Pyeongchang he was supposed to stay in character but was so happy at the last part of the program that he could not help smiling and feeling so happy and we saw that. Such an uplifting moment that makes me laugh every time. I think i have watched all available performances of Seimei that the music runs through my mind in my sleep. I have downloaded it on my phone and listen to it on the bus. 

Yuzu's costumes: oh. mi. god. They are beautiful works of art. Such beauty of colour, decoration, design and form. I feel things when I see the costumes. I covet the heaven and earth jacket. I want one of my own to wear. The way they fit Yuzu perfectly, showing off the his perfect form in all its beauty and strength. The way they create the mood for the performance makes many other skater's costumes pale in comparison. The detail that the costume designer includes and the fact that Yuzu himself participates and tells her what he wants makes it all the more special. I watch the performances time and again just to look at the costume details. 

Yuzu's sexuality on the ice is something I am in two minds about. My own son is 22 so not that much younger than Yuzu so I feel uncomfortable thinking of Yuzu that way. But I cannot help it when I watch PW or Let's go crazy or Let me entertain you. There is something so attractive about the way Yuzu's movements invite the audience to partake in a little bit of sauciness. This is in direct opposition to the fun and innocence of everyday Yuzu that I see backstage or during downtimes. It feels like a total contrast and perhaps it is for that exact reason why those movements are attractive. 

Yuzuvier: I have friends but none of my friendships are like that. I wish I could experience the relationship between the two of them. I am so glad they had each other and it makes me feel happy when I see the videos of them together...and sad to see where Javi told Yuzu that it was their last time competing together. I really hope they stay in touch and catch up when they can. 

Yuzu's University study: Wow, what a legacy to leave to the sport. Using his own skills and experience to explore ways to become more proficient and keep climbing those hills. I truly hope that his study has led him to a way to perfect the 4A and I am holding hope in my heart that he is the first one to do it. I also hope that the thesis will allow the sporting world to progress. 

Sportsmanship: Wow Yuzu. Just WOW. A beautiful person who shares joy, encourages others, provides support and is never a complainer. This is what all sporting people should aspire to be. The depth of integrity that this man has shines out of every pore of his being. 

Yuzu's work philosophy and dedication is just exhilarating. Always wanting to be better, climb that hill, be number one, try and try and try. Learn from mistakes, learn and learn and learn. I find myself going about my day now and asking myself "WWYHD" in this situation? (What Would Yuzuru Hanyu Do). I am thinking that if i can take one thing from Yuzu everyday it would make interactions with my fellow humans more enjoyable and pleasant. I truly admire Yuzu so much that I hope I can continue learning from Yuzu even when he is not skating anymore.

 Yuzu's philosophy of supporting all people including his own is admirable. Truly a remarkable attitude and philosophy to have in one so young. When I see this it makes me want to do something to help my fellow man. Yuzu is a shining example for all of us on what life is really all about. The Japanese culture permeates everything this man does. Yuzu is so respectful as many Japanese people are and I admire this culture immensely for the grace, dignity and respect that abounds there. Such a contrast to what I see everyday and it makes me feel like I want to live there myself. 

I have never seen this man in real life. I really cannot say I know anything about him. I have not spoken to Yuzu or anyone who has met him so anything I know is second, third and fourth hand. But even though I feel like I know everything there is to know about him now, I know that what I have seen over the last 15 days does not mean I know him at all. But I wish I did. He seems like a pretty good bloke. 

I wish...no, I hope that I get the chance to see Yuzu perform live. He has just made it onto no. 1 spot on my bucket list. If I can see him live after Covid I will be yelling, cheering, screaming at the top of my lungs. And I will be crying because I have seen perfection. The Greatest Of All Time.

[lavenderbau]

The Table of Celebrations

summary: after Strauss died it became a morbid tradition to all sit and share the good times when someone on the team dies. alex left the team to go teach with james and they were able to convince emily to come back. this is the story of them carrying out their tradition.

tw: death (a lot of it), substance abuse, car crashes, cancer, guns

words: 1.5k

Aaron didn’t see it coming like this. He thought during his times in the field, or during Foyet, hell even driving to work would be his end. He never thought it would come to him when he’s 63 in a bank. He should’ve known they were robbers the minute they stepped into the building, he used to be a profiler for Christ’s sake. But he didn’t. And he stands here now, seeing the bullet fly towards his chest, and all he could think about was that damn table. Or more importantly how nobody would be sitting there when he died. 

It started with Strauss. After the funeral they all could see Dave ready to dive head first into the grief, and so it was Aaron’s idea to get drinks and tell stories about her. They all sat there laughing so they wouldn’t be crying, because pain in the ass or not Erin didn’t deserve that. Aaron listened as Penelope told them about the time she answered the phone thinking it was Derek, and couldn’t help but laugh. That was a fond memory of his. He saw how Dave needed this and how helpful this was to him and it made his heart swell. Little did he know it would become a tradition. 

Dave, fittingly enough was next. They all knew that’s how it should be. He was the oldest of them all so it was only the circle of life his seat was the first one empty. Alex had left right after Strauss’ death to teach at Harvard with James, and Aaron somehow managed to convince Emilly to come home. They all sat at the table, tears staining their cheeks. Dave was a father figure to both Aaron and Emily and a grandfather for the rest of them. Penelope told them about how she and Kevin were walked in by Rossi and all that followed. Aaron remembered Dave telling him about that, saying he would have never done that for a woman and maybe he should have; Derek told them about how he used to tease Rossi about the gray in his hair and Emily told them about how he knew the perfect cure to any hangover but refused to teach her. Aaron saw the way she folded into herself when she realized he would never get the chance to teach her. Aaron pulled her in close when they left telling her that she didn’t need to worry, because Dave would be with Carolynn and his son.

He would’ve thought it would be him next. Hell, it should’ve been him. It should never have been her. But it was. He was the one to notice the lump on her breast and she kept insisting she was fine. They had been, whatever they had been since around the time she came back from London, after Beth had left him. It started out just as sleeping together but it was slowly turning into something more. She was in his office when she passed out, pulse weak. He was panicking and didn’t know what to do. This was Emily, his Emily. He was there when she got the diagnosis. Breast Cancer, stage four. They said at this point there was little they could do, she should just go home and be as comfortable as she could, saying the disease would take her soon. Emily wept into his shirt apologizing for not getting it checked, saying she didn’t want to leave him. He took a sabbatical to spend her last days together, trying to make it last. It didn’t as when Aaron woke up one morning and went to pull her in, her body felt too still and cold. He realized instead of calling her baby, he would be putting in a call to the morgue. He never did imagine he would be standing in front of her grave again, except this time knowing her body was actually in it. Her table was much more grim. They tried to tell funny stories, tried to distract from the pain, but unfortunately they couldn’t do that a second time. So instead they just said bottles up and drained their cups. Derek would come to tell him later what makes this worse than last time is the fact that there’s no one to blame, no bad guy to chase down. Little does he know that if Aaron maybe pushed a little bit harder she might have had a fighting chance.

Aaron never truly recovered from Emily’s death. So that’s why the next one hurt him so much, because two seats left the table that time. Derek and Penelope had gotten together shortly after Emily’s death, realizing the years of playful banter had much more depth than both of them ever assumed. He remembered how Derek stopped by his office to check in on him before he left for his and Penelope’s date night. They had a standing date night on Tuesdays that they didn’t have a case. The next thing he knows he’s getting a call in the middle of the night. He assumes it’s a case, but it’s from the hospital. Apparently he was Derek’s power of attorney and had to choose whether to pull him off of life support or not. He rushed to the bathroom throwing up the little of dinner he ate that night. How could this be happening? Was he really such a curse that everyone around him died? After dry heaving for five minutes he went to the hospital to find JJ. His heart sank when she said through her sobbing she got the same call for Penelope. It was a drunk driver who hit them head on. He called Spencer, because ironically their team was down to three. How have they lost more than they had? Of course they got new members, but they weren’t part of the family. Maybe that’s a good thing. He pretended not to hear Spencer and JJ’s tear filled goodbyes. He went to call Derek’s sisters when he overheard the doctors say Penelope was about six weeks pregnant. He couldn’t handle this. Penleople deserved the chance to be a mother. Derek deserved to be a father. They both deserved to just fucking be alive. How did Aaron get here? How did Aaron get everything they deserved? He was a father, he was alive, and he didn’t deserve that not over them he didn’t. Jayje found him on the floor sobbing against the wall. All she did was slide down next to him. Everything there was to say has already been said twice before. They sat at the table together in silence, not able to understand how a table of 7 could go that quickly to a table of 3.

Aaron had retired from the BAU early. He couldn’t handle anymore heartache. He spent his days with Jack, trying his best not to destroy him like he did to everyone else. Spencer always called him on Thursdays, becoming a crutch they both needed. He got the call on a Monday. Spencer was a blubbering mess, stammering about how JJ was stabbed in the field. He tried to put pressure on the wound, but she was bleeding too quickly. He made an off hand comment about how he knows how Derek felt when Doyle happened, oh how that seemed a lifetime ago. He said he couldn’t call Will. He couldn’t do it. Aaron told him he would take care of it. Aaron always took care of it. He went in person and told a great man he was a widow. God he would never forget the way Will collapsed against him. The way Micheal and Henry ran up asking what happened and Aaron had to tell them their mother died. He got too many flashbacks from when he had to tell his own son the same thing. Her service was beautiful, but Spencer couldn’t get through his speech so Aaron took over. He read the words off of the page, thinking too much about Haley and how he failed her just like he failed Jayje. He failed everybody. Spencer told him while sitting at that goddamn table that he was quitting and going to teach, but he’d keep in touch. It was just too hard to sit at that office and see all of the reminders of them. Aaron understood and wished him the best.

Aaron stopped by Spencer’s place three weeks later. He found him on the floor empty syringes surrounding his too still body. Aaron cursed himself. He should have seen this coming, he knew JJ was his rock, his older sister. He didn’t even see the signs. He laughed to himself when he realized that he was the only one left. He sat at that table alone. He drank his sorrows screaming to the heavens to take him, but they never did. He broke every one of those stupid chairs and that stupid stupid table. No one was ever going to sit there again. 

So as the bullet entered his chest, six familiar faces surrounded him. They were all sitting at that table, only his chair empty. He sat down and they welcomed him home. And it was the first time in too long where he actually felt like he was home.

[imissjoongsmullet]

My Prince (2)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 1

Part 3

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: thanks to everyone who was kind enough to reblog and/or leave feedback on the first part! It makes my day ♥ ♥ ♥  This isn’t my most popular thing on here but it’s got such a special place in my heart  ♥  Also, I promise the next part will have a bunch more fluff so look forward to that~!

►

“Come on,” you hissed under your breath as you attempted to mold your hair into the shape it was supposed to be. If Tou Ma found it messy again she’d do more than just tell you off. If she found you late on duty on the other hand she’d do even worse, so you had to get going.

It had been a whole two weeks and you still felt like a complete novice at just about everything that was expected of you. You kept getting lost and forgetting the many forms of curtsies, you’d over-bubbled the prince’s bath, lost one of his hunting coats. One time you’d even dropped a platter of fruit in the presence of the empress. You were reaching new levels of embarrassment every day and slowly but surely longing for the days spent getting your nails dirty in the gardens with your parents. At least you’d been somewhat good at gardening. In here, everything you did was wrong; everything you were was wrong. And now, you couldn’t even get your hair to sit right.

Groaning as as yet another strand of hair fell down over your eyes, you twisted around and left the maid’s quarters, hoping no one would notice. Dashing through the castle you retrieved your things, trying desperately not to look as panicked as you were. By the time you arrived at the prince’s chamber doors you were panting. You pressed a few fingers against your chest, as if that would magically calm your heartbeat — it didn’t.

To your great relief, prince Minghao was still asleep. You set down your tea tray went to pull back the heavy drapes covering the opening towards his balcony. Now the morning light fell onto his soft features you found it hard not to stare. To tell the truth, you often found yourself staring at the young prince. Minghao had grown up well. He was only one year older than you, but he already looked so much more mature, both in good ways and bad. The way he held himself in body language and conversation astounded you. It was so far from how you’d known him all those years ago and, as handsome as you thought he’d become, your heart sank at the coolness in him. It was as if someone had turned off the lights behind his eyes.

Though when you looked at him now, there was a softness about him that didn’t often show itself while he was awake. His skin looked soft as peach and his plump lips curved into a slight smile that made you not want to wake him at all.

He looked happy. You drew nearer, smiling yourself. He looked so comfortable in the soft plush of his royal bed. For the tiniest moment, you kind of wished you could just slip under the silk covers with him and forget about your duties. He had quite long eyelashes; you’d never noticed that before. They began to flutter and before you could do anything, Minghao’s waking eyes were on you.

With a small gasp you fell back, tripping over your robes and falling onto the rug on the floor. Mortified, you jumped back up, unable to look at him. Hoping he somehow, magically hadn’t seen yet another blunder of yours, you bent over your tea set and began pouring the water.

“You, um, you’re expected at breakfast shortly,” you said. Even though you’d told him this exact sentence every morning for the past two weeks, you hadn’t been able to say it properly once. You couldn’t tell whether it was due to you being clumsy or the fact that Minghao always looked like heaven in the morning.

You heard him groan behind you.

“Your tea, your highness,” you added, twisting around to find him sitting up in the bed, disgruntled frown plastered across his face.

Ignoring the biting feeling in your chest, you walked over and set the tray down beside him.

He didn’t even look at you as he took the cup and lifted it to his lips.

You took that as your cue to leave.

You saw him in the dining room next, where you were supposed to make sure the prince’s breakfast experience was on point. In reality, it was a lot of standing around and waiting. The emperor and empresses’ servants were there as well, one a bit friendlier than the other.

“You’ve messed up your hair again,” Mie whispered when no one was looking.

“I know,” you replied as the short girl’s nimble fingers ran through your hair, swiftly pulling back the loose strands into their proper place.

The room was unusually tense this morning and when the emperor finally opened his mouth you understood why.

“I think we should call forth a meeting about these protests,” he said in a deep, droning voice, rubbing a bony finger against his temple. Emperor Xu Yilan was a tall, slender man with hair down to his waist. He had been a promising presence when he’d first ascended the throne but had lost most of the people’s support in recent years, after his naivety had led to the loss of some of their land to a neighboring empire called Yientan.

The empress placed a hand on her husband’s wrist.

“What am I to do?” the man went on, eyes flitting to his only son for the swift fraction of a second.

“I’m sure your men can put an end to the protesters,” the empress said.

“No,” replied the emperor, “the people are right to protest. We need the highlands back. I’ve got to—” he balled his hands into fists on the table.

“Let us talk about something else, no?” the empress suggested, picking at the pickled vegetables in front of her with her chopsticks.

But the emperor’s head seemed to be swarming with thoughts of only one thing. Minghao didn’t speak at all during breakfast and when he rose from the table you noticed he’d barely touched his food at all.

“Follow me,” he said as he passed you on the way out.

Doing as you were told, you slid out the room, shuffling after him through the many maze-like hallways. The tense atmosphere from breakfast seemed to follow the two of you as well. Minghao was stiff as ever and quiet as night.

Through a side door you found yourself on an outdoor walkway. You’d seen it before; you’d had a pretty good view of it from the apple orchard while you’d worked with your parents but you’d never known where it led.

You looked out into the vast gardens spread out before you, hoping to catch sight of your parents. You hadn’t seen them since you’d come to the castle. You saw some tiny heads here and there behind the various greenery but couldn’t make out anything defining. You wondered whether the wisteria were blooming yet. You couldn’t quite see them from here and they’d always been your favorite. You stood on the tips of your toes to peak over the apple trees obstructing your view. Maybe you could go see them after dark, after the prince had gone to sleep and you’d be— the prince.

You spun around, half expecting to have been abandoned, yet there here was. Minghao was standing a bit further onto the wooden path, staring at you in silence.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, remembering one of Tou Ma’s many slogans: to keep a royal waiting is an act akin to treason — over-dramatic of course, “so sorry, your highness.” You bowed toward him and when you raised your head again found he was still looking at you quizzically. He blinked a few times, his eyes never leaving yours. You opened your mouth to say something else but were too scared to make a fool of yourself even more than you already had and closed it again.

Finally, Minghao turned around and continued down the wooden path. All you could do was follow. At the end of the walkway, you came upon a tall structure, protected by a pair of heavy doors. Minghao parted them, revealing the most peculiar square room. You walked in after him, gazing up at the impossibly tall walls of the place. They were lined with books upon books upon books, inter-spaced by large, circular gaps, letting in an abundance of soft sunlight. At the center of the room was a considerable open space, in which only a few low tables stood, their legs digging into the soft rugs underneath.

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but let out. You’d never seen this many books before. You hadn’t even known this many books existed.

The prince turned around to you once again, and, at seeing your amazement, a tiny, smug smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He lead you to the very center before speaking.

“I need your help with something.”

A little pang of angst shot up your spine.

“Help, from me?” you questioned, “here?”

He nodded. “I’m looking for a book but I can’t remember where I put it. It is called A Vast Unfathomable Secret, about this big,” he held up his hands.

“A Vast Unfathomable Secret,” you repeated nervously, “this big…”

“I’m not asking you the world,” he said, scoffing a little as he sat down, “I’ll be here, reading until you fetch it for me.”

You felt yourself go red in the face again and turned away from him. Looking up at the massive walls of books, your legs went weak. Did the prince not know?

You didn’t know how to read.

Where would you even begin? Dread filling your sandals, you realized you had only one option.

“Um,” you started, turning around, “your highness?”

He raised his head out of a book that looked like it contained a whole universe worth of stories.

“Could you maybe tell me a bit more about what the book looks like?”

He gazed at you bewildered for a small moment before sighing.

“It has a brown cover with gold foiled lettering… quite elaborate in style, and if I recall correctly, there’s a small lily indented on the the cover as well.” He finished the explanation with a gentle nod in your direction.

You nodded eagerly back at him.

“Will that be enough?” he asked, already with his head to his book again.

“Yes,” you said at once, “yes, your highness, thank you.”

You walked up to the nearest bookshelf and began your search, thankful the prince hadn’t asked any further questions about why the title alone didn’t suffice for you to find what he needed.

Regrettably, the large majority of the books on the shelves were brown with gold lettering. It took you forever to pull out book after book, only to determine they were most likely not what the prince was looking for. It wasn’t your fault you’d never learned how to read. How could you have? Your parents didn’t exactly have the money for such luxuries. You’d always been curious though, when you’d seen the upper class sit in the sunlit grass, their noses so deep within the folds of the leather bound objects they wouldn’t even notice if a mouse darted right in front of them. What was it about books that enthralled people so?

Minghao seemed to understand. You sneaked a glance at him from behind a large brown cover, finding him hunched over the little table in deep concentration. His index finger treaded gracefully across the page as his eyes devoured the contents. His lips formed inaudible words as he read. Every once in a while he’d run a hand through his hair, only for it to fall back into his face the next moment. You were staring again; you couldn’t help it. Everything about him made you not want to look away, which was definitely not helping you find the book.

No, you thought to yourself, twisting back around towards the shelf and forcing your hand to wrap around yet another brown spine with gold lettering. You kept going tirelessly, working your way up in silence until you needed the ladder that ran all the way up to the topmost shelf, at least twenty feet up in the air.

Your concentration was cut abruptly with the dull thud of a heavy book. You looked down to see Minghao rise from the floor. He walked over to the bottom of the ladder and beckoned you down.

“I’m sorry, your highness,” you said, still finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eyes as you addressed him, “I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s okay,” he replied and you were surprised to find him… calm? Content? Kind? Happy even? All of the irritableness from this morning seemed to have fled out of him. Books really must be wonderful things, you thought.

“You can keep looking next time,” he went on, “I really would like it at some point.”

“Yes, your highness,” you breathed in disbelief at his sunny demeanor.

That night, all you could think about was Minghao. Minghao and the way he’d sort of smiled at you, Minghao buried in his books, Minghao looking at you from across the walkway. Minghao. Minghao. Minghao. But paired with these wonderful images were sickly waves of dread.

Ever since coming to the castle, you’d known you’d had to be careful; you’d known there was a chance you might…

But he’d been so cold towards you that, in the first few weeks, you’d been able to oversee the tiny flutters in your chest. Now, it was as if the lid of the jar had been lifted and a thousand butterflies tickled your insides mercilessly, making you squirm in the sheets of your bed. It seemed almost cruel, how all of a sudden you couldn’t sleep from the thought of his deep, brown eyes. Especially because the prince would be married off in a couple years’ time and you’d be left alone once again. No, pining after the prince was about the silliest thing you could do at this point; you shouldn’t waste your time. The biggest thing you could hope for was for him to smile at you again the way he had when you were children — when you’d been friends.

“Things are getting out of hand, don’t you see that?” a voice boomed over the long, low table, where five men sat.

Emperor Xu Yilan sat at the head of the table, looking flustered. Around him sat his three most trusted advisers, a pudgy, red-faced man, an elder with a beard so long it lay in his lap, and a youngster with heavy-lidded eyes. Lastly, was Minghao, who looked anything but happy to be there.

“I understand that,” said the emperor calmly, hushing the passionate man to his right, “but we can’t just declare war on Yientan. We’re not ready for that.”

“Perhaps it would be more prudent to send another delegation to plea for the freedom of Shingmin,” the elder suggested.

“As if that will work this time,” the red-faced man grumbled, shaking his head, “listen, the Shingmin highlands belong to us. Shingmin people are our people!” he raised his voice again, slapping his palm onto the shiny, wooden table, “it’s time to take back what’s ours!”

“And how do you propose we do that?” the emperor interjected in a high pitch. You’d been watching the scene from the sidelines, waiting to refill Minghao’s cup should he require it. But he hadn’t touched his drink since the start of the meeting. He’d merely kept his head down and let the other people speak. You gazed at him worriedly, wondering what was going through his head.

“This will not just blow over, your highness,” the eldest adviser said, “the people are angry, they demand justice for Shingmin and rightly so!”

“I will not go to war,” the emperor snapped back, putting a bony finger down onto the table.

“So we have lost.”

“How cowardly!”

“Silence!” the emperor hissed, before putting his head in his hands to rub at his wrinkled face, “we are simply not ready. I’ve led our troops once and failed. I cannot live to see that happen again.”

The silence that followed weighed so heavy, you felt like you could barely breathe.

“Your highness,” the youngest of the advisers spoke up at last, making heads turn. He folded his fingers together calmly and addressed the emperor himself. “Forgive me for speaking so boldly but,” he paused, thinking, “there is one option we have yet to discuss.” His eyes then went to Minghao, who looked like he was holding on by a fraying thread.

One by one, everyone’s attention turned to the young prince.

“I understand he is only seventeen years of age and the enthronement usually happens at twenty,” the young adviser explained, “but given his… reputation,” another pause, in which the entire room held its breath, “wouldn’t it be wiser to hasten the ceremony a little?”

Minghao sat very still, but you could see in his eyes that his whole earth was shattering.

The emperor looked at his son, bushy brows furrowed, contemplating what had just been suggested. You wished he would just say something because the tension was becoming unbearable, even for you. You couldn’t imagine what Minghao must be going through.

You knew what the young adviser was suggesting, of course, and why. There was a valid reason to believe Minghao could do what his father couldn’t, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying for the young prince.

There was a story, a myth, concerning the imperial family of Namin that went back nearly a thousand years. You’d heard this story told as a lullaby when you were a child and couldn’t sleep. Your mother would point to the top of the imperial castle, where the golden dragon statue sat, overlooking the empire, and she’d tell you how that statue used to be a real dragon, how the first ruler of Namin had befriended the dragon and even saved its family from death. In return, when Namin came under attack of a foreign army, the dragon had fought for Namin, giving its life to protect the emperor he’d come to love. As the dragon breathed its last breath, it turned into the golden statue that now sat at the top of the imperial castle, promising that it would come back should the empire ever need it.

Only, the dragon had never returned since, even when Namin fell in deep trouble. Skeptics said it was because the whole thing was fake, but most believed the reason the dragon hadn’t returned was because the emperors that had followed the first hadn’t been worth fighting for. Most believed the dragon was waiting for a worthy ruler to fight alongside of, which is where Minghao came in.

The day of Minghao’s birth was the brightest the land had seen in a long time, making the dragon shine like never before. On top of that, there were various accounts of people saying they’d seen the dragon move that morning, this all leading to the common belief that prince Minghao would be the one to awaken the dragon and bring Namin back to it’s former glory.

After what seemed like forever, the emperor finally spoke up.

“What do you think about this, my son?”

Minghao’s lips parted but it was clear no sound would come out. He closed them again and looked down.

"An enlightened idea," the old adviser said, nodding slowly.

"Precisely," the younger adviser replied, "if we have the ceremony this summer we could—"

"He's too juvenile!" the red-faced adviser cut in.

"He's proved himself more than capable I say—"

"He doesn't even know how to wield a sword properly!"

“He's not bad with a bow, I've seen him—"

"The guards barely take him seriously!”

The sharp scrape of a chair brought the heated conversation to a halt. All eyes went to Minghao, who had risen, eyes still cast downward. Without a word, he turned around and strode out the door.

“Son!” the emperor called, though he didn’t follow.

“See!” the loudest of the advisers sneered, “young and reckless! How would he run Namin?”

It took you a few moments to realize what had just happened. The conversation had been so heavy it had sucked you right in. You shook the daze from your eyes and spun around, following the prince’s hurried footsteps. It was hard to catch up to him; you still weren’t too comfortable with the tight sandals and the restricting robes you had to wear. All you could do was shuffle awkwardly after him, watching the back of his head as it went.

“Minghao!” you called after him, forgetting all about proper terms and honorifics. You didn’t even know what you were doing. The only thing going through your head was how dreadful Minghao had looked and how you wanted to help him. It didn’t matter you hadn’t the slightest idea of how exactly to help him.

“Minghao, please wait!” you yelled, watching him approach his chamber doors.

You reached them just a moment after he opened them.

Abruptly, he turned around to face you in the door frame, the grave sight of his face making your insides churn.

“Leave me,” he ordered, his voice loud and stern, before slamming the doors in your face.

[hushedhands]

Challenge 80

Thank you for voting @thespianbooks​!! Since so much is happening in the world out there, I promise that absolutely nothing happens in this challenge! It’s just Maxerica and brand new baby Addy hanging out together, about a week before the beginning of the Postscript. 

“Then you twist it under.”

“Twist under…” Maxon’s tongue poked out of his lips as he focused hard. “Like that?”

“Yes.” America smiled over at him. She was feeding Addy, now a full four days old, from a bottle that she’d pumped earlier in the afternoon.

“And so then this part… it goes like that?”

“Tuck it under the middle part.” America corrected him.

“Blast.” Maxon had taken to using pseudo-swears in front of the baby so she wouldn’t ‘learn any bad habits from him’. It always made America giggle. “I can’t understand how you do this so quickly. You hands are a blur!” Maxon complained.

He’d caught America braiding her hair into pigtails to keep it out of her face, and more importantly out of baby Addy’s face, during their frequent feeding times together. It was a skill Maxon had never needed to acquire before, but now that he had a daughter, Maxon wanted to learn to braid so that he could fix her hair when she had enough of it to braid.

“I was slow at first, too!” America promised. “Kenna taught me to braid when I was six. Give your hands time to learn how to do it and eventually you’ll be able to braid anything you want without giving it a second thought.”

Maxon considered the three ribbons laid out before him as though studying a recovered text from a long-dead language. “Hmm…”

Baby Addy finished her bottle and gurgled contentedly.

“Here. Why don’t you take a break and burp the little dairy princess?” America offered.

Maxon’s face burst into an enormous grin as he pulled the baby, dressed in her cutest, softest little onesie, from America’s arms and onto his chest. He let her rest her little head on his shoulder while he looked around for a baby towel. He found one strung on a chair nearby and leaned way over to grab it without having to get up, then he repositioned the baby so that she was on the towel just in case she spat up any milk when she burped.

Then he started firmly patting her back.

Free from her bundle of joy, America stood and stretched, rubbing a hand over her soft belly out of habit. It looked like one of Gerad’s deflated soccer balls now, but it was still big enough that Astra occasionally asked America to please double-check that there weren’t any more babies inside.

America looked around the room at the unbelievable mess that had taken over the family room. Maxon had asked the maids to only come when they were summoned instead of doing their usual daily cleaning rounds. It meant the new little royal family had lots of time to themselves, but the result was that a tornado of baby clothes, towels, bags of unused diapers, bottle cleaners, breast pumps, and soft toys had wrecked their once tidy home. And America knew, without a doubt, that this was what heaven looked like.

Even though the baby wasn’t even a week old, and she definitely couldn’t respond socially to anything America or Maxon did to her, she already seemed to have such a personality. She grunted and cooed and waved her little fists in the air, and made perfect eye contact with whoever was feeding her. America could swim in those grey eyes forever.

“Hungry, Maxon?” America asked, snapping out of her dazed thoughts about her daughter when her stomach growled.

“Sure, I could eat. Would you call down to the kitchens?”

“Way ahead of you.” America was already halfway to the telephone in Maxon’s bedroom. The Palace chef had been feeding the two of them very well since the Addy had been born. They always ate well, so maybe she was reading too much into it, but America felt spoiled by the Palace staff who were all so excited to have a brand new royal baby in residence.

“What do you think we shall feast on tonight, little girl?” Maxon asked the princess on his chest. “Perhaps something warm and cozy, like soup?”

Baby Addy burped and Maxon grinned, “Of course, your order is for milk, milk, and more milk. Don’t worry my little love, we’ve got you covered.”

“We?” America asked, listening to the telephone ring. “Don’t overpromise, Maxon, I can only make so much milk at a time.”

Maxon hid Addy’s little ears so she wouldn’t overhear America’s words and become afraid that there might be a milk famine.

That was one thing America wasn’t struggling with, much to her relief. She’d heard horror stories from women at her clinics that sometimes milk was slow to come, or when it finally did, their babies wouldn’t latch on and drink it. Each clinic’s formula cupboards, which were kept stocked for those women, literally saved the lives of their babies. But Addy and America were off to a great start, milk-wise, and America was endlessly grateful for their luck.

After alerting the kitchens that the King and Queen were ready for dinner, America rejoined her husband on the sofa and ran a hand through his golden hair, dragging her fingernails along his scalp. “Is she ready for a nap?”

“Hmm…” Maxon lowered the baby from his shoulder, now that she was done burping, and examined her little face. Wide, grey eyes blinked up at him. “I think she just wants to be held for a little bit.”

“Oh goodness, if only she had someone who wanted to hold her.” America smirked sarcastically. She and Maxon had a large rotation of baby-holders who would come take care of the baby for five or six hours at a time to allow America plenty of time to rest while she recovered from giving birth, and Maxon plenty of time to rest from taking care of his recovering wife and infant daughter.

Magda was always first, claiming her right as Gramma, and then May would show up next. They also had the help of Kenna as Addy’s official royal nanny, though she wouldn’t become a full-time employee of the Palace until America was back at work. Mary and Paige each spent chunks of their free time in the evenings or hours of their weekends doting on the new baby, refusing to accept payment for their time even though their presence meant America and Maxon got an extra nap. All in all, America felt incredibly loved and supported, and her thoughts often turned to the women in Illéa who did this without the help of husbands or family or chefs or maids. She’d do it for Addy, there was no question, but America couldn’t even properly imagine how hard it would be.

“Here, I need to keep practicing.” Maxon returned their soft, chubby little angel to America so that he could return to braiding the ribbons. America peppered Addy’s belly with kisses and was rewarded with a squirm: their new baby girl was ticklish.  

America leant her head on Maxon’s shoulder, peering lazily down at his work, holding Addy securely across her lap.

It was not possible for life to get any better than this.

After dinner that night, America was feeling energetic enough to wrap everyone up in warm clothes and take a stroll through the gardens. Maxon held baby Addy, swaddled in a tremendously fluffy blanket, all the way down stairs with one of his hands firmly gripping the railing just in case. America was glad to know that he had somewhere else to put his worry now, and she tiptoed behind them with both hands stuffed into her coat pocket, living life dangerously and thrilled at not getting caught by her husband.

They kept a stroller by the door for their many garden walks. It was the only place they’d gone since entering their suite after introducing Addy to the Kingdom a few days before. Now, on a dark, wintery December night, everything in the gardens was beautiful. Only the winter flowers were in bloom, but somehow the earth still smelled rich and alive.

“Addy’s going to be so surprised when spring comes.” America smiled.

Maxon paused pushing Addy in her stroller to kiss America on the lips and then said, “She won’t know what’s hit her. The flowers blooming. The bees buzzing.”

“And this summer, when we start taking her to the swimming pool…” America grinned.

“Oh my goodness, I can’t wait to see her first swimming suit. Astra’s have these cute little skirts attached. Will hers have a little skirt?” Maxon asked eagerly.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Maxon chuckled, “I always thought my life was going to be spent in war rooms, making tough decisions about troop movements and scarce resources. Now all I’m doing is imagining baby clothes and learning to braid.”

“Mmm.” America smiled happily down at their little bird, now snoozing peacefully on her ride. “Let’s never, ever go back to work.”

“Oh? You think we can just barricade ourselves in the Palace forever?”

“Yes.”

“And what happens when the people choose a new royal family?”

“They can take the second floor.”

“And when the chefs refuse to feed us any longer because we’re no longer King and Queen?”

America made an overly dramatic shocked face at Maxon, “They would never do such a thing. They love Addy and me too much.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Maxon allowed with a grin. “In that case, we must start our lives as ordinary citizens at once.”

“Ordinary citizens claiming squatter’s rights in a palace.” America corrected him.

“Yes, of course.” he agreed. “What’s the first item on your agenda, non-queen America?”

“As Squatter Mer, I declare that we must choose a normal name for Adrienne, something distinct and ordinary.”

“Well, as Squatter Max, I must voice my concerns.”

“Oh?”

“I believe she will have to choose her normal name for herself, just as we chose our names when we started playing castaways.” Maxon reminded America.

“But it will be years before she can name herself. What can we call our Squatter Daughter in the mean time?”

“Squatter Daughter. That’s her name.” he declared.

“Oh no. Adrienne, I am so sorry for your terrible play name my love.” America giggled down at her sleeping baby.

Addy was a good sport, though. She played along and let them call her “Squatter Daughter” until the air grew too chilly on her nose and she cried out in complaint. The game ended and the royal family returned to their suite for the night.

Maxon and America made a nest of blankets in Maxon’s bed and relaxed there while Addy rested cozily in a bassinet within reach. When America fell asleep that night, she was curled up on her husband’s chest listening to it vibrate as he hummed a lullaby for their baby. When Maxon woke up a few hours later to Addy’s hungry crying, he drifted back off listening to America hum songs while she fed the baby. Just like that, Maxon and America took turns singing each other to sleep all night.

[sidecarghost]

Suptober20 - Day 27 Banquet

Destiel Fic Summary: Hurt & Comfort, AU where Castiel rebelled against Heaven 10,000 years ago, and he meets an injured Dean that had fallen in a ravine after having a manic episode. And maybe Banquet theme is stretch but I was kind of inspired by theme to do a Little Match Girl adaptation. Ending is happy fluff.

Castiel held his last 3 feathers in his grip, gingerly stroking them between his fingers. He had fallen, and those feathers were all that remained of his former life as an angel of the lord. Castiel had rebelled against Heaven ten thousand years ago. Before that he had been a warrior of Heaven since the dawn of Creation, and he had led armies into battle against demons and abominations.  But as the species of homo sapiens began settling into larger towns and developing civilizations, he was called in to the intelligence department of Heaven for reassignment.

The Host wanted more intelligence gathered on humanity. Castiel would have the honor of gathering intelligence for them, because of his stellar record as a loyal soldier that followed orders without compunction. Unfortunately, for angels like Naomi, it seemed that Castiel had a lot of compunction when it came to humanity. After finding a vessel in Mesopotamia, Castiel began his spy work with little concern for the humans that droned around him like ants. But slowly Castiel’s attitudes shifted, and he saw a lot to admire in the people that struggled to do their best when it was so easy to do your worst. After Naomi told Castiel to kill all the first-born children in a village because it was God’s will, Castiel decided he was done performing God’s will. And he fell.

Without angel grace or a soul to burn, Castiel had discovered he could still use his feathers to perform angel magic. Every time he grew old enough for death, he burned another feather to return to youth. He had burned feathers to save friends, and he had burned feathers to smite villains. He burned feathers to change his body throughout the ages to fit in wherever he found himself. He had been male and female and every race and creed. Castiel took one of the black, beautiful feathers and dropped it in a bowl. He reached his wrinkled hands into a cabinet drawer and grasped on to a lighter. The arthritis in his bones made flicking the lighter on difficult. But on the third attempt, a flame sparked and Castiel set the feather on fire.

**

Castiel’s wrinkles smoothed away in an instant, and Castiel thought he would call his new form that of a holy tax accountant. Castiel had witnessed the marvel of the 20th century as a Caucasian female, and he thought he would try male Caucasian with dark, unruly hair, and blue eyes for the 21st century. Castiel also considered the likely probability that this form would be his final one on Earth given his depleted feather inventory. He tucks his two remaining feathers back in his wings where they immediately reattached themselves. Long ago, Castiel had used up too many feathers to teleport, but he had sacrificed them for friends so Castiel didn’t mind the loss. He had thought he would live forever as an angel, and after he fell, he thought he would be dead in a week. Getting to live among humanity for ten thousand years was an unexpected gift. He reaches into his pants’ pocket and pulls out his new wallet. His new body came with new forms of identification. He is Castiel Novak, and he is 25 years old and a CPA.

~~

Sam was a mess over his brother Dean. His brother had moved in with Jessie and him a few months ago, because he couldn’t hold a job. Dean had lost his driving license from a DWI. And Sam wanted to take care of his brother because his brother had always been there to take care of him. But at this point, Sam felt like he was just enabling Dean, and any effort to protect Dean was just hurting him in the long run. Dean had stolen Jessie’s jewelry to pawn for money. After he had spent all that money on alcohol, Dean shoplifted all the bottles of mouthwash he could fit in his coat from a grocery store. That was when Sam got the phone call from the police department. Dean asked him to come bail him out. Sam told his brother no. Dean yelled at him over the phone, but it was all noise to Sam. Sam’s heart was broken and he couldn’t make sense of the words coming from his brother. Sam couldn’t save his brother, but he could at least set barriers for his own protection.

~~

Castiel drives up to the office park where he works. He shuts his car door and sets the alarm. He hears the chirp of the alarm and begins to head into his office building. But he thinks he hears a whine, like a hurt animal from the other side of the guardrail along the parking lot. Castiel leans over the guardrail looking for the source of the noise and calls out to whatever is below.

“Help! Fuck, down here,” a voice calls back.

“What are you doing down there?” Castiel asks.

“Fucking fell, please God don’t leave me here,” the voice breaks up in emotion.

The other side of the embankment is a ravine with a twenty-foot vertical fall. Castiel has to come around from another side of the parking lot to make it to the bottom of the ravine without injury. On his way around, he takes out his cell phone and immediately dials for emergency assistance. When the emergency operator answers he tells them he found an injured man that fell down a ravine and requires medical attention. He gives the operator the address, and she tells him that an ambulance is on his way. The operator stays on the phone with Castiel, and he tells her he needs to put his phone away to climb down to the injured man. The emergency operator tells him to keep the line open so he can tell her about his condition when he gets closer.

Castiel has climbed to the bottom of the ravine and asks the man if he is alright.

“No, I can’t fucking move my legs,” the man tells him. “I fell here two days ago. And I can’t believe you are real. I had given up hope, are you God or an angel?”

“My name is Castiel,” Castiel tells the man whose body is resting at an impossible angle.

“My name is Dean,” the injured man says and attempts to smile.

Castiel pulls the phone from his pocket and leaves the operator on speakerphone. “The man appears to have a spinal injury, and he says he can’t move his legs,” he tells the operator.

“Don’t attempt to move him until the paramedics arrive,” Castiel is warned over the phone.

“I called an ambulance, Dean. They should arrive to help you soon.” Castiel says.”Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was just feeling so good for the first time in a long time,” Dean responds. “Just goddamn great like for no fucking reason. I left my apartment, and I just needed to run. I saw this guardrail and just the idea of jumping it took hold, and then I ran, and I jumped over. Then I realized it was a mother fucking cliff on the other side. I didn’t have my goddamn phone on me, so at first I wondered how long it would be before anyone found me. But after a while, I just wanted to be dead and get it over with.”

“I’m sorry Dean. The pain you are suffering through now must be tremendous,” Cas says sympathetically.

“Fuck it is. And I didn’t get why my legs wouldn’t move after I fell. I just thought I knocked the wind out of me. But they are still useless. I had to drag my body using only my arms to this filthy puddle, so I could drink. My brother told me I’d have to hit bottom to get better. And I laughed in his face. But it is fucking scary, Cas. You seem like a straight-edge, so take my advice and don’t be a fuck up like me. Keep up your job and be a good husband and tell your kids the cautionary tale of the guy you saved from falling off a cliff,” Dean tells Castiel.

“I don’t think you are a fuck up, Dean,” Castiel says.

“Jesus, you are either the world’s most understanding person or a fantastic liar. I am stuck here in literally my own shit. And God, I don’t want to die. I’m so fucking glad you found me. I heard your voice and I figured Heaven sent an angel and I was going to miss Sammy, but at least the angel was hot so maybe going to Heaven wouldn’t be that bad. I’m sorry if I’m getting you in trouble with your job. You look like a good guy, and I don’t want to drag you down. I just ruin everything,” Dean rambled.

“No, I’m glad I found you too, Dean. And I won’t leave your side if you want me to stay,” Castiel says.

“I don’t know why but I’m so glad you want to stay Cas,” Dean tells him. “I drive everyone away though, so I won’t be upset when you leave. But right now it makes me really happy that you are here.”

Castiel considers the broken man in front of him and his last two feathers. Dean is staring in to Castiel’s face like he is trying to memorize every detail of it in case he wakes up to learn it was all just a dream, and he is still trapped at the bottom of the ravine, cold, hurt, and alone.

Castiel asks Dean to tell him his last happy memory.

Dean responds without an instant’s hesitation, as though it had been something that he had just been replaying in his mind the past two days on auto-repeat. “Thanksgiving 2005, Sam and I were at Bobby and Ellen’s for Thanksgiving feast. It was perfect. We were all together like a family. The next day Sam told me he was planning on going to law school at Stanford, and I just didn’t cope. I thought he was abandoning me, and I don’t know I just gave up and I couldn’t admit that I wasn’t coping well. I just tried to bury every feeling that I had with alcohol to numb the pain. I lost my license, and I couldn’t keep a job. Sam tried to support me, but I just lied and stole from him.

“I have been thinking a lot about that Thanksgiving. I had been a mess before that too, but after that I just gave up trying. I never dealt with anything in a healthy way. I wish I could tell 2005 Dean to be kinder to me. To look for help, and to admit I wasn’t coping on my own. I’d wish he would have a better than life than me.”

“I can grant you that,” Castiel slowly tells Dean.

“You can grant me that?” Dean looks questioningly at Castiel.

“I am not an angel, but I was a long, long time ago. I have two feathers left and I can use one to send you back and another to fix your body and remove your traumatic memories,” Castiel tells Dean.

“Holy shit! For real? That would be so awesome,” Dean looks up at Castiel. “But I can’t accept it.”

“What? Why not Dean?” Castiel asks tilting his head and squinting at Dean.

“Because those are your magic feathers. And you can’t spend your last two on a fuck up like me. You should end world hunger or wish yourself a better fitting trench coat,” Dean says.

“It would take a lot more than burning two feathers to end world hunger. And I like the way my trench coat fits,” Castiel responds. “I have made my peace with this being my final form. And I’d like to use my final feathers to bring someone else joy.”

“Well, I won’t go back to 2005. I don’t want to leave you,” Dean says.

Surprisingly, even though Castiel has lived with humans for ten thousand years, he had never really fallen in love with anyone. Maybe because he had burned through so many feathers now, he was able to fall in love for the first time. Castiel didn’t know how else to describe the way talking to Dean made his heart feel like it was being clenched in a fist.

“Is that the only reason Dean?” Castiel asks quietly.

“Yeah, if I wasn’t stuck here in my own piss and shit. I would definitely be flirting pretty hard right now,” Dean tells Castiel. “And I think a second chance sounds wonderful, but I think you are wonderful too. And if I get to have a choice I would choose you.”

“What if I went to 2005 with you Dean?” Castiel asks while holding Dean’s gaze steadily.

“Yeah, if you can come back to 2005, that would be just so awesome Cas. You are such a straight-edge like my brother Sammy. You will love him. You will love Bobby and Ellen Singer too. They raised my brother and me, after my mom died and my alcoholic dad took off,” Dean tells Castiel.

“Okay, if that’s what you want, we can both go back then. I can heal your body, but I won’t have enough magic to clear your painful memories. So you’ll remember the past 15 years and all the pain and trauma you’ve experienced,” Castiel tells him.

“S’Okay Cas, falling helped me find you,” Dean says softly.

Castiel can faintly hear the sound of the ambulance sirens now. He reaches for his last two feathers, and he pulls a lighter from his pocket. Dean watches the proceedings, with a look that seems skeptical as to whether his new friend actually has supernatural abilities or is just bat shit crazy.

Castiel mumbles some Enochian, and he sets the feathers on fire. Dean blinks and he is standing in front of Bobby’s house with his hand in Castiel’s.

“Holy Shit! I can stand,” Dean beams at Castiel. Castiel’s final magic had transformed Dean physically back into the 26 year old he had been in 2005. He wasn’t sure what happened to 2005 Dean, maybe he just popped out of existence. Time travel always messed with Cas, and he was happy this had been his last time travelling through time.

“So you told me all about an amazing feast waiting for us here. Are you going to invite me in, or did you oversell it?” Castiel deadpans.

“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Dean teases. Dean walks through the door leading Castiel by the hand. “Bobby! Ellen! I’m home!” Bobby and Ellen burst through to the entryway, and Dean gathers both of them in tremendous hugs.

“Whoa, Dean,” Ellen chuckles, “We just saw you this morning, but I do like the affection. I was just telling Bobby I thought you had been acting so withdrawn lately. So I’m glad to see you so happy.”

“Don’t be rude, Dean,” Bobby chides. “Are you going to introduce us to your guest?”

“Castiel, this is Bobby and Ellen Singer. They have raised my brother and me since we were little, and they are officially the world’s greatest parents,” Dean says. “And Bobby and Ellen, this is Castiel. He is awesome, and well we haven’t really talked about what we are to each other yet…”

“I was thinking boyfriend, if you’d like Dean,” Castiel says smiling softly to Dean.

“Yeah, Cas I would really like that,” Dean smiles back. Then Dean turns to Bobby and Ellen who have been watching the two of them talk with some amusement. “Castiel is my boyfriend.”

“In that case, welcome to the family,” Bobby tells Castiel and pulls the young man into a hug. Ellen tells Bobby not to smother the poor thing, and then she pulls Castiel into an even bigger hug. “Oh yeah, and you call me the smotherer.” Bobby chuckles.

“Come on, boys. Jo, Sam, and Jessie are all in the living room. They will be so excited to meet you Castiel,” Ellen says.

“Okay, we will catch up in a minute,” Dean responds. Bobby and Ellen head back towards the kitchen to finish the meal preparations. Once Dean and Castiel are alone, Dean turns to face Castiel, “Are you sure you are okay with this Cas?” Dean asks. “Like I was kind of out of my mind in pain when you found me, but you don’t have to be stuck with me. I’m not going to let myself fall this time. I’m going to admit I need help, and I’m not going to waste my second chance.”

“Well, I’m out of feathers so there is no going back now. But no, I guess this sounds weird since I just met you, but I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you, if that’s okay.” Castiel confesses.

“Whoa, those are some good lines Cas,” Dean smiles. Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean, and Dean laughs good naturedly. “Yeah, I was just kidding. That is probably the most earnest thing I’ve ever heard, but I kind of feel the same way about you. I’m not sure if it’s a real thing, or just because you know you swooped in like a literal angel to save my life just now. But I’d like to find out.”

“Dean, are you going to keep your boyfriend all to yourself or are you coming to the living room so we can all meet him?” Jo yells across the house to Dean.

Dean grins and offers out a hand for Castiel to hold, “Ready to have your mind blown by the best Thanksgiving dinner of all time?”

“Yes, I’m ready,” Castiel nods. After wandering the Earth for ten thousand years, Castiel thinks he has found something that he never knew he was missing. He feels like he found his soulmate, and he holds on to the hand Dean offers and hopes that he never has to let it go.

[mikemoon-archive]

       oh heavens, is that MICHAEL MOON aka MIKE from SYCAMORE WAY i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -QUIET & -GRUMPY. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool CONCESSIONS ASSOCIATE AT DRIVE-IN MOVIE THREATER and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +OUTGOING & +ADVENTUROUS. i hope i see them around again! 『 tally. 25. gmt+4. she/her. 』@mapleviewstarters​

tw // mentions of depression

michael moon, born myungjun moon –– choi yeonjun fc

birthday: september 9, 1999 - 21 yrs old ; virgo

cis male, he/him, bisexual

born and raised in philadelphia

mike grew up being an only child, and always around the company of his mother in their house. his father was always traveling back and forth from korea to the states for work.

his parents have met at work on one of his father’s trips to the states, and they fell in love. his mother being american-born, she couldn’t really leave philadelphia. she loved it there. so they decided to keep it a long distance relationship. 

sometime during those fleeting meetings, she had gotten pregnant with michael. and of course, his father spoiled them both, giving them everything they wanted. he never left them to fend for themselves.

when the boy was born, his father named him myungjun, and his mother decided to name him michael for his english name. the nicknames jun, mike, and sometimes junnie were often heard whenever his parents or childhood friends called him. 

up until mike was five years old in 2005, he’s lived with his mother, with his father leaving and coming back for a week or two. but that year, he’s finally moved to the states and stayed with them for longer nights. he even finally married michael’s mother. of course, he still disappeared for a few days or weeks on end for work. 

but that was also the year michael’s mother found out that his father was with another woman. michael has never seen his mother break down like that before. sadly, the young boy was peering into the room when the fight happened and witnessed everything. his mother made her partner choose between the two women, and he eventually told her that he was going to divorce his first wife for her, and appeared to have gone through with his promise. because after that incident, he’s been around more often. 

michael has grown up as a cheerful and energetic child. his friends at school would tell you how much of a great friend he is, how trustworthy and caring he is. it was so easy for him to make friends anywhere. he was the type of friend how would smile at you and listen to you talk on and on about whatever you liked, and the type who would cheer you on with anything you want to achieve. he wanted everyone to feel included and loved. 

little did his friends and family know that internally he was a depressed mess. of course, no one is completely happy as they grow up. his family was a mess, even if it appeared as fine to everyone else. mike sometimes could disappear for a few days in his room, and it was always during some of his bad spells. 

what made it worse was the day he found out the truth. 

it was 2017 when michael walked into his father’s office in their house, looking for him to ask him about something. and instead of finding the man, he found a stack of papers poking from underneath his father’s laptop. upon closer look, they appeared to be divorce papers. michael’s heart sunk, thinking his parents were breaking it off. 

michael is a curious kid, he couldn’t help but close the door and read the papers. but what he saw wasn’t his mother’s name, it was another woman. his heart raced, as he put things back where they were and immediately left the room. michael had found out one of his father’s many secrets. he never divorced his first wife all those years ago. he lied and stayed with both women. 

michael couldn’t help his curiosity. he came back to the room later that night and snapped as many pictures as he could of evidence he could find. he even found his father’s phone (which was easy to figure out the password of) and found a plethora of pictures of the man with a different family, different kids and a different partner. he airdropped the pictures to himself to avoid leaving any traces behind and quickly left again. 

a quick search on facebook, and he managed to find the first wife. it was easy with the name and pictures he had. if anything, michael prided himself on being a good internet detective... or stalker. he spent everyday trying to find the rest of the family on the internet. he found the woman’s young daughter on instagram and twitter, along with her older son’s ( @daniclmoon​ ) accounts as well. 

it was a constant “now what?” for michael. he’s found them. what was he going to do now? he couldn’t just message them and tell them everything. and he couldn’t break his mother’s heart by letting her know. 

except he had to let her know. he could never live with the fact that he knew his father was betraying her this entire time. and so michael told her everything, and after comforting her all night when she broke down yet again, she immediately ended things and asked for a divorce. now it was just michael and his mother, all alone. and for once, having to get by on their own. 

thankfully they were safe, with his mother’s amazing money management skills, and a new, better job, they managed to live their regular lives despite the heavy feeling of a broken family looming around them. the two just wanted to be happy again. 

michael spent the next few years trying to lead a normal life. his mental health had gotten worse after everything he’s found out. he went to college, and he continued trying to do well in school. he really wasn’t the best when it came to grades, but he was trying his best.

and truthfully, he couldn’t help but make a few spare accounts on some social medias to follow his father’s other family. 

by early 2020, he found out that they moved to mapleview, with the older brother daniel following behind in late july. michael didn’t know why, but his impulsivity made him look up the town and eventually secure himself a place to live there in a few months time. of course, his mother was confused on why he decided to move out suddenly, and michael claimed that he wanted to go to a university near town for computer science. of course, his mother wanted to support him and let him go. although she couldn’t handle her son’s move, having gotten using to living with him all of those years. 

michael simply wanted to meet this other side of the family, he wanted to get to know them. he’s always wanted siblings for his entire life, and to know that he had an older brother and sister and a younger sister was something so fascinating to him. 

little did he know, he was going to make the mistake of pretending he wasn’t related to them. 

TD;LR

michael grew up around his mother with his father traveling a lot for work. when mike was 7, his mother found out his father was cheating and they almost broke up. he lied and said he would divorce his first wife to stay with her. years passed and in 2017, michael stumbled upon divorce papers on his father’s desk that he thought were for his parents. turns out, it for his father and another woman who he claimed he already divorced many years ago. michael ended up gathering information from his father’s office and internet stalking the family until he found out a lot about them. he didn’t have any malicious intent, since they appeared to not know about him. in 2020, he found out they moved to mapleview and ended up moving there too telling his mother that he was going to north carolina to study. he wanted to meet his father’s other family, but didn’t know that he would end up lying to them and pretending he wasn’t related to them. 

WC

michael’s childhood friends; could’ve gone to the same school or university back in philadelphia.

michael’s ex; he is bisexual, so gender doesn’t matter. they could’ve ended on a bad note, or even on a good one and ended up being friends. im really up for plotting anything. 

michael’s best friend; PLEASE i love wholesome best friend plots. it doesn’t matter if they met in mapleview or philly

michael’s neighbor; he moved here like a month ago, so they could get to know each other

michael’s co-workers/regular customers; he worked at the drive-in threater

literally anything, throw your ideas at me! 

[buzzdixonwriter]

Among The Missing

A Facebook friend recently posted about how they miss their parents, and think about things related to them, good and bad, every day.

Rather than muck up their heartfelt post with my response, I’ll put mine here.

I don’t miss my parents, at least not in any painful sense of longing.

They were wonderful to me when I was growing up, they went out of their way to look after and support and encourage myself and my brothers.

I loved them dearly.

But they got old and died.

I’m not being cold and callous about this; I think I know why I am this way and I’ll go into that in a bit, but right now I feel this:  

There is no sense of unfinished business.  

There is no sense I failed them.

There is no sense they ever failed me.

I can look back and fondly remember the good times, smile at the ridiculous times, even feel a bit wistful for them that all of their dreams didn’t come true.

But it’s not something that preys on my mind every day.

My father died of Alzheimer’s.  In a very real sense he was gone long before we put him in a nursing home (and he lasted less than a year there).  Three years before that, while talking to him on the phone, I realized he had absolutely no idea who I was, that the disease had ravaged his brain and memory to the point where to him as a son I no longer existed.

So be it.

I wept then, and I wept later when I went to help my mother get him into a nursing home.

I also had a moment during that visit where I genuinely thought I might be a sociopath, completely lacking in any emotions.

In the middle of all that turmoil, all that anxiety, I felt nothing.

Since then I’m come to realize it’s how I respond to extreme stress:  I simply shut down emotionally and work through the problem.

It happened a few years later when my aunt died while Soon-ok and I were traveling in Europe.  Once we got the call that we had to come back, all emotion left me; it just became a matter of arranging schedules, getting to the airport, making new plans.

I didn’t cry for her until three or four days after we came home.

When my mother died, my reaction was similar.  

She stayed in the home she’d lived in with dad when he was alive, looking after my middle brother who lived with them.

But she was old and tired and worn out and legally blind; the stairs down to the washing machine in the basement were a death trap just waiting to catch her, her blindness let all sorts of messes pile up because she couldn’t see them.

My younger brother finally persuaded her to move in with him and his family, and they had a few happy months together but then her health started deteriorating.

The doctors were sure she’d rally and enjoy several more years of life, but she didn’t, and deep down inside I knew she wouldn’t.

She didn’t have anything left to live for.

My younger brother absolutely did the right and best thing by persuading her to come live with him and his family.

If she stayed at her old home she might have died under terrible circumstances.

But when my father died, when she moved out, when she no longer had my middle brother to look after…

…her sense of purpose died, too.

I’m glad she died in a safe, clean environment with people who loved her nearby.

But she was ready to go.

. . .

I’m fond of telling people my father worked in women’s garments.

Let me explain.

My father was a time study engineer for garment manufacturers.

You could say that was a variant on being an efficiency expert.

His job was to study how workers made the various garments, figure out what was the most economical way of doing so, and have them to all make it that way when assembling them (for example, one style of garment might go faster if the collar was put on before the sleeves, another vice versa, etc.).

He had a way of working himself out of a job, because as soon as he got a factory working at peak efficiency, they only person they didn’t need was…

…him.

Why he picked this career is a longer story, but suffice it to say in the early 1950s, when he had a wife and a baby boy and needed to find a way to support them all, he rationally looked for a career that

would enable him to stay in the South

not just the South in general but specifically North Carolina

was part of a booming industry and

put no extra stress or responsibility on him.

In 1953, time studies looked like the perfect career choice.

Southern textile and garment factories were churning out product at a prodigious rate, job openings were popping up everywhere.

Had the business stayed at its 1953 settings, you might not be reading this, because so many things that would affect my life would never have happened.

We lived in 20 different houses before I graduated high school.

Until junior high, I never spent more than a year and a half in any school system.

My father would work himself out of a job with clockwork regularity.

More than once he’d be offered a promotion to a managerial position and he’d turn it down, not wanting the added responsibility.

So they’d fire him and hire a younger, hungrier guy they could groom for management.

I got used to things ending. 

I got used to there being no permanence to anything.  Ever.

This life is here and now, and while we all fondly hope and pray for a life yet to come, I think I can safely say whatever will follow this existence won’t be like anything we expect, and those hoping Heaven is just Earth 2.0 with cleaner streets and a little more glitter are in for a rude awakening.  (Not necessarily a bad awakening, just one they’re not expecting.)

This ability to accept endings helps me keep my sanity after leaving a project.

I get asked time and again what I think about what other creative teams did on shows after I left.

I always tell people that when I’m done with a project, I put it down, and I walk away.

No sense frustrating myself over things I no longer have any input to.

I’m fully capable of nostalgia; I can wallow in it with the best of ‘em.

But for me nostalgia is always a conscious remembrance of things past, not an effort to actually relive them.

Do I miss my mom and dad and aunt and grandmother and mother-in-law?

Yeah, I do, but not every day, not achingly.

Their endings arrived, and that is that.

I still love them, and writing this piece certainly dredged up some bittersweet sadness.

But I’m still here.

And life goes on.

  © Buzz Dixon